For Jade, who prompted me HermioneFleur and probably didn't expect me to start another MC. Or maybe she did – my teammates do know me pretty well by now.

Written for Hogwart's Romance Awareness Challenge, Day Twenty-Nine: Soulmates in a world where the concept is so rare, they'd be banished/shunned/experimented on, and the MC Monday Challenge.

This is a no-magic!AU.

Word count: 1714

Chapter 1: in the dark of night

Harry is the one who wakes her in the middle of the night, shaking her urgently.

"Hermione, come on, you need to go," he says, urgency in his voice and panic in his eyes.

"Whatizzit," Hermione yawns, still half asleep. Still, she runs a hand through her bushy hair, wincing as she pulls on the dreadful knots that appear every night and slides herself off the bed. When Harry sounds that concerned, it's important.

There are lights outside when there shouldn't be, and Harry is digging around her room and stuffing clothes and other things that vanish too quickly from her eyesight to identify into a black, sturdy backpack she knows belongs to him. Hermione suddenly feels much more awake, adrenaline flooding through her veins.

"What's happening?" she hisses through her teeth, mindful not to let the panic that grips her heart in its icy tendrils show in her voice.

Even with only a sliver of moonlight getting in through the window - not accompanied by the yellow light of torches - it's easy to spot Harry's wince. "You got your mark tonight," he states dryly, like it's not a death sentence for her, like this doesn't mean the government will take her and she'll never see the light of day again.

(Harry's parents were soulmates, and there's a reason he never talks about them, never talks about how bad he himself had it until tests revealed he would never have a soulmate and was let go, still covered in needle marks and blood filled with drugs Hermione's parents hadn't known the name for.

She'll never regret the day he appeared on their doorstep; eleven, filthy and trembling, eyes so empty he looked like his world had ended, the day she gained a brother, but she'll always hate what happened to him to get him in her life)

"I what?" Hermione yelps, scrambling to look at her wrist. There is a mark there, the outline of a name in a handwriting not her own, barely visible but slowly filling in. Oh god, this cannot be happening.

She doesn't realize she's said this out loud until Harry grabs her by the shoulders and pulls her into a hug. He's shorter than her, and younger and it took them months to get him used to touch that wasn't meant to hurt, but now he gives great hugs, even if it's rare for him to initiate them.

"Shh," he whispers in her ear, rubbing soothing circles on her back, "it's all gonna be fine, you'll see. I won't let them get you."

"How did they even know I got my mark when I didn't know about it?"

Harry pulls back, eyes shadowed. He bites his lips, concerned. "I don't know. They must have some kind of technology that let them know that you got your mark." His green eyes sharpen. When the light outside reflects on his glasses, for a moment he looks dangerous, and she shivers, even if she knows he would never hurt her.

But he would hurt people trying to hurt her, and then he'd get hurt in the process. Maybe even die - he's of no value to the people that are coming after her, after all.

"Come with me," she pleads. "I can't do this alone."

He smiles gently, pushing the bag toward her. "Yes, you can. Hermione, you're the bravest person I know, and the smartest, and the strongest. You don't need me."

"You're the bravest person I know," Hermione retorts, but she takes the bag with a sad smile.

Harry shakes his head gently and with one last press of his hands on his shoulders, retreats. "I'll pack you some food, you should get dressed."

Nodding numbly, Hermione obeys. This still feels unreal, but she hurries to put on a clean shirt and jeans anyway, checking in the bag quickly to see if Harry hadn't forgotten anything important.

He hadn't, but Hermione almost wishes he had, if only to delay her having to go down to the kitchen and leave by even an instant.

"Here," Harry says as soon as she enters the kitchen, showing a pack wrapped in tinfoil in her hands. "This should keep for a while."

"You're awfully well-prepared for this," Hermione notes, inspecting the package swiftly before pushing it into the backpack that she then swings on her shoulders.

Harry smiles humorlessly. In the dark kitchen, only lit by the green and blue lights of the appliances, it looks glum.

"I had to be, in case they changed their mind." In case they came back for him, he means, and Hermione's heart clenches at the thought.

"We wouldn't have let them take you."

"You wouldn't have had a choice," Harry corrects her. He sighs, eyes shining wetly, and draws her into another hug. "I'll miss you. Stay safe."

