Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Merry Christmas.”

She looked up from her present in her arms as the door shut behind her, startled to see, not one, but four men across from her in the narrow dingy hall outside her flat. It was her neighbors, plus an additional two.

“Yeah,” She said, unable to keep that twinge of irritation from her voice “You too.”

She hated her neighbors, truth be told. The two men were in their late forties, and barely spoke two or three words to her. She had done everything a good neighbor would do and they still barely spoke to her.

The one who wished her Merry Christmas, who clearly had a Christmas party at his flat but did not invite her, always had his blonde hair slicked back into a braid or a pony-tail, it reminded her of some eighties gangster flick. Who was he fooling with that dated hairstyle? He lived with a mountain of a man, a towering, grim reaper who only wore black and never spoke a word. Except she could hear his laughter through her walls at night.

The other two refused to make eye contact, both the same age, or perhaps one was a bit younger than the rest, curly hair framed his face, unlike the other one who had straight cut salt and pepper hair that had brown undertones. 

They clearly hated her, and they could clearly tell she was spending yet another Christmas alone, so why did they bother to give her false well wishes. Behind them were two more in their merry little band, both had brightly wrapped red presents. It was probably a gift exchange. She hadn’t even been invited to her own work’s gift exchange. She hated everyone she worked with, so it didn’t matter. She hated everyone including her stupid neighbors.

She hugged the present she had bought herself and nodded briefly to them before brushing past the group of them and heading to the stairs. Her boots click-clacked on the floorboards that were older than the men that were muttering behind her. The boards bent under her weight and sprang back, creaking. 

“Merry Christmas, neighbour girl.” The blonde man said again now, a flight up, bending down to look over her.

So, after a successful gift exchange and party, that she had heard the entirety of from her sad one room flat, they decided to ‘round out the night by mocking her? She bowed her head, her throat closing up, and continued down the stairs.

She hated her neighbours.

The lights were a little too bright, shortly after five o’clock on Christmas eve. The city of London had decorated all trees in a dazzling display of white lights, wrapped around dead branches, hanging limply over her head, twinkling in facsimiles of stars. Merry Christmas, he had said, her obnoxious neighbour who never said thanks when she handed him his mail after mixups. Merry Christmas, neighbour girl. A nail in the coffin that since she had exited the magic world, her name had been lost with the rest of her identity. 

No more Hermione Granger, once she had turned in her wand she had lost everything. Her family, her friends, her identity. She tore her eyes away from the stars and headed down the dark steps into the underground. Each step was a bit harder to take, as the pitying thoughts about everyone celebrating with those who cared for them seemed to close in on her. She was the only one in London who was going into Christmas alone.

Each year she lost a little bit more. She thought as she waited for the train, staring at the ticket, covered in red and green holly leaves: 

OUR GIFT TO YOU: 12 COURSES, 1 NIGHT ONLY. Table reserved for: 1

One, Hermione Granger. One person left alive that remembered who she was.

The train wooshed into the station, the white noise of wind along with the screeching of brakes pulled her out of her pity party. A part of her brain tried to cajole her into merriment, saying that the only person who had to enjoy this was herself, but even that made her more upset and when she finally sat down on the hard bench, crowded between a few old businessmen, her throat was so tight she could barely breathe. She bit her tongue instead, trying to replace her sadness with a sharp bit of pain.

She had gone through tougher times than Christmas alone. She had made tougher decisions than taking herself out for dinner alone. She was tough. She smoothed out her white wool coat, an expensive impulse purchase two weeks ago on the high street. She knew it would only get ruined in the muddy, rainy, months of January, but she couldn’t help but buy it.

“Excuse me.” A voice said and her eyes snapped up to see four men crowd onto her car, and settle down across from her. “Excuse me.”

She locked eyes with the blonde who had mocked her in her building and his merry little band, all wearing blue wool coats, and one, the only one not holding a present, wearing a burgundy red scarf. 

This was the grim reaper, as nicknamed him, his black hair was pulled tightly back from his face, his eyes were dark as night. His mouth always settled into a thin line of disapproval. Their eyes met briefly, and they both looked away from each other.

“Neighbour girl.” The blonde one said, and she realised she had been staring.

“Hello, 4B.” She said, hoping that he hadn’t heard her.

He had.

“Corban.” He said, extending his hand out, the other one settled on the garishly wrapped present on his lap.

She didn’t take it, instead trying to curl up around her present. She wasn’t in the mood to be social.

“Charmed.” She said and then, in order to get them to stop talking to her, looked up at the advertisements that hung over their heads.

She could see the lights blurring together underneath the advertisement. Irresistible, Insatiable, Tommy Girl . A fun and flirty model laid across their heads holding a perfume bottle. The train clacked and rattled.

The men were murmuring across from her, she heard girl multiple times and her eyes were drawn downward to see the four of them, the blonde, Corban, the grim reaper, and two men to the left of Corban were all looking at her before awkwardly looking away when she scowled at them.

The grim reaper looked at her, looked through her and the words died on her lips. She wanted to shout at them, and yet she didn’t. She looked away, staring down the train, the people crowded in small groups, laughing and talking. She saw women with boyfriends, and small families all crowded on the next car over, maybe she could get off at the next stop and sneak back on further down the train.

There was something mortifying about being alone on Christmas, and being witnessed being alone.

She felt the train slow down and that settled it. She would get off once they got to the next stop and find a car where no one knew her, or tried to introduce themselves to her just to mock her. She could pretend, for just a moment, that she was going to meet someone, a friend, or a man, who was taking her on a date, and there would be no unfortunate tether, or in her case, tethers, to reality.

The train slowed to a stop and she got up quickly, before they could say another word to her, and the train jerked forward, her centre of gravity slightly off and she fell back down into her seat. 

The soothing female voice of the London Underground came on a tinny speaker near her ear. “We’re sorry-” 

The lights suddenly went out, and there were screams around her, drowning out whatever the announcement was. She could hear hushes, and a baby started crying. The screams died out and she could hear the announcement repeat.

“We’re sorry there’s been a-”

The announcement didn’t complete, but red emergency lights underneath her feet and hidden above the handle bars over her head came on, she could see the lights reflected in the metallic foil of her neighbour’s presents. They were no more than shadows in the dim red light, everyone silhouetted against the dark cement of the underground.

“We’re sorry, there’s been a delay. The train will resume service shortly. Thank you for your patience. We’re sorry, there’s been a delay. The train will resume service shortly. Thank you for your patience.”

For all of the thanks that the friendly voice gave, she could hear many people around her decidedly not being patient. There were screams and shouts further down the car off to her left, where she had just been looking to go. She could hear the scuffle of feet, thundering as they moved down the train, and a pounding on the doors. She leaned forward, trying to see why people were kicking up such a fuss for a small delay. The London tube was unreliable at best, especially during the holidays. 

She hugged her present to herself to her chest and saw the shadows moving towards her, bulging outwards and the screams got louder and louder. People started flooding into their car, moving fast, brushing past her, tripping over themselves, illuminated only by the red lights. Their faces would be illuminated only briefly by the emergency lights, but everyone moved so fast that she couldn’t even see that.

“Help!” A voice called further down and she realised that something was going horribly wrong in the train. “Help! They’ve killed her!”

The sea of people moving past her, fleeing from some unknown horror kept her pinned to the seat, every time she tried to get up, another frightened passenger would knock her back into her seat, shoving her into the hard plastic.

On her third attempt, when she had the resolve to push the next person aside so she could enter the throng of people escaping. She stood just as a person fell before her, choking and squirming, grasping at her ankles, desperately grabbing at her boots. She looked up to see a hulking shadow looming over her holding a knife. He was so close to her that she could feel the rough texture of his black coat against her hand. They had practically run into each other. The silver caught the emergency lights, the blood on the knife looked black, dripping off of it and onto her white wool coat and she held up her present to save herself.

She was yanked aside roughly and she heard a snarl.

Her eyes opened to see a fist make contact with the shadow and a howl of pain. The knife was now jutting out of the arm that was wrapped around her shoulders.

“Let’s fucking go.” Corban said, his voice panicky in the dimly lit train, over the screams further off to her right. “Oy! Neighbour girl, let’s go !”

She tried to turn to the side of the train where everyone was fleeing, but there was a wall of a person there, and she looked up to see the grim reaper standing there, his eyes blank as he did not look at her, but at Corban who was shouting at the two of them.

“Now!” Corban said and leaned forward, shifting the present he was holding from one hand to another and grabbing the knife that was sticking up awkwardly from the grim reaper’s arm that had held her against his body and yanked it out, blood dripping all over her, and him.

“Follow him if you want to live.” The grim reaper’s voice was thick with an accent and her feet moved before her brain could protest.

Bodies littered the train, when she walked her shoes stuck to the floor, puddles of blood, black underneath the red light, sucked onto her sensible winter boots. She could hear more screams, and men shouting behind her and the grim reaper kept pushing her forward, the carnage made it hard to breathe. She didn’t know that death had a scent.

Metallic, it tinged her nose, she coughed at the overwhelming smell. She saw a woman, her head lolled back where it had been mostly severed, bleeding down her body into a river, pooling into the plastic tesco bag she had on her lap. The horror made it hard to breathe, her whole body was tense and yet the grim reaper constantly pushed her forward.

In the dim red light, everyone looked dead, melting into their own puddles of blood, but it wasn’t true. That was the horror of moving amongst them, the shouts distant behind them. She could hear people choking on their blood, rattling and moaning, whispering for help or moving towards her. As she walked past bodies, her white coat picked up their blood. The last mark these passengers would make on the land of the living.

“Faster!” Corban hissed in front of them, looking back briefly. “They must have noticed by now.”

“Who?” Her voice came out meek, the horror of the train had taken her voice.

She tripped over a corpse and yelped when the hand moved, brushing her ankle. She remembered the man who had been viciously killed before her, how he fell so quickly grasping at her legs, his fingers sliding off her pantyhose as he clung to life. The hand however, fell flat, it’s owner already dead.

The grim reaper pulled her up and over, relentless in his desire to get through the massacre and off the train. He was stronger than she was. “Don’t look down.” His voice was a forced monotone, each syllable enunciated.

She heard more shouting behind the two of them, this time it was not screams of terror, but men speaking to one another. She pulled away from the grim reaper, hoping to see the police, or some help, but only saw the shadows heading towards them, boots on the ground, wading through the corpses that she had carefully stepped around, kicking them aside as the blood splashed up under foot.

They were coming back to finish them off. They had corralled the entire train to one end, and they had only escaped by virtue of the commotion. Fear kicked her body into flight mode, the dread that had deadened her movement now propelled her forward. She needed no urging from the man in front of her, moving forward quickly, stepping over bodies and weaving through corpses, her eyes on her feet as she moved towards her other neighbor: Corban grabbed her arm and yanked her forward over the last pile of bodies, the first to go, she assumed. In this car, no one moved but them.

