The grass was a dark wet blanket and the trees were black silhouettes beyond the expansive lawn, and Hermione's breath burnt in her lungs as she crossed the lawn towards them. She shook George off, pumping her arms and legs in rhythm, sprinting with all her strength. They'd taken out all but two of the "wolves in the lounge, so assuming the others had taken out all of those in the bottom floor bedrooms, that only left twelve or so. She thought that seemed like a manageable number. They just needed to regroup, in the trees where there was more substantial cover than furniture, more room, less likelihood of being caught in friendly fire.