A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter. Your support and interest means a lot to me! If you want to know news about the fic, you can follow me on tumblr and livejournal as 'Melpomenis.' I hope you enjoy this chapter! A thousands thanks to 'the artful scribbler' who as always, did a wonderful job as my beta.
WARNING! This chapter contains a Non-Explicit Rape Scene. So if this upsets or disturbs you, please don't read it. If not, you read at your own risk...
...
I take a deep breath, enjoying the smell of wild lavender and fresh grass, the invigorating mix of nature and brisk, clean air.
The sun is half hidden behind the clouds but I'm warm enough from the exercise. I keep climbing carefully up the steep terrain, trying to keep my footing on slippery ground, as Harry and I ascend towards the top of Stoadshead Hill.
I remember the last time we roamed this hill. It was back in the summer before our fourth year at Hogwarts, and we followed this same path in order to travel through a Portkey, to attend the Quidditch World Cup. Now, though, the destination we are headed for is far cry from that joyful, fun-filled place, and there is no excitement to bouy my steps, just a sense of grim determination. I'm getting puffed and my throat is dry, and I can feel an oncoming stitch in one side.
I turn back to check if Harry is alright. The wind blows harder as we reach the summit and Harry's usually wild black hair, is even more unruly and spread across his face. He gives me a reassuring smile, and we continue on in silence.
Suddenly a clump of thick grass catches around my feet, and I stumble.
"Impedimenta!" Harry yells just in time, before I can hit the ground with any force. "Are you ok, Hermione?" he asks concernedly, extending his hand and helping me to stand clumsily up. I nod and mumble a 'thank you.' "Come on, we're almost there."
After a few minutes –which seem like hours to me– we reach the top. I look my wristwatch: a quarter to nine.
"Harry! We only have fifteen minutes left!" I snap anxiously at him.
I watch him fumbling with his backpack and he hurriedly extracts an old, dirty pottery vase. Exactly the kind of object muggles would not find suspicious if they happened to come across it.
"Are you ready?" Harry asks, placing the vase on the ground and readying his wand.
"Yes," I reply, producing my wand too, "I'm ready."
"Then I'll let you do the honours."
I point my wand towards the cracked vase. "Portus," I enunciate clearly.
There's a faint glow of blue, but it disappears as soon as we kneel down. I take Harry's hand into my own, and lift one finger to lightly touch the portkey. My stomach lurches and I feel like I'm being pulled down into a whirlpool or plughole. Everything dissolves instantly; I'm spinning and spinning into this maelstrom of vivid, kaleidoscoping colours.
I let go and plummet down and down, trying to brace myself for a hard landing. Abruptly, I crash onto hard stone, bruising my back and bottom and rolling several times over.
Oh, my head…
I'll never get accustomed to travel by Portkey.
My hazy vision adjusts slowly, and when the uncomfortable dizziness is gone, I pull myself to my knees with a groan, then clamber to stand up.
I survey my surroundings with a mix of interest and trepidation.
We are standing between two walls of high bushes, which extend like a long corridor towards a huge iron gate. The gate is itself grand and imposing, but it is dwarfed in comparison by the enormous structure behind it.
I stare in amazement at the vast building of grey sandstone with so many towers and floors, that it looks more like a castle than a manor. It reminds me of one of those ancient and haunted mansions I've seen in muggle movies with my parents.
Heck! That is really immense!
So this is the notorious Malfoy Manor, is it?
I've been here before, once. But that time I wasn't able or inclined to inspect its façade.
I shudder with cold and something else as well.
Well, at least I'm not going in there alone.
I look around for Harry. He is right beside me, looking warily at the manor through the bars of the iron gate.
"Don't worry," he says grabbing a hold of my hand reassuringly. "I won't leave you alone, not even for a second."
So, on we go.
Together we push open the gate, and it yields noiselessly, then we walk up the driveway. I don't know what Harry is feeling, but the hand encasing mine gets tighter, the closer we get to the huge, looming mansion.
