Fic: The Stranger
Author/Artist: RZZMG
Title: The Stranger
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Hermione Granger and (highlight to be spoiled) Draco Malfoy, and the Weasleys
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,645 words
Warning(s): Discussion of a zombie plague, including some medical descriptions. Implied theft (off-screen).
Prompt: My own prompt.
Summary: A stranger shows up at Hermione Granger's front gate one rainy morning…
Author's Note: Thank you to my beta, LS, and to the Mod of this wonderful fest!
[.].[.].[.].[.].[.]
It’s raining the morning the stranger appears at the edge of my cottage’s wards.
I notice him for the first time as I move from the stove to sit at my small, kitchen table for a breakfast of warm, buttered porridge and spicy, oriental tea. He appears at first in my peripheral vision, and instinctively manifests in my mind as potential danger.
Turning my head, I peer through the front glass, and grip my wand in a tight, tense grip, prepared for violence.
The man is a dark shadow through the low-lying fog that has rolled in with the springtime drizzle. He blocks my front gate, and is utterly still, as if he were a cleverly positioned piece of garden statuary. I move to the window to get a better look at him.
Is he a wizard? Must be, to see this house, as it's been protected by a Muggle-Repelling Charm at Kingsley’s insistence. Do I know him? I don’t recognize the wool of his cloak, but even from this distance, I can see it is a fine weave, as the water beads and rolls off of it without soaking through the fibers.
My eyes roam every inch of the tall, lanky frame - at least, what I can spy around the front gate. The stranger’s hands are balled up into tight fists at his sides, covered in black, leather gloves, and the cowl that hides his face is deep-set and of a shade of green so dark, it blends in with his coal-coloured robes. The buckle on his belt is surprisingly shiny in the gloom of the mist, reflecting polished silver, and there is some sort of pendant holding the robes closed at his collar. He looks well dressed, implying he either cares for his things, or he’s wealthy. Intuition tells me the latter is true.
Why is he just standing there? Why doesn’t he properly announce himself and state his intentions?
I cast a Patronus and send it at him, demanding his name and asking what he wants. The wraith-like form of an otter crosses the yard and stops before him, playfully whisking around him in circular motions, delivering my message.
His hand raises and whips through the centre of the spirit totem in a motion conveying irritation, severing the charm’s strength. My Patronus dissolves into nothingness, its energy particles scattering in every direction before disappearing into the grey, damp air.
I am appalled at the rudeness of such a gesture, and weary as to the stranger’s true intentions now. Surely, a wizard who had come here for civilized discourse would never dare to offend another magic user in such a manner.
Stepping away from the window, I wave my wand above my head and check the strength of my wards; they are up and good to go. If the stranger thinks to cross them, he’ll be in for a nasty surprise.
Secured in my domain, I bespell the front curtains closed and return to my breakfast, determined to ignore the presence hovering at the line of my property.
[.].[.].[.].[.].[.]
The stranger is still standing out in front of my house when I check again at lunchtime. Now he’s pacing, however, as if annoyed with his inability to get inside the front gate. From the reddened, scalded flesh of his now-naked right hand, it’s clear he’s foolishly tried at least once.
I bet the leather of his glove melting against gave him quite a nasty shock.
Harry had helped me set up the protection spell the same day I’d purchased this quiet little home outside of Lostwithiel, since it was so far away from the flat he’d taken in London. The Weasleys were closer, but still not enough for my best friend’s peace of mind. After everything we’d been through in the war, he’d wanted to assure I wouldn’t be harassed by the wizarding paparazzi or well-intentioned fans. I’d indulged him, thankful a time or two that he’d been right.
Like now.
I summoned my Patronus again and once more requested his name and for him to state his business, or for him to vacate the area. I watched him through a crack in the curtain as the shimmering otter swam around him, delivering my message.
His response was even more agitated this time, as he swept the spell away with his arm, and stomped about with even greater menace. He turned his back on me and seemed to struggle to keep his temper in check. The hunch of his shoulders and the way he open and closed his fists told me this was a man with serious anger management issues. Perhaps it was time to call in the Hit Wizards.
I turned away and walked to the hearth, where I Fire-Called the Ministry, requesting they send some authorities to collect the trespasser.
