Can't run from time

The goblet was cool in her hands, its surface smooth and untouched. The dark liquid inside shimmered under the dim candlelight. Hermione hesitated for only a second before bringing it to her lips.

If Voldemort had wanted to poison her, he wouldn't have waited until now.

The taste was thick and rich—wine. Stronger than she expected. She took a sip, letting it burn down her throat, before placing the goblet back on the tray. Next to it sat a small plate of dark bread, still warm, as if freshly baked.

Who brought this?

Whoever had entered her room—whoever had taken the risk—she needed to find them. Her heart pounded as she pulled a hair clip from her tangled curls. Holding her breath, she kneeled by the door, inserting the metal tip into the keyhole. This was a very muggle way, but it was her only option. 

The lock was old. Worn. It took two tries before— Click.

The door cracked open. Hermione froze, listening. Nothing. Slowly, she stepped out into the dim corridor. The house swallowed her in darkness. The air smelled of damp stone, old magic, and something metallic—blood. She fought the urge to shudder.

Moving silently, she crept forward, her bare feet pressing against the cold wooden floor. The familiar corridor twisted into a staircase, the banister slick beneath her fingers as she descended. Shadows flickered against the walls, twisting like something alive.Her breath came faster.

At the bottom of the stairs, the hallway stretched before her, lined with closed doors. Some slightly ajar. A draft curled through the space, carrying the scent of decay.

Then— A dark stain. Hermione stopped. On the floor, smeared across the wooden panels, was a streak of blood. Still fresh. A lump formed in her throat. She didn't want to know whose it was. She forced herself to move, careful to step over the stain. The tension coiled inside her like a snake, every shadow stretching too far, every sound amplified. Finally, she spotted the back door. She sped up, turning the corner to the room whenBang!!

She crashed into something—someoneA scream tore from her throat, but a rough hand clamped over her mouth. Her entire body went rigid. The figure loomed over her, dressed head to toe in black, and it was too dark to make out a face. But in the faint light, something glinted.Silver.

Not just silver—silvery blond, delicate and elegant, peaking out from under the hood.
Her breath came in sharp gasps against his palm, her pulse hammering against her ribs. Then, a whisper—low, urgent. "Quiet."Hermione's body stiffened. She knew that voice. Familiar. Half-buried in memories. The hand over her mouth slowly dropped. She gasped, swallowing down panic. "Who—"

"Take this."

Something was pressed into her palm. She looked down.

Floo powder.

Her eyes snapped back to his hidden face. "Who are you?" she whispered. The figure ignored the question. Instead, he spoke quickly, voice sharp but laced with something she couldn't quite name.

"Run down the hill. Into the town. There will be a house surrounded by black dahlia's on vines—you can't miss it."

The rare, deep purple flowers were known to bloom only on the estates of old, wealthy wizarding families.

Hermione swallowed. "And then?"

"The house is empty. There's a fireplace. Use it. Get out."

The urgency in his voice sent another wave of fear through her. Whoever he was—he was terrified. He sounded young too. Too young to be one of the inner circle death eaters. He was most likely a new recruit.

She gripped the powder tightly. "Why are you helping me?"

A pause.

"Forget you ever saw me. Forget I ever saw you."

The way he said it—low, clipped, almost pleading—made her breath hitch. But there was no time to press him. She gave a sharp nod. "Thank you."And then she turned. She ran. Through the door. Across the yard. Down the hill, the cold wind biting at her skin, the darkened village stretching before her. She ran until she saw it.The house. Tall, elegant, vines curling around its gates like watchful serpents. He hadn't lied. It wasn't a trap. 

Heart pounding, she pushed through the overgrowth, slipping inside.

Just as promised—the fireplace. Shaking, she threw the powder into the flames. "The Burrow!"

Green fire roared to life, swallowing her whole.And then—

She was gone.