Sins of the Father

Author's Note: Thank you to all the lovely reviews I got last time around, it means alot to me! This chapter is real short, but I swear I will make it up to you, there was really no other way to do this. I probably won't update until chapter four is done, so that might be a day or so. As always, enjoy and review if you feel it's necessary.


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Hermione awake with a start, her heart hammering and sweat staining her sheets. Her body was shaking, trembling violently as she fought to control her breathing. She could practically feel the blood rushing through her veins. Her brain was pounding in her skull and a feeling of disorientation had overtaken her. She felt the night closing in around her, trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness.

She clutched her wet sheet around her, finding small comfort in the damp fabric. She took deep breaths as she looked around the room she was in, feeling stability and serenity at the recognizable room she now called home.

She was at the Burrow in what used to be Percy’s old room. Since moving in, she had redecorated the room to feel more like the one she used to live in. Books lined the walls with an old desk under the window that overlooked the small pond the Weasley’s had on their property, a picture of her parents propped up on the desk and facing her. Even in the dim light of the open-curtains, she was able to make out the glittering silver frame. She couldn’t make out her parents’ faces, but knowing that they were watching over her brought comfort to her. She hadn’t seen her parents in over a year, but then again it was hard to visit the dead in the flesh.

She tried to shake off memories of the night she was captured. It was bad enough that she was plagued with vision of her stay at Malfoy Manor every time her eyes closed and she slipped into sleep. She had tried Sleeping Draughts, but found when she awoke in the morning she had managed to do bodily harm to herself. It seemed that her dreams transferred to blank re-enactments of what had occurred to her as she slept.

So she put up with the nightmares in order to avoid the pity.

Everyone treated her differently now. It was not an opinion, merely a fact of life for her. She had thought that things would be different, seeing as how it been about five months since her return. She’d expected the torturous gazes and strange expressions, the frantic whisperings and abruptly ended conversations whenever she appeared to have stopped by now, but she was wrong.

It seemed to be the only topic of conversation at the Burrow and it was the only one she wanted to avoid.

As usual, she had awoken from her nightmare at the exact time she had been captured and her family destroyed. And, as usual, she knew she’d be able to fall back asleep in an hour or so, slipping into a mindless oblivion.

Except tonight, tonight felt wrong. She looked out the window, the moon looking brighter then it usually did. Autumn was creeping up over the English landscape, creeping in to the moonlit air. She could feel the chill through the cracks in the window frame of Percy’s old room.

A noise caught her attention. It was coming from downstairs, in the direction of the kitchen or dining room; she couldn’t tell exactly from where. Her heart beat frantically against her ribs, knocking her bones apart. Her muscles tensed, her blood flowing hot and fast, her body poised. She lay in bed, scared. She felt terrified, seeing in her mind the figures in black cloaks coming to kill her parents and destroy her soul.

She heard grunting then, and three sets of footfalls on the stares. Her door was cracked and she watched wide-eyes and frozen, as shadows moved down the hallway. The figures passed her door, stumbling in the half darkness. Then, as if realizing that three unknown figures were invading the Burrow, she silently cursed her inaction. She got out of bed as quietly as she could. She moved to her door, slow and silent. She heard voices at the end of the hall and swallowed, knowing whoever these people were; they were standing right outside Harry’s door!

That thought made her react, feeling braver then she had in a year and a half. She opened her door and rushed into the hall, wand raised high overhead. The three figures turned quickly, the outer two dragged down by the weight in the middle. They had their wands raised as well, ready for any fight necessary. The four stared at each other in the dim hallway, not moving, hanging unto the seconds n baited breath, waiting for the confrontation, when –

Hermione screamed as if she were being murdered.