Chapter 3: Between Two Lungs
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The door to the cellar opened and two sets of feet slowly stumbled down the stairs. The girl that was dragged away earlier that evening walked into the cavernous room, eyes cast down. The Death Eater that brought her down paused out of sight behind the doorway. She was shoved forward, and tumbled to the ground upon catching her food on the uneven floor. She went and took her usual seat at the foot of a pillar central to the room. A flash of platinum blonde hair could be seen in the doorway then the sound of the cellar door, slamming shut behind them.
Tomlin spoke up, "Alice? Are ye' alright hen?".
So that was her name, Hermione thought to herself.
A long stretch of silence followed before Alice's high voice came out as barely a whisper, "Yes. I'm fine."
An idea struck Hermione as she jumped to her feet and pressed herself against her bars, trying to catch a closer look at Alice's feet.
"Alice-", Hermione stopped, seeing the look of incredulity on the girl's face when her head snapped up to the sound of her name. Hermione suppressed a grimace. She was well aware of how she kept to herself, and did not make a habit of addressing her cell mates by name. She preferred the anonymity of it all. But the shock on Alice's face resonated with Hermione as she realized just how estranged she had become of her cell mates.
"Alice, you're feet, look at your feet. They haven't tied you up, have they Alice?". She couldn't stop using the poor girls name.
The stutter had returned in Alice's voice, "Y- yes. Th-that's right. He said I wouldn't them anymore."
"When? Just now 'e said that?" Tomlin interjected. There was an edge of excitement to his voice.
"No, earlier. Wh-when he came to get me."
"Why? What did 'e mean, 'ye' wouldn't need 'em anymore'?"
"He just said w-we'd all be leaving soon. Everyone w-wou-wouldn't be welcome here anymore." Alice cleary didn't do well under interrogation.
There was a soft, collective intake of breath across the room. Hermione felt the anticipation in her stomach turning to dread. " 'Not welcome here anymore'...?, she mused to herself.
The clinking of chains could be heard as Tomlin dragged himself across the cave ground, stretching himself further towards the poor girl, huddles at the foot of the towering cellar beam. 'What- well… what exactly did he say Alice?". The hesitation in his voice was transparent.
Alice sniffed. "He said that this was his house now, it'd been given to him. And h-he said everyone would b-be moving somewhere else. He came and got me from-". Her voice broke, tears pooling in her eyes, threatening to spill over.
"Awh, everthin' will be quite alright there lassie. This could be good news."
Hermione leaned back from the cold metal bars, sliding back to the soft and rotten floor, deep in thought, listing all the facts she had managed to wrap her head around. So Lucius Malfoy was dead, and someone had already replaced him. The conditions of their prisonment were never odious under Lucius. While The Dark Lord and his inner circle used the manor as their main headquarters, leading to a constant stream of Death Eaters in and out, Lucius had little to do with his basement prisoners. Some of the younger girls who passed through the manor shared stories from the homes of other powerful pureblooded families, and their tales always seemed to out-do the next on a barbaric scale. Who's to say the next family to be given the honour of the manor wouldn't be even more abhorrent and cruel?
She looked out among the others who shared her cell, many of whom had curled off and attempted sleep. Hermione hated the night time. It really couldn't possibly get any darker in the cellar, but somehow there was a collective period of the night where each prisoner drifted off to sleep. Often what waited for Hermione, were the nightmares. More often than not, she would wake screaming, salt tear stains down her face, finger nails bloodied from attacking the cold hard rock wall of her cell. There was no rest in sleep.
Hermione felt sick as she realized a faint glimmer of hope was beginning to grow deep in her stomach. Recently, she had begun to long for death. Hermione was tired, but still hadn't given up completely. She pushed that glimmer of hope so far down, repressing it. A steeled feeling of determination stole her. She began to draw deep breaths, as she mulled over the words she had repeated to herself so many times.
So long as there is breath between my lungs, and blood in my veins.
So long as there is breath between my lungs and blood in my veins.
So long as there is breath between my lungs and blood in my veins.
Hermione eyes slowly fluttered closed, the air around her going black as she descended into her subconscious.
•••
Hermione was on a soft bed, covered in warm sheets and a duvet. She'd been brought upstairs by Quincy Nott, confined to his bedroom for the evening. She was exhausted, having spent what felt like hours fighting off Nott. She was lying still, frozen, under a Percificus Totallus curse. Once he was finished with her, he liked to leave her this way; exposed, bruised, and broken, He would leave the door to his bedroom open, showing off his latest conquest. Hermione knew it was a affirmation of power. Every few months he would drag her out of her cell, screaming. He would have his way with her, then parade her body like a trophy mounted on the fireplace. On this particular day, her head lay frozen in a way where she could just see out the doorway, watching people pass by the room . She was unsure which was more miserable, the shame and embarrassment of when they paused, leering in the doorway, looking over her body, sometimes shaking their head in disbelief at Nott's audacity to go after the Gryffindor mudblood, other times looking at her straight in the eye, winking at her as if suggesting they'd have their turn next. Or perhaps it was when they didn't look at all, unfazed by her, as her lowly mudblood status wasn't even worth considering. Some wouldn't cast her naked body a second glance.
