Plaything

Running, running, I hear soft, rhythmic slap slap noises as my feet hit the pavement over and over. My heart is pounding so hard I swear I can hear it, the heat rising to my face is nearly unbearable, my legs are made of equal parts rubber and lead, and my lungs approach bursting. One part of my brain chants a non-stop mantra of "Stop! Stop!" while an equally insistent one cries out "Run! Run!" I listen to the latter because I'm running for my life. I don't dare look over my shoulder.

Harry, Ron, and I were ambushed, unexpectedly. Well, ambushes do tend to be unexpected, don't they? The three of us were practising Defence behind Hagrid's hut, right on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. It's nearly the Christmas holidays and the prospect of the break had us all feeling slightly antsy, so we decided to head outdoors.

Of course, we weren't expressly permitted to be there, which will teach me to go against my normal hatred for rule-breaking, no matter how rebellious I may be feeling. Hogwarts has been nearly on lockdown for months now. It's Harry Potter's Seventh Year, after all, and Great and Terrible things are expected. Voldemort's return to power has been swift, horrible, and terrifyingly thorough. Without the Dementors guarding Azkaban, criminals break out nearly as fast as they're put in. Revolving door policy, indeed. Confidence in the Ministry is at a record low. Who knew such a thing could be possible? Our world is in a permanent solar eclipse and I fear I'll never see the light of day again.

Twelve or so Death Eaters Apparated right to the edge of Hogwarts' wards. I expect they were planning an attack on the school, but instead landed in the middle of a veritable banquet of treasured Hogwarts students: the Head Boy and Head Girl, along with the most famous Boy alive. It was an accident on their part. And yet, it doesn't make the chase any less real, does it? The three of us fought bravely. After all, we're Gryffindors. I suppose we could have run and hid immediately, but instead, we shot off hex after hex and curse after curse, dodging and weaving through everything the masked and hooded figures threw at us. Harry's always very lucky, and on reflection, so have Ron and I been. On the other hand, expecting three seventeen-year-old children to take on a dozen people (if they could be called that) hell-bent on your destruction requires just a little more than pure blind luck.

Eventually, we had to run. Logic dictates that we should have run towards Hogwarts, but I'm the most logical one of our trio and I'm really not my best under pressure. Harry and Ron are much better, but unfortunately, one can't instantly imbue a greater amount common sense. No, not even if the person in question possesses heaps of grace under fire. Well, maybe it did occur to Harry to run to the school, but his sense of chivalry wouldn't allow himself to put any more students in jeopardy. I have no idea. All I know is it never occurred to me. You know, I'd shove books and cleverness up my arse if I thought it could get me out of my current situation.

The three of us tried to run as a group. Of course, it's always safer to stick together, which is why enemies purposefully try to keep you apart. This time, the enemy succeeded. One Death Eater would throw a curse at Harry and another would aim at me and it eventually became impossible to keep each other in sight. At one point, a rather large wall of a man stood between Ron and me and Ron screamed, ordering me to run. I ran. And then I heard him scream and scream as I ran farther and farther away, but I'm don't think those were not directed at me. Hot tears sprang to my eyes, momentarily blinding me. It must have been then that I dropped my wand, but I didn't dare look back.

Life or death situation doesn't even begin to cover it.

The one thought that keeps pushing me onward is the threat of Death Eaters in hot pursuit. I have no idea how many are onto me or even if the threat is still actually there. Harry's certainly the most hotly contested prize out of the three of us. His death would probably be enough to topple the already shaky foundations of the Wizarding World. A lot of the hope left with the Light lies heavily at Harry's feet. That hardly implies Voldemort or his followers won't kill Ron or me if they have the chance. The definition of "opposite of Death Eater" might as well be "Weasley" and I'm not likely to forget my filthy little Mudblood status.

The sky above me grows dark as my steps involuntarily slow. I feel my body refuse to continue. It's been quiet around me for a long time and I'm not expressly sure where I am anymore. I no longer appear to be in the forest, so I must have spilled out to the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Stumbling aimlessly for a bit, I receive a much-needed stroke of good fortune in an apparently abandoned hovel, where I seek shelter.

