The Space Between

The ice in my veins thaws with every step closer to our house. Ron and Hermione are the two people that keep me anchored - I've lost everyone else close to my heart. If something extreme has happened to either one, I don't know if I could bear it.

I swallow hard to keep my emotions in check.

I'm close enough now to see shadowy forms through the front windows. A red flash of light directed downward sends pain through my chest scar like a poison eating away at me from the inside. What the hell is happening in there?

Either Ron or Hermione has been cursed again, I can tell, but why are they still alive? They're waiting for you, a sinister voice whispers in my mind.

Rather than make my presence known by entering through the front door, I sneak toward the back, ducking under windows. As I suspected, there are two Death Eaters perched on the back step, waiting for me to Apparate into the backyard.

The surveillance they employed worked well to determine the end of Quidditch practice and my usual path home. Until now. They're obviously unaware of the way the scar we share works.

They probably think it works the same as the one I shared with Voldemort - that I only "see" something when there are evil thoughts - and therefore is useless.

Death Eaters always underestimate me.

Taking careful aim with my wand, I Petrify then Stun both the men on the back stoop, leaving them sitting on the step but frozen in place and unconscious. Keeping low beneath the windows, I walk to the back door and crouch beneath its window.

The back door leads directly into the kitchen, which then leads into both the dining area and the living room. From what I saw at the front of the house, Ron and Hermione are in the living room. I stand up slowly to peer through the window in the back door. I could use a revealing spell, but I don't know if there are wards up to detect my magic if I use it on the house.

There is no one in the kitchen, but I can see the shadow of two Death Eaters in the living room. I drop back onto my heels.

Wait a minute. Why is the Dark Mark above the house if the Death Eaters are still here? When Voldemort led them, the Mark was always cast after the deeds were done but before the Death Eaters left. So why had they cast it without leaving?

Unless it's to drive you to lose control. Hermione is seen as the brains of the operation, Ron as strategy. They must think I'm the muscle. I give a sarcastic, snorting laugh at that thought. But that still doesn't tell me why they cast the Mark without leaving.

They must know that we live in a very Muggle neighborhood; there are no wizards around to see the Mark. Those wizards that might be near were murdered in the pub. Therefore, to cast it only torments me since they've trapped Ron and Hermione inside. I haven't reported the pub massacre, so there will be no Aurors investigating.

The Death Eaters expected me to Apparate into the backyard as usual because they laid an ambush for me. Rocking a bit on my heels, I try to remember Ron's schedule.

Unfortunately, when I do remember, I can't stop a noise of frustration from escaping. He's off because we were supposed to go out. There will be no Aurors searching for him. Fuck. Think, Potter, what is going on?

That the situation is a trap is obvious. What is less obvious is why. Why are the remaining Death Eaters trying to trap me? Why have they not taken Hermione and Ron somewhere else as prisoners - as bait for me? Why was there an ambush set up for me?

I feel a pulling sensation at my chest, ripping me from my thoughts. That's different. Most of the sensation I feel at the scar is physical manifestation of emotional turbulence - so Hermione explains. I've never felt a pulling sensation.

Standing up just enough to peer in the window again, it's all I can do not to rush the door and shout the Killing Curse at the man I see on the other side.

Draco Malfoy.

That explains everything.

Malfoy has thrown Hermione onto the kitchen table.

To vent some of my frustration so I don't rush the door, I kick one of the stunned Death Eaters in the back. He falls over onto the grass with a muted thud. Crabbe. The other must be Goyle. Lovely.

The pulling sensation twists and I wonder if my lungs will explode. Sucking breath through my gritted teeth, I glance in the window again.

Hermione is doing her best to fight Malfoy off. I cheer silently when she slams her fist into his jaw - the lessons Ron and I have been giving her about self-defense are paying off, unfortunately.

It's only when Malfoy shakes off her punch and grabs her hands, pinning them against the table above her head do I realize she's only in a towel.

Fucking hell, she must have been in the shower. I blink. State the obvious. You're a right genius, aren't you?

If Hermione was in the shower and Malfoy dragged her into the kitchen - or assaulted her there at least - where's Ron?

I'm torn by indecision. Ron must still be in the living room. There were two Death Eaters I saw from the front of the house - correction, Malfoy and another bastard. I wonder if it's his father. Therefore, the other bastard must have Ron in the living room.

I fall to a sitting position against the house. Concentrating on the pulling and twisting sensation in my chest, I pick my way back along the connection.

Fear, danger, panic, anger, and pain from Hermione. I offer up silent apology for not being able to help her yet, knowing I should be protecting her.

Pain from Ron. Nothing else, just pain. He must have been the one to suffer the Cruciatus.

I haven't tried to send feelings back to them via this link before, but I make the attempt now. To Ron, I try to send hope and comfort. I am too familiar with the effects of Cruciatus. To Hermione, I try to send strength and power. Maybe she can try to use wandless magic to kick Malfoy's arse.

A trickle of hope filters back to me from Ron. The relief that floods through me makes me light-headed and takes my breath away. He's alive.