She saw ahead of her that they were near the other end of the train now, one car was ahead of them and then nothing , a grey wall with a grey door to the conductor’s cabin in the train.

One of the men, the youngest of their group, was holding two presents, one in each hand, and the other was jamming at a door. The grim reaper brushed past her, his boots made a disgusting squelching noise as he rushed to the other men, smashing a small red display next to the door and suddenly there was a high pitched squealing as the fire alarm started up.

She reeled back from the noise, but Corban, her neighbour, pulled her forward almost protectively. “You’re with us now.” He shouted over the fire alarm.

The doors busted open with a rattle and then a stutter as something that the men had done ruined the mechanics of the sliding doors, leaving an opening that was now only as wide as her shoulders. The first two men jumped out into the darkness and she was pulled forward as the grim reaper disappeared out of it sideways.

The shouts of the men, military like orders came louder and she could see now the black bloodstains on her white coat.

She looked out into the darkness of the tube, she could see the grim reaper staring up at her, his black eyes reflected the red emergency lights. The two other men, holding red presents, looked up at her and she was pushed suddenly off the train, a good six feet from the ground below, and caught, gently, by her neighbour that had only spoken six words to her.

“Hello.” He said as he caught her.

Seven.

He was warm, even as he let her down, her feet touching the metal tracks, the screaming of the fire alarm on the train was muted outside but she could hear the yelling of the murderers on the train.

“We’ve got to go.” One of the men, not Corban, said “We’ve got to go now , Yaxley!”

“Where the fuck are we going to go? Going to go get hit by a train, Rab?”

“Not here!” Rab, she supposed, screamed back at Corban who was behind her, closest to the train that he had jumped out of last.

The name sounded so familiar, but before she could ask how she knew him, there was a shout from behind her and above, the men who had killed dozens were coming for them next. She turned around, pressing her back into the grim reaper that caught her and saw now that the men were crowding around the end of the train, trying to squeeze out of the door that was barely enough for her. They looked like a mass of writhing black shadow in the hazy red light, but upon closer inspection she could make out one or two of them. They were bulky, wearing black baseball caps that hid their eyes, she could only see their jaws moving as they shouted orders at each other on how to open the doors wider. They kept pointing down the train as the siren wailed.

The doors began to shudder, thunking as they attempted to open wider. Corban was right. They did have to go.

She did not need to be told twice, and started running, the adrenaline was locked up in her legs suddenly turned to action . She didn’t know where she was going other than away, away from her terrible neighbours, away from the train, away from the people that had tried, and failed to kill her. She was wandless, weaponless, and all she had was a book that she had stupidly bought herself when she was picking up this coat.

This coat that was also ruined.

She felt the paper stick to her palms, sweaty from fear as she ran into the darkness, the last bit of the tunnel illuminated from the red lights emitting from the train windows and then nothing.

Her feet kept catching on tracks and she couldn’t see, so much as hear her own breath, her own feet getting caught, as she stumbled blindly in the dark.

Strong arms came around her, righting her so that she didn’t fall on her face, and she turned to see who it was, but everything was so dark in the tunnels. 

Suddenly she saw a small light a few feet ahead. She could see Corban’s face illuminated by a lighter, the silver filigree on the lighter in his hand reflecting the flame and she remembered now.

The memory surged from the depths. The Ministry of Magic.

Death Eater.

There was a shout somewhere behind them and she turned to see men flooding out of the train, the doors finally opened, they jumped down one after another, in military file, and she knew that even if she had been running, it wasn’t far enough.

The two men, one of which was called Rab, were carrying their red wrapped presents behind her. Rab went down, tripping on one of the train ties, the ribbon catching in his fingers and pulling away. The red emergency lights on the train caught the shiny silk as it untied. 

A string of curse words went off to her right and she was jostled again as not the devil in front of her, but the devil beside her slammed her into a wall.

The next few seconds, even now, were hard to remember. Her head was protected from the cement walls by a hand as the two of them were slammed into the side of the tunnel by force. There was a rush of heat, and her hearing went out. 

The grim reaper, as she knew him, was covering her own body with his, sandwiching her against the wall. The only part that he hadn’t blocked were here eyes, peeking up over his shoulder. She felt heat on her legs and couldn’t hear anything but this persistent ringing in her ears and when he pulled away, everything was blindingly bright. The fire was reflected in his eyes.

She turned her head slowly, aware of the hand on the back of her head to see that now, between them and the train was a giant fire that billowed up and ballooned, growing bigger and branching out of the top of the tube, black smoke rolling off of it, creating heavy rolling clouds above their heads.

The grim reaper moved his mouth then finally tapped her cheek and she looked back at him, he was speaking, but all she could hear was ringing, her blood in her ears rushed by and her own heart was thudding in her chest. He shook his head and covered her ears again, his mouth still moving, and now it sounded like he was miles away.

Finally she could read some words on his lips, his eyes wide and frantic “ Go .”

Of course, her eyes were drawn upwards briefly, the smoke had nowhere to go, if they didn’t find a way out of the tunnel they would suffocate. Even now it was hanging lower and lower overhead. He moved away from her, his hand on her wrist, pulling her forward, but she knew this game by now.

She could move, and she could move fast. Her eyes scanned everything that was lit by the fires. Three men, only two held presents now, one held a ribbon weakly in his hand as they stared at the fire, but Hermione knew this was no time to admire the destruction. There had to be an emergency exit somewhere between here and the last station.

She moved past them, moved past even the Grim Reaper who held her wrist, her hand seeking out a ladder on the wall, grasping for one even if it wasn’t present. She scanned every inch of the tunnel, but the fire was slowly losing its light as the black smoke cut down visibility. She could taste it in her mouth now, it’s scratchiness in her lungs. She pulled her coat up over her nose and mouth and as the light grew dimmer and dimmer she caught sight of it. A glimmering silver doorknob.

The five of them piled inside, one after another. Hermione, her ears still ringing, shed her coat quickly, balling it up and shoving it against the door. They had found a control room, blinky lights up one wall, wires up the other. It was no bigger than a water closet.

The one who tripped and set off the bomb was banged up, Rab, she gathered from Yaxley scolding him, was grabbing his knee with the ribbon from the present that was no more. There were two other presents left, and she could hear now the mechanical whirr of the room.

“I know you.” She said to Yaxley who was panting, his hand on his chest.

Yaxley froze, and she wondered if being known was so threatening when it was something she wanted so desperately earlier.

She opened her mouth again but the grim reaper put his hand over her mouth and through the ringing in her ears, and the whirr and hum of the machine room she heard it now, faintly, but boots crunching on gravel outside in the train tunnel.

There was a click as the door was locked behind them and she was moved away, one, and then the other. His hand was wet, and by the scent, she could tell it was wet with blood.

“They can’t get away.” A voice outside and the grim reaper positioned her furthest away from the door. Probably so she couldn’t give away their position. “They must be killed here and now.”

“We’ll dispose of them, sir. There’s only two ways out and we’ve got eyes on both.”

“See to it, Travers.”

“Aye.”

The door jiggled as the handle was tried.

“Locked for them, too, then. They’ve gone up ahead. We’ve got them trapped.”

“Aye, sir.”

No one moved for another minute, all frozen, and then finally, the clumsy one, Rab, slid down a wall next to a panel of lights, holding his leg. She could see his pant leg glistening with wet blood.

“They caught us.” The other man said. “Fuck.”

“You almost killed us .” Yaxley said, his eyes moving to her. “You’re bleeding too.”

The hand was moved from her mouth and she wiped the blood off onto her red jumper, the metallic tang on her lips. She had had enough of blood.

“I know you.” Hermione hissed, pointing at Yaxley. “You were Head of the DMLE.”

“Yes, I was .” Yaxley stressed. “Now I am your neighbor, you were handy during the war, do you know how to patch him up?”

“I am not helping a Death Eater.” 

“Death Eaters helped you , or are you one of those who thought the laws were just?” Yaxley countered.

The mandatory Dementor’s kiss for those involved with the war? She had given up her wand because of those laws.

“Do you think I’d be living across from you if I thought they were?” She said, her eyes moving to the door, wondering if they were truly safe to be speaking. “I’m not helping you.”

“I helped you.” The Grim Reaper said behind her.

“And who the fuck are you?”

“Are names important when his blood is all over you?” Yaxley said “Either help Rab or don’t.”

She warred for a moment and then the good-girl complex won as she got to her knees to look at the stab wound in his leg, pulling at the wet woollen fabric. “You probably tried to kill me.”

“He bloody well didn’t.” The man next to him said. “Quick to pass judgement on the people that saved you from being cut open like a christmas goose, eh Hermione Granger? ”

“So you do know my name.”

“We all know.” Rab said flinching when her hand got too close to the wound and she shifted a little so the light from the yellow bulbs on the control panel could show her how badly he was hurt.

“So you couldn’t have said, Merry Christmas, Hermione?” She said, taking the ribbon from Rab’s grasp, red silk ribbon, scowling before beginning to tie it around his leg to stem off the bleeding. “Instead you’re going to blow up the underground?”

“And how are we supposed to explain how we knew you?” Yaxley shot back.

Her argument was cut short by the Grim Reaper, her saviour twice over, sitting down beside Rab and looking down at the wound that she had patched up, the ribbon catching the light, she wrapped the tourniquet in a bow.

“It is fair.” The Grim Reaper said before pulling the belt out of his own navy coat as he shrugged it off, one shoulder and then the other. 

His white collared shirt beneath was soaked with red blood and she reeled back, the shirt stuck to his skin, and blood dripped from the cuff at the end. She could see the stab wound from when he had saved her life on the train, close to where her face was, but had narrowly avoided it. He took one end of the belt in his teeth and began to wrap the other end around his forearm, just above the wound.

She leaned over and tied it for him, their faces so close that she could feel his breathing, hot and quick on her neck. She owed it to him, after all, the knife was for her.

He smelled like spices and blood. His voice was quiet, that accent ever present. “Thanks, bunny.”

The warmth she had felt evaporated and she covered her mouth, aware suddenly of her teeth and she recoiled away from him, unable to meet his eyes and he made a noise, but it was cut off by Rab saying “Thank you, neighbour girl.”

“It’s Hermione.” She said from behind her hand.

“The smoke is still coming in.” The last man, kneeling beside Rab, pointed upwards.

The group looked up and she could see it, hazy amongst the highest lights on the machine that was the height of the wall, lights blinking on and off in neat columns and rows.

“Is it safe to go out?” The last man asked, to Yaxley who stood behind her.

“Is it safe to stay in?” She asked.