As I waited for them to arrive, I peeked out the front glass again, but was shocked to find that the stranger was gone.
[.].[.].[.].[.].[.]
He was back the next morning, once more pacing back and forth before my gate as the heavens opened up over him, dumping sheets of hard rain upon his hooded head. His pace seemed just a little slower, as if he were tired and moving had become a chore.
The moment I stepped up to the window, he went stock-still, as if he sensed me watching him. The hood turned in my direction, but once more, it was pulled low to prevent me from seeing the face hidden underneath.
He signaled that I should come out with his remaining gloved hand.
Grabbing an umbrella from the wooden stand next to the coat closet, and keeping my wand at the ready, I head for the front door, my curiosity piqued. The wind outside blew the curtain of my long skirt around my legs, and I briefly considered going back inside and changing into jeans, but the impatient stranger waited, waving at me to hurry up, and I found that I really wanted to know who he was and what he wanted.
I stopped at the bottom step of my small porch one last time, doubts filling my head. Should I really do this?
Well, why not? What would be the harm in crossing the yard with the wards still protecting me? The most the stranger could do was attempt to charge through them to get at me, in which case he'd end up as crisp as a barbeque skewer left on the grill too long. I was safe so long as I remained behind the gate. There was absolutely nothing to worry about.
Closer, my guest beckoned by hand across the distance.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I raised my wand, preparing a defensive Knock-Back Jinx, just in case. "I'll ask you again: who are you and what do you want?"
He said nothing, dropping his hand to his side as if it required too much energy to continue motioning to me. A beat later, he suddenly wobbled on his feet, staggered, and caught himself from going down by clutching at the gate.
The protective wards did their thing.
Immediately, his gloved hand sizzled and a loud zap echoed across the yard. The stranger pulled his arm away, cradled it to his chest, and then fell back onto his arse.
Cautiously, I approached the gate and looked over the fence line. The stranger was curled into a ball on his side in pain. That blasted hood continued to hide his face away, even from this angle.
"It'll… be like your other hand… if you don't cast a Healing Charm quickly," I advised.
He didn't reply. Didn't make a sound, in fact, and I found that extremely odd. I know I'd cried like a baby the one and only time I'd been foolish enough to test the wards without my wand. Yet, the stranger made no sound at all. Was he mute? Is that why he couldn't communicate with my Patronus, and why he'd summoned me to leave the house and step up to him? Perhaps he could mouth his concerns, and had expected me to read his lips.
As I debated my next steps, weighing the pros and cons, I noticed how limp the stranger had become. His whole body had shuddered once, and then gone as motionless as the dead. I didn't see his torso rise and fall with breath. He simply lay on the dirt path outside my property, and no amount of yelling at him proved to stir him.
Good Lord, was he dead? Had he come to me for help, and I'd delayed for so long that he'd succumbed to some sort of wounds I couldn't see? Jesus, was this my fault?
We needed help, one way or the other, and there was no way I could turn my back on someone in need, even a stranger. I broke the wards and stepped out of my gate to kneel at the side of the man who had come to my door seeking my aid.
With shaking fingers and pounding heart, I pushed back the hood that had separated the two of us for so long…
…and gasped in horror at the sight before me.
It was Draco Malfoy. I recognized the pinched, aristocratic features, even with his skin paler than it had ever been in life. Black, spider web cracks covered every inch of the underside of his skin. That platinum hair I had always secretly envied for its beautiful colour and easy style was all but gone. Only small clumps of tangled, dirtied strands still clung to his nearly bald skull. His lips were purplish and cracked, tilted up in that familiar smirk that had haunted me all through our school years together.
He's smirking.
Before I could fully comprehend what that meant, his lids snapped open. His eyes -once a lovely shade of dove grey, but now as black as midnight- zeroed in on me. The smirk widened.
Moving faster than I could dodge, he tackled me to the ground, pinning me under him with a strength I'd been sure he couldn't have had five minutes ago. His legs tangled up in my long skirt, making it impossible for me to kick him off, and he held one arm up above my head in a shackling hold as he loomed over me. Drool dripped from his bruised, awful lips as he hissed in triumph and bent his mouth to my shoulder. I struggled with everything in me, but it wasn't enough to prevent him from biting down hard. His teeth gripped hard and pulled, tearing the thin cotton of my Muggle blouse until he was able to latch onto flesh.