At last we reach the towering ebony doors of the main entrance. Before either of us can knock, they swing open with an eerie creak, but it is not Lucius Malfoy who greets us. Standing there before us is a little house-elf, staring up at us with wide, glassy eyes.
"I is Hooky," he says with a shrill male-falsetto voice. "Hooky is pleased to receive Harry Potter and Harry Potter's friend to Master's manor."
"The pleasure is ours, Hooky," I say, giving my warmest smile to the little creature. "And where is your…umm…Master?"
He beckons us to enter. "Master awaits Harry Potter and Harry Potter's friend in his drawing room. Master has instructed Hooky to bring his visitors to him directly."
I follow both Hooky and Harry through a great, dimly-lit hallway. The walls are adorned with thousands of ancient portraits of blonde and pale wizards and witches. I can feel their impassive glares of contempt boring into my back.
Suddenly it feels very claustrophobic in here.
I tense.
Geez Hermione, get a grip. The faster you do this, the faster you'll get out of here.
I step into a large, dark marble room, appointed with expensive, elegant furniture. A horribly familiar room…
But as I peer around, I see no trace of Mr Malfoy. I'm not entirely sure if that is a good or a bad sign.
There's a sudden 'pop', and Hooky disappears.
The drawing room falls into creepy silence.
I try to negate my obvious discomfort by fixing my eyes on Harry. He is roaming across room, apparently fascinated by the collection of weird magical artefacts on the wooden shelves. A peculiar ornate crystal bottle, filled with some mysteriously-glowing purple liquid, catches his attention. To my utter horror he picks it up, and I run towards him with words of reproach rushing to my lips.
"Kindly remove your hands from that, Potter. It is quite delicate," a familiar voice drawls behind us, making me gasp in surprise. I turn slowly back to where the owner of that silky voice stands.
There, under the threshold, stands Lucius Malfoy. He is as imposing and intimidating as ever, with his fastidious, expensive attire, only partially concealed by formidable, black robes. I feel out of place and self-conscious with my plain jacket, jeans and old boots, compared to the impeccable outfit of the wizard in front of me.
His hair is pulled back smoothly, emphasizing the sharpness, even the harshness, of his flawless features. Any sign of the broken man I last saw during the war has disappeared, replaced by his old, supercilious self.
His haughty face betrays no emotion as he glares at Harry with cold and narrowed eyes.
Quickly, reflexively, Harry replaces the object, like a child caught taking candy from a jar. "Good morning, Mr Malfoy," he greets the older wizard, with embarrassment evident on his face. "I'm sorry, I was just… taking a look around."
"I can see that," Mr Malfoy drawls, walking with a graceful gait across the room, towards the shelf. "However, Potter, I suggest that you restrain yourself from playing with unknown objects," he remarks dryly. "They may have dangerous properties, which, if disturbed, can incur rather unpleasant… repercussions."
Harry winces a little, and I see Mr Malfoy sneer.
Smug arse, I think angrily. He obviously relishes making everyone around him as uncomfortable as possible. Piqued on Harry's behalf, I exclaim, "We presumed you wouldn't be allowed access to dark objects any more, Mr Malfoy." The words sound combative, and I bite my lip, thinking that I should be doing my best to secure this man's co-operation, not his antipathy.
Lucius Malfoy's head turns and his gaze connects with mine. His pale grey eyes gleam and his eyebrows arc with mild surprise. It's as if… he hadn't expected to see me here.
I shoot Harry an accusing glare. It's obvious he had not told Mr Malfoy that I'm the 'friend' he's bringing to see him.
I raise my eyes to his face again, and the tall wizard continues to scan my face, with keen eagle-like intensity.
My mouth has gone suddenly very dry.
"Mr Malfoy," Harry rapidly interrupts what is beginning to feel like a rather-odd staring competition, "Surely you remember my best friend, Hermione Granger?"
Harry's only trying to relieve the palpable tension in the air, but those ill-chosen words just make it worse. Of course Mr Malfoy remembers me. Last time we met in this room, I was being tortured by his sister-in-law.
