Chapter Text
That face!
Alarm ringing throughout her frightened body, Hermione whirls around to face the figure who’s been staring so intently at her from behind – only to see no one. Just the vacant, soulless streets of night. A fresh wave of goosebumps trails up her skin like icy fingers as she stares at the empty space where a body should have been standing.
It is him again.
She swallows hard, attempting to calm the trembling of her frantic heart, but to no avail. The shadows seem to grow longer and the lights glow dimmer. Not this again. Not again! She grips the hem of her coat, an irrepressible scream beginning to claw up her throat.
Hermione had thought she was over this. That she had escaped from all of this: the illusions, the shadows shifting in the night, the ominous figure of a man forever lurking in the periphery of her vision – watching, waiting.
She should have known better though… No one can escape from a ghost.
Her eyes shift frantically and search the abandoned street for any signs of movement, but there are none. All is quiet, the awfully late hour having beckoned people to their homes where it is nice and safe. Only she dares to walk the late hours of night, a time when dark creatures prowl the city for unsuspecting prey. Inwardly, she kicks herself for being such an idiot and for ever setting foot outside her door.
Dammit, Ginny…
After noticing how wretchedly dull Hermione was living her life by holing herself up in her house every evening, her friend, Ginny, had decided to crack open her tomb of an apartment and suggest going out to the club tonight. More like bound, gagged, and dragged to… but hey, what’s the difference? Her friend was on a mission, even if it required digging elbows-deep into her underwear drawer and chastising her for how dusty her lingerie had become.
“Honestly, Hermione… Do you have anything sexier to wear besides cat-faced pajamas and spaghetti-stained t-shirts?” Ginny protested, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the offensive pile of clothes on Hermione’s bedroom floor.
“No. Why bother? You know how I hate going out…” Hermione sighed, flopping onto her bed. “Besides, my favorite science documentary is on tonight. Professor Firenze is making a groundbreaking new discovery in detecting dark matter in the Bullet Cluster. Did you know that they have new detectors made of nanowires now that can—“
“—Mione, it’s your birthday weekend for crying out loud. Don’t be such a wet rag,” her friend chastised her, and then turned to Hermione’s closet with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
“And why is that such a bad thing?” Hermione scoffed, crossing her arms in an irritated huff.
Ignoring Hermione’s display of rebellion, her determined friend clambered further into her closet, her pertly-dressed form becoming swallowed by the tangled forest of her clothes.
A sudden spike of fear shot down Hermione’s spine, making her spring up from the bed. She quickly glanced at her feet. “Ginny, wait—“
“Aha!”
Her friend reappeared, holding a sleek-fitting black dress that she had no idea was buried in her closet.
“Nothing says bend me over better than a slutty witch costume. You’re going to charm all the boys when they see you in this. I’ve got just the hat and heels for it in my car,” the giddy red-head squealed, absolutely proud of the treasure she had just found.
Hermione raised a bemused eyebrow. “Wait—Isn’t Halloween like 40 days from now?”
“Not if we’re celebrating Slutty Halloween! Twenty-four seven, plus the holidays. Your birthday included, sweetheart!” Ginny winked spicily and then shoved the skimpy dress into her arms.
Hermione had the sneaking suspicion that the sexy little number had never been in her closet ten seconds ago. “You’ve been planning this for a while, haven’t you?”
“You're damn right, bitch!” Ginny crowed. “I haven’t seen you since last term. And that was in class, during finals!”
“How perfectly dreadful,” Hermione said dryly, rolling her eyes for good measure.
“Oh pleaseee? It’s been ages since we have had a little fun together. If not for you, will you do it for me then?” The ginger batted her eyelashes with pleading doe-like eyes.
Knowing her friend had meant well, Hermione had gone along with it. “Drinks, dancing, and hot, sweaty men. What’s not to like?” Ginny had smirked.
If she’d said leering, creepy men who danced too close for comfort, wouldn’t take no for an answer, and then dumped beer all over your dress, she would have been much more accurate.
After cleaning herself up in the bathroom, Hermione had noticed Ginny practically gushing at the ruggedly handsome bartender talking to her. He was dark in complexion with a winsome smile and flirtatious mouth that made the young colt of a woman melt where she stood.
