A/N: This was long ago written in a fit of over description and high fever. I figured I might as well post it.
They had taken her at dawn. She'd been finishing an essay for McGongall down by the dawn touched lake when hands, their owner's encloaked in black had swung down from the trees. She had managed to loose off a good few curses, and had nearly made it back to the castle before their leader his face covered in a silver mask bellowed STUPEFY and she sank into oblivion.
Hermione lay tucked in between the restraining sheets of a small bed, her tousled black hair thrown at all angles, her head nestled protectively into the curve of her long white arm. She shifted, slightly burrowing deeper into the cushion. Sweet Circe she rasped out, the words harsh and guttural from lack of water. The spasms in her stomach continued, fiery trails of pain racing up her spine, shaking her violently.
She bit her fingers into her hands; the nails drawing blood, and burrowed her face into her pillow, locking her teeth together to resist the urge to bite down on the downy white cushion.
How many days had passed?
In this locked room with a barred window it was hard to tell how time flew.
Had they forgotten about her? She wondered. How ironic that would have been. Stolen away only to have her kidnappers forget her. Not even to have the pleasure to have someone to curse with her dying words for the sin that would become her wasted life. Hecate it hurt, she whimpered clutching her stomach in pain.
But thankfully, the spasms passed as quickly as they had come and she fell back onto the covers with a slight moan. Sleep for now her mind told her gently, caressing the mind of a girl who has always been far too old. Sleep now.
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Grey eyes flickered open, lined by dark lashes. She had sworn that she had heard a noise, a footfall, but nothing. Again. Nothing but white walls, white…with a cry of despair the fifteen year old turned to go back to sleep, to return for a time to blissful oblivion.
The door swung open silently, and a woman entered, her hands clasping a tray and a bag. The woman paused in the doorway for a moment watching the girl being tightly embraced by the Master of Dreams. With her bushy brown hair spilled across the covers she looks like something out of Shakespeare.
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White. Space. 'Airy nothing as her grandfather used to chuckle, his Scottish brogue thick and darkly amused. She wished he were here now. But where is here? Not Scotland for sure.
Turning again, she was startled by the sight of a golden haired woman in the corner. The woman has traces of white in her hair and was carefully unraveling a thread from a spool, her hands moving achingly slow.
Hermione watched her for a minute, fascinated by the green black thread that seems to be floating rather than unraveling. She can swear she can see the fibers in the thread; the woman glances up and their eyes meet. They're a clear black and she can see the stars in them.
"Who are you?" the girl cries out in desperation, her voice weak. The woman gets up hurriedly, and forces her back into the bed, tucking the covers around her frail body. "Here" the woman says, her voice kind, "Drink up". She places a bowl of steaming soup into the girl's hands, which automatically grip it tightly.
The soup is warm, oh so warm and she can smell the sweet traces of onions and beans. Just like her grandmother used to make…saliva forms in her mouth at the thought and she looks helplessly around. There's nothing to eat it with. She feels like crying.
She started to make a cup with her hands, to spoon the piping hot liquid into her awaiting mouth but the woman stops her with a fierce look. "We have manners" She tells her strictly, Hermione feels slightly ashamed, but not much.
The woman hands her a shiny spoon and for the first time Hermione almost smiles. Sweet, tangy, beautiful. The bowl is empty. She looks at it sadly; the woman follows her gaze and shakes her head in wry amusement.
Taking the bowl from her the woman exits the room. Hermione toys with a lock of hair and wonders if she will return.
When she finally does she's carrying another bowl of the life-giving soup. This time Hermione does smile, a grateful open smile. For the first time in her life her defenses are beginning to fall away.
At last even that sweet elixir vanishes and Hermione doesn't have the tenacity to ask for another. She asks the woman again, "Who are you?" but the woman shakes her head, so Hermione changes track. "Did they send you?" A nod, a bow of the head, she wants to ask more questions but it seems impertinent.
Anyway, her strength is fading, so she makes do with a mouthed word of thanks and falls back in between the covers.
The next time she awakes the woman is still unwinding the dark green thread.. Catching her eye the woman twinkles at her and says "Had a good nap then?"
"Rather" She says cheerfully stretching, as if to demonstrate her strength. Maybe she will survive this after all. Her stomach isn't hurting anymore, her hands are rather thin, her skin is a bit translucent. Maybe by the time she's saved she'll have turned into an ethereal beauty. The thought makes her laugh, but she ends up in a hacking cough that rips through her body like a wave, bent over double clutching her stomach.
