Drawn ( A Dramione Story)

Tennessee Whiskey

The two witches winded through sedimentary streets in an attempt to get back to the safety of the flat, unable to escape their followers and unable to use their magic within the limits of Muggle Paris. The damn country was not kind to those of foreign blood breaking their international magical laws. They were forced in a position to become victims. There was no other option left to them.

Like hell would they succumb to this.

Hermione struggled to remember the way back. It'd been so long since she was in that part of Paris. Back then her mum and dad knew the way.

Think, Hermione, she commanded. Their lives, quite possibly, depended on it. If she brought back a traumatized and bloodied Pansy back, Draco would be furious at her. Disappointed. Heartbroken. He entrusted his best friend to her, and she had to bring the witch back in one piece. She had to.

She pulled Pansy along, until the deadly horror set in. Somewhere she made a wrong turn. They saw nothing but desolate streets, devoid of people and light.

"Oh, no." She groaned.

"What do we do now?" Pansy whispered. "Run?"

There was an idea.

Hermione asked quickly, under her breath so they might not be overheard. "Do you run fast?"

"I wear heels every waking moment. I pretty much gave up on running years ago. Do you run?"

She shook her head. "No."

Physical endurance was not a strong suit of hers. The year on the run left her in a constant state of exhaustion, bruised and bloodied, battered in areas. The cold. It didn't shake out no matter how hard she ran. Her throat would burn, lungs on fire, smoke out between her lips.

Flashbacks of the war flooded back to her eyes.

Hogwarts in flames. She remembered the dark of the night split by large orange flames against grey stone walls. Screams of her classmates as they fought for their lives.

That night everything changed. Her heart changed. It'd been broken before, but that moment where she watched the devastation clash against the strong ancient walls of Hogwarts, fallen in shadow, alight by hatred and greed. Hot red blood of their friends upon her hands in deep stains. The hue never lessened when she washed. It stayed and stayed.

Sometimes the blood turned to names of the dead. Fred Weasley appeared in the crimson red. Tonks and Remus, too. Poor Colin Creevey and Lavender Brown. Professor Snape was there in the blood, his eyes too. She remembered the way their life left to dull still.

"Bullocks!" She swore through her gritted teeth. "We've got to do something."

Paris would be slaughtered if a thing happened to either of them. Draco Malfoy would kill every single person in the entire country. They'd take him to Azkaban. Their child would be forced to look at Draco through thick iron bars, that's only if they allowed a child inside.

"I know what we can do," Pansy said.

Doubt twisted her features. "Is it legal?"

There was a surge of pure horror that went through Hermione. Three men following two women at night, through dark streets did not require much stretch of the imagination to what they wanted. Witches knew just as well as muggle women what strange men were capable of.

During the war was a time for many violent crimes. Death Eaters raped up and down the country when Voldemort came into control. It was an ugly time. Rape was an unpleasant experience, especially for witches whom never were taught how to avoid such things. The wizarding world was so trusting and kind. Before Him.