Hermione had secretively smiled after seeing the way they’d become lost in each other’s eyes when brushing fingers as he’d passed her a drink. She could already imagine the late night phone calls she would be receiving about this new mystery man. Rather than spoil all the fun that night and ruin a perfectly good thing coming, Hermione had decided a white lie was in order.
Evading another sleazeball with quick footwork, the young witch approached her friend. Pointing randomly over her shoulder to nowhere in particular, she asked, “See tall, dark, and handsome in the corner?”
Curious, Ginny searched the crowd until her sights landed on someone. Her eyebrows disappeared up into her hairline in surprise.
“I think I got this one on the hook. I am going to take him out for a little broom ride,” Hermione whispered to her with a knowing wink. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”
And before her friend could utter a peep or before another creep could slip her his number, she’d left the club. Only after realizing her error of having no ride home due to her mysteriously dead cellphone battery and seeing no bus or taxi in sight, Hermione had started the long trek home alone.
It was about a few blocks down the empty street when she had begun to wonder: who exactly had Ginny seen in the corner of the club? And like an ill-fated omen, Hermione had glanced over to her reflection in the street-side windows … only to see him gaping at her from behind.
If only her friend knew why she locked herself in every night…
Hugging herself as though to gather the surviving remnants of her sanity, she now peeks back at her reflection in the shop window, expecting to see him still standing there behind her… but it is empty.
It has been a year since she has seen that terrifying, yet achingly beautiful face — a face that should not belong to any man of this heaven or earth. And yet, it is so clearly burned into the back of her eyelids from his ravishingly sinful features that she can’t help but reproach herself.
She can still see his strikingly handsome face that appears pleasantly smooth to the touch, like white smoke on porcelain. Those temptingly luscious and colorless lips invade her mind, nearly causing her breath to hitch as she recalls the inviting smirk they’d been pulled into. The strong jawline that dips forbiddingly deep by the curvature of his neck comes next, emanating an edge of fierceness that terrifies her to no end. And finally, a pair of haunting blood-red eyes framed by rivulets of exotically night-shaded hair that coax her into the abyss of his nightmare. A wave of shivers floods her body as she recounts the numerous times those eyes had found her, followed her, and beckoned her in her lifetime.
It is a nightmare he has driven her into: one she has consistently denied and told herself is not real, even now.
Oh, but how real it is, a dark voice whispers in her mind.
And as though a sudden ripple has disturbed the dark pool of her memories, a haunting vision awakens and emerges from its depths.
10 Years Ago...
For Christmas, Hermione had been gifted a new pair of beautiful figure skates. Their blades had gleamed in the firelight with a promise of wicked fun and delight.
Not a family to sit idle under the Christmas tree while on holiday, the Grangers had packed the skates into their car (along with extra parkas, socks, cocoa-filled thermoses, and nature guide books, of course) before speeding off to the Black Lake for an eventful afternoon of ice skating in the Scottish Highlands.
The Black Lake glitters now in the sunlight, its waters crystalized into an expansive sheet of ice that stretches as far as her little eyes can see. The surrounding wild frontier looks absolutely breathtaking in the depths of winter with its dramatic mountain peaks and ancient woodlands frosted in snow.
It almost looks like magic.
She envisions an icicle-spired castle tucked away in the foothills, ruled by a formidable frost queen who overrules the merfolk and unicorns of the lake and forest. Testing the thickness of the ice with the point of her skates, she also wonders if something nefarious lurks in the black depths below.
Dressed in her favorite marshmallow pink coat and candy-cane striped tights, Hermione all but appears to be like one of the fairytale creatures from her daydreams upon the frozen landscape. Not able to contain herself any longer, she tears off down the lake as though all of hell’s hounds are on her heels.
“SLOW DOWN!” she hears someone bellow.
Who? Her? Never. With a wicked grin, the little demon that she is rockets across the ice even faster.
“Don’t make me come catch you,” the low voice warns. And then, feeling a large, hulking presence drawing nearer, she turns around to see the massive form of her father hunkering toward her with increasing speed. With a large grin and outstretched arms, he begins to roar as though he has transformed into a monster. “I’m gonna getchya!” he whoops.