They would die either way.

Yaxley twisted the handle that unlocked with a click , her coat, soaked with blood, pushed aside as the door opened and they could see the glow of the fire, and smoke drift past them, clearly illuminated, a fog that hung low in the tunnel.

If they stayed, they would suffocate. If they left, there was a high chance they would run into whoever was killing people in the tube. She got up first, hiding her mouth, her cheeks red from being made fun of by the very man who she tried to help and stepped out behind Yaxley, Death Eater, famous pureblood bigot, and now, in some kind of scheme to blow up muggles.

And she surveyed the wreckage and realised now, belatedly as she stood beside him in the tunnel, that even if she got out, they would have to get out together.

A scarf was draped around her face where her hand was and she felt the ends being tied behind her head. She turned and saw the grim reaper again, now in nothing but a white button down shirt, half covered in his own blood, and an open pea coat behind her.

“For the smoke.” He said, and with his good arm he pushed her forward. “The only way out is through.”

She stepped sideways towards the fire first, trying to ascertain if there was a way through the wall, knowing the men that were hunting the survivors of the train had went the other way of the tunnel, but the train had become fuel for the fire itself, the metal and wiring popping and sparking at the bomb that had went off consumed the corpses. The smell of burning flesh pierced the scarf and she turned away. She could see the dried blood on the Grim Reaper’s arm as he extended his hand out to her and she came towards the four of them, now with two presents, and she realised that there was a third.

Tucked under his good arm, The Grim Reaper held her present, tattered, but still wrapped.

She followed them down the tunnel, aways from the roaring fire, sandwiched between Yaxley to her right, and the Grim Reaper to her left, she kept her eyes forward, ready for an assault, knowing full well that without her wand she was the most defenseless and the easiest to take out. 

“There should be a way to get out, if we head back to the station we came from they’ll be waiting for us.” The last man said “If there was that maintenance room, they wouldn't walk all the way here, right? There has to be some kind of entrance.”

“Or they could.” Rab said glumly from the other side. “Or there’s an entrance and we’re not going to bloody well find it before we die from all this smoke.”

“That you created.” Yaxley shot back.

“Yeah, and so what if I did? I got stabbed, didn’t I? How the fuck am I supposed to run with a bomb in the dark with a-”

“Enough! Why do you even have a bomb?” She said, the light growing dimmer behind them. She could barely see up ahead. “Are those bombs?”

“We have a plan.” Yaxley said beside her and she tripped over another rail tie, too dark to see where her feet were going.

“Careful, careful.” The Grim Reaper said beside her, his hand on her shoulder, keeping her upright and she shot him a dirty look.

His face was completely shadowed, they were too far away from the fire now, the smoke and the curvature of the tunnel obscuring it. 

There was a clink-clink and the lighter glowed beside her, barely obscuring a few inches in front of Yaxley’s face. He held it out, doing his best to illuminate the path, but she ended up migrating towards the walls, her hands feeling for anything unusual, either. She could hear a mutter of curse words from Rab as they all fell in line behind her and then as they rounded another corner she saw in the distance, small dots of light, bobbing ahead.

Clink the lighter went out, and as the group was plunged into darkness she stopped, her hands on the cold concrete, but someone pushed her forward.

“Only way out is through.” The Grim Reaper had a thick accent, he almost slurred half his words when he spoke to her.

She wasn’t sure if she was a hostage now, or if she was helping, but she walked faster, her hands groping around the dark for something, a door, an alcove, a wire, some sign of an exit.

The small specks of light grew bigger and she knew that the killers from the train were coming back to finish them off, it was in her panic, groping up and down the wall, her steps faster that she knocked the back of her hand into something cold.

“Give me the lighter.” She said, trying to feel its shape “Quickly!”

She felt hands on her arms and then suddenly a bright light was in front of her face.

A few feet off the ground was a ladder, but she was a good foot shorter than the men, she wasn’t sure if she could hoist herself up onto the first rung.

“Wait,” The Grim Reaper said. “Hold the light still, Yax.”

He made a hissing noise as he grabbed onto the third rung up and hoisted himself up, once his feet made contact with the bottom rung, about three feet off the ground he turned around and offered his hand down.

“Grab my hand, bunny.”

“I’m not your fucking bunny. Stop making fun of me when we’re about to die!”

“Stop arguing and go!” Yaxley urged and she took the Grim Reaper’s hand, his hair had come loose from it’s ponytail and framed his face, slick oily black strands and by god he was strong. He lifted her up to the first rung, her feet sharing space with his and he climbed up, gently and first, but then once he had cleared her, he moved fast.

She scrambled up the ladder, in the complete dark she constantly had to check if a rung existed, or if there was somewhere to grab, but she could hear him above her, the rustle of his clothing, the surety of his foot meeting one rung and then the next. After a few moments he stopped and her hand grabbed onto his ankle.

“Sorry!” She muttered and she could hear him making some kind of scraping noise overtop of her.

Was there no way out? Was the door locked?

A string of curse words in a language she did not know and then suddenly a grunt, stone against metal scraping and light flooded down on them through a circular hole. The Grim Reaper scrambled up through it quickly and turned down to her, looking down and offering his good arm, his hand covered in dirt, blood, and oil.

She took it and was yanked out of the hole first, sitting on cold pavement under glittering Christmas lights on a side street in london.

A car went past as the rest of them exited the man hole and she stared up at the trees, covered in glittering white lights, her hands going numb from the cold pavement.

The last man, who looked much worse now on the street than he had in the maintenance room, rolled the cover back over and slid the cover in place.

She looked down at her own cold hands, and saw that she too, was covered in blood like the rest of them. Her nice Christmas jumper was completely soiled in slick oil from the manhole cover, her hands were blackened, and she knew she must look a fright.

Her Christmas eve ruined.

“Where are we?” Rab said, clutching at the wound on his leg, now taking a critical look at it in the Christmas lights.

The Last man stepped away down towards an intersection and read the sign “Just off Regent, seems like.”

A coat fell on her shoulders as she sat on the curb, trying to wipe some of the disgusting oil and blood off her hands.

She looked up to see the Grim Reaper, attempting to fix his hair, blood still soaking his arm. He had this terrifying quality to him, eyes that saw more than she could ever hope to see. He did not panic, not once, instead he had manoeuvred through untold horrors with this learned apathy. He was lithe, but not lean. She knew from experience that he was strong, and yet he did not look it. Instead he said little, he moved little. Everything about him was confident in its minimalism. Even his outfit had no adornments.

He caught her staring at him and tilted his head, studying her as well. “Sit, bunny, we’ll call a taxi.”

Immediately, her admiration changed to disdain and she stood up, his coat large on her shoulders, it hit the back of her knees, and she began to walk off.

“Where are you going?” Yaxley said quickly as she had moved five steps away.

“Home!”

“As an accomplice?” Yaxley said “You cannot go to jail with us, but perhaps they will give us the address of the women’s jail so we can write.”

“I am not an accomplice! I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“We are the only survivors of a mass killing in the tube and a bombing! You don’t think this will raise questions? You live across from us.”

“I am not a killer, I don’t know you!”

“You know us.” The last man said. “Far better than you’d like!”

“What am I supposed to bloody well do?” Hermione said, tears stung her eyes and she turned away from them, unwilling to look at them “Christmas is fucking ruined! I don’t want to be around any of you! I want to go home!”

“Here, bunny-”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Hermione.” The Grim Reaper said her name and she tensed up, somehow her name was worse “Sit here, wait for a taxi. Then you can decide.”

She turned and saw he was gesturing to a bus shelter that was plexiglass surrounding a cold metal bench. 

“The police will be at the flat first.”

“Why are you so sure that the police will even be questioning you?” She spat, unwilling to move from the middle of the street, but she noticed that The Grim Reaper stood with her, all of them were out in the middle of the road.

She realised belatedly that they were blocking traffic from reaching her.

“Do you really think the killing on the train tonight was a coincidence?” Yaxley said, venom in his voice.

She did, actually, but suddenly, it seemed naive to her. Of course it wasn’t a coincidence, why would it be? Four men who happened to be planning a bombing got caught up in a mass murder? There was no such thing as coincidences.

She took one step, and then two, before sitting down in the bus stop in the middle of the bench, and no one sat next to her, instead they crowded around her, blocking her view of the street and she stared down at her sensible plaid knee length skirt.

The Grim Reaper placed her present to herself on her lap, it was torn in places, the paper had a handprint of blood on it. His blood. She looked up and could only see his silhouette.

“It’s a book.” She said lamely, perhaps to herself.

She heard the clink-clink of a lighter and smelled smoke, she looked over to see the orange tip of a cigarette as Yaxley stood at the curb, waving periodically at cabs that were all full of wellwishers enjoying Christmas eve.

She wanted to cry. What had she gotten into? Her finger smoothed over the edges of the ripped wrapping paper, trying to repair it.

“It is a good present.” The Grim Reaper said, reassuring her.

She hugged herself and bent over her own present, the anxiety of knowing she was now a criminal finally setting in. An accomplice is what Yaxley said. The thought made her mouth drier than ashes.

“What am I an accomplice to?”

“I’d say it was a cause, but we are not organised enough for that.” The last man said. “You left, right?”

“Yeah, after they…after I saw what happened to Pansy Parkinson.”

She never thought, at the time, that she would drastically alter her life because of Pansy Parkinson, but to watch her former bully strapped down in a chair in the Ministry of Magic and plead while they led a Dementor to her like a dog on a chain was enough to make Hermione re-evaluate the Ministry she was working for. It was enough to wonder if she had fought for the right side after all.

“No one knows what happened to a lot of those people, no one knows they’re missing.” The last man said. “No one knows that they keep the shells of those people they dealt with in Saint Mungo’s.”

She remembered a few pieces in the Daily Prophet, quickly after the war, that had led her to believe that almost all the purebloods that made up the aristocracy had fled post-war Britain and left to the continent, or to America.

“ We were still here.” Rab said, leaning against the shelter. “We knew.”

“Well, soon they’ll all start asking about it.” The last man said, he looked older than Rab, by a decade, his eyes were as dark and gaunt as the Grim Reaper, but his hair was a salt and pepper brown, cut just above his chin.

Every so often a car would pass, the headlights illuminating the bus shelter.

“We aren’t dead, but they would like us to be.” The Grim Reaper said next to her, he towered over her, blocking the wind from the shelter. “If we are dead, we cannot tell others what they have done. What the winners have done to us.”

“You tried to kill me, you tried to kill everyone like me.” Hermione protested, but it sounded weak. “Don’t you think you deserve some punishment?”

She knew that she disagreed as much as they did. She knew that after she watched Pansy’s soul leave her body, she left work and snapped her wand.

