Chapter 3

A/N – I just realized that I haven't mentioned the meaning behind the title of this fic. It comes from a poem that is very dear to my heart, "Sonnet XVII" by Pablo Neruda. It's one of the only poems I have memorized by heart, and I think it is incredibly beautiful. The full line is as follows: "I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul."

I had a hard time picking out the song for this chapter, so I'm going to go with a crowd favorite: Placebo's "Running Up That Hill." If it's not one of your favorites, you should listen to it. There, now it's one of your favorites. You're welcome. I think it goes well with how Hermione is feeling – she's trying very hard not to show how affected she is by Nott's torture, but she also realizes how this affects those around her. I love the part of the song where Brian Molko sings "C'mon baby, c'mon, c'mon darling. Let me steal this moment from you now … Let's exchange the experience." I think it fits in well with the scene between Ron and Hermione towards the end of this chapter. If I were you, I'd listen to that song on repeat.

"Hermione? Hermione, wake up!"

She was on fire. The flames reached up to lick her face, blistering her skin, burning off her eyelashes. She screamed, but no sound came out; all she could hear was the flickering of the flames, the crackling of her flesh as it peeled off, exposing muscle and bone. She shook her head back and forth, willing the flames to subside. This was worse than the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement. That fire was alive, yes, and seemed almost sentient, but this… this fire hated her, its only reason for being was to destroy her, leaving ashes in its wake. She felt it enter her mouth; she tried to claw at her face and then realized that her hands were still bound above her head. There was no escape, no release. The putrid stench of burning hair reached her nostrils, filling them.

Shouldn't she have passed out by now? Oblivion would be welcomed with open arms, if only she could reach it….

She tried, again, to scream. She screamed for Harry, for Ron, for her mother and her father. She begged, pleaded, bargained. She'd do anything, she'd tell him anything, please, just let her die!

"Hermione! Wake up!"

She could feel him shaking her. How could he touch her without burning himself? Why would he risk it, what more could he do to her now? Her whole world was fire, her past, present and future composed entirely of flame and cinder. If Harry and Ron ever found her remains, what would they see? One and a half kilograms of ash. Her mother's ring. She had a dental filling when she was younger, before she found out she was a witch. Her parents had been horrified, and she had been more than diligent with her oral hygiene since then. A daughter of two dentists had little to excuse when it came to flossing. Would they find it? Would it burn as well?

Murmuring, then. Where was that coming from? What was Nott playing at? She could almost make out words, but the fire was literally roaring, filling her ears.

"I can't seem to wake her up. Do you think we should try Rennervate?"

"I think I'd prefer to try Aguamenti over Rennervate, if we're not going to let her wake up on her own."

Those voices… they were familiar. Where had she heard them? Was there someone there with Nott?

"I'm just going to scream until she hears me. She needs to wake up! She looks terrified."

"Go for it, mate."

"OI! HERMIONE! WAKE UP NOW!"

Confusion. Chaos. And fire.

And then, light.

"Ron?" Her voice was gravelly, like she had forgotten how to use it. She slowly opened her eyes, searching for the flames. There. Her friends, alive. She looked down at her arms. Her flesh was whole, pink, not peeling.

It was just a nightmare. The most vivid nightmare she had ever had. She couldn't shake the feeling that maybe THIS was the dream, and the flames were her reality. It didn't really matter, though, if she could stay here. She'd live in this dream, happily.

She was vaguely aware of Harry's arms pulling her into a sitting position, and of Ron taking her pillow as he moved to sit behind her, his legs framing hers, his arms pulling her close to him. She leaned back in to chest, breathing in his scent, letting it overwhelm the lingering smell of smoke. Harry sat in front of her on the bed, his eyes troubled behind his round spectacles. His mouth opened to speak, then closed again. He absentmindedly touched his scar; was it hurting again? Had Voldemort come out of hiding while she was gone?

"You had a nightmare." It was a statement, not a question. Harry's eyes bored into hers; as if he could see what she had dreamt if he looked hard enough. As if the flames had been literally burned into her retinas. Her secrets written on cones and rods. She bowed her head, busying her hands on adjusting the quilt wrapped around her legs.

"Yes." A simple reply, delivered without emotion. Hold it together.

"You know, you can talk about it. The nightmares, or... or what happened. Ron and I are both here for you. And if anyone can understand nightmares, Hermione, it's me. Lovely perk of this bloody connection with You-Know-Who."

Ah, so there was still a Taboo on Voldemort's name, then. Good to know. She didn't want to hurt Harry or Ron, but there was no way in hell she was going to let on all that had happened to her. There were still things she couldn't remember, didn't want to remember. Some things are better forgotten; if only her dreams would allow her such a courtesy. She very distinctly remembered Nott whisper Flagrate, then held his wand to her face, allowing it burn her flesh. He would heal her, of course. That way he could burn her again, over and over. He never seemed to tire of the smell, or of her screams. He was very dedicated in that way.

