Senses

Chapter 61

The field around was bathed in star-lit darkness. Tall flowers breaking through the thawing earth to reach towards the heavens stretched in all directions. A wood surrounded the clearing, giving the center the feeling of safety in seclusion. The full moon overhead gave it a silvery glow.

"A beautiful graveyard is it not?"

Hermione's jaw twitched to the sound of a voice she'd never wanted to commit to memory, "I never cared much for flowers."

The man who approached grinned at her catty response, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. Almost instantly, Hermione could feel as though something was wrong, that the man despite his resemblance seemed to be missing something. Her eyes narrowed as he drew closer, a small stone pedestal coming to form between them. The line in the sand.

"I'm surprised you've come alone, so eager to meet me without your Master?" Marxan raised his hand and as if summoned from elsewhere, the cup appeared just waiting to be taken.

"He's not my master and I don't need help disposing of you." Hermione's senses were in overdrive. All the instincts she'd picked up over her time with Severus kicking into gear. It wasn't until a small breeze blew across her face did she realize what had been bothering her.

Even from a distance, she should have been able to smell him. He always smelled strong, like smoke and death. It wasn't something that could be washed off with water, it was his essence. Her brain went into overdrive when a memory suddenly gave her the answer she needed. The man before her was not real, that his actual body was somewhere else. He was astral projecting. A coward, to the end.

Not wanting to show her hand, she took a small step forward, "What's to stop you from running off once I give you the dragon?"

Marxan grinned slowly, his tongue coming out to lick his bottom lip, "What's to stop me from killing you now and taking it for myself?"

Hermione's jaw twitched, "How do you know I even have it on me?"

"I suppose I could just..." Marxan's head tilted, his hands folding behind his back, "Strip you down until I find it?"

A cold shiver ran down her spine and despite how tightly she held herself, her arms trembled. She didn't want his hands on her, she didn't want to smell his breath on her lips. It made her stomach churn at the thought of it and pushed up memories she had so valiantly pushed down deep into the darkness of her mind.

"You promised me a battle, are you that afraid to die?"

"Afraid of you? Hardly. Replace the cup, and you'll get your battle."

Hermione had begged for Severus to allow her to fight him one on one. He had relented reluctantly but he had insisted that he would be nearby. She'd taken her ear cuff but she hadn't heard a single sound since she'd been taken by the portkey inside of Marxan's return missive. She wasn't sure how far she'd gone, though she knew that Severus' skill as a spy surely enabled him to follow her undetected.

A thick swallow moved her forward, but her instincts were screaming out at her. While she tried to keep her head forward so as not to let on that she knew something was amiss, her body was winding up for a fight. She kept her eyes on the 'man' displayed before her before slowly pulling out an enchanted cloth. If he had done something to the cup, or the cup itself was protected, the cloth would help to keep her safe.

When her fingers wrapped around the cup's brim she could feel a pulse of energy through the protections. So cocky was he, to have brought the real cup. Severus had told her what to feel for, and she recalled what it had felt like when she'd taken it from the Goblin. Yes, he'd actually brought the Horocrux.