Not Yet (A Hermione Granger fanfic)

Chapter 5

A/N: Longer chapter for you! Happy reading!

************Chapter FIVE**********

Hermione wakes to find she's fallen asleep at the table, her head resting on a book. It's open to a page with the recipe for a nasty potion used to slowly liquefy an enemy's organs. The lamp in front of her is the only light in the tent.

So, not morning, yet.

When she sits up, the page sticks to Hermione's face. She's careful not to tear it as she smooths it out and closes the book. Maybe she'll sleep in the bunk tonight. She drags her blanket over to the bed, not bothering to even remove her shoes. She never does, just in case something gets past her wards and tries to surprise her.

And she can't forget that she's close to the dragon preserve. Wards or no, if a dragon stumbles over her tent, she'll be squashed like a beetle under Hagrid's boot.

The first few weeks of her search have turned up nothing. She spends her days looking for evidence of magic, her nights huddled under a blanket in the Weasley's old tent, studying until her eyes won't stay open.

She waves her wand to extinguish the flame, dousing her in darkness so intense she might as well be blind. Hermione sighs and closes her eyes, listening to a few crickets chirp in the trees.

And something else.

She opens her eyes again and mutters, "Lumos." The tip of her wand lights up and she stands. More crickets, then . . .

The soft snap of a twig. With the wave of her wand, Hermione casts Amplificare, secretly boosting any sound outside the area surrounding the tent.

And then she definitely hears them—footsteps. Even with the spell, they are very soft. Knowing her wards prevent anyone from seeing the tent and the area directly surrounding it, she walks outside holding her wand aloft. But it won't illuminate anything outside the wards. And it's not worth exposing herself, is it?

The footsteps stop somewhere just ahead, but it's too dark to see anything. Hermione chastises herself for not setting a trap or two to catch wandering wizards. Tomorrow night, for sure.

She conjures a chair and sits in front of the tent, deciding to wait. The person or animal is breathing softly, yet it doesn't sound asleep.

Under the amplifying spell, the breathing sounds close. It works on Hermione's nerves, fraying them at the edges. It's exactly how she would breathe if she didn't want someone to hear her.

It remains there all night. By the time dawn creeps over the ridge, Hermione is fighting both sleep and panic. Whatever it is didn't move all night, and she can't take down the tent and remove the wards without being seen.

When the first pale light finally reaches the forest floor, her heart jumps into her throat. A man is sitting against a tree, awake, staring straight at her tent. She jumps up and almost gives herself away. He can't see her, though, can he?

He's a wizard—dusty black robes and dark grey cloak. He's even holding his wand in hand. His hood's down. His dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail, making him look younger than perhaps he is. Plain face, with a strong jaw but slightly sharp features.

"I know you're there," he says in English. "And just so you know, I've cast my own wards over the top of yours. There's no escape this time."

This time?

Hermione finds her voice and her courage, "How do I know you won't just hex me as soon as you see me?"

"I have no intention of hexing you," he drawls, standing up. He's taller than she thought. And he holds his wand like it's an extension of his arm. Everything about him exudes power. "Hexing would be too good for you. And anyway, I'm not in the mood to play with my prey."