I Would Die For You

Monday.

The field was vast and empty, but a cold wind had settled mere feet above the grassy ground, and the damp earth sucked it in like an addiction, a craving that could not be satisfied. Though all was still, a rumble beneath four sets of feet pushed back against them as they ran, wands out, towards the darkening horizon ahead.

"Harry..." a muffled female voice whispered to the mist as they pushed forward, their feet beginning to stick in the muddy grass.

"Not much farther..." came another female voice from a shorter girl with wild brown hair and wide eyes.

The ground began to slope down in front of them, and as they drew closer, it became clear that they were nearing a cliff, beyond which was something unknown, but a destination that they all seemed intent on reaching nonetheless. As the reached the edge, a tall ginger haired wizard with a face full of freckles reached out for the bushy haired witch's hand, but it slipped through his fingers as the ground roared to life again.

"They're here," whispered a dark haired wizard, his fringe not quite concealing the lightning bolt shaped scar across his forehead.

"What should we do?" came the first voice again, her long auburn hair blowing in the breeze, her eyes widening, but brave, her hand clenched firmly around her wand.

"We shouldn't have separated," said the tallest of the four as he brushed his ginger hair out of his eyes, turning his back on the cliff to face the others. "We should have stayed with..." but what he thought they should have done was not to be known to anyone but himself. Four flashes of light burst through the air simultaneously and seemingly from nowhere, and the four of them were thrown violently in four different directions, the tallest flying into the air, free falling now into the unknown dark world below the cliff.

The sun's last rays reflected off the bushy brunette witch's eyes as her back was slammed into the ground. She raised herself a fraction from the earth to stare, horror-struck, at the Death Eaters that now stood in the midst of them. And in an instant, she was shouting his name as he slipped away from her view, off the edge of the cliff... towards what she could not see.

Her eyes searched for the others, darting around in the dark mist as she heard their voices echoing from a distant place... but she could not tell which direction the sounds came from. And before another thought passed through her mind, before she was able to push all the way up on her shaking elbows, a wand tip was thrust against the side of her head. Tears poured down her dirt covered face as she desperately fought with her logical mind for a way to get to him. But the cold, harsh laughter that filled her ears vibrated inside her head like an echo in a metal cave... and she was lost. Her wand was no longer in her hand...

"Gotcha," came the rough, deep voice of the hooded man to her left. Her eyes flicked towards him as he reached a thin-fingered hand into his deep robe pocket and pulled out a glass vial with a silver cap. "It's empty," he shouted to someone behind her, someone she had only been able to sense until now... until he reached forward furiously and forced his hands under her arms, pulling her fiercely to her feet. "Don't let her get away," said the man who still stood in the shadows to her left. "The lot of them are worth more than all our Gringotts vaults combined."

The arms under hers tightened and pulled until her back was pressed tightly to his front, and, with dismissive regard for the balance of her feet against the cold, wet earth, he pulled her backwards into the trees, his arm only tightening each time she struggled against him, each time she let out a tiny sob, each time a new wave of tears soaked the front of her shirt, dripping steadily onto his callused hands where they clasped her middle firmly. Her breath hitched painfully in her chest with each tug of his arms around her, and as the darkness of the forest around them closed in, her eyes searched one more time for some movement in the field where she had been moments before with him... where his fingertips had lightly brushed against hers as he had reached unsuccessfully for her hand... one last time.

She couldn't tell how long she'd been there, in this damp, cold room made of stone... but she could still hear their voices outside... those vile, unfeeling voices that would not leave her alone... would not let her think...

Plans for escape had passed through her mind over and over since she'd arrived, the same facts listed in a very methodical way.

Burst down the door, but they've taken my wand.

Apparate away... but they've taken my wand.

So she prepared herself, kept her strength and her wits, waiting... waiting for the stone door in front of her to open at last. It was her only chance, her only option now. What were they planning? What did they want with her? Why was she not already dead?

And then, as if they had finally heard her desperate thoughts, finally understood what she was waiting for, the door opened... and no one stood on the other side. A trick... a trick...

She approached the door slowly, cautiously, knowing that she was likely to be trapped, to be shoved roughly back, laughter perhaps echoing in the stone corridor outside... but there was nothing. Silence. The door was open. All was silent.

And suddenly, as if from nowhere and everywhere all at once, a strong, deep voice filled the space all around her.

"Move down the hall towards the light."

She stared, wide-eyed, out into the long hallway, her heart pounding furiously in her chest. If she complied, she'd be doing as they wanted. But what choice did she have? Here in this room, she had no hope of escaping... no wand, no way out... So, carefully, slowly, she took a step through the doorway and out into the corridor beyond, her eyes searching for any sign of movement from either side, but the narrow hallway had no doors that she could see on either side of it. And she was moving forward towards a thin line of light at the bottom of what she could only assume was a door to somewhere... to whatever fate she was destined to.

She had nearly reached the light when the voice echoed again on the stone walls around her.

"Come inside, little girl, through the door..."

She pushed, and the door opened.

The room beyond was vast, the ceiling tall, the light from the torches lining the walls illuminating almost every surface, casting a glow about the place, a strangely shadowless room where black cloaked figures stood watching her entrance with enthusiasm as if awaiting a gift, as if hardly able to contain themselves from retrieving the prize that had wandered so innocently, so helplessly, into their midst.