A comforting hand is patting her on the back and handing her a glass of cool water, her newfound strength has vanished. The covers are a stained red. She's coughed up blood.
"S-" She begins to say but the woman quiets her with a glanced and gives her a hug. Hermione leans into the grip gratefully, the woman is warm and if she nestles into her arm like this then the woman's sheet of hair can cover her vision in glimmering strands. Protecting her from the world. She lets out a final shudder and relaxes.
The next time she awakes the stain is gone and so is the woman. The hunger has returned as well, clawing at her belly like some kind of hideous monster. Writhing uncomfortably she manages to wrap the covers around her like a sarcophagus. If this continues she'll end up like Eurychides and chew off her own foot. She hopes the woman comes back soon.
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It's early morning, or at least that's what it looks like through the bars on the window. The sky is painted in light pastel colors but at the top of the sky it is still night, a dark forbidding blue, but as if it were seeping from it, a light blue begins to stain the sky into morning.
Sinking back into her fluffy pillows, crossing her hands above her head Hermione regards the ceiling critically. She doesn't like the color white much, it seems so empty…black on the other hand is chockfull of things, crammed to the very inch, just not with things that you could see. They'd be rather like birds, she thinks, the downy jet black of midnight created by wave of ebony feathers.
Strange she thinks slowly, she can almost swear that she hears the beating of wings in the distance. The thought frightens her and she rolls back over.
White. Pure glistening light. She shrinks away from it, crawling deeper into the darkness where she's safe,,. the earth is shuddering beneath her, the beat in its heart fast and irregular. Cracks form in the carpet of blackness and she falls through.
Hands are shaking her roughly; she looks up into the anxious eyes of the woman. The woman drags her up from the bed and points her toward the door. "Go!" She commands her sternly, Hermione almost trips she can hardly stand, but the look in the elder woman's face lends her energy and she begins to move toward the door.
She halts, hand on the doorknob, it's unlocked now, she turns to look at her savior, confusion written on her face. "Why?"
"Just go!" The woman almost screams at her, hands wringing together desperately. Hermione yanks open the door, "Come with me!" She pleads, she doesn't know if she can face what's out there alone.
The woman just shakes her head and nods toward her bag of thread. "Then at least tell me your name" Hermione insists.
A ghost of a smile crosses the woman's face lighting up her dark eyes, " Call me…Lachesis" She says, pronouncing carefully. "Now Go!"
She's racing down the corridor, the fire gleefully consuming the hallway behind her, the flames snaking tendrils across the carpet and walls, crackling wickedly. Ahead of her lies the door and freedom but the exhaustion is taking over, the adrenaline fading from her body like a drug.
She pushes herself one more time and then nothing.
She feels dry all over as if someone has sucked all her soul out and all that's left is bones. Coughing harshly she opens her eyes. In front of her two men in auror robes are looking at her worriedly, the first with a tousled mop of red hair is running his fingers through it anxiously. Charlie? She wonders. "Merlin you were lucky to get out when you did, Hermione" says the red haired man, definitely Charlie, his pale hands guiding a blood replenishing potion to her chapped lips. "If Dad hadn't ordered that raid…I don't like to think about it. Harry and Ron are worried sick, you've been gone for almost a week" Hermione nods, yes, yes, that makes sense…Harry and Ron, an image of two boys merrily grinning at her dances before her eyes.
"You ok there?" asks a voice behind her, Tonks, today with long blonde hair tied up and a bit of soot on her nose. Hermione nods slowly, then a thought occurs to her and she grasps at Tonks anxiously, pulling her towards her. "Did you get her out? The woman?"
Tonks looks at her in confusion, "The woman?", Hermione nods, "A woman, a woman with a bag of thread and blonde hair!"
Tonks exchanges looks of pity with her companions and pats Hermione on the arm gently…she takes a deep breath and looks the teenager in the eyes, Hermione flinches as the words emanating from the woman's lips sink into her consciousness…
"There was no one else in the house"
--In the heart of the Dark Lord's hideaway Narcissa Malfoy takes a deep shuddering breath--
1. Lachesis was one of the three sisters of Greek Mythology, the middle one who was said to spin the tapestry of life, and who determined when that life would end. Fits quite nicely into the Black Sisters, or so I thought.