“Mudbloods didn’t care about magic, they only cared about using it.” Yaxley said from the road, taking a drag of his cigarette “There was no giving back, only taking. The school only teaches you to take and each year there were more and more takers.”

“What do you mean giving back?”

Yaxley turned back towards the road, a cloud of smoke exhaling his mouth.

“You’ve performed the rites? Given the offerings to Morgana?”

“What rites?”

“Exactly.” The last man said, venom in his voice. “More and more are forgotten as time has gone on. First the rites, and now those that perform the rites. I haven’t forgotten, and soon the Ministry will never be able to forget it.”

“Forget what?”

He extended his hand to her. “Me, Rodolphus LeStrange.”

The last man now had a name, it made her insides ice cold. She felt like a trapped animal, and she moved slowly, her whole body screaming at her.

She didn’t accept his hand, instead her eyes narrowed. “Your wife tortured me.”

“Yeah, I know.” Rodolphus said, shifting the present from one side to the other, his hand unbuttoning his sleeve, she could see the veins on his hands as he fiddled with the button in the Christmas lights on this London side street.

He shoved his sleeve up and clear as day were jagged letters, much like her own: TRAITOR.

“You’ve got good company here.”

Her hand came over to her own scars, and the Grim Reaper looked away. For some reason, his rejection stung. 

“The papers said you moved to Bulgaria.” Rab said.

“Yeah.” She knew that too, a lie that she didn’t care to correct. “I guess they had to make up something, I left the same day…the same day I witnessed the kiss.”

“Hey,” Yaxley’s voice was abrupt and she looked up to see him giving her a smile with the cigarette on his lips. “We’re glad you’re here.”

“Why?”

He turned back and finally hailed a cab. “It’s better to be with friends on Christmas.”

The black cab slowed down in the bus lane and Yaxley opened the front door, she heard briefly an argument between him and the driver as Rab and Rodolphus piled in the back seat, the final person being the Grim Reaper and she realised that there was no more room for her.

“It’s too bloody many!” The cabbie was shouting.

“How many pounds is too bloody many for you to shut the fuck up?” Yaxley’s voice carried over the street. She could feel the blast of hot air from the taxi, the droning voice of the radio, and the Grim Reaper’s face caught the twinkling Christmas lights.

He was handsome, she knew this, she had always known this. Tonight, late on Christmas Eve, covered in dirt, he was dreamlike.

She could leave, she thought briefly.

The Grim Reaper spoke little, but did much, he shifted and extended his hand to her. “Come, Hermione.”

She could leave, but she didn’t. She didn’t know why either, maybe it was the pervasive loneliness that had settled into her like a sickness the past month as the holidays neared, or the fact that someone had finally seen her. It sounded desperate in her own head, and yet she felt desperate.

They were terrorists.

She took his hand and she was yanked into the car, a hand came around her head to make sure she didn’t hit it on anything as she came in and she was situated across the grim reaper’s lap, he cradled her against him like a child, the hand that protected her head did not move and she felt the corner of the present that was on Rab’s lap, poke into her hip.

She tried to ignore the fact that two of them were carrying bombs, because the Grim Reaper was warm, and her hands were cold. She laced them together, bound in prayer as she sat on his lap, and the hands that held her in place, squeezed gently. One on her head, the other, her thigh.

“Comfortable?” His voice was near her ear.

It sounded too intimate to be said in a jammed cab.

She must be completely red.

“It’s ok.”

It was more than ok.

The ride was quiet except for the talk radio that the cabbie was listening to. She was staring out the back window, watching the traffic and shop displays.

“An update on the situation at Charing Cross Station. Police have now confirmed twenty five dead, with one hundred wounded. The shrapnel from an apparent bomb blast has left a dark mark on this Christmas for Londoners. According to investigators, an anti-government group is to blame.”

As they described the atrocity they had just fled from she kept seeing more and more police cars go by. Panic made her fingers hurt as she tenses up, but the grim reaper hugged her.

“Not here, not now, not you.” He said quietly in her ear, his accent was teasingly foreign, a mix of a Russian lilt and scottish english. She supposed that was due to Yaxley. “Not here, not now, not you.”

However, the red and blue lights came with increasing frequency and she could see the police cars lining up as the taxi slowed down.She turned her head and locked eyes with Yaxley in the mirror.

The cabbie was slowing down as they passed each cop and she watched him crane his neck each time they passed a cluster of cops talking around their cars. She saw one of the signs for the tube station, a red circle with a blue bar across it: Charing Cross.

The cab finally stopped, the voice on the radio still going over the atrocities that she had seen first hand, the names of the dead, the speculation of some other talking head.

“What’s going on?” Rab said, shifting, squished between Rodolphus and The Grim Reaper, she felt the present jostle, the bomb pressed into her hip.

She squeezed her book closer to herself, as if her very presence would make it go off.

“Checkpoint.”

“Alright, we’re checking out then.” Yaxley unlocked the door and tossed a hundred pounds at the cabbie. “Cheers lad.”

“Hey!”

The Grim Reaper shifted beneath her and Yaxley opened the door and she came tumbling out, caught by Yaxley’s strong arm. She looked up to see that they were in front of a crowded street with bars, restaurants, and cops everywhere. They all piled out and Yaxley adjusted her coat before slamming the door and pounding on the top to tell the cab to get lost.

Someone ran into her as they crowded onto the already bustling sidewalk, a canopy of Christmas lights strung overhead.

“Watch where you’re going!” The Grim Reaper said over her, shielding her from the onslaught of humanity.

She could hear Christmas music playing faintly from the stores that were open across the way, the doors jingling when they opened and shut. 

“Come on, then.” Rodolphus says finally, pointing somewhere down the street “Let’s get out of here before there’s more trouble.”

She took a step, and didn’t accurately judge how close she was to the curb, already crowded between the four men and slid off of it, only to be guided gently back up.

“It’s too crowded.” Yaxley said, “Go down a sidestreet!”

Hermione took two steps back away from them and saw a small alley between a restaurant and a department store. She turned back to the group and waved with her present. “This way!”

She took a step back into the alley, under the shadow of the two buildings, and ran right into one of the men she had seen on the train. He was imposing, his black baseball cap, his black bulky uniform and the metallic twinge of blood.

His hand swiped at her. “Caught you.”

She moved backwards, tripping over her own feet. The silver knife caught the Christmas lights on the high street and then suddenly, anger replaced fear and she kicked him in the shin, hoping to move him away from her.

He didn’t flinch, her foot made contact with someone hard, but definitely not bone. It bent unnaturally, plastic. He swung the knife back, her eyes watched it, wondering if the book could block it, and gripped it tightly.

Before she had a chance to strike again a fist came overhead and there was the sickening crunch of bones breaking as the Grim Reaper grabbed her around her waist, shielding her with his body.

The man in black recoiled, dropping the knife that she quickly picked up, wielding it out in front of her.

The cap that shadowed his face fell off as he cradled his nose.

“McLaggan?” She said, gripping the knife tighter. “An auror?”

Yaxley inserted himself between her and the cursing auror, his blood seeping through his fingers as he stepped away from them. “Took you awhile, MacLaggan, but you’ve always been a bit slow.”

“Fuck you, Yaxley. I’ll kill you myself.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Yaxley said, rocking forward so that he was stepping on one of the auror’s feet, and then before MacLaggan could move his hands away from his face. Yaxley shoved him backwards into a wall.

There was a howl of pain and McLaggan went down like a pile of bricks.

“Can’t you lot be quiet for a bloody minute?” Rab snapped brushing past the three of them. “Kill him, or stuff something in his mouth.”

“No!” Hermione cried, tossing the knife like it caught fire in her hands. “We’re not killing anyone.”

MacLaggan was curled into a ball, cradling his leg, sobbing and moaning.

“Then let’s fucking go before the cops come here to pick him up.” Rodolphus said.

“Why would the cops-”

“Use your brain, girl!” Yaxley said, grabbing her arm.

“Don’t tug on her!”

“Antonin!”

“Shut the fuck up, merlin.” Rab kicked at MacLaggan which only made him get louder. “Shut up!”

She moved away from the Grim Reaper. Her saviour a few times over, her devil.

There was only one Antonin.

Antonin Dolohov, who had cursed her in the Ministry. Truly he was befitting his nickname, her Grim Reaper.

“You tried to kill me.”

MacLaggan was howling like a wounded animal.

“Shut up!” Antonin said, kicking at the auror who was wailing on the ground, more people were looking at the group of them as they passed.

“You tried to fucking kill me! What business is it of yours to be touching me?” Hermione shouted, backing into the brick wall next to MacLaggan, who also, coincidentally tried to kill her,

“Listen,” Rab seemed very tetchy, his eyes kept moving towards the main street. “Stop shouting for one fucking minu-”

MacLaggan howled again, she could start to discern some words from his sobbing. “My leg! I fink you broke my leg.”
“Listen, girly, if you don’t get a fucking skip in your step pretty quickly here, we’re all going to be fucking killed.” Rab’s voice was low and deadly. “You won’t be worrying much longer about trying.”

“I’m not going anywhere with any of you.”

“I’m not letting you get killed.” Antonin insisted. “You’re with us.”

“Yes, ok! She’s with us.” Rodolphus grabbed her hand and pulled, but Antonin made a noise of annoyance. “We’ve got to get a move on, let’s sort this out over some drinks, yeah?”

“I’m not coming.” She said obstinately, yanking away from him, but shuffled away from MacLaggan, who noticed she was near enough to paw at her ankles. She made a hissing noise in irritation as she too, kicked his hands away from her.

“What’s all the commotion over here?” A voice said behind her.

“Time’s up.” Yaxley said, taking a step backwards away from her.

She whirled around to see flashlights of the police, their hi-vis vests even brighter in the Christmas light-show on the main street, and before she could make a movement one way or another, she was picked up like a sack of potatoes and thrown over Antonin’s shoulder.

“Let me down!”

“Not a chance.” He said as they passed more dumpsters and a cook who was smoking, he waved at them.

She pounded on Antonin’s back, her hair falling over her face so she couldn’t see unless she pushed herself upright. He moved fast, faster than she thought he could carrying a grown woman. She saw the police had found Maclaggan and were coming after them, the flashlights bobbing as they ran, but the other men moved faster.

She tightened her grip on the book and beat Antonin with it, smacking him with her hardcover as the wrapping paper tore away. “I hate you!”

“Good.” He said, “Continue.”

“Why is that good? If you want me to hate you, then let me down!”

“Dead people can’t hate.”

She paused her assault and shifted, trying to move upright, putting her hands on his shoulders. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Did you really think you could leave, bunny? Did you think they weren’t looking for you?”

MacLaggan was looking for her, he said as much. They knew that she was with them, and from now on they would be tied together. She was a criminal by association, an acomplice as Yaxley had put it.