"I'll miss you too," Hermione replies, throat thick with emotions. "You sure you can't come with me?" she asks again, smiling through her tears.

Harry looks pained. "I wish I could, really, I do. But you know they'd find me wherever we'd go - and I can't let them have you." He points at the barcode on his neck, the tattoo that always makes Hermione's blood boil. The tattoo they gave him.

The moment stretches on, and Hermione wishes it could last forever. She feels safe here and now, enclosed in her brother's arms, and she has a feeling she won't feel safe for much longer.

Still, she's the first one to pull back, wiping her tears.

"Any advice?" she asks.

Harry nods, blinking away a few tears of his own. "Keep away from the main roads, don't trust anybody you don't know and always assume that the people you do know are being followed so they can find you, and don't show your mark to anyone. Oh, and buy a lot of concealer - I put some of your mum's in your bag, as well as money, and you should always keep your mark covered with it."

"That's all?" Hermione asks, foot twitching nervously. She's trying not to be disappointed, but all of this is stuff she could have guessed on her own.

Harry rolls his eyes, undoubtedly aware of what she's thinking of. He hands her a card - white paper, thicker around the edges and embossed with some kind of lettering. She traces it with her fingertips slowly. These aren't any letters or symbols she knows, but if Harry's giving this to her, they can't be the gibberish they seem to be.

"What is it?" she asks.

"It's…" His head jerks around. Outside, voices are growing closer. "Shit, we're running out of time, you need to go."

He pushes her toward the back door. "Go!" he repeats, eyes wild. "Please."

Hermione nods, fingers still clenched around the card. "What is this?" she asks again.

Outside, the voices grow closer still. Hermione's heart is pounding in her chest now, and Harry looks moments away from running to the entrance to greet them. "Please, Harry, you have to tell me."

Harry bites his lips, torn. "There's no time," he hisses. "Hermione, I wish I could tell you everything, but you have to trust me. Please," he repeats, "go. Now, before it's too late."

"Of course I trust you," Hermione replies. She's surprised to find that Harry actually relaxes a little at her words.

"Good," he says, gently pushing her out the door. He closes his hands on hers, the white card now clenched in her palm. He's staring straight into her eyes, and she doesn't think she's ever seen anyone look more determined before. He looks like a hero. "Then you'll know when to use this," he says, smirking a little. "Stay safe," he adds, oddly tender.

"Only if you do," Hermione retorts, this dialogue familiar enough. It is weird to know that this time, Harry won't be by her side to drag her into the trouble that seems to follow him everywhere.

"Always," Harry replies. "Now go, and whatever you hear, don't stop. I'll be fine. I swear."

Hermione nods, and with a heavy heart, she sets into the night, running through deserted streets as far and as fast as her legs will carry her. Luckily, they leave not far from town, and it's easily to get lost in the winding streets - or to lose someone.

Behind her, angry voices ring out in the darkness, but Hermione is viciously glad for whatever twist of fate it is that means she can't make out any words. And suddenly, a gunshot, and then another.

Silence. Hermione can't hear raised voices anymore.

She keeps running, tears streaming down her face. If Harry's dead - please let him be alive, please let him be alive (even if Hermione can't imagine a scenario in which Harry's survive being shot) - then he gave his life so that she could run, so that she could be safe.

And even if he's not, she still owes it to him to get away; and so she keeps running, vision blurry and heart pounding painfully in her chest.

Whoever you are, she thinks at whoever's name is about to appear on her wrist, you better be worth all of this.

Elsewhere, four hours and twenty-two minutes earlier.

Fleur jerks away with a scream. Her wrist is burning, letters branding themselves anew on burned flesh.

"No, no, no," she murmurs, clutching her arm to her chest. "Please no," she chants.

She knows what this means: somewhere out there, her soulmate just turned twenty-one, and her name is showing up on her wrist, just as hers is appearing on Fleur's.

She's still chanting - begging - "No" when the men in white enter her room, dragging her away.

Her last thought before the needle pierces her neck and the drugs sweeps her consciousness away is that she hopes her soulmate can forgive her.

After all, it's because of Fleur that they know her name already, that they've known it for years.

Hermione Granger. She's always liked the sound of it. She hopes she's a nice woman, though Fleur doubts she'll stay nice very long. Nobody ever does, once they're caught, and being caught is inevitable.

Please, please forgive me.