With a terrified shriek, Hermione speeds away from the ferocious beast in delighted terror. Laughing and squealing as he begins to gain on her, she pleadingly wails, “Save me, Mummy!”
Feeling as though those large hands will nab her any second, her fear heightens as his voice continuously grows closer and closer. “I’m gonna getchya, I’m gonna getchya, I’m gonna ge– OOMF!”
Confused by the sudden withdrawal of the beast, Hermione turns around to see that he has nose-dived headfirst into a snow bank. Spotting her mother sheepishly grinning like a guilty culprit with a snowball in hand, Hermione lets out a giggle. Her mother had completely smacked him in the face. Does she know how much trouble she is in?
The vengeful howl that rips from the snowbank next gives her a good guess as to how much.
An incredible snowball fight that lasted for hours had followed.
Hours later, a small, content smile pulls at Hermione’s lips as thoughts of glittering snow, ice-cut spirals, belly laughs, and a rare treat of hot chocolate drift into her mind. Feeling utterly and truly happy in this moment, she cannot help but heave a mighty yawn, a heady taste of peppermint still tickling her tongue. She burrows herself further into the leather of the carseats, nestling herself and her restless mind into a dreamy state.
Chuckling at the steering wheel, her father turns his head to her and says, “It appears our little lion has had a long day.”
Her eyeballs pop out a little at that. “I am not little!” she retorts. “I am ten years old!” Counting on her fingers, she raises her hands up to her father’s face. “See! My hands are full.” And with that, Hermione curls her fingers and gives a mighty roar.
A rumble of laughter bursts from her father’s frame as the biggest grin she has ever seen spreads across his face. “How right you are,” he exclaims, a merry twinkle shining in his fierce green eyes. “Our little girl is all grown up now. What big claws you have!” And with a deep chortle, he ruffles her hair affectionately.
Protesting, she shoves away the offending hand and pouts sourly. Her hair feels like it has poofed out like a dandelion head. As if zapped by a spark, a thought flits through her mind. “Oh, I cannot wait to tell Harry! I wonder what he and his parents were up to this Christmas.”
Both of her parents share a worried look over the young girl’s fluffy head. “You know that’s not possible, dear. Remember? We’ve talked about this,” her mother frets, worry lines creasing the beautiful contours of her face.
Confusion crosses the young girl’s face, a sudden heaviness clouding her mind with a dull, throbbing ache. Before she can protest, another huge yawn falls from her lips.
Not wanting to push the matter further, her father whispers, “Rest now, my brave lioness. We still have a bit of a drive ahead of us.”
Nodding slowly, Hermione relaxes into the cushions and all falls quiet. Exhaustion begins to soak into her mind and limbs as the dark cloak of night shrouding the surrounding forest slips by like spilled ink beyond the cold glass. The iridescent moon, bright and high like a beacon in the sky, casts its luminescence upon the icy snow blanketing the ground and the never-ending stretch of road ahead.
Like a winter’s spell, her eyelids begin to droop wearily of their own accord. With a sleepy sigh, the young girl rests her head against the shoulder of her mother and smiles as she feels the tender strokes of her mother’s fingers brush an unruly curl away from her face.
“Sleep, dear. We shall be home soon,” her mother murmurs.
Hermione snuggles closer into her soft form. Willing her conscience to drift off into oblivion, she closes her eyes and silently says goodnight to her parents, the sleepy moon, and the boy standing in the middle of the r–
“Look out!” her mother screeches.
With a start, her eyes open to a nightmare from hell. Before her, a pair of unholy, red eyes bore into her own. In that flying moment, the high-pitched squeal of the tires and the curdling screams of her mother drown into the background.
A boy, with his dark figure remaining eerily stationary upon the center of the road, suddenly fills her vision. With his head cricked to the side, the child’s eerily possessed body glows a ghostly white in the headlights. And he is smiling.
Her father yanks the steering wheel to the right, attempting to avoid the boy, but it only causes the back end of the vehicle to swerve out from behind them. As the front of the truck threatens to slam into the boy, his satanically red eyes gleam and remain fixed upon her – only her.