Realising his blunder, Harry hooks my arm with his and adds, rather defiantly, "She is the one who instigated this meeting, so I suggest you make her feel welcome."
This seems to bring Mr Malfoy back to his senses. He blinks, straightens, and gives me a curt nod before murmuring, "Miss Granger… I own, this is quite a surprise..."
"Mr Malfoy." I manage to squeeze out the two words, reminding myself that I must not let our old enmity ruin my one chance of fixing whatever is wrong with me.
Recovering his equilibrium, Mr Malfoy directs us to a couch in the centre of the room. I watch him move his wand towards a cabinet and retrieve a bottle of wine bottle and three glasses.
"Elf wine, 1900's vintage," he says casually, at my questioning glare. "A fine one indeed."
He takes his place opposite us, handing us each our drinks. I accept mine reluctantly, careful not to let my fingers touch his.
"So, Potter, to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence in my humble abode?" His sarcastic remark makes me actually roll my eyes this time; fortunately he seems not to notice. "I believe you said you and your friend had an interesting proposition regarding my current…situation, isn't that so?"
"Possibly, Mr Malfoy," Harry replies guardedly. "Actually, it depends on you. – On your answer to a particular question."
Mr Malfoy leans forward, regarding us with an inquisitive gaze as he rests his pale hand under his chin. He seems calm, but I can sense something stirring beneath that placid surface... "Well?" he says, with a degree of impatience. "What is this question? Ask what you must, Potter."
Harry tries to meet the wizard's stare confidently, but his voice is somewhat nervous. Not surprising, given the subject he is about to broach. "Well, sir," he says, "We need to know how true the rumours are regarding Mal– erm, your son's whereabouts. I mean... is he really missing?"
Lucius Malfoy tenses, and a shadow crosses those sharp features. I can see a muscle angrily twitching in the smooth line of his jaw. "Do you wish to imply that I have simply fabricated my son's disappearance?"
"No, of course not, we were just wondering–"
"Just wondering? I see," he interrupts Harry, sounding somehow oddly distant and very icy. "Well, Potter, judging by the lack of Draco around the house, I dare say he is very missing indeed." He speaks dryly, but his tone is unutterably bitter.
I've never seen Harry blushing like that before.
Oh God…this isn't going the way it's meant to!
"He didn't mean it like that, Mr Malfoy!" I blurt out, trying to placate the older wizard's anger and relieve Harry's mortification at once.
He turns his cold gaze on me. "Did he not, Miss Granger?" he says, and the corner of his lips twitch in that imperious smirk so native to his features. "What did he mean, pray tell?"
This is no time to spar, so I simply reply, "Of course we believe that Draco has been... taken. What we need to know is – by whom? You told the Daily Prophet that you knew who was behind it all. How certain are you about that, Mr Malfoy?"
His eyes narrow calculatingly. "Ah, you must be referring to my former… colleagues, who remain presently at large. Am I right, Miss Granger?"
I feel my nerves quaver. "Yes," I tersely admit.
"In that case," he replies impassively, "I can answer your question in no uncertain terms. There is no doubt that the fugitive Death Eaters of whom we speak are the same miscreants who have taken my son."
I watch as he leans across to top up Harry's glass with the elven wine. Mine remains untouched.
"Now," he murmurs, "If there are no more unfounded questions, I should like to get straight to the point of our meeting."
Unfounded questions? Such an arrogant man!
"Very well," I hiss through my teeth, trying to keep my composure, "You see Mr Malfoy, we are here because we can offer you a chance of avoiding Azkaban."
His expression remains composed, but I can see his silver eyes glittering with interest. He appears to be measuring my words for a moment, then softly he replies. "In exchange for what, Miss Granger?"
"Well, I…."
He cocks an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue.
I cast a pleading look at Harry, who clears his throat nervously. "We are led to suspect that Hermione has been cursed, Mr Malfoy," he explains quietly. "It appears to have happened months ago, probably during the Hogwarts battle."
I stare nervously at anywhere but the man opposite me.