I reached for my wand, which had been knocked from my hand, my fingers grasping the replacement rod -a gift from Mister Ollivander, post-war- and I pointed it at Malfoy's head, casting the Killing Curse for the first time in my life, spurred on by the instinct that my childhood nemesis meant to kill me first.
In a flash of green light, he went limp and heavy over me.
Sobbing from the shock of having been attacked and from having taken a life, I shoved his dead weight off of me and rolled away. It took me another ten minutes to regain enough control to crawl back through my front gate and into the house.
Woozy, traumatized, and feeling flush, I cleaned up as best as I could in my bathroom. The shoulder wound was deep, and it bled a dark, cherry red colour that wouldn't stop, no matter what Healing Charms I tried. The thought that I should go to St. Mungo's crossed my mind, but my knees were too shaky and my head too full of wool to attempt Disapparition or Flooing.
Climbing into my bed, shivering and feeling quite ill, I determined that on the morrow, I would go to the hospital…
…or maybe I'd just Fire-Call the Weasleys instead and ask their help getting there.
Yes, the Weasleys would help me.
That was my very last rational thought before the darkness overtook me.
[.].[.].[.].[.].[.]
"Oi, everyone, come see this!"
"What is it now, Ron? Can't you see I'm busy?" my mother asked, her fingers flying over the knitting needles, as she put the finishing touches on Fred and George's birthday gifts.
I stared out at the edge of the wards that marked the boundary of our property, seeing the visitor shamble forward, but stop just shy of getting fried.
"There's someone outside," I stated.
Ginny, Charlie, and George ran up to the back door where I stood and looked out where I was pointing.
From this distance, it was difficult to make out the person's identity, but it was clearly female, because she was wearing a long skirt that billowed in the wind.
I frowned. "Who d'you fancy it is?"
"In this weather? Only someone mad," Gin remarked, staring up at the dark, cloudy sky that began to rumble with thunder. It was clear that any minute now, it was going to dump an arse-load of rain, and the stranger would be caught right in the middle of it.
"Why is she… well, weaving like that?" my dad pointed out, peeking through the kitchen window to see what all of the commotion was about.
"Drunk, I 'spect," Bill commented around a mouthful of jerky as he joined in the voyeurism. He swallowed and chuckled. "'Though at this time of the morning, that'd be a feat, even for a shicker."
Mum cleared her throat in disapproval. "Bill, you mustn't say such mean things about someone you don't know," she chastised. "For all you know, the girl could be lost, or disoriented."
"Just to let you all know: there's a woman walking about in the middle of the fens," Percy's voice hollered down from his bedroom above.
"WE KNOW!" we all shouted up at him.
Lightning flashed across the horizon, lighting it up, and those of us in the doorway or windows cringed in response. A terrible thought occurred to me then as I watched the stranger's silhouette against the backdrop of the bog.
"Shite, she's right out in it without cover!"
"Highest point, too, since we cut down the winter's chaff," George stated, indicating the half-mile diameter clear-cut of the tall marsh brush we'd done the week before.
My father held a finger up and gave a triumphant smile. "We're safe here, though. We have a lightning rod on the roof! Ingenious Muggle invention, that."
"Won't help her a bit, though, will it?" I growled.
Bloody hell, I had to do something. The woman walking through the fens would be struck by lightning if she didn't quickly get off of the damp ground and into the house.
Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out my wand and cast a charm against the weather over my head.
"Wait, mate, you're not going to-" George began.
"-go out after the daft bint, are you?" Charlie finished the thought.
I straightened my shoulders, getting ready to make the mad dash across the yard. "Someone has to."
As I took off at top speed, I heard my mother chastise Charlie's language, Bill laugh, and Ginny comment about my need to keep up with Harry's hero-complex. I ignored it all, putting everything I had into the plan and praying I could outrun the lightning.
As I headed for the staggering stranger, legs pumping full out, my intention was to quickly drop the wards we'd erected around the property, grab the girl, and make a mad dash back home. However, as I got closer to the mark, I realized that I recognized the witch with the frizzy, wild, dark hair coming towards me.
Huh, what do you know? My stranger wasn't a stranger after all.