"I know. Maybe later. Where is Nott being held?" Keep it short. Keep it surface. Keep yourself together. Her emotions were everywhere. These last few days had been tumultuous to say the least. She was always afraid. Always sure that he could find her again, take her again. And just behind the fear, her hatred. She didn't want to kill Nott, no. She wanted to bleed him dry. Cut him up into tiny pieces, jagged edges, parts that don't fit back together. She wanted to leave him a shell of a man; a spectre, a rotting, living corpse. Rip his soul in half, tear it asunder. Write her name in his blood, like she promised. But Harry and Ron couldn't know of her plans. They had been afraid for her when she first used Crucio. What would they say now? Would they even recognize the woman she had become? The women he had made her?

She tried to recall the girl she was at Hogwarts, before the war. Sure, she still loved to read, still thirsted for knowledge. She was still endlessly dedicated to her friends. She still stood up for Kreacher when Harry or Ron got too cross with the poor house-elf. But she had forgotten what it felt like to be completely content. What was it like to wake up in the morning and feel not an ounce of anxiety, of fear? To not wonder who would die this week? Over the last three years (more, really, but the last three years, definitely) she has slowly lost her innocence. It has slipped through her fingers like sand, but the last month and a half with Nott had finished the job. Happily ever after was a joke. How could good win over evil, if evil is so all-encompassing? How would their world ever be whole again? She has always wanted to get married, start a family. How was that even possible in this reality? The meticulous, cheerful Gryffindor was no more, not really. What was left was this scared, angry woman. There was no good and evil, there was just alive or dead. Winning or losing. How could Ron and Harry not see that? How could they still hold so much hope?

She tried to keep her face blank. "Is he contained?" She didn't like their silence. Ron hadn't said a word since she had awoken, he just held her tightly, his chin on her shoulder, his breath in her ear.

Harry shifted on the bed, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, he's contained. He's here, actually. In the basement; Kreacher moved to the attic while you were... gone. He was Silencio'd after it was obvious he need a few days to get used to his new accommodations. That's why you haven't heard him yet."

In the basement. Next to the kitchen. The kitchen she had finally visited yesterday morning, when she felt up to walking around. She had been that close to her tormenter and not known it. How was that possible?

"Ah." What was there to say? 'Thanks for not telling me a sodding lunatic was next door while I ate my porridge, cheers'?

For a moment no one spoke, and the tension was palpable. Ron's thumbs, which had been tracing patterns on her arms, suddenly stopped.

"When can I begin my interrogation, then?" She did her best to keep her voice even. Her skin was crawling just thinking of that monster three floors below her. Were they feeding him? Probably. Had they roughed him up yet? She hoped so.

Ron finally spoke, "'Mione... are you sure that's what you want to do? We can take care of it, you don't have to see him ever again. We can do this for you. Please." He sounded so worried about her; he didn't need to be. She could do this. She needed this.

"Ron, I have to stand up to him. I have to face him or he'll always be the one in control. I can't let him beat me. He's taken so much of me already, I can't give him this."

Harry nodded his consent. He knew what it meant to face the person who had tried to destroy you. Hermione deserved to take back her power. "How about you take the day to process what you want to ask him, and we'll start tomorrow. I'm going downstairs to owl the rest of the Order. Perhaps they'll have some questions of their own." He stood up and walked to the door, pausing to give Ron a look that obviously conveyed his concern for Hermione.

"We're good, mate. I'll stay here and help 'Mione with her questions," Ron answered, trying to keep his voice casual, but it came out high and false to Hermione's ears. What did he think of her now? Did he see how damaged she was? Did he think she was the same girl he loved?

Hermione wanted to be that girl for him. Maybe she could reclaim what was lost. Maybe they could still be together, after…. He was such a good man, loyal, brave, and he could make her smile. If she could just put this behind her, maybe she'd start to really feel again. Because she could feel his arms around her, but it didn't affect her like it used to do. She didn't expect to be comforted; that was downright impossible at the moment. But where was that other sensation, like her stomach had dropped, her insides warming and melting? She needed to feel that again. She needed to feel like she wouldn't always be empty.

She turned her head, rubbing her cheek against his. "Ron," she whispered, "I know we said that now isn't a good time to be involved, and I still think that's true. This may be really selfish of me, but do you think you could remind me of how things used to be between us? I'm just so lost right now. I need to feel… I dunno. Alive again? If you don't think it's a wise idea, I understand." She held her breath, waiting for his reply.