There's a brief pause. "Tragic indeed," Mr Malfoy drawls and I quickly look back at him, expecting to see a mocking sneer accompanying those words. But instead I see that he has adopted a thoughtful countenance. "But what does it have to do with myself, or Draco for that matter?"
"Because I'm sure that one of those absconders cast the curse," I reply, in a matter-of-fact tone. "And if you really are so absolutely sure that these same people have Draco, then our paths are leading in the same direction."
I turn my gaze to Harry. He looks startled by my sudden self-confidence.
So does Mr Malfoy, though he is better at hiding it.
Ha! Is this still 'unfounded' to you?
He can't suppress a sour grimace; his cold, grey eyes urge me to continue.
"Besides, this curse is related to the Dark Arts," I point out, twisting my hands on my lap. "We need a person with sufficient knowledge in these area, so we can find a cure as soon as possible."
He takes a sip of his drink. A small smile appears on his pale face. "And you immediately thought of me as the perfect candidate, Miss Granger?"
I nod.
"How… touching."
I feel my cheeks burning in embarrassment at his mocking tone.
"Well there were no other 'candidates' available," I blurt out indignantly. "The list of dark wizards no longer loyal to their cause is rather short, so you see I didn't have much choice in the matter."
He tilts his head to one side elegantly, regarding me with a derisive smirk.
Obviously, he finds me amusing.
"The point is Mr Malfoy," Harry says, once again trying to break the tension stretching between myself and the blond wizard opposite me, "that we'll make sure the Ministry concedes you your freedom, if you agree to help Hermione in finding a cure for her curse, as well as finding those Death Eaters."
I hear Mr Malfoy take a sharp intake of breath and his eyes narrow towards me thoughtfully, considering the offer.
Harry continues, "And that way, you'll be able to find your son as well."
"I shall think about it Potter," the man answers at last, leaning back in his seat. "However, before I agree to anything, I should first like to speak with Miss Granger for a few minutes. – Alone."
What? Oh, no.
I peer worriedly at Harry. His face has gone so pale he looks like he might faint. "There's no reason to–"
"Never-the-less," interrupts him smoothly, "It is what I require before I make my decision."
Lucius Malfoy chuckles at my horrified expression. "Oh, there is no need to look so worried, child. I only wish to satisfy my curiosity on a particular point."
I bristle at the word 'child', but let it pass with an ungracious scowl.
He stands abruptly, showing Harry to the exit. "I assure you it won't take too long; so, Potter, if you don't mind..."
His voice leaves no rooms for arguments, so I watch my friend walk away and disappear through the door with a last helpless glance back at me.
So much for 'I won't leave you alone, not even for a second.'
I stand and turn around, staring nervously at Mr Malfoy. His mercurial eyes betray no emotions, yet somehow I suddenly feel like a small animal cornered by some dangerous bird-of-prey.
But he simply gestures for me to sit back down and joins me, this time assuming the place which Harry has vacated, rather closer than I'm comfortable with. Up this close he seems even more forbidding and physically intimidating, and I'm unpleasantly reminded of the last time I was so close to a Death Eater...
He doesn't immediately speak, merely continues to watch me in an odd way, and I feel certain he is once again enjoying the discomfort and awkwardness that he is creating.
I quickly avert my eyes from his.
"What do you want to talk about Mr Malfoy?" I finally ask. My tone is a little harsher than I intended.
He raises one eyebrow in apparent amusement. "Now, now, Miss Granger, there's no need to be so rude," he murmurs with feigned chagrin, but the corners of his mouth twitch up in a smug smirk.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "I'm sorry, sir."
His chuckle gives me chills.
"You see Miss Granger, I'm a little bit curious about this proposal of yours."
"What do you mean?"
He leans closer to me, and it's all I can do not to shy back from him.
"I quite understand your wish for me to help you find a cure for your problem," he says softly, his eyes scanning my face coolly. "What I don't understand, is why you want so badly to find these people."
Well…
"Or are you just looking for the 2000 galleons' reward?" he asks mockingly. "Fortune hunter, Miss Granger? I never would have guessed."
I glower at him. "It has nothing to do with that."
