No Longer Helpless

Chapter Two
Helpless

Concern for her own well being had been thrown to the wind the moment she had seen the mark. Now as she cautiously climbed the stairs, avoiding the three that creaked, her only thoughts were of not getting caught and reaching her parents.

If aurors hadn’t shown up yet, there was a good chance that at this point she’d be the first to arrive on the scene. And being the first meant a whole lot when it came to swaying the outcome.

Wand in hand, having pulled it from her pocket the moment her feet touched the bottom step, though in truth it should have been the moment she saw the mark, she ascended. Part of her wanted to take time to review various spells that might come in handy, but that was just the part that made sure she reviewed material she knew she had memorized like the back of her hand over and over.

At this point, if she couldn’t conjure up even a simple defensive spell in the spur of the moment then she didn’t deserve to have received all those O’s on her O.W.L.S. Besides, she had already determined that time was of the essence.

The scream she had heard earlier was most certainly her mother’s. She couldn’t only hope the thud she heard follow wasn’t as bad as it had sounded. There was a sickly vibration in the floor boards above that had told her it was a rather hard landing, and the silence that followed after didn’t help ease her fears.

Her heart was racing before she could even grasp the door handle.

Where was Ron when she needed to discuss battle tactics? Should she continue to move undetected, in hopes that no one knew she was here? Or, should she assume that there were a whole mess of unfriendly fiends waiting for her just outside the door, and blast through giving them an unexpected rush?

‘Dammit!’ she cursed in her head. Was this silence there because no Death Eaters remained, or was it because they knew she was here and were waiting for her. ‘Okay,’ she began to rationalize, slightly at a loss with out Ron there for maneuvering discussions.

‘There was a Dark Mark above my house. Of course there are Death Eaters here. I’m their target. Why leave without killing me?’ Her mind went back and forth playing both the questioner and the answerer.

‘They wouldn’t,’ she concluded.

‘Which means?’ Her mind worked slowly on each detail.

‘They must be here still. Obviously, that’s why Mom screamed before.’

‘Why the silence?’

‘Because it’s so damn unnerving!’

‘Exactly. My chances of living are all lowered by these factors.’

A chill crept up her spine. It was finally starting to set in, the reality of the situation. She was in grave danger. Now as her adrenaline wore off, she could hear the voice in her head telling her to run. ‘Never!’ she scolded herself for even thinking it. ‘Focus!’

‘So, they were here… somewhere.’

Suddenly the basement didn’t feel so alone. She glanced back down into the darkness, much of the room cut off from view by the stair well. There was no movement and she hadn’t seen anything earlier, but now that she had concluded that there was most definitely some Death Eaters here, she couldn’t help but feel like they were lurking right behind her.

Yet she saw nothing, just the bottom half of the washer and dryer and her old bicycle propped against metal support beam. Then, as though waiting for her eyes to begin searching for them, she saw it. A shadow past the base of the stairs, in a quick flash, it seemed to have shot by. She nearly jumped out of her skin. It had looked like a black mass moving in the already dark room.

It was then she realized that standing at the top of the stairs made her rather vulnerable. They were open stairs and she couldn’t see behind them from here. Whatever had moved by could be right underneath her and she wouldn’t know. Then there was the fact that the walls cut out to make the cove at the top of the stairs cut her vision of most of the room off. If she hadn’t seen anything down there before when she had scoped the place out, then she definitely wouldn’t be able to see anything coming now.

If the broken stillness had startled her, then the broken silence scared the hell out of her. There was a scratching noise, light at first.

She had gasped, her heart racing a mile a minute, feeling as though she could do nothing more than wait for that black mass to attack her. Before the scratching noise had come she had almost wondered if she had imagined the shadow moving below, simply because she had been waiting for some sort of attack throughout the minutes of silence. But now she knew without a doubt she was not alone.

She debated going through the door. ‘Out of the frying pan into the fire,’ was all she could think of.