If I could only come up with some way to take out Malfoy while not alerting the Death Eater torturing Ron of my presence. I look through the window again.

Malfoy still has Hermione pinned, but has moved her so she's laid out fully on the table, her legs no longer dangling over the edge. Her hands are clawing at his back and shoulders, drawing blood even through his shirt, and she's kicking to try to dislodge him.

I can't stand watching her be mauled. Anger surges within me again. Hermione doesn't deserve that kind of treatment. No woman does.

If they've put up wards, they'll expect me to use Alohomora to open the door. I decide to use stealth instead of the brute force - whether physical or magical - I want to use and seems to be expected of me.

Turning the knob slowly, delighted to discover it unlocked, I open the door just far enough to slip into the kitchen. I set my wand on the counter and close the door behind me just as quietly.

Malfoy must have cast a silencing spell on the kitchen, because once I'm inside, I can hear Malfoy's words to Hermione. I forcibly remind myself that if I don't control my anger, I'll lose control of my magic with potentially horrific consequences.

Through the haze that has settled over my mind, all I hear are "...sharing with Potty and Weasel..." and Hermione's distressed whimpers.

Something primal takes over. I don't want to use magic to kill him. I want to use my bare hands. I want his blue blood spilt across my kitchen floor.

Malfoy is so engrossed in attempting to rape Hermione that I am able to crawl under the table. Lying on my back - and offering Hermione another silent apology - I kick the underside hard enough to knock one of Malfoy's legs over the edge.

That's all I need.

I grab his leg and pull. He falls inelegantly onto the floor, slamming his head and shoulders against the ground. Before he can recover, I pounce.

Straddling his waist, I slam my fist into his pretty-boy face, taking an unholy satisfaction in the spray of blood from his nose.

"Fuck you, Potter," he yells as he take a swing at me in retaliation. I lean backwards to dodge his fist.

When he bucks his hips, I over-balance and fall backwards. In the background, I hear Hermione scream. Malfoy scrambles for his wand. I'm able to kick his arm away, sending his wand clattering across the floor.

The resulting crack and cry from him tells me I broke his arm. I grin with malicious glee.

Malfoy turns to me, lashing out with one of his legs. His foot connects with my stomach, knocking the air out of me. Before I can recover, he attacks and we roll across the kitchen floor, coming to rest against the cabinets, Malfoy on top.

His hands latch around my neck, trying to choke me. Gagging, I grab at his fingers to pull them backwards attempting to free myself. Spots dance before my eyes. I hear Hermione scream at Malfoy, but can't make out any of the words.

I go limp within his grasp, trying both to fool him into believing I'm unconscious and to draw my magic together.

After a final squeeze to my throat, Malfoy releases me. I feel him turn to Hermione and stand.

"And now for you, Mudblood," he snarls, stalking across the room.

I feel murderous and helpless all at once. I still haven't recovered my breath, but I want Malfoy's blood - he will not get to Hermione.

With effort, I manage to turn myself over and rise onto all fours, breathing heavily. Opening my eyes and looking over at Hermione, I manage to catch her eye. She's terrified. The only time I've seen her with a similar expression was when Voldemort gave her the choice of killing one of us.

Get up, Potter! She needs you.

Grunting, I get up, holding onto the counter for support. The noise fails to draw Malfoy's attention, all of which is centered on Hermione. Pain and terror reverberate through me from my scar suddenly. I can't tell if it's from Hermione or Ron at this point.

I snatch my wand from the countertop and point it at Malfoy. His hands are at the fastenings of his belt.

As much as I want to kill him, preferably with my hands, I refuse to use the Killing Curse. Instead, I fire Petrificus Totalus at him.

Malfoy falls to the floor with a loud thud, hands and arms now pinned to his sides. I walk over to his prone body. His nose is still bleeding - and I hope I broke that for you, you fucking git - and bruises are already beginning to appear on his face.

If looks could kill, I would have been slain by those cold grey eyes. Baring my teeth at him - it can in no way be called a smile - I kick him in the ribs.

Then I turn my attention to Hermione.

All it takes is for me to look at her and she launches herself at me. I barely have time to open my arms before she leaps. I stagger backwards once she makes contact, but don't let go.

We clutch each other like survivors from a sinking ship. She sobs into my shoulder as I rub her back murmuring what I hope are calming words.

Relief and despair flood through the scar. The relief I assume comes from Hermione, the despair from Ron. Unfortunately, Hermione is in no shape to help anyone, as much as she may want to.

With a final kiss pressed into her hair, I pull back and look at her. Even tear-stained, she's beautiful. I smooth the hair back from her face.

"Hermione, watch Malfoy. I have to go to Ron," I say gently. I hate watching the fear fill her eyes again.

But, with a gentle kiss to my lips, she says, "Help him."

As we part, I become aware again that she's still only in the towel. I take my shirt off and offer it to her. Smiling, she shrugs into it, then presses her scarred palm against my chest.

When the two meet, energy and lust surge through me, bringing me nearly to my knees. Against the paleness of Hermione's face, I can see the reflection of my now-glowing eyes.

Damn, that hasn't happened before, either. This is just a day full of surprises.