"Is that so?" he murmurs suavely. "Pray enlighten me then."
I… I can't tell him.
For the first time, I take a sip of the wine he served, trying to settle my nerves. It's surprisingly sweet and delicious.
His hawk-like gaze follows my every moves.
"I just want to confront the man who cursed me, that's all," I tell him calmly, but I'm grabbing the arm of the couch tightly with one hand, and the other holding my wineglass is trembling. "I want to find him and bring him back to justice."
He levels his gaze at me suspiciously, not fully convinced.
Please, don't ask anymore.
I turn my eyes away from his piercing, invasive stare, suddenly aware of the fact that this man may be a Legilimens.
He gets up from the couch and begins to pace unhurriedly around the room. The heels of his boots echo across the marble floor with each step. He stops short at the fireplace, staring at the crackling flames. I can't help noticing how imposing and elegant his tall frame looks in this attitude, with his hands clasped behind his back.
I wait for a couple of… Seconds? Minutes? Until his thoughts finally snap back to the present, and he turns around to face me again.
He makes the briefest of nods. "I shall accept you proposal, Miss Granger," he says, walking back towards me. "But I should warn you, that the task ahead will be neither easy, nor pleasant. There may well be... consequences."
He is frowning and his lips are pressed together in a serious, grim line.
"I know, sir."
"And do you accept them?"
I pause for a moment before quietly replying. "I do."
"Good," he drawls dryly. "I believe we have a deal, then, Miss Granger."
"Yes, we do sir."
There, it's done.
Unexpectedly, he extends his hand towards me. I tremble a little at the thought of touching his bare skin with my own... but I remind myself that if we are now to be partners, I ought to be able to perform this most basic of conventions without going to pieces.
Carefully I place my wine down and let my hand slip into his.
It is surprisingly warm, and there is an odd tingling sensation, which begins where our palms meet and seems to travel up my arm and over my whole body. I feel strangely calmer, more at-ease.
Our eyes connect as we shake, and this time his smile is not so brittle. My cheeks flood with warmth once again, and I withdraw my hand quickly.
He stands and gracefully saunters towards the entrance of the room, "Shall we?" he asks, opening the huge doors with a flick of his wand.
I can see Harry waiting just outside, his green eyes wide with worry.
"I do believe everything is in order, Potter," Mr Malfoy says sharply. "Your friend and I have come to...an agreement."
...
I'm trying to keep my mind calm. Doing my best to get some sleep in this stormy night, but I can't help replaying the day's events over and over in my mind.
Did I really convince Lucius Malfoy into helping me?
Are we truly meant to work together from now on?
I remember how, just a few months ago, I'd have preferred to send my soul to the devil himself, rather than making any sort of pact with a Death Eater. If anybody had told me I'll be recruiting Lucius Malfoy's help, I would have laughed in their face.
The irony is too much.
Now, though…
But surely he has changed? I mean, he didn't just defect from Voldemort for nothing. He did it because, in the end, he realized his son was far more important to him than anything else.
But he is still arrogance personified.
Well, yes.
But I do believe in Professor Dumbledore's words. Everyone deserves a second chance, including him.
We'll have to wait and see…
Crack!
A noisy roll of thunder makes me cry out, and I dive under my bed cover, my pulse racing with terror.
Are you five years old again?
Oh, I do hate storms.
I pull the blankets tighter around my body, trying to gain some warmth. There's a soft knocking at my door.
"Hermione, are you okay?" A concerned voice asks from the other side. Ron's voice. "May I come in?"
"Umm… Yes, come in Ron."
He opens the door and silently steps inside my room. "Why were you screaming?" he asks frowning, "Were you having those bad dreams again?"
"Oh no," I reassure him with a smile, trying to hide my embarrassment. "I just got frightened by the thunder. You know how I hate it."
He nods and sits on the bed besides me. "Bloody hell 'Mione, I just can't explain how this could have happened to you."
"It's okay Ron, really," I say reassuringly to him. "What matters now is how we're going to stop it."