~FIN~
Title: The Stranger
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Hermione Granger and (highlight to be spoiled) Draco Malfoy, and the Weasleys
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,645 words
Warning(s): Discussion of a zombie plague, including some medical descriptions. Implied theft (off-screen).
Prompt: My own prompt.
Summary: A stranger shows up at Hermione Granger's front gate one rainy morning…
Author's Note: Thank you to my beta, LS, and to the Mod of this wonderful fest!
[.].[.].[.].[.].[.]
It’s raining the morning the stranger appears at the edge of my cottage’s wards.
I notice him for the first time as I move from the stove to sit at my small, kitchen table for a breakfast of warm, buttered porridge and spicy, oriental tea. He appears at first in my peripheral vision, and instinctively manifests in my mind as potential danger.
Turning my head, I peer through the front glass, and grip my wand in a tight, tense grip, prepared for violence.
The man is a dark shadow through the low-lying fog that has rolled in with the springtime drizzle. He blocks my front gate, and is utterly still, as if he were a cleverly positioned piece of garden statuary. I move to the window to get a better look at him.
Is he a wizard? Must be, to see this house, as it's been protected by a Muggle-Repelling Charm at Kingsley’s insistence. Do I know him? I don’t recognize the wool of his cloak, but even from this distance, I can see it is a fine weave, as the water beads and rolls off of it without soaking through the fibers.
My eyes roam every inch of the tall, lanky frame - at least, what I can spy around the front gate. The stranger’s hands are balled up into tight fists at his sides, covered in black, leather gloves, and the cowl that hides his face is deep-set and of a shade of green so dark, it blends in with his coal-coloured robes. The buckle on his belt is surprisingly shiny in the gloom of the mist, reflecting polished silver, and there is some sort of pendant holding the robes closed at his collar. He looks well dressed, implying he either cares for his things, or he’s wealthy. Intuition tells me the latter is true.
Why is he just standing there? Why doesn’t he properly announce himself and state his intentions?
I cast a Patronus and send it at him, demanding his name and asking what he wants. The wraith-like form of an otter crosses the yard and stops before him, playfully whisking around him in circular motions, delivering my message.
His hand raises and whips through the centre of the spirit totem in a motion conveying irritation, severing the charm’s strength. My Patronus dissolves into nothingness, its energy particles scattering in every direction before disappearing into the grey, damp air.
I am appalled at the rudeness of such a gesture, and weary as to the stranger’s true intentions now. Surely, a wizard who had come here for civilized discourse would never dare to offend another magic user in such a manner.
Stepping away from the window, I wave my wand above my head and check the strength of my wards; they are up and good to go. If the stranger thinks to cross them, he’ll be in for a nasty surprise.
Secured in my domain, I bespell the front curtains closed and return to my breakfast, determined to ignore the presence hovering at the line of my property.
[.].[.].[.].[.].[.]
The stranger is still standing out in front of my house when I check again at lunchtime. Now he’s pacing, however, as if annoyed with his inability to get inside the front gate. From the reddened, scalded flesh of his now-naked right hand, it’s clear he’s foolishly tried at least once.
I bet the leather of his glove melting against gave him quite a nasty shock.
Harry had helped me set up the protection spell the same day I’d purchased this quiet little home outside of Lostwithiel, since it was so far away from the flat he’d taken in London. The Weasleys were closer, but still not enough for my best friend’s peace of mind. After everything we’d been through in the war, he’d wanted to assure I wouldn’t be harassed by the wizarding paparazzi or well-intentioned fans. I’d indulged him, thankful a time or two that he’d been right.
Like now.
I summoned my Patronus again and once more requested his name and for him to state his business, or for him to vacate the area. I watched him through a crack in the curtain as the shimmering otter swam around him, delivering my message.
His response was even more agitated this time, as he swept the spell away with his arm, and stomped about with even greater menace. He turned his back on me and seemed to struggle to keep his temper in check. The hunch of his shoulders and the way he open and closed his fists told me this was a man with serious anger management issues. Perhaps it was time to call in the Hit Wizards.
I turned away and walked to the hearth, where I Fire-Called the Ministry, requesting they send some authorities to collect the trespasser.