Then she sees something that causes every vein in her flesh to freeze. Like vapor, he passes right through the front hood.
And then Hermione’s world begins to whirl.
The truck spins rapidly across the icy road, its tires skidding upon the deadly black ice. It then hurtles dangerously off the side of the road and down the ridge. Her mother’s screams die when the side of the truck slams into a large tree, exploding the right car window in a detonating spray of glass. With a terrifying lurch, the truck flips violently on impact and then begins rolling down the hill.
A dark world spiraling out of control, Hermione screams helplessly as her body is thrown about. Pain, fear, and screeching metal clash within the compartment in a deadly battle until, mercifully, the snow slows the truck’s descent. It comes to a gradual halt upside down along the snowy slope.
Cold, sore, and scared, Hermione lets out a terrified wail as she hangs upside down in the dark vehicle. Warm, familiar hands find her face and pull it into a large, comforting chest.
“It’s alright. I got you,” her father murmurs, rubbing her head soothingly. Her sobs turning into weak hiccups, Hermione hugs him as hard as she can.
Lifting her chin, she finds her father’s fearless green eyes peering into her own. “Daddy, what was that? Is it gone?” Hermione trembles, her body shivering in complete terror.
“I am not sure, but everything is going to be alright,” he professes, his relaxed demeanor calming her frantic heart. “I need you to be strong now, okay? Can you do that for me, my brave little lion?”
Swallowing down her fear, Hermione feels a surge of determination swell in her chest. She wouldn’t let her father down. Nodding her head eagerly, she sees her father smile and give her a warm kiss upon the forehead. “There’s a good girl.”
After her father instructs her on how to catch herself with her hands, they are both able to release her from the seatbelt holding her in place. A little dizzy, she scrambles over to her mother. “Mum! Mum, wake up!” she yells, shaking the woman frantically, but she only continues to hang limply in her seat. Something dark and warm drips beneath her mother into a growing puddle. A new kind of fear crawls across Hermione’s skin and wraps around her neck in a powerful vice.
“God, no. Please! Helen!” her father cries, cradling her mother’s slack face in his hands. A large, hideous gash opens the side of her temple and leaks rivulets of blood into her hair and onto the ceiling of the truck. Her father frantically presses two fingers upon her neck and all becomes silent.
The smell of blood and something else tainting the air, Hermione’s lips tremble as she dares to ask, “… Dad, is she going to be okay?” Her heart pounds harshly in her ears and tears begin to well up in her eyes as she awaits his answer.
Suddenly, his hands are working in a frenzy at the belt holding her mother in. “We have to get out of here, now!” he yells.
This is not good. Come to think of it, it is becoming really warm in here, and something smells a lot like smoke.
The exasperation in her father’s frame becomes evident as he tugs at the seatbelt. “Damn! It must be stuck,” he grunts, sweat beginning to gather upon his forehead.
A hand pierces through the driver’s seat window without warning and claws at the shattered glass like paper. Feral growls erupt from outside the vehicle and shutter through the metal frame of the truck as the being’s hands tear at the glass with inhumane speed.
It has come back.
A pair of satanic red eyes peer in through the hole it has made in the window, and the terrified girl releases an earsplitting scream from her chest. Nothing in her nightmares could have prepared her for this.
Her father pushes her behind his body and shields her from the demon awaiting outside. “Go! Run! Climb out through the window!” her father bellows, his eyes hardening into emeralds as they take in the creature. His arms insistently shove her toward the window.
“NO! I am not leaving you!” Hermione cries out as she latches onto him in a white-knuckled grip.
Her father whirls upon her and grabs her tear-stained face within his hands. “Mummy and Daddy will be right behind you,” his reassuring voice washes over her. “Be strong.”
Swiftly kissing her on the forehead, he glances behind him to see long, spindly black arms and legs climbing into the compartment. “Go! Quickly!” he bellows as he urges her toward the window.
Not sparing a moment more, Hermione plunges herself forcefully into the wall of snow blocking the escape. She cries out as it burns icily at her face and hands, only to choke upon the smothering, cold powder. She cannot breathe. Panicking, her legs struggle to push her out of the snowbank while the truck’s metal frame rocks oddly beneath her floundering feet.