"I know but, I can't stop blaming myself for this!" he bursts out, unable to contain his frustration and anger. "I was supposed to protect you!"
I bite my lip guiltily. "Ron, please stop blaming yourself. We both knew the risks at the time and accepted them. It was the right choice – the only choice. You aren't to blame for what happened, a-and neither am I." I say the last words fiercely, trying to convince myself.
He takes my hands in his, and his touch warms my heart. I smile at him and squeeze his hand back. Briefly I'm struck by the difference between Ron's familiar clasp, and the tingling, almost electric touch of the blond wizard with whom I made my pact.
"Besides it won't take much longer," I add, almost mumbling the words.
He looks at me, puzzled. "How's that, 'Mione?"
I know I should tell him, but the words stick in my throat. "I – I can't tell you right now, and please don't insist," I beg him sweetly, silently scolding myself for putting it off again. "I promise to tell you everything tomorrow. Just trust me, please."
For a moment he looks like he's going to protest, but then surprisingly he just nods. He looks a little weary and... sad.
"I trust you, Hermione," he affirms, leaning forwards and giving me a light peck on the cheek. "And I love you."
More guilt. Tears threaten to escape my eyes.
"I love you too Ron," I whisper. "It will be alright, I promise."
I watch him silently walk out of the room.
Oh God… Why is everything like this? I want to tell him – everything. Not just about my deal with Lucius Malfoy, but everything that happened, that night, when my life changed forever... But how can I? How can I look in his face and watch it crumple when I tell him what was done to me? How can a bear the pain I know I will see in his eyes – the questions, the blame, the rage, the helplessness?
I rise from my bed and catch my reflection in the bedroom mirror. Hesitantly I move over to it.
Do I look different now? I feel as if I must. As if it is written all over me in glaring red ink. After all, I'm not the same person as the confident witch who entered the Forbidden Forest in search of her friend that night...
But when I inspect my features, all I see is an exhausted-looking young woman, a little too thin, much too pale, with haunted eyes.
It's in my eyes that you can read what happened to me, if you look closely enough. The evidence of a painful truth...
...
...I drift back into consciousness slowly. Everything is so fuzzy and dark… I'm lying on the freezing ground, dizzy, scared and so terribly weak. I can barely manage to stand. As I stagger to my feet, that raw pain returns to my left shoulder, making me cry out in agony. I bite my lip to stifle my scream, grabbing my shoulder.
It's not bleeding, but it feels almost like some kind of acid was poured directly onto my skin, burning, dissolving my flesh… Oh no, what has he done to me? And most importantly, where is he…?
Dizziness recedes as fear takes over. I peer around me, trying to get my bearings. I seem to be in a small clearing in the forest, surrounded by thick bushes, with the dark canopy of trees above.
Thankfully, I'm alone.
I reach instinctively to extract my wand from my pocket – and for one terrible moment I can't find it. I gasp, patting my disordered clothes hurriedly, trying not to panic. Then I see it a few feet away, lying on the ground near the edge of the bushes.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Despite the fact it used to belong to the crazy witch who tortured me at Malfoy Manor. Any wand, even a dark one, is better than no wand.
As quietly and quickly as I can I creep over to where it is lying. I only hope I can find Harry, or a way back out of the forest, before any other Death Eaters find me, or the man who hurt my shoulder returns.
I'm just in the process of kneeling to retrieve it, when a dark shadow falls across me. My hand is suddenly kicked away, and the wand covered by a large, black boot. My original slim vine wand would have smashed beneath that heavy heel, but Bellatrix's hard-walnut baton remains in tact.
My heart pounds and my mouth goes dry as I look up to see the black robes and sinister mask of a Death Eater looming over me.
Oh my God. It's him. The wizard who wounded me. He has been waiting for me in the surrounding murkiness of the trees. With a gasp of terror I stagger up and away, but the man's hands shoot out and he catches my arms, pulling me back to face him.
"You..." he murmurs softly, "...exactly where do you think you're going, girl?"
The pain in my shoulder is unbearable and I'm shaking badly. "Let me go!" I cry desperately.