"Take off your cloak," ordered that same deep voice, and she hesitated for a moment, once again weighing her options... but she complied, her cloak falling to the ground behind her as she slipped her arms out of it slowly. "Good... good..."

Two of the figures before her advanced slightly, their boots clapping against the stone floor.

"You are the one we've been waiting for," came the voice again. "The most valued, the most important..."

Her mind jumped to Harry, to how much he was sure to be worth to them... and she pondered the value of her own life in their eyes when measured against The Boy Who Lived... Again.

"He," came the voice, as if reading her mind, "will surely be a catch, indeed. Yes, yes."

So Harry had not yet been captured. Harry's alive. Harry escaped... she felt immensely relieved, though she did not dare show it across her face as she continued to stare forward, her expression blank, emotionless.

"But you, the Mudblood, the dirty, filthy swine..."

She felt her eyes begin to fill with tears again at the way the voice so calmly, so soothingly, spoke such hateful words to her.

"You will be the most fun. You will pay dearly for what you have done."

Two more of the men before her took a step in her direction, and she felt herself involuntarily lean back slightly away from their advances.

"Ah, be patient..." said the voice, and this time she knew that the words had been directed at the Death Eaters in front of her. They stopped advancing at once and stood stone still in front of her, all of their hooded heads facing in her direction. "One at a time, but you will all have your revenge. We will all have our revenge."

She stared forward, unmoving, unflinching, but terrified of what was coming. And she was alone. Completely, utterly alone. There was no one to help her, no one to hear her screams...

"You see," said the voice again, "our master did not wish for you to live. But what we will do… it will not only be for revenge. Now that the Dark Lord is gone, your blood belongs only to us."

Several of the Death Eaters in front of her seemed to get a bit uncomfortable with the shift. It wasn't hard to imagine that the ones who had once served Voldemort would now want to avenge his death, but to think that they could speak positively in any way of the death of their master... She swallowed her tears as she imagined what might be coming next. And she tried not to think of the voice all around her coming from someone... someone... who, in light of the recent death of his master, could now be planning his own reign, his own war...

"Take her, Rowle," came the voice again, and a very large man approached her slowly, hungrily. "Do as you wish with her."

"Yes," hissed Rowle as he moved closer... closer. Hermione took one step back, but he lunged for her and grabbed her robes in his fist, yanking on them until they ripped. He tangled a thick hand in her hair and pulled so tightly that blood began to trickle slowly from a small spot on the top of her head. She cried out desperately in pain, knowing that it was no use, sure that her cries would only cheer them on, only make it better for them... whatever it was they were going to do to her... And Rowle was pulling at her clothes again, inch after inch of her bare flesh exposed to his greedy hands and eyes as he peered out from under his hood at her.

"Please..." she whispered to no one at all, her body shaking now.

And suddenly, Rowle slammed his hand into her chest, throwing her painfully to the stone floor. And as if in slow motion, she watched as he stood over her, his robe billowing around his huge frame as he raised his arms triumphantly... she closed her eyes... and saw only one thing... only one person... his eyes... his eyes...

"Ron..." Hermione whispered as she crawled back to the wall and pulled herself up against it. Rowle's echoing laughter was the last thing she heard before she turned blindly on the spot, hopelessly, desperately... and then she was being sucked away, her body pulled in that familiar way as if through a tube...

A vast, dark field lay before her. He was here. She knew he was. Somehow... she had been pulled to him. Somehow... she had Apparated without her wand. And she knew that he was near. She had not thought of a place when she had turned moments ago, she had not remembered the first D... destination. Only him. Only Ron.

So she ran. Her aching legs carried her forward as her eyes flicked over the ground, the mist covered ground...

A shout broke through her frantic search and her head snapped towards the sound.

"Stop her!!" They were running behind her... in front of her... surrounding her. Three of them.

"No..." she pleaded as she looked away from them. "Ron!" she screamed, her voice breaking as she scanned the space between the advancing Death Eaters and where she now stood.

But before they had reached her, just as her eyes were about to shut, to focus on Ron, to Apparate again urgently away from them, she saw the glint of starlight on the vial in one of the Death Eater's hands... and she knew without question that it was not empty this time. The bottle hissed as the cap was pulled back roughly, and she stood motionless as the billowing smoke from the bottle engulfed her, seeped into her, consumed her... and she was once again... lost. She fell to the ground with a thud. And the men standing over her stared down at their prize.

"Leave her," said one of them. "She'll be dead before morning."

"But..." cut across the second, his voice unsteady, unsure. "Mulciber will want her returned to him. He wants her tortured, disgraced..."

"There's nothing we can do now. I believe..." said the first Death Eater again, his grin obvious in the shift of his voice as he continued... "she will be tortured enough tonight. By dawn, she'll beg for death."

"And death she will have," said the third Death Eater in a scratchy voice. "We have others to attend to."

The three turned, their cloaks flapping out behind them as they departed in the same direction. And as they disappeared, the thick silver mist that surrounded Hermione where she remained crumpled on the grass lulled her to gentle slumber.