I struggle to make myself as comfortable as possible. Huddled in a corner, I attempt to slow my breathing, while willing myself to be invisible. I can barely make out the sounds of crickets surrounding my hiding spot. It really is quiet here. Maybe I've escaped them! My heart gives a small leap at the prospect, before my mind brings things crashing to reality once again. The complete direness of my situation settles into a growing pit in my stomach. I hope Harry and Ron are all right. I wish I had my wand.

Slowly, but surely, I get my bearings and observe my surroundings. I remember it's winter and I'm dressed only in a scarf and my school robes. Despite the adrenaline rush caused by the hunt, I realise my hands are freezing and I futilely blow on them in an attempt to warm them up. Absently, I rub at my tense and sore muscles and wipe away blood from scratches I didn't even realise I had. Through a broken window, I can see that the moon has risen and a few beams scatter along the floor forming ominous shadows, but other than that, I'm in total darkness. The silence overwhelms me and all my senses are in overdrive. I can hear my staggered breathing, my heart as it continues to thump loudly in my chest, every creak of the floorboards, and a soft scuffling from outside. Mice, perhaps. I'm shaking so badly, I think I can hear that, too. My fear is so palpable I swear I can taste it. I breathe in and out, in and out, using the sound of my own breath to calm my shattered nerves.

After releasing my ninety-fifth unsteady breath, I suddenly inhale very, very sharply.

Footsteps. Faint, but very distinct ones, from outside. I cease breathing altogether.

"Here, kitty, kitty," calls a male voice. "I know you're in there. Come out, come out, wherever you are…."

I shake so badly I truly believe my bones will break.

The footsteps move in a circle around the cabin. He's clearly toying with me. I hear him call me kitty, but cats are predators. In this scenario, I am most certainly prey.

"Oh, sweet kitty!" the voice taunts again. "You're not answering. Cat got your tongue? Well. Obviously." The voice chuckles throatily at his own joke.

The footsteps reach the door – my only means of escape – and the doorknob jiggles. The door then creaks open in a maddeningly slow manner and I know I'm dead. Avada Kedavra. Goodbye, Hermione. I suddenly miss my parents desperately.

The door opens all the way and Lucius Malfoy strides inside. It's hard to mistake the pale hair or the pointed, aristocratic Malfoy features. Besides, he's done away with the pretence of his Death Eater mask and hood. I suppose he knows I'm dead, too.

"There you are, kitty!" he chides, voice dripping with fake concern. "We've been looking just everywhere for you. You know, you've been a dreadfully bad kitty." A smirk.

I close my eyes, frantic not to let the tears pricking behind my eyes fall. I refuse to give him that satisfaction. Unsteadily pulling myself onto my feet, I draw myself up to my full height and half-heartedly muster a glare for him. It's then when I realise that he's holding my wand. Realising my realisation, his lips form a cruel smile as he offers it to me. I understand this is a joke, but I lunge for it anyway.

He pulls it back, dangling it just out of my reach. "Nasty kitty doesn't know how to keep sight of her own things! She'll have to be punished." Malfoy snaps my wand in two.

Again, all the air goes out of my body. However, I do not cry and I hold my head high. I am not ready to die, but I'll not let him see my fear. My stance seems to add to his amusement.

"Oh, what a dear, brave Gryffindor you are. Standing up to the Big, Bad Wolf and trying to have a valiant death, as so surely befits you!" The laughter is evident in his voice. "A beautiful, heroic Gryffindor corpse. Expecting me to say the itty-bitty magic words and you'll be left without a mark. Foolish girl."

It's then that I have another realisation. Out of the darkness, there are only two things I see clearly gleaming in the moonlight: The even, white teeth of Lucius Malfoy, as his mouth curls into a malicious grin and the knife he clutches in his left hand.

"Oh, no, no, no, my pretty kitty. You're wrong. We'll get to the words. But first, we'll play."