As I waited for them to arrive, I peeked out the front glass again, but was shocked to find that the stranger was gone.
[.].[.].[.].[.].[.]
He was back the next morning, once more pacing back and forth before my gate as the heavens opened up over him, dumping sheets of hard rain upon his hooded head. His pace seemed just a little slower, as if he were tired and moving had become a chore.
The moment I stepped up to the window, he went stock-still, as if he sensed me watching him. The hood turned in my direction, but once more, it was pulled low to prevent me from seeing the face hidden underneath.
He signaled that I should come out with his remaining gloved hand.
Grabbing an umbrella from the wooden stand next to the coat closet, and keeping my wand at the ready, I head for the front door, my curiosity piqued. The wind outside blew the curtain of my long skirt around my legs, and I briefly considered going back inside and changing into jeans, but the impatient stranger waited, waving at me to hurry up, and I found that I really wanted to know who he was and what he wanted.
I stopped at the bottom step of my small porch one last time, doubts filling my head. Should I really do this?
Well, why not? What would be the harm in crossing the yard with the wards still protecting me? The most the stranger could do was attempt to charge through them to get at me, in which case he'd end up as crisp as a barbeque skewer left on the grill too long. I was safe so long as I remained behind the gate. There was absolutely nothing to worry about.
Closer, my guest beckoned by hand across the distance.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I raised my wand, preparing a defensive Knock-Back Jinx, just in case. "I'll ask you again: who are you and what do you want?"
He said nothing, dropping his hand to his side as if it required too much energy to continue motioning to me. A beat later, he suddenly wobbled on his feet, staggered, and caught himself from going down by clutching at the gate.
The protective wards did their thing.
Immediately, his gloved hand sizzled and a loud zap echoed across the yard. The stranger pulled his arm away, cradled it to his chest, and then fell back onto his arse.
Cautiously, I approached the gate and looked over the fence line. The stranger was curled into a ball on his side in pain. That blasted hood continued to hide his face away, even from this angle.
"It'll… be like your other hand… if you don't cast a Healing Charm quickly," I advised.
He didn't reply. Didn't make a sound, in fact, and I found that extremely odd. I know I'd cried like a baby the one and only time I'd been foolish enough to test the wards without my wand. Yet, the stranger made no sound at all. Was he mute? Is that why he couldn't communicate with my Patronus, and why he'd summoned me to leave the house and step up to him? Perhaps he could mouth his concerns, and had expected me to read his lips.
As I debated my next steps, weighing the pros and cons, I noticed how limp the stranger had become. His whole body had shuddered once, and then gone as motionless as the dead. I didn't see his torso rise and fall with breath. He simply lay on the dirt path outside my property, and no amount of yelling at him proved to stir him.
Good Lord, was he dead? Had he come to me for help, and I'd delayed for so long that he'd succumbed to some sort of wounds I couldn't see? Jesus, was this my fault?
We needed help, one way or the other, and there was no way I could turn my back on someone in need, even a stranger. I broke the wards and stepped out of my gate to kneel at the side of the man who had come to my door seeking my aid.
With shaking fingers and pounding heart, I pushed back the hood that had separated the two of us for so long…
…and gasped in horror at the sight before me.
It was Draco Malfoy. I recognized the pinched, aristocratic features, even with his skin paler than it had ever been in life. Black, spider web cracks covered every inch of the underside of his skin. That platinum hair I had always secretly envied for its beautiful colour and easy style was all but gone. Only small clumps of tangled, dirtied strands still clung to his nearly bald skull. His lips were purplish and cracked, tilted up in that familiar smirk that had haunted me all through our school years together.
He's smirking.
Before I could fully comprehend what that meant, his lids snapped open. His eyes -once a lovely shade of dove grey, but now as black as midnight- zeroed in on me. The smirk widened.
Moving faster than I could dodge, he tackled me to the ground, pinning me under him with a strength I'd been sure he couldn't have had five minutes ago. His legs tangled up in my long skirt, making it impossible for me to kick him off, and he held one arm up above my head in a shackling hold as he loomed over me. Drool dripped from his bruised, awful lips as he hissed in triumph and bent his mouth to my shoulder. I struggled with everything in me, but it wasn't enough to prevent him from biting down hard. His teeth gripped hard and pulled, tearing the thin cotton of my Muggle blouse until he was able to latch onto flesh.