Her mind was made up for her when the persisting scratching became harder, giving her a terrifying realization. The vibrations from the scratching were coming from under the wooden stair, the one she was currently standing on.

Gulping, she leaned over and peered ever so slightly into the pitch black that engulfed the back of the stairs. She only needed to see it once before her eyes widened and her body reacted. There had been a glint. Not just any glint, but the glint off of a seemingly bodiless eye. Not a second after she had stepped through the door way did she see a ghoulish hand, rather claw like, rake out from underneath the step.

Heart beating a mile a minute, forehead damp with condensing sweat, Hermione stood with her back against the basement door. She let out a long breath that she didn’t even realize she’d been holding.

Quicker than she would have thought possible with the way her hands were shaking, she latched the simple lock on the door. Somehow, even though her mind knew logically that whatever was in the basement could get upstairs if it wanted to. It gave her some relief knowing that the door was now locked.

Holding her wand readily she saw just how much her adrenaline must have been pumping. She clenched and unclenched her hands, trying to still their shaking, but to no avail. It wouldn’t matter much anyway, just point and incant. Still, the Gryffindor inside her didn’t want to give the Death Eaters the satisfaction of knowing they had affected her so.

The house was dark, the only light was from what moonlight made it through the sheers and blinds. To her right was the kitchen. To her left was the atrium, and off of that was the living room. It was the living room that she had placed the scream and thud from earlier, so this was her new destination.

Her mind’s eye seemed to remember her home looking quite different, even in the dark. The pale moonlight cast upon the dark shadows that were the walls and floor created a bluish hue to everything. The short hallway leading toward the front entrance seemed to stretch forever, oddly distorted in a dreamlike fashion. She blinked, hoping to clear the sight, but it did no good. It must have been her mind playing tricks on her.

Slowly and silently, Hermione walked the distance one foot after the other. Thankfully she was wearing sneakers, which kept their silence as well as any shoe could. Now, if only she could only keep the beating of her heart and her shallow breaths out of ears reach.

If she had analyzed things a bit more she would have remembered that her presence was already known. Hell, it was more than known, it was highly anticipated.

Something caught her eye on the hardwood floor ahead. As she moved closer it glinted with every step she took. Her head felt heavy and dreamlike as her subconscious worked out what the glint was. When she was a couple steps away, the rest her brain seemed to realize what she was seeing. There on the floor, with more leading away into the living room, was a bloody boot print, starkly contrasting to the shadows in its red glory. A couple of the prints were smeared, as though their owner had swiveled around.

Hardly bothering to keep her caution, she simply approached the living room eyes fixed on the prints as though they were her trail of breadcrumbs taking her to where she needed to go.

They did indeed lead to the living room, which was where she wanted to go, but she doubted that bloody footprints would lead her to safety like bread crumbs would.

Her heart was heavy with the conclusion that it could only be her parents’ blood. Unless one of Voldemort’s crewmen had decided a sandwich would be nice and cut themselves while spreading the mustard, which she highly doubted, the blood could only belong to either of two people.

The next few moments seemed a blur to her, a blur she would surely relive for the rest of her life in both dreams of sleep and in dreams of pensive daytime thinking. Questions of what she could have possibly done to prevent it, forestall, exact revenge, and the like would surely play over in her mind like a broken record. Right then, however, she could only live in the moment and try to accept what was.

The fight left in her seemed to rapidly dissipate when she finally beheld where the footprints lead.

In her living room, surrounded by six figures of tall shadows, were her parents. Yes, they were there, just not as she had been hoping and praying. Their bodies were lifeless, bloody, and mangled. Her mother was on the floor face first, still in her nightgown.

From what she could see she had open wounds in the back, stab wounds. It didn’t take a detective to figure out what the bloody dagger, which was lying beside them, was from. Her father, rest his soul, was strewn haphazardly over her mother’s body, as though protecting or mourning his wife. He too suffered similar wounds, except these were less stab like and more like gashes and slashes.

Having seen enough, not wanting to see glossy eyes staring at some fixed point, only to wish the life back into them, she tore her eyes away from their bodies. Her next focus was of course on the shadows around them.