Ron slowly lowered his mouth to her ear, his lips grazing her lobe as his breathing grew deeper. "I'm not sure it's a wise idea, but I'm not really sure I care either way." He gently bit down, and Hermione arched her back, hissing at the sensation. She reached her hand back to run her fingers through his hair, turning as she pulled his lips to hers. "Good," she breathed, and caught his bottom lip, biting harder than necessary. She turned to the side, her legs dangling over the edge of the bed to get better access to his mouth. With one hand around his waist and the other at his neck, she pulled him closer to her until their bodies were flush. She glanced at the bed side table and spotted her wand. She was so thankful for whoever it was that found it next to the Forbidden Forest on the night she was taken. She didn't think she could adjust to a new wand, if one could even be procured, on top of everything else.

Ollivander had closed up shop in Diagon Alley after the Battle of Hogwarts, and he had gone into hiding, like so many other business owners. It was more and more difficult to buy anything of value in Diagon Alley, but wands were by far the hardest to come across. Of course, with so many witches and wizards being killed in the raids, there were occasionally wands just lying about, but it seemed quite morbid to go looking for such a thing. Her original wand had been taken by the Snatchers, and she missed it greatly. She had been forced to use Bellatrix Lestrange's wand for a while, but it had always felt wrong to her. After the Battle of Hogwarts, she had found a wand lying in the rubble, and she picked it up out of curiosity. It felt friendly in her hand, and it responded very well when she attempted to transfigure a discarded Death Eater mask into a yo-yo. She immediately pocketed it and broke Bellatrix's wand in half. She liked to think that this new wand had belonged to someone fighting on her side, someone intrinsically virtuous, like Colin Creevey.

She leaned across Ron to grab the wand off the table, and muttered a quick Imperturbable charm on the door, adding Muffliato for good measure. She then absentmindedly flicked the lights off, leaving the room quite dark, the only glow a small bit of daylight streaming in from the window next the door.

"Are you sure about this?" she breathed into his mouth, not breaking contact, craving his scent in her nostrils, his taste on her lips. "I don't want you to think I'm using you, Ron. If this isn't okay…."

"Merlin, Hermione, I've been waiting bloody forever for you to use me. Now stop talking."

She was always good at following directions, so he shouldn't have been quite so surprised when she suddenly straddled his waist, pushing him down further on the bed. Their coupling had always been sweetly passionate, but this felt different. Hermione's kisses were bruising, her hands clasping his neck and shoulder so tightly that he assumed she'd leave a mark. He trailed soft kisses across her lips, down her neck, stopping right above her clavicle. Gods, the noises she was making! It was as if he was already inside of her, not merely enjoying a nice, albeit heated, snog. She pulled him up to sit with her, her nails scratching at his back as she ground her hips against his with abandon. Ron half-spoke, half-groaned out, "Fuck, Hermione…" and she flashed him a wicked smile. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm expecting from you, Ronald."

Every nerve ending was on fire; he was already much too close to losing control. "'Mione, if you want this to last, we've got to take it slower," he warned. She refused to listen to this and bit his shoulder, hard, as she increased her pace. "'Mione…" he growled, his hands leaving her hips to wrap around her waist as he flipped them over, taking control. He stretched out his long body on top of hers, pinning her to the bed as he caught his breath. "I'm serious." His lips rested at the top of her sternum and he slowly kissed his way down to her neckline, pulling it slightly down to get one more glimpse of skin. His fingers tiptoed down her stomach, and he gently pulled at the hem of her jumper, inching it up her torso. Hermione gasped as she finally grabbed hold of that elusive melting feeling she'd desired so ardently. She felt Ron grin as his mouth followed his fingertips, and his hand was just below her aching breasts when he stopped.

"No! Keep going!" she admonished him, her tone betraying her pent-up frustration.

Ron slowly met her gaze, his face a mask of pain and anger. "Hermione," he growled out, his voice dangerously on edge, "What the fuck is on your stomach?"

She froze. The scars. Her torturer's name forever carved into her body. How could she have forgotten?

Ron grabbed her wand and flicked on the light. Hermione's hands rushed to pull down her jumper, but Ron's Keeper reflexes prevailed and he pushed her hands out of the way. The silence was horrible as he stared at her wounds, lightly brushing a fingertip across Nott's name.

He pointed her wand at the door, and wordlessly removed the silencing spells. His jaw was set as he stood up and walked to the door. Turning back, he saw her huddled on the bed, begging him to stay.

"I'm going to kill him. I'm going to slice him top to bottom."

And he intended to keep his promise.

A/N – I'm asking a favor of you, my readers. Please take 1 minute and write a review. As we all know, stories that have a higher number of reviews get read more. If you think this story is worth a read, please review so other people will give it a chance as well. Thank you.