I reached for my wand, which had been knocked from my hand, my fingers grasping the replacement rod -a gift from Mister Ollivander, post-war- and I pointed it at Malfoy's head, casting the Killing Curse for the first time in my life, spurred on by the instinct that my childhood nemesis meant to kill me first.
In a flash of green light, he went limp and heavy over me.
Sobbing from the shock of having been attacked and from having taken a life, I shoved his dead weight off of me and rolled away. It took me another ten minutes to regain enough control to crawl back through my front gate and into the house.
Woozy, traumatized, and feeling flush, I cleaned up as best as I could in my bathroom. The shoulder wound was deep, and it bled a dark, cherry red colour that wouldn't stop, no matter what Healing Charms I tried. The thought that I should go to St. Mungo's crossed my mind, but my knees were too shaky and my head too full of wool to attempt Disapparition or Flooing.
Climbing into my bed, shivering and feeling quite ill, I determined that on the morrow, I would go to the hospital…
…or maybe I'd just Fire-Call the Weasleys instead and ask their help getting there.
Yes, the Weasleys would help me.
That was my very last rational thought before the darkness overtook me.
[.].[.].[.].[.].[.]
"Oi, everyone, come see this!"
"What is it now, Ron? Can't you see I'm busy?" my mother asked, her fingers flying over the knitting needles, as she put the finishing touches on Fred and George's birthday gifts.
I stared out at the edge of the wards that marked the boundary of our property, seeing the visitor shamble forward, but stop just shy of getting fried.
"There's someone outside," I stated.
Ginny, Charlie, and George ran up to the back door where I stood and looked out where I was pointing.
From this distance, it was difficult to make out the person's identity, but it was clearly female, because she was wearing a long skirt that billowed in the wind.
I frowned. "Who d'you fancy it is?"
"In this weather? Only someone mad," Gin remarked, staring up at the dark, cloudy sky that began to rumble with thunder. It was clear that any minute now, it was going to dump an arse-load of rain, and the stranger would be caught right in the middle of it.
"Why is she… well, weaving like that?" my dad pointed out, peeking through the kitchen window to see what all of the commotion was about.
"Drunk, I 'spect," Bill commented around a mouthful of jerky as he joined in the voyeurism. He swallowed and chuckled. "'Though at this time of the morning, that'd be a feat, even for a shicker."
Mum cleared her throat in disapproval. "Bill, you mustn't say such mean things about someone you don't know," she chastised. "For all you know, the girl could be lost, or disoriented."
"Just to let you all know: there's a woman walking about in the middle of the fens," Percy's voice hollered down from his bedroom above.
"WE KNOW!" we all shouted up at him.
Lightning flashed across the horizon, lighting it up, and those of us in the doorway or windows cringed in response. A terrible thought occurred to me then as I watched the stranger's silhouette against the backdrop of the bog.
"Shite, she's right out in it without cover!"
"Highest point, too, since we cut down the winter's chaff," George stated, indicating the half-mile diameter clear-cut of the tall marsh brush we'd done the week before.
My father held a finger up and gave a triumphant smile. "We're safe here, though. We have a lightning rod on the roof! Ingenious Muggle invention, that."
"Won't help her a bit, though, will it?" I growled.
Bloody hell, I had to do something. The woman walking through the fens would be struck by lightning if she didn't quickly get off of the damp ground and into the house.
Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out my wand and cast a charm against the weather over my head.
"Wait, mate, you're not going to-" George began.
"-go out after the daft bint, are you?" Charlie finished the thought.
I straightened my shoulders, getting ready to make the mad dash across the yard. "Someone has to."
As I took off at top speed, I heard my mother chastise Charlie's language, Bill laugh, and Ginny comment about my need to keep up with Harry's hero-complex. I ignored it all, putting everything I had into the plan and praying I could outrun the lightning.
As I headed for the staggering stranger, legs pumping full out, my intention was to quickly drop the wards we'd erected around the property, grab the girl, and make a mad dash back home. However, as I got closer to the mark, I realized that I recognized the witch with the frizzy, wild, dark hair coming towards me.
Huh, what do you know? My stranger wasn't a stranger after all.
~FIN~