“Stay away from my family!” her father roars at who could only be the demonic being that has crawled its way into the truck. Her lungs begin to silently scream, direly burning for the precious air up above, and yet, her mind cannot help but envision those blood-red eyes beaming as they close in on her forsaken father.
The truck lurches viciously and causes the snow to mercifully break around her face. She gasps and splutters as she fights her way out of the freezing snow. A new rumble greets her ears, and with widened eyes, she turns her shaky form to see flames licking at the belly of the vehicle. Heat sears her frozen face in painful prickles, and she gags as noxious fumes billow out of the metal frame and piping that’s melting in the scalding fire.
“Daddy?!” she screeches, covering her face from the exhaust. If her parents didn’t get out of there, they would burn alive!
In silent horror, she realizes the cries of her father have silenced into nothing. Only the truck’s shuddering groans resound into the dark woods as the truck continues to rock back and forth, its metal buckling under the heat.
“Dadd–” she cries, but it dies in her throat as a black figure arises from the burning wreckage on the other side of the vehicle. And as it slowly rises to its full height, all feeling flees her body except for the dread in her stomach sinking down, down, down.
The figure turns and reveals a familiar pair of red eyes and ghostly pale skin that reflect the flames beautifully. He is an angel of death clothed in smoke and breathed in flame. And as those eyes latch onto hers and those lips upon his blood-spattered face twist into a rictus grin, she knows that any claims she had upon her soul no longer exist.
Without warning, a huge explosion knocks her backwards as the tires burst and a ball of fire erupts from the vehicle. Rolling down the hill, she screams as her shoulder smashes brutally into a tree trunk. After endlessly careening down the steep ridge, she finally lands in the snow with a muted thud.
A violent ringing pierces her ears. As Hermione tries to get up, she realizes her vision has been blinded by the explosion for she can no longer see the moonlit woods surrounding her quivering body. Scared, the girl dizzily pushes herself to her feet and whimpers when her wounded shoulder buckles from the weight.
Clutching her injured shoulder, Hermione desperately fumbles about the darkness and shivers as the lonely, cold winter air eats away the remaining heat from her body. Forcing herself to move, she feels something hard in front of her and clings onto it.
Darkness…
Nothing, but darkness …
Until a ball of light kindles to life and takes form. It is the wreckage, burning to an infernal crisp within the snow further up the hill. But its flames only seem to stab an icy knife into her heart as she discovers the demon is no longer standing by the truck. The hairs on the back of her neck prickle to life.
Frantically, she lets go of the tree she has been clinging to and begins sprinting down the slippery slope. Sharp pants escape her trembling blue lips. Looking wildly about herself as she races down the hill, her eyes are drawn to a flicker of movement among thick patches of shadows. There, within the gloomy depths, two red orbs burn.
In shock, she nearly stumbles further down the ridge. With a bleating cry, Hermione urges herself to run faster. But her legs are beginning to fail her as they push through the thick layers of snow.
Like a shade, the demon slips in and out of the spidery shadows of the trees as he pursues her, his pair of smoldering red eyes burning a hole into her back.
“Mummy! Daddy! Help me!” she wheezes, her tiny heart hammering within the bird cage of her chest.
But there is no one here to rescue her. No one but the lonely moon and the baleful trees can hear her cries.
She doesn’t know how long she races through the woods. Time seems to lengthen, and the night seems to endure. Had it been a few minutes? Or hours? Hermione doesn’t know. All she really knows is the burning within her lungs, the exhaustion seeping into her wooden legs, and the fear clawing her from the inside out. But it is the fear that keeps her going …keeps her running from the looming monster haunting her every step.
He never gives up, and he never falters, remaining fervently behind her like a vigilant shadow trailing its master. With slow and purposeful footsteps, the wraith-like creature prowls through the snow and trees languidly — a predator stalking its prey.
He is relishing this… Her fear. Her weakening state. And he is waiting for the right moment to lunge.
Frozen to the bone, Hermione’s cries weaken into feeble whimpers as she continues on into the night. It is only when a searing, bright light floods her eyes does she finally allow herself to collapse.