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Summary
Hermione turned from the window, her last fleeting bastion of hope and fled once more down the seemingly endless halls of Malfoy Manor. No matter how fast her feet carried her, his even footfalls somehow grew ever nearer. She raced ahead, throwing herself into a small niche in the wall. An alcove of sorts that must have once housed some grandiose statue or suit of armour. She pressed herself back into the depths of the recess, hidden from the light of the hall’s torches. No longer able to distinguish the pounding of her own pulse from the rhythmic slap of his dragonhide boots she held her breath, willing not a single sound to betray her location.
"You cannot hide from me witch!" Malfoy taunted. The pale flesh of his hand and the glint of his polished signet ring caught the light as his arm snapped forward into the niche. There was nowhere left to run. Nowhere left to hide. She was trapped.