She paused, the struggle stopping at the group turned down another side alley, this one even tighter between two old brick buildings, if she reached out she could touch the brick. She looked up and shadows of fire exits crowded in on them, brightly lit windows on either side and she sighed and sagged.

“It’s because of you.”

“It is.” He agreed.

“I wish you would have never moved in next door.” She protested. “I wish we never met.”

There was a clatter and she turned her eyes back behind her to see Rab knocking over a few trash cans to block the police that were following them, and then suddenly they burst out onto yet another brightly lit crowded street.

Antonin, for being a murderer, let her down gently, pulling the scarf back up over her nose. “We have met, bunny, and so you owe us a drink.”

She scowled at the nickname, and wondered if her teeth were really so offensive that even a perfect stranger could pick on her for them. She hadn’t thought of her teeth in a decade at least. She pressed the scarf onto her face.

Yaxley was waiting at the door of a pub, garland over the windows, electric candles within them. He was smacking a pack of Lucky Strikes against his hand, before bringing the pack to his lips and pulling out one.

“Lovely display.” He said sarcastically, gesturing and bowing like a doorman “Get inside.”

Was she a hostage?

She went inside willingly, shoving at Yaxley as she went in. “Ass.”

“Charming as always.” He said, and yet she could hear the humour in his voice.

She saw two nicely wrapped presents in a booth that was partially obscured from the door, Rab waved at her with a smile.

He looked so much like Rodolphus, a good decade younger with longer hair past his chin, it curled under it and away from it, in a messy mop. It reminded her of her own and she waved back and then cursed at herself.

Rab laughed and elbowed Rodolphus who gave her a critical look before turning back to the small laminated menu.

“What’ll it be, lads?” A waitress wearing a low cut red top placed her hand on the table as Yaxley and Antonin filed into the booth next to her, but she straightened back up once she saw Hermione shoved into the corner. “And lady.”

“Whisky”

“Whisky”

“Whisky”

“Two vodkas.”

“What kind?”

Antonin looked disgusted at the question. “The best.”

Hermione moved to pull down her scarf to order but Rab quickly moved it back up and gave her a terse smile, but warning in his eyes.

“And water.” She said into her scarf.

The waitress flashed a smile before leaving.

“What?” She asked.

Rab grabbed four, five, six napkins from the small dispenser on the table to the left of the presents and handed them to her, gesturing at her face.

Yaxley leaned over and made the same gesture “Wash your face, love, you’ve got blood all over it, your lipstick is smearing.”

She grabbed a spoon and pulled down the red scarf to see a clear handprint in blood and she glared at Antonin next to her. “Idiot.”

He waved her off as she began to try and wipe the blood off her face with the flimsy paper napkins, but none was coming off and she heard the clinking of glasses being set down, and a few muttered “Cheers.”

She angled the spoon she was using as a mirror and Rab, across from her, handed her a cold wet napkin he had dipped in water and she started to clean her face.

A shot glass was set down in front of her.

“To us, and those like us.” Yaxley said, holding up his whisky “Damn few that there are left.”

She looked at the shot glass full of vodka, her fingers hesitated to take it.

Were these friends? Was she not being held hostage by these criminals? She licked her lips, her face wet, her lipstick gone. Her hair had been blown every which way and her red sweater stained with mud, blood, and oil.

“To us.” Rab said and clinked her glass even though she hadn’t picked it up. “And those that have joined us.”

“I haven’t joined you,” She said, but she picked up the glass anyway.

“Ah, love, you’ve always been one of us.” Rodolphus said, clinking the rim of the glass against hers. “Even before you knew it. You’ve always been one of us.”

She took the shot before she could say anything else, the vodka burned all the way down her throat and she coughed as the glass was emptied, exhaling fire.

The men laughed and she flushed, embarrassed, but at the same time, for a moment, before she remembered who they were, she felt like she was someone again. Her day job was office work, she filed away legal documents in the archives. She was solitary, afraid she’d reveal her past as a witch to anyone who asked. Now, amongst these men, she was someone, albeit unwillingly. An accomplice, a comrade, something other than nothing at all.

It was warm in the pub, between the din of conversation, the warmth of Antonin beside her, and the Christmas music playing over tinny speakers. Deep, rich oak covered almost every available surface, plush red leather seats and warm yellow lamplight hung overhead. She could imagine that this was a normal outing, that everything was as it should be. It was unsettling to think how settled she could become with them.

She was so pathetically desperate. She scolded herself, looking at her book, the handprint of blood on one corner from the man next to her, the corners of the book were not exposed, its cover bent due to all the abuse it had suffered tonight.

Even in her imagination, she couldn’t get away from the reality of the horrors she had seen tonight. The death that choked up her nerve endings, the corpses strewn across the train. She bit her lip, trying to suppress all the emotions that welled up thinking of all the blood.

A hand brushed hers and she looked up to see Antonin, looking down at her with concern.

Not here, not now, not her.

The panic faded.

“Ah, fuck.” Yaxley said, setting his empty whisky glass down on the table. “It’s a cock up lads, our only hope is to get out to Hackney before anyone gets to us first.”

“So, save these for a rainy day then? We won’t get another opportunity for six months, if that.” Rodolphus gestured to the two remaining red boxes that sat between their whisky glasses. “It’s not soon enough. We need to do something .”

She gestured weakly. “Are they going to…”

“No,” Antonin said beside her, “They are not timed, the detonation device is in the ribbon. As Rab demonstrated.”

She saw her hand was close to the ribbon on one of them and shied away from it.

“Let’s just get rid of them then.” Rab said “Then we can head out to Hackney.”

“There’s no other time, now is the best time, now makes the statement, we’re close by, let’s just do it.” Rodolphus insisted, articulating each word with another tap on the table. “Besides, they’re not just garbage, Rab, we can’t just chuck them in a dumpster and hope nothing sets them off.”

“She is cold, and we are both hurt.” Antonin looked meaningfully at Rab. “It is better to go to Hackney now and fight another day.”

“I am tired of waiting!” Rodolphus countered.

She opened her mouth, but then the table tensed collectively and they all fell silent.

“Hello, lads…and lady.” The bar maid said swinging. “Eh? Don’t I know you from somewhere, little lady?”

Hermione shook her head. “It’s a common face.”

She bent down to pick up the glasses, her low cut top affording the whole table a view, but no one stared at her, instead, when she bent down there was a view of the TV over the bar top, she could see the camera cut to Charing Cross.

“You’ve been on TV? I swear I have seen you before.”

Rodolphus moved so quickly she didn’t even see it. One hand was full of the barmaid’s hair and the other was holding a switchblade. She recognised it as the one she had discarded from MacLaggan. Her eyes widened, but the barmaid froze, she made no noise and instead stared directly at the laminated menu at the back of the table.

Hermione saw her own photo, from her Hogwarts graduation on the television screen. Person’s of Interest . It cut back to the news anchor on the BBC.

Yaxley had seen it too, had seen his own photo next to hers and suddenly it made sense. The aurory had been hunting down Yaxley’s gang, and she had gotten caught in the middle of it, and now “she” was part of “ they” . The aurory had provided the details to the police, including the portraits, she recognised the DMLE pin on Yaxley’s jacket, and the Gryffindor stripe on her tie. Rodolphus LeStrange, Rabastan LeStrange, and Antonin Dolohov all were in Azkaban garb, holding up signs that were cut off at the top so people couldn’t see the name of the prison.

That was why MacLaggan had come for her. The aurory were not going to let the purebloods out alive. She was tainted by association.

“We’re going to keep a secret between you and us, yeah? You didn’t see her, you’ve never seen her, and you’re going to forget her name, right quick.” Rodolphus spoke quickly, his voice deadly. “We’re going to leave, and if I meet one of those pigs, I will know you called them. I will find out-”

“Enough, Rodolphus.” Hermione hissed, now completely invested in making sure they got out of this pub alive. “We’re all going to get up, and we’re going to pay for our drinks, and we’re going to leave .”

The knife got closer to her throat and the barmaid stopped breathing.

“It’s Christmas, Rodolphus.” Hermione said, steel in her voice. She wouldn’t compromise.

No one moved, waiting, and then Rodolphus made a decision, snapping the switchblade shut.

“Thank her.” He said.

“Thank you.” The Barmaid said, her voice cracked on the k .

“Merry Christmas.” Hermione said and kicked Antonin “Merry Christmas, let’s go.”

Yaxley moved first, stepping out of the booth, and then the bar maid stepped back from all of them, holding her hands up in surrender, Rabastan and Rodolphus grabbed the two remaining bombs on the table. Hermione dug into the pocket in her skirt and pulled out her small wallet, pulling out a fifty, and then a twenty, and shoved it at the waitress.

“I’m really sorry about this.”

“What?”

“Let’s go, bunny!” Antonin called from the door.

“Really, I’m so sorry, thank you so much.” She pulled out another tenner and quickly shoved it at the waitress, Antonin crossed the crowded pub and put his arm around her.

“Merry Christmas.” She said, an apology if any.

She shot Antonin a dirty look but did not pull away from him as he led her out.

“Where are we?” Yaxley said as she stepped outside, smacking the pack of cigarettes against his hand.

This seemed to be his nervous tick, as every time he did this, he would survey the area for threats.

“Close to where we need to be.” Rodolphus pointed up at a street sign at an intersection. The only sign that she could read said “Bedford”

“If we’re close, then let’s just do it.” Rab sounded resigned at this point “So he’ll shut up about it.”

It was to say something about criminal enterprises, or about this particular enterprise that nobody seemed quite invested in doing it, but felt that they must do it because they were already out and about for the evening. As if bombing buildings were one of the many errands they had to do before they went home.

“Where are we planning on doing this?” Hermione said as another wind picked up and so did Rodolphus, heading down another street, she pulled the pea coat close around her and looked up at Antonin who wore nothing but a stained white shirt.

He must be cold.

He met her eyes and shook his head.

How did he know that she was thinking about him?

“The Leaky.” Yaxley said in front of her.

“So you are killing someone tonight?’

“Are buildings people?” Rab said further up and she had to pick up the pace to hear him over the noise of the crowds and the Christmas music drifting out of all the shops. “Be reasonable, it’s a statement.”

“Hopefully there’s enough people who can understand it.” Rodolphus said sourly beside his brother. “It took long enough to get this statement together.”

As they moved out of sight of the pub, the group walked slower, this was not due to comfort since they were not being chased, but because she simply couldn’t keep up with them, and after a while, they had slowed to match her pace. Antonin did not move from her side. He walked as slow as she did, nearest to the street, and people parted for him avoiding the man who was covered in blood.

