WILDFLOWER, hermione granger.

oxxxii. come hell or high water

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OXXXII. COME HELL OR HIGH WATER
thirty two

       THE ONLY THOUGHT THAT SWAM IN IVY'S MIND WAS THAT THEY'VE UTTERLY FUCKED UP. She wanted to curse the Snatchers so badly, she knew what she was capable of—but Ivy remembered she wasn't a professional with wandless nor nonverbal magic just yet.

       She lamented over the fact that she neglected learning that instead in the duration of the year they've been on the run.

       "Watch it!" She snapped as figures dragged and muscled her, Hermione, and Ron out of the tent. From her perspective, Harry was being pulled out as well, his face swelled with burns.

       "Get—off—her!" Ron shouted as well. There was the unmistakable sound of knuckles hitting flesh. Ron grunted in pain and Hermione screamed, "No! Leave him alone, leave him alone!"

       "Your boyfriend's going to have worse than that done to him if he's on my list," Fenrir Greyback stroked Hermione's cheek. "Delicious girl... what a treat... I do enjoy the softness of the skin..."

       Ivy glared at him ferociously, "She's my girlfriend, asshat! Get your filthy hands off her!"

       Greyback howled in laughter as the rest searched the tent. "We've got a dyke here!" To spite her, he sniffed at Hermione's neck, right over the jugular. Ivy snarled, and thrashed against her restraints, seeing the fear flash in Hermione's eyes.

"And a Malfoy, so watch it," Ivy snapped, channeling her inner Draco and Narcissa Malfoy and hoped to whomever is up there it worked.

Greyback and Scabior—well, presumably, paused for a moment, staring at her. Suddenly Scabior laughed like she'd just said the funniest thing ever. "Oh ho ho! We got lucky then," Scabior shared a shrewd, malicious grin with Greyback. "Didn't Madam Lestrange mention she wanted the traitor Malfoy?"

"The little brat," Greyback snarled. "I haven't any payback on you for what you did, didn't I? Reckon now's the right time—"

"What happened to you, ugly?" Scabior growled towards Harry, who barely managed to mumble an answer before he demanded again, "What's your name?"

"I—" Harry stammers for a second. Ivy stared him down, as if to tell him not to let Hermione's efforts go to waste. For what, he hadn't an idea yet. "—Vernon. Vernon Dudley."

"Check the list, Scabior," Greyback barked, marching away from Ivy, and moved sideways to look down at Ron, instead. "And what about you, Ginger?"

"Stan Shunpike," Ron uttered.

"Like 'ell you are," Scabior sneered. "We know Stan Shunpike, 'e's put a bit of work our way."

A muscle in Ivy's jaw feathered as they landed a punch to Ron's mouth. Why the hell wasn't she fighting? For fuck's sake, Ivy knew in herself she could take them down without magic and nevertheless clean their tracks so why—

Oh right, because she wasn't just fighting for herself, anymore. If she tried anything she'd be risking three more lives.

(God-fucking-dammit.)

"—Penelope Clearwater," Ivy hears Hermione say after snapping herself out of her inner dilemma. She sounded terrified, but convincing.