One shadow moved forward. Hermione knew right away that it was the same one from the basement, because as it moved a bit of moonlight caught on its hands, which had the same ghoulish structure.

Tears filled her eyes, one escaped rolling down her soft cheek and falling to the floor. She could almost swear that she heard it hit the wood. But, who knows what her mind perceived in such moments of shock.

The Death Eater before her had come to stop, just so the light from the window splayed its face. Through the mask she could see dark eyes, no color perceptible in such darkened conditions. Almost pleadingly, her own eyes kept theirs, as if asking the question her mouth soon vocalized. It took her a couple tries before actually getting her voice to work, and croaking out, “Why?” Another tear fell.

It almost looked as though the Death Eater was at a loss. It hesitated before answering, almost as if it were not expecting this reaction from her, almost as if she had instilled remorse in it. Recovering from the moment’s hesitation a woman’s smooth deep voice answered, “Because, they’re muggles and their daughter is an annoying mudblood friend to the bastard Potter.”

As an extra kick in the stomach she continued, “They didn’t have to die. They could have lived normal lives, happy lives. But, you changed that. Because of you they earned a death sentence, we are merely the executioners, doing our job. You were their sentence to death.”

“No,” Hermione whispered. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. She was supposed to come rushing in and find them safe and save the day or have aurors burst in and take care of everything. They weren’t supposed to have died. This wasn’t meant to happen. Yet it was. And it was her fault, wasn’t it?

The mind game was beginning. Another Death Eater stepped forward, a man this time. “We don’t waste our time with the fruitless death of muggles, though they’ll all pay eventually. They,” he gestured to her parents’ bodies, “didn’t need to meet their end so soon. Had you not angered our Lord off they would be up in their beds right now sleeping soundly.”

She shook her head slightly, unable to argue, unable to refute the truth to their words, unable to realize that there never was truth to a Death Eater’s words.

“Fitting end don’t you agree?” sneered the woman. “Muggle death for the muggles.” She cackled, followed by a roaring round of laughter from every other shadow.

Something snapped in Hermione, logic left her, so did part of her sanity at the moment. “BRING THEM BACK!” she bellowed, almost screamed. The laughter died immediately. Apparently, she was surprising them more than just one time that night with her reactions. “NOW!”

Had there been no mask, Hermione would have seen the incredulous look on the nearest Death Eater’s face and confusion on a few others. ‘What was this mudblood on about?’ they seemed to think.

The woman, Bellatrix Lestrange, Hermione now recognized the voice, sauntered forth. Picking up the dagger, she paused, wiping it clean on her mother’s night gown. Then she stood and held it threateningly.

“It’s high time you joined them Mudblood. Though, I do believe we shall prolong the experience. From our Lord’s stories you are quite worth the Cruciatious. We shall make a few small holes in you first, drain some of your muddy blood out.”

Gathering what wits she had left, she tried, rather feebly, to put up a fight. “Expelliarmus!” she tried.

Sadly, Lestrange called out casually a ‘protego’ and reflected it back. It would seem her years of training weren’t worth a thing this night. Try as she might have, there was too much of a difference between actually facing the enemy and playing out things in her mind. Not to mention she was under a considerable amount of shock, which impairs the best of abilities.

There she stood, wandless and helpless. As Lestrange advanced, Hermione retreated. Oh, how helpless she felt. She might as well have been four years old crying her eyes out over a splinter, too upset to even take it out. Looking for some possible weapon or form of protection, even escape route, her eyes left the sight of the dagger and roamed around.

Her wand had clattered far off, no chance of retrieval, unless Lestrange gave her a ten second head start. Finally, as though wanting to look upon her parents in her last few moments of life, she stared at their bodies. So lifeless, so still, so dead.

Her tears that had dried up the moment she had started shouting now began to flow once more. There were so many emotions inside her right now: sadness, regret, fear, anger, despair.

“Ready to beg for your life mudblood?” Lestrange taunted.