She passed a large toy shop, the display was dazzling inside, moving ferris wheels full of toys, teddy bears and nutcrackers, fake snow heaped up in little piles amongst colourful ribbons. She could hear Rabastan, Yaxley, and Rodolphus arguing up ahead of her, the smell of Yaxley’s cigarettes mixed with the winter air.

Antonin shadowed her in her reflection in the mirror, her curly hair blew back behind her, the oversized coat that hung off her shoulders like a cloak. Despite knowing who he was then, and now, she could not deny his beauty. It was this cloying desperation to life that gave him the appearance of a demon cast out of hell, his sunken features made everything so much more sharp and clear.

The contrast between Antonin and herself was so striking in the window of the toy shop. Her curly brown and blonde hair, her light features and rosy cheeks from the wind, her eyes met his in their own reflection.

“It suits you.” He said finally, and the arguing got louder.

He did.

She shook her head.

“No?” He pointed at the stuffed rabbit in the window “A bunny for the bunny.”

“Why do you call me that?” She asked, irritated, turning away from her reflection so she didn’t have to see her mouth.

“Every Thursday you go to Tesco and only buy food for rabbits. Rabbit food and red wine.”

She looked up at him shocked, Yaxley was cursing at Rodolphus.

“What?”

“Always those expensive salads that come in the plastic boxes, and red wine. I see you buying bunny food, you should buy real food.”

“Is that…it’s not about my teeth?”

He made a frown and leaned down close to her, his eyes on her mouth. Her heart raced and she stepped backwards into the window. “No.”

She was beet red.

“You are what you eat.” He said “You are a bunny.”

There were only a few inches between their faces. She hated how desperate she was for human companionship that he was attractive to her.

“Don’t be such a bloody idiot!” Yaxley’s voice cut her thoughts and Antonin stood up straight.

“We are a block away.”

“We can also get on the tube to Hackney and forget this whole thing.” Yaxley pointed at a sign: Leicester Square. “Don’t you think they’ll expect us?”

“At Charing Cross maybe, listen, if you can’t cut it Yax, then we’ll go by ourselves.” Rodolphus said, stepping away

“No, we go together.” Antonin insisted. “If we are close, we can be quick. Rodolphus is right, this is our chance.”

Yaxley wheedled for a minute, taking a drag of his cigarette and looking meaningfully at Hermione.

“If you don’t want to do it then don’t do it.” She said, resigned. “I don’t want to be a part of this either but it doesn’t look like I have a choice. Either I am with you, or I will go home and get arrested.”

“It’s simple, we do this now, no one gets hurt, and we make a point.” Rodolphus said.

Yaxley exhaled smoke and looked at the toy display behind Hermione. “I want to make a statement. I just know how these operations work and I think we’re buying time until one of us gets caught. You know we can’t use our skills to get out of this one, they’ll swarm us like bees.”

“What point are you making?” Hermione asked. “Why do this at all?”

Crowds of people moved around them, and Antonin moved closer to her to shield her from the churn. He was so oddly protective of her, courteous and overbearing. When she was with him, no one came near her, and each time she was in danger he would appear just before it struck, saving her over and over.

She looked up at him, and their eyes met.

She looked away quickly. She didn’t like the way her heart beat faster when he looked at her.

“The point is, purebloods haven’t moved away from Britain, we haven’t all collectively bought French Villas and are living the high life. Our friends, our families have been destroyed by the Ministry. I want them to see what their destruction has done.” Rodolphus said, convicted.

“Tonight,” Antonin said, his words measured to try and rid his accent. “Tonight they killed so many to get to us . If they did not fear us, would they have slaughtered so many?”

“You think they will see your suffering if you destroy a pub?”
Rabastan shook his head, giving her a rueful smile. “I think they will ask why the pub got destroyed. I think if the Ministry got rid of all the pureblood extremists like they said, then no one would be blowing up pubs.”

“There are still extremists.” Hermione said, amongst the extremists.

“Exactly, so if we all voluntarily left, why are we making statements?” Yaxley said tapping his temple, the lit cigarette in his hand. “So, we go.”

“You’ll be just as bad as them.” Hermione protested, balling her hands up into fists, hating that she agreed with them, but she could not go along with it.

“Think of how many more massacres will happen while we live and the Ministry wants us dead!” Rodolphus said.

“I want to be responsible.” Antonin said quietly beside her. “I want them to look at Diagon Alley and wonder why twenty five muggles were stabbed and the Leaky Cauldron was blown up. I want them to wonder about all the purebloods they drove to hiding and think about what the government has done to us. I will not be caged any longer. I will not be left to rot in the shadows.”

“I won’t help you.” She said, and she saw Rabastan look away, anger in his eyes. “But I’ll go with you.”

The truth of the matter was that no matter what, she was stuck with them until she could come up with a plan. She was a wanted criminal, her photo was alongside theirs on the television. Even if she hadn’t done anything, she had been with them enough to be tainted by association.

“Perfect!” Yaxley seemed exceptionally cheerful as he looked at Antonin. “Everything’s sorted. We’ll just go to the Leaky and get arrested then.”

“Sod off, Yaxley.” Rodolphus said, and turned to his left, heading towards Charing Cross Road.

She looked at a clothing store as they passed, watching her reflection, her mind racing, trying to come up with ideas of what to do to leave them before she really was arrested. The longer she thought of it, the less hopeful she was of getting out of this as a misunderstanding.

They turned again and suddenly they stopped in front of a dark building, there was a sign overhead that was taped up with a For Sale and chipped green paint on the building, every window was boarded up and the door itself looked like it was ready to fall off its hinges. She knew this place well, it was the muggle entrance to Diagon Alley.

“I’m not going in.” She said obstinately, crossing her arms in Antonin’s coat.

“Good.” Antonin said “Wait here.”

She liked it less that he agreed with her protest.

He turned to her and looked her over once, his fingers going to the lapel of her coat and he pulled out the scarf that had been tucked inside, and carefully he wrapped it around her face. She batted him away, frustrated.

Gods, the attention that he paid to her set her on fire. They all watched her carefully, more carefully than she had ever been treated before. Every motion, every emotion was given space to breathe, the men, criminals all, treated her better than all her friends had ever done. She hated them all the more for it, for being decent, despite their motives.

Antonin, unlike the rest, treated her like glass, carefully predicting her moves and wants before she could voice them. It was as if he knew her all her life, her thoughts to be his own, and each time she felt discomfort, he spoke. Each time she needed, he provided. She craved this type of indulgence. It was so rich it almost hurt to receive, and yet the more she got it from him, the more she wanted.

His attentions were addicting.

It was dark in the alley between Charing Cross and Bedford Road. She stood in the shadows of the pub, her eyes trained on an alley that ran north south between the two roads. She could see the smoke from the kitchens that lined the alley, the dumpsters, the faint sound of crowds. It had been only a few minutes and she kept looking at the door that had closed behind Rab, who was the last to enter, giving her a cheeky salute as the door swung closed behind him.

She smoothed over the wrapping paper on her book, now she can see part of the title: The Possessed , was in glittering gold filigree, peeking out from the crumpled bow. She had paid extra to get it wrapped at the bookstore. A present because no one else would buy her one. And now, instead, she was a wanted criminal, her book was nearly ruined, and her Christmas Eve had been one horror to the next.

The most recent horror being that she felt lonely when they had all left her out here, because she was so pathetic and stupid to think that being held hostage by polite criminals constituted as some kind of friendship.

The constant reminder of her own state of affairs made her eyes sting.

Christmas was a constant, blinking, reminder of how she had screwed up her life thanks to witnessing the crimes of the Ministry of Magic.

She heard footsteps and stepped back into the shadows even more, a man, tall, dressed in a black wool peacoat and a sharp suit turned to look at her. His eyes widened in shock.

“Hermione?”

Green eyes, green eyes that she hadn’t seen in five years at the very least. He came towards her, and her back flattened against the boarded window. She was well and truly caught. Harry Potter was the prolific auror. How was she going to explain being here? How was she going to explain being with them?

“Harry, so good to see you.” How easy it was to lie these days!

“What are you doing here?” He said, but didn’t look at her, his eyes drawn to the door. “It’s a bit late, don’t you think?”

She looked down at the book in her hands.

“I am just waiting for a friend.”

Harry nodded briskly, and let out a long suffering sigh. It was almost as if her presence pained him. He raised his hand and did a two finger come hither to his left . Two men came rushing, their footsteps heavy, their outfits oddly familiar.

They wore the same baseball caps as MacLaggan, as the murderers on the train. Fear filled her with led, and she felt her heart jump into her throat. 

“Didn’t want that to be the case. Hermione Granger, you’re under arrest for aiding and abetti-”

She shrieked as a hand grabbed at her, smacking it away with the book, and moving towards the door which suddenly banged open to reveal Antonin. He was furious, his eyes had the same rage that she had seen in the Ministry, that unfocused madness. Except now she knew it was for her. He moved quickly to her side, the comfort of his shadow as she stepped away from the aurors to him.

There was comfort in the danger he provided, the protection he could offer her.

“Antonin Dolohov! You are under arrest for the murder of no less than twenty-”

“He didn’t do that!” Hermione shouted. “Your lackeys did it! I witnessed it, I fucking saw them! Don’t you lie to me Harry Potter!”

The one closest to her tried to make a grab for her again but Antonin pulled her closer to him, the Auror grabbed her shirt and tore it and she screamed, hitting him again with her book.

“I’m sorry, Hermione, we knew you were involved, but I didn’t know it would come to this.” Harry said, shaking his head. “We’ll sort it out after you’re processed yeah?”

Wands were drawn and she saw three of them pointed at her face. She had snapped her wand, and knew that Antonin had done the same, the wands could be used for Ministry tracing. Antonin’s arm was around her chest and she closed her eyes as he hugged her to him.

No, this wasn’t going to be how her Christmas went. She had to do something. She didn’t need a wand to fight. She was Hermione Granger.

“Not here, not now, not me.” She said under her breath, gathering her courage. 

She lashed out, grabbing the wand closest to her and the auror holding it yanked it back from her, but she wasn’t letting it go, her hand only tightened, she could feel the wand wood flexing in her fist. The warmth of magic buzzing in her hand.

“Fucking bitch.” The auror took his free hand and reeled it back, intending to strike.

The door to the Leaky slammed open and Yaxley, followed by Rodolphus and Rabastan came tumbling out, and the three of them froze.

“Shit.” Yaxley said, cigarette in his mouth. 

He looked at the aurory, and then looked back behind him into the Leaky Cauldron.

Hermione’s eyes widened. Yaxley didn’t care about the aurors, he cared that they had just set the bombs. This building was going to blow up and they were all standing in the shadow of it.

Death by auror, or death by this cocked up explosion.

Harry let out a laugh.