The blank expression of the ornate mask is terrifying this close. In the depths of the black eye-holes the man's dark eyes glint menacingly. "If you knew what was best for you, Mudblood, you'd never have come here." His voice is horrible, barely human, distorted by his mask. "Especially after your foolish friend's...unfortunate fate."
Those words sink painfully in; I'm starting to hyperventilate. "What d-do you mean?" I gasp. "Where is Harry?" My heart is thudding with dread, and I'm terrified of the answer he may give me.
"The Dark Lord has taken care of him," he informs me coldly. "He's dead."
A tide of grief and despair washes over me. I feel like I'm drowning. Harry. My best friend... I feel utterly helpless, crippled. ...Not Harry. He can't be dead. He can't be!
And then to my utter horror and rage, I hear the man chuckle.
For a moment I'm frozen by that sound. Then, almost dizzy with rage, I begin wildly hitting and punching at the man, my fists pounding against his hard chest. "You coward!" I shout at him. "Why don't you kill me too?!" I'm so overcome with anguish, at that moment I truly mean it. "Go on! Kill me!"
The wizard grasps my wrists, jerking them roughly behind me as he leans down to murmur tauntingly in my ear. "Oh, I'm not going to kill you, Mudblood."
"Let me go, you coward!"
"There's no need to call names, girl. You think your precious Chosen One was so brave? No, he died like the beaten cur he was, begging for mercy and blubbering for his mother to save him."
"Liar!" I cry, struggling uselessly against the man's iron grip. Almost beside myself with rage at his disgusting words, I spit at his mask.
The Death Eater knocks me to the ground with a single blow, but I barely feel the physical pain. I'm crying hysterically, and my words are distorted by my gasping sobs. "Harry was a thousand, thousand times the man you'll ever be...You're no man at all..."
He lunges towards me, and instinctively I roll over, trying to scrabble away from him, then cry out as his hand clamps around my ankle.
He's dragging me backwards, until he's above me and over me, one hand gripping a fistful of hair, the other encircling my throat as he presses me bodily beneath him. "I'll show you how much of a man I am, Mudblood," he hisses. His voice is furious, but there is something else in it as well, something which turns my blood to ice…
With a sickening wave of understanding, I realise what his intentions are.
"No! No—don't!" I cry desperately, struggling and struggling against him, trying to summon all the energy I have left to push him off me, but his weight is crushing me, and his grip is too strong. I can hear material tearing, and I redouble my efforts, biting and clawing – until finally he grabs my injured shoulder, and I'm blinded by a starburst of agony. It's too much, I can't breathe...I feel like I'm falling into darkness..."Stop – pl-please," I beg, but my protests mean nothing, my struggles mean nothing...
There is more pain, even more terrible, to come. ...I had been saving myself for the right time with Ron. Waiting, dreaming of some happier future day, when the darkness was far behind us, and we could share a perfect moment of true bliss, uncontaminated by cloying worry and gnawing fear...
He shatters that dream. Shatters it and stamps it into the dust, and leaves me lying in its wreckage, sobbing on the frozen forest floor...
A noise outside my room pulls me out of my horrible reverie, and I jump, blinking myself back to the present. When I catch my reflection in the mirror, my face is streaked with tears.
I run towards the sink and splash cold water on my face, in an attempt to control my sobs. The sound of the water flowing from the taps is somehow relaxing.
Just breathe. Everything is going to be alright.
I wish I could believe that. It is my only hope.
I feel so empty and... unclean. Dirty. I never felt more affinity with the derogatory name I've been called so often in my life. Mudblood...
But I can't let this beat me. I have to move on. And I'll need to put on a strong mask if I'm going to go through with this, no matter what I'm feeling inside.
I take some deep breaths, until I'm calm. Then I blow my nose, dry my face with a fluffy towel, and head back to my bedroom.
I'm so tired…
Well, tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow my journey will begin. And I know for sure I will not stop until I've found that man, because I swear to God that he will pay.
I pull the covers tightly over me, and let sleep carry me into oblivion.