At these words one emotion seemed to topple the rest: anger.

‘Beg?’ she thought, ‘Did my parents beg? NO! Will I?’

“NEVER!” she shouted, cheeks flaming with ire. Her eyes flashed maliciously. She’d never go down without a fight. Now that she had come to believe her death was eminent, she felt her courage return, her fear disappear.

There was something bubbling underneath the surface within her. It had been simmering the moment she had seen her parents, now it was ready to spill over. Just as she was ready to tackle the enemy before her, prepared to use her fists as her only weapon, she suddenly felt heavy lidded.

Blinking once, she seemed unable to reopen her eyes. She wasn’t tired though. She needed to fight, to avenge her parents, to put up a fight worthy of her name and reputation as a Gryffindor and brightest witch Hogwarts had seen in years. But, something inside of her seemed to disagree with this. She felt herself slip into unconsciousness, unwillingly.

Lestrange seemed to tire prolonging anymore than she had too, since they were going to drag her death out as it was, they should at least get on with it. So, in one swift lunge she stabbed forward.

The eyes underneath the mask widened in utter shock. The blade had crashed into something, a barrier. Though she could see nothing surrounding the insolent chit, she knew something was protecting her. Knowing full well that she couldn’t have cast a spell with out her wand, her only conclusion was that reinforcements had arrived and someone else had cast it. She stood back and crouched as though anticipating an attack. She looked about the room. The other Death Eaters seemed to catch on quickly and spread out in search. For a few brief moments, they all seemed unaware of the now crackling energy surrounding Hermione.

Finally their attention was drawn back to the girl when a light caught their eye. She stood motionless, eyes closed. There was a light that surrounded her and seemed to grow in intensity. So much so that it became nearly blinding. No form could be seen from beyond the light anymore.

Lestrange lunged again in a feeble attempt to eradicate the source. The power was too much. The metal of the blade seemed to disappear as it fell to ash, closely followed by the small hilt and Lestrange’s hand. Had Lestrange been any slower in disapparating she would have lost more than just part of her arm. The rest of the shadowed figures copied Lestrange’s actions, more than one followed so shortly after that one would wonder if they weren’t simply bailing without the tacit order.

**

It was in the middle of what used to be the Granger residence that Dumbledore, Moody, Tonks, several other Order members, and several aurors from the ministry found Hermione. There was a large crater in the ground encompassing the grounds of Hermione’s once humble abode.

At the center was a ball of light. No house, no Death Eaters, just the crater and the light. For a short while, perhaps ten minutes or so, everyone seemed at a loss for what to do. They didn’t know Hermione was at the center of the light. And in all honesty, not even Dumbledore seemed to know what the light was, though he had his suspicions and theories.

They had determined that it was treacherous to touch. However after their short waiting period of perplexed stares and discussions the light dimmed down. Slowly they were able to discern a figure within.

As it became more and more clear, the Headmaster seemed to be the first to recognize any of what was before them. His breath hitched and his eyes widened in shock, before his brows furrowed and mind began working over time. A few more aurors present, Tonks and Moody included, seemed to follow Dumbledore’s reaction as they too realized it was Miss Granger they were seeing.

What was before just a silhouette was now a cleared view of the young witch. Laying motionless on the ground, curled into herself, she was unconscious. To their shock, unmistakable wings jutted out from the girl’s back. The white wings lay limp, slightly folded and as dead to the world as the rest of the witch was at the moment.

Of the wizards and witches present on the scorched grounds, not a one of them moved a muscle. Anticipating the next event, they stood. Though, anticipating or not, a few jumped a little when her wings moved. The feathers fluttered in an imperceptible wind. The folklore appendages folded up, while a few white feathers shifted loose and blew along the dirt ground. Then, the wings were gone, making them wonder if they’d seen them in the first place.

It was after all this that they were finally able to make contact..

Questions would be saved until later, when the person they were asking was awake. Now, they needed to get to safer grounds.

With that they all left with loud cracks of apparition.

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