“Indeed, Corban Yax-”

Hermione snapped the wand in her hand and it sent off a pop enough to distract Harry and she shoved him away from her. Hoping he would get the picture and get away from the building. “Just leave it Harry!”

She ran.

She ran faster than she had ever run before, the present in one hand, the other held half a wand tip and she dodged garbage in the alley as she ran as far away from the building and from the aurors as possible.

The explosion made her trip, it was louder than she had expected and the pallet came out of nowhere, but she didn’t hit the ground, instead she was caught by her midsection and hauled upwards.

It was bright. It was brighter than it was in the tunnel, framed perfectly by dumpsters and pipes in the narrow alleyway. Yaxley, Rodolphus, and Rabastan were in front of her, rushing to meet her.

She could feel the heat even where she stood.

“Are you ok?” Antonin asked, holding her against him.

She held out the wand tip to him. Her hand was burnt from the magic sizzling. The two of them are illuminated by the fire of the Leaky Cauldron burning. He cupped her hand gently in his and tilted it so that he could see it better. An angry red welt was across her palm.

Rabastan made a noise of irritation. “Was a stupid fucking pub anyways.”

“Ok, loves, let’s go, let’s go! I don’t think the aurory are going to wait for the whole thing to burn to come and get us.” Yaxley said brushing past them. “I think we’re pretty fucking obvious out here!”

“You’re pretty fucking obvious.” Rodolphus shot back as he walked past her. “Poncy blonde hair, it’s unnatural.”

The idea of running any more made her ribs twinge. And yet she knew he was right, the aurory would come, they ran pretty much straight on from the remnants of the Leaky. She was illuminated in its destruction even here. She could hear the roar of fire, and the thundering of footsteps but Antonin didn’t move.

“Ready?”

She nodded and turned down the alley where Rodolphus, Yaxley, and Rabastan already were running down and followed. The wind in her hair, the smell of smoke hung in the air.

She kept up her run as fast as she could, her hand stung, and her skirt would catch on her legs. Her only saving grace were the sensible leather boots she wore. Her lungs hurt as they continued down the alley.  The cold air made them burn and finally Yaxley found an open back door to a kitchen and ducked inside.

“Excuse me! Customers!”

Yaxley had a way of smoothing everything over as he walked in with cash or quick words. She understood now how the aurory finessed so many people, Antonin was the last in, and closed the kitchen door behind them.

They were in a kebab shop, Turkish men in white chef outfits were prepping various meats, chopping up lamb and vegetables, racks and racks of lavash were stacked off to one side. She gave an awkward smile as a man, counting the twenty pound notes that had just been handed to him, showed Yaxley to the front of the shop.

No one said anything. Instead she stared at the cheap red linoleum on the table. She flexed her hand that was still holding the book.

“Did they get to you?” 

No answer, she could see the flames of the building still in the red linoleum,

“Antonin?”

“No, I don’t think- She hit them.” He sounded a bit exasperated. “Her hand is burnt, she broke off a wand.”

“She did what ?”

“I assaulted an auror.” She muttered into the table, her shoulders hunched in shame. “Aiding and…aiding and abetting is what he said.”

Harry had looked at her so coldly. It twinged.

“Two if you include Potter.”

“Yaxley!” Rabastan sounded outraged.

“I’m going to go to prison forever.” She said, her heartbeat in her ears “All because of you idiots!”

“It’s over now,” Rodolphus sat across from her on the outside of the booth. “It’s over and we’ll just head to Hackney and everything will blow over.”

Her head shot up. How is it they didn’t understand the seriousness of what they had done, of what she had done? She had witnessed a massacre, helped them destroy the Leaky Cauldron, assaulted two aurors, and “aided and abetted” Death Eaters.

“What the fuck is in Hackney, Rodolphus? I’m a fucking criminal in Westminster or Hackney, it doesn’t matter where!”

“Is it better to be a criminal or forgotten?” Yaxley said, pulling another cigarette out of his pack of Lucky Strikes.

She grabbed his stupid pack of cigarettes and threw them on the ground, it was all she could do. All her anger boiled over finally. “Fuck you, Yaxley. I am not going to deal with ideologies at ten oh-fucking-clock on Christmas Eve! My Christmas Eve!”

The three men across from her didn’t move, they just stared at her like she had gone mad.

She felt mad, and ashamed of it.
She got up very slowly, the panic in her body, the newfound criminality made every movement almost robotic, and she moved her heavy limbs to the restroom that was just behind her, a dingy room the size of a broom closet, not even big enough for her to stretch her legs out and closed the door slowly, before collapsing.

It hurt, but she threaded her fingers in her own hair, pulling her knees up to her chest, staring down at the cracked linoleum flooring that had a yellowish fleur-de-lis pattern on it. The exhaust fan in the bathroom rattled and hummed and she wanted to cry, she wanted to throw up, but she felt like this was a dream, or someone else’s body. So all Hermione did in the bathroom of the Kebab shop was stare at the disgusting pattern on the floor, her breathing coming out in quick pants.

She was going to get the kiss, just like Pansy.

There were a few knocks on the flimsy door to the dingy restroom, she counted them, one, two, three, they sounded distant. “My bunny, can I come in?”

His voice was low, it was words only meant for her.

She made this choking noise, like a wounded animal. She felt like she couldn’t even form words, and the door opened, a crack at first and then Antonin sat down with her on the floor. She thought it ironic that someone so giant, so untouchable, would crouch down with her as she hid in the restroom.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just the whir and hum of the fan between them. She could hear the voices outside as Yaxley ordered food. “Will you spend Christmas with us?” He finally said “English Christmas.”

“In jail?” She said, almost hysterical. What was he saying?

“Hackney.”

Why were they so obsessed with Hackney? The only place they were all going was jail.

“I fucking hate Hackney.” She said, but it came out in a sob and the emotions that wouldn’t come, all the hurt, and pain and fear that had been pushed aside so she could make it to this dingy kebab shop came out at once in this gasping sob. “I hate Hackney.”

Antonin Dolohov, once murderer, three times her savior, stroked her hair. “Ah, bunny, you have been too brave tonight.”

“I fucking…I fucking hate Hackney, and I just wanted to read my stupid book and eat my stupid food.” She said, digging her palms into her eyes, trying to curl up into a ball. Embarrassed by her own emotions, her own madness. “I just wanted another lonely Christmas, and now I’m going to die, we’re going to die like Pansy.”

She wondered if it hurt when your soul left your body, and the very thought of that moment, watching all that made you you, being pulled out of you like a weed by a dark monster made her cry even harder. She should have just ordered takeout, and instead, she became a criminal. She watched the Ministry kill Pansy, and then slaughter muggles on a train.

She had tried to run from the truth that her friends had chosen to become monsters. She had snapped her wand to turn away from it, and yet they came for her, the truth chased her relentlessly, all the way to Westminster, all the way even, apparently, to Hackney.

Antonin gathered her into his arms, holding her hand that had a large red welt, gently in his so she didn’t hurt herself. He was warm, and his touches were always so considerate, he pulled the hair away from her face that had gotten stuck in her tear tracks. 

“I will not let you die.” He said to her very seriously, his eyes black as they met hers.

His thumbs brushed the tears away from her cheeks. She shook her head. “You can’t promise me that when you will die too.”

“Have I let them harm you tonight? Or before tonight?”

She sniffed and shook her head. “Before tonight I didn’t matter, before I met you I wasn’t anyone.”

“You have always been someone to us, and to them.” He said “I will protect you, I won’t let them take you. I have done well so far, can you trust me a little longer?”

She frowned. What was he saying? “Antonin-”

His eyes lit up when she said his name and warmth flooded her, that connection that she so craved was there.

The door opened all the way and she looked up, realising that she was on top of Antonin. Yaxley handed her a bottle of water and held up a pair of car keys

“Car? Acquired. Water? Also acquired. I aim to please.”

She sniffed and wiped the tears away quickly, embarrassed to be seen in such a state.

“Food?” Rabastan asked behind Yaxley, she could only see his hair, and the silver foil of a wrapped kebab

“I’m not hungry.” She said. “I want-”

Yaxley turned and grabbed something and tossed a brown paper bag, she opened it and looked inside: french fries.

She did want these though.

“Ok, ready?” Rodolphus sounded impatient. “Hackney? Are we done bitching about Hackney and we can go ?”

“Where did you get the car?” Hermione asked, well aware she was sitting on top of Antonin on the floor of the grimiest restroom in London.

“Many friends can be made, when you have money.” Yaxley said and offered his hand. “Ready to go? Or need a minute?”

She sighed and picked out one French fry before eating it, it was so hot and salty. She hadn’t realised how hungry she was until she tasted it. She looked up at the three men crowding her, and knew that no matter how quiet the kebab shop was, they were sitting ducks so close to the bombing.

“We go at her pace.” Antonin warned. “Don’t get pushy again, Yax.”

“I am not pushing, but I’d like her pace to be a bit quicker before her pace matches the cop’s pace.” Yaxley rocked back and forth on his feet before stepping back away from the door, but she got up.

Resigned, she ate another fry. “Fine, Hackney right?”

“Hackney.” Yaxley agreed.

“I hate Hackney.” Hermione said, stepping out of the restroom.

“We know.” Rodolphus said, and started towards the door. “These walls are made of paper.”

They stepped out to the main street entrance of the Kebab shop to see a beautiful black BMW parked right under the sign. She looked back at the shop, which did not look like it could afford to buy, nor sell a brand new BMW. “Who did you get this from?”

“The owner said he got it from a friend for some favours . I didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell. This is how cars work. Money, keys, car.”

That wasn’t at all how any of this worked. 

Hermione didn’t correct him as Rabastan opened the door for her and she got into the back seat, in the middle and she noted that the all leather interior looked like no one had sat on it before her. Antonin got in beside her, Rabastan to her left, Yaxley the driver’s seat, and Rodolphus the passenger seat.

Yaxley adjusted the mirror and gave her a thumbs up, a toothy smile. He preened “Not bad, right?”

She felt a little off about the car, but Rabastan tossed the book on her lap, now the top half of the wrapping paper had gone missing, the full title on display: The Possessed, The Devils, The Demons .

Antonin tapped on the title. “Exactly the same as the Ministry.”

She looked up at him, surprised, as he shifted, his injured arm now resting on the arm rest near the door, the other on the back of the seat so that she was nestled into his side. They fit perfectly together, they always did.

“You’ve read it?”

The man at the bookshop had recommended this, he was always friendly when she came into the store, and so, despite this edition being a bit pricier, she had thought to treat herself with it, even now, she tried to bend the corners back flat at the edges of the book, soothing it’s wounds as if they were her own. Her own present, almost ruined, and yet continued to make its way through the night, just as she had.

Before Antonin could answer, the car started, and then stalled. “The parking brake, you idiot.” Rodolphus muttered.

They drove for a long while after that, there was the lull of stop go traffic, the Christmas lights as they wound their way out of the heart of London blurred as they drove by. The radio played Christmas pop songs, Wonderful Christmastime lulled her into a halfway dreamlike state, Rodolphus started a sentence but Rabastan hushed him. Sleighbells punctuated the chorus and she felt Antonin adjust her against him, her book pressed against her chest.

“Shit.” Yaxley whispered.

“Shit.”  Rodolphus said louder.

“Shit.” Rabastan answered.

She opened her eyes and looked in the rearview mirror to see red and blue flashing lights. They were on a bridge from the looks of it, cars rushing by, and she could see two cops in their high-vis vests walking towards the car. She straightened up, thinking this would make her less suspicious in the eyes of the law.

“Good evening gents,” A voice said to her right, and she wanted to shrink down and hide, and Antonin, still covered in his own blood, moved to hide it from the window. “Mind if we all take a step out of the vehicle.”

The flashlight shone in her eyes and Antonin, unwillingly, unlocked the door and slid out first, followed by Hermione, who was kept almost completely hidden by a wall of men. Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Antonin, all stood mostly in front of her, she was pressed between Antonin and the passenger side door. They were on a well lit bridge, and she looked up to see the looming Tower Bridge, two castles, adorned in gold lights.

Cars drove past them at high speed on the mostly empty bridge, the two cops tried to get a look at her and instead grabbed at Antonin’s shirt. “A bit of a brawl boys?”

“It’s Christmas, and the pub was having a bit of a special.” Yaxley was charming, charming in the way cops liked. “Unfortunately, the lads are rowdy and broke some glasses.”

“And the girl?”

“A friend.” She said clearly. “Just heading home, officers to patch them up.”

The two cops, one taller than the other, both considerably pudgy, flashed the light at her again and it was blinding, she covered her eyes. “Been drinking?”

“No, sir.” She lied.

One shot wasn’t really drinking.

“You know these men?”

“Yes, sir.” She replied just as quickly.

The two cops moved away from her and towards Yaxley, who stood closest to the trunk of the car. Another car roared past them, a cold breeze made her teeth chatter. Antonin moved closer to her, shielding her from the wind.

There was a sudden bang, and she whipped towards the sound to see one of the cops hitting the trunk with the butt of his flashlight. “Is this you, Mr. Henry Brown?”

She watched with narrowed eyes as they held up Yaxley’s license and Yaxley, to his credit, or perhaps to his stupidity, reached for his crumpled up Lucky Strikes in his front pocket. “I know, I look quite young for my age.”

“Mr Henry Brown, are you aware that you are driving a stolen vehicle?” The second cop said, flashing a light in his eyes.

The men all tensed, even Yaxley seemed to forget how to move.

“Is that a no, then?”

“Apologies officer,” Hermione moved sideways, towards Yaxley, standing beside him. “We were loaned the car for the night by a friend of mine. We’re just on our way to Bethnal Green, and it’s hard to get a bus out there this time of night, on Christmas Eve .”

“A friend of yours then?” The officer shone the flashlight in her eyes.

“A friend of yours?” Yaxley echoed.

“Yes, sir.” She said “If it’s stolen, I can give you their address, but we aren’t looking for trouble, there’s a bus stop not far from here, and we can find our way home.”

The officer who was not shining an incredibly bright light in her eyes made a move. “I’m sorry to tell you miss, that if a friend of yours is dealing in stolen goods, the next thing they’re going to steal is your Christmas. You’re going to have to come down to the station.”

“I understand,” She said and looked up at Yaxley, hopeful that he had found yet another way to get her out of this situation, like he usually did.

He looked panicked now, more than ever. Dread settled into her, colder than the winter wind. She thought she could talk her way out of this one, or that she could buy time for someone to come up with a better plan to deal with the cops than no plan at all, but no one moved, no one breathed.

Another car sped past them and a shiver of fear ran down her spine, she took one step, then two with the officers.

“Do you have an ID?” They asked, as they walked back towards their cop car, she felt one of them grab onto her upper arm.

Her luck had run out. Why did she have to believe Antonin when he was just another human like her? Fallible.

“Yeah,” She said, her mouth was so dry she wasn’t sure she could form words, then suddenly they all tumbled out of her at once. Lies on top of lies. “Yeah, in my pocket, sir. This is all a big mistake, we had no idea it was stolen. They told us to take it home tonight and return it in the morning. We can take you back to them!”

“Get to it then, miss.” The other one said and then as she moved to get her wallet out of her only pocket, shifting her book from one hand to the other, the hand that was gripping onto her upper arm released.

Two bodies fell at her feet and she started screaming.

Had she killed them? She turned around to see Antonin standing not three feet behind her with two cops at her feet, crumpled and lying face down at unnatural angles in front of their own cop car, the lights still flashing.

“Dead? Are they dead?” She asked shrilly.

“No!” He looked offended. “You said no killing. They’re just…sleeping!”

“On the street? On the bloody bridge?” She was shivering all over, her teeth were chattering and she knew it was not because she was cold.

Yaxley moved fast now and bent down near her, grabbing the officer to her left and beginning to drag him to the car, his boots dragging and jumping on the rough asphalt. “Come on love, help me get them into the car. If he’s used magic, we’re not going to be alone much longer.”

She grabbed the other arm of the heavy cop, dragging his body back towards the cop car and opening the door. She bent down after Yaxley had adjusted him in his seat, putting her ear near his nose to hear the soft exhales. Not dead then.

The other door opened and she saw Rab and Antonin stuff the other cop into the passenger seat, Rab, for all he was worth, buckled him into the front seat and slammed the door. Tapping on the top three times, as Yaxley had done with the cab earlier.

Rodolphus took the keys out of the cop car, and the keys of the stolen car and chucked them over the bridge. “Come on, let’s get off the bridge and back towards the crowds down there, the aurory won’t be able to track us as easily.”

“What have you done?” Hermione hissed as the five of them walked briskly away from the cop car, wind blowing her hair every which way. The woollen coat did nothing for this type of wind, it cut through to the bone. “What did you do to them?”

Antonin had his arms crossed as well, so finally, some arctic temperatures did get to him. “I was saving your life! Let Yaxley go to jail, he’s the one who bought the car.”

“Oy!”

“How much did you pay for that car?” Rab said beside her

“Just a couple thousand.”

“And nothing struck you as odd to get a brand new car for only a couple thousand pounds?” Hermione asked, her voice raising.

“How am I supposed to know how much one costs? A couple thousand seemed fair!”

“I’m going to burn that kebab shop down.” Rodolphus said under his breath.

There was a loud bong and she yelped, afraid that it was some other law enforcement that had come to harass her tonight. However, it was the clock tower announcing midnight. The five of them stopped on the bridge, looking over the city, cars racing past, catching her hair and blowing it around.

The city of London looked distant from the bridge, the golden lights glittering off the Thames and Yaxley walked up to the railing and leaned over it before turning back to her. “Hey, Hermione, Merry Christmas.”

“Merry fucking Christmas.” Rodolphus bites back “Merry fucking Christmas we’re on some bridge and I’m cold.”

She shoved Yaxley, briefly and he let out a bark of laughter as he fended her off.

“Merry Christmas, idiot.” She said and he walked backwards away from her, and she felt, briefly, the adrenaline leave her as she chased him, shoving him again.

“I never want to see your face on Christmas again.” She said as they ran across the bridge. “Mr. 4B! Mr. Corban fucking Yaxley!”

She was out of breath and she shoved him one final time and he caught her as she stumbled, only to get shoved by Rabastan.

“Merry Christmas, to the girl who almost got me killed three, no four times tonight.”

She shouldered him and he dodged her, she couldn’t help but laugh as they made their way off the bridge.

“Merry Christmas to Hermione fucking Granger.” Yaxley shouted “My worst neighbour!”

“Worst neighbour?” She said reaching to shove him again and he dodged out of the way. “I’ll push you into the Thames, and then I’ll have no neighbour! ”

When they reached the bus stop, they must have said Merry Christmas to each other in every form of insult imaginable. She sat down as Antonin perused the map on the stop. “This gets us pretty close to Hackney. We might have to take a local line once we get there.”

Yaxley lit another cigarette and Antonin sat down beside her on the cold metal seat in the small lit shelter, their backs to the river.

She sighed and watched the lights decorating the trees across the intersection, butting up against old buildings, each window lit up in the warm glow. She could see her breath billow out as clear as Yaxley’s smoke.

“Ah, but this is it.” She said finally, sobered up now that they were far from the cops, the bridge, the danger. “My last night of freedom.”

“Why?” Antonin asked beside her “Because you are with us now?”

She nodded, her throat tight. That was the truth. “Because I’ll be arrested with you, most likely.”

Rabastan leaned on the shelter and bent over, his eyes alight. “The aurory will never find you, you are forgotten, just like us. Non-entities. Embrace this freedom of being no one at all.”

“But you are someone,” Antonin said “You’re ours, always have been.”

“Will you remember that when they arrest me?”

“When they arrest us , you mean.” Rodolphus said, his hands shoved into his pockets. “It’ll always be together. Us, and the annoying bunny girl.”

She heard the roar of the bus, its bright light a beacon of warmth, lighting the way home. She was the last to get up, and it was harder than she expected. Her legs burned as she stood, the amount of running she had done in the past four hours was more than she’d done in months.

Antonin waited for her and until it was just the two of them in that bus shelter.

“Hey,” He said, offering his hand. “We both go down together.”

“Yeah, I know.” She took it, it was better than being lonely.

“I’m not much, but I’m better than nothing.” He seemed embarrassed by this, but she could see he was pleased, even a little, as he squeezed her hand.

“Honestly,” she said, stepping closer to him, backlit by the bus lights. “I’m glad it’s you.”

He looked away from her at the bus, but she could see it before he turned away, the smile on his lips. “It’s always been you.” He said, towards the bus, hoping she couldn’t hear.

She flushed, but did not let go of his hand as they boarded.

They all piled onto the back of the bus, each one of them saying Merry Christmas to the bus driver before tiredly bunching up in a cluster of seats that faced each other. Hermione yawned and rubbed her eyes, trying her best to stay awake.

There was a crack of thunder, followed by two more.

“Not here, not now, not us.” Antonin breathed, holding her tighter against him.

Rabastan took off his blue coat and tossed it at her and she batted it away, but as they made one stop, then three, she eventually curled up into Antonin’s side, and belatedly, as she listened to Yaxley talking, his scottish accent lulling her to sleep, Antonin stroked her hair away from her face.

Next Stop Aldgate . 

She was asleep.