It was then, lying atop Quincy's bed, covered in his sweat and her own shame, she began to regain feeling in her fingers. Her hands began to twitch, then her arms began to quake also. The curse was lifting! Hermione spend the next half hour pulling at her limbs, trying to regain strength in her core without being discovered. She would freeze at the sound of approaching footsteps, steadying her breath while repressing the involuntary fearful trembling. Eventually, her limbs seemed to be able to handle a basic range in motion. She pulled herself to the edge of the bed, collapsing off the edge into a heap of sheets and duvet on the floor. She shakily rose to her feet, clutching the sheets tight to her body, one arm extended for balance. Quincy could be back at any moment, in fact, she didn't understand why he hadn't already paid her a visit to shove her back into her cell. As Hermione attempted to take a step forward, she stumbled forward, her legs weak, and tangled in the sheets pooled around her feet. She caught herself on the bedside table, pulling out Quincy's drawer and all of its contents on top of her.
She felt the cloudiness behind her eyes lifting slowly, the adrenaline of escape pumping through her veins. She looked in from of her, looking at anything she could use. A wand, would most obviously be the desired choice. Hermione hadn't practiced any serious magic since she'd been left by Dobby and the other all those months ago. Something long, flat and silver caught her eye. As she picked it up to more closely examine it, the sharp edge of the straight razor caught her finger. She led out a soft yelp dropping the blade to the floor as blood began to seep slowly out of the long slit in her index finger.
Just then she heard the familiar voiced of Quincy Nott, and Roddy Lestrange coming down the hall.
'That's the third prisoner we've lost in the past fortnight. Nott, I don't like the way this is being handled- if your son is unfit, you step in. He's too soft to be handling investigation.'
'Rodolphus, you shouldn't speak poorly of the Dark Lord's methods, or my sons. So he's found his way into the inner circle, maybe you're just upset becuase your wife is on the welcoming committee.'
Just as they seemed close enough to turn into the doorway and catch Hermione on the floor, there was a scuffle and the thud of Quincy being shoved up against the wall. Hermione took this moment to scuttle back to her side of the room, she looked back to the straight razor in her hand, making up her mind.
'Watch your tongue Quincy, if you knew what was good for you'
'No need to take offense Roddy,' The smile could be heard in Quincy's voice as he rolled the 'R' in Rodolphus's nickname, 'We really appreciate your Bellatrix being so giving to the new recruits. Chin up there, perhaps, once you work your way back into the Dark Lord's favor, you'll finally find yourself in her bed again!' Quincy shoved Rodolphus off of him, sneering all the while. "Get out of here Roddy, I have things to do."
Quincy entered the room, finding Hermione frozen on the bed, mixed in a pool of sheets, just as he left her. 'Ah, my dear. I almost forgot about you. I've had a rather trying evening. Perhaps you can help me work off some of this tension.'
He pulled his wand from his robes, casting a silencing charm on the room, and swinging the door shut. He pulled Hermione's body across the bed, bending her over the edge of the bed frame, still believing her to be paralyzed. He didn't seem to notice how the sheets pulled with her, concealing her right hand too well.
He unzipped his pants, pulled out his thick member, and gently began pulling on it. One hand was on Hermione's waist, pulling her closer to him when all of a sudden Hermione flipped around, pulling her right hand from the covers, where the straight razor remained clenched tightly in her palm. She sank the blade deeply into his gut. She hadn't had enough strength to puncture all the way through, but she'd made her mark. His blood began to pour over her, smothering her. She looked up into his face but instead saw her own eyes staring back at her.
Hermione drew in a sharp gasp, the razor clattering from her hand onto the floor. The figure above her changed again, and she was looking into the eyes of Harry, his eyes bloodshot and white, his skin taught and pale from the blood loss.
"Harry!, Oh Godric, Harry please- I'm so sorry. I didn't- I mean I don't," she stuttered as she slowly lowered his body to the floor. The blood was pouring out faster now, as as she moved to put pressure on the wound she saw a flash of red hair.
It was Ron now, and he slowly lifted a blood stained hand to her cheek, cradling her face as softly as you would care for a wounded bird. Hermione leaned in close, nuzzling her sobs into the crook of Ron's neck, "I'm so sorry Ron, I'm s-so sorr-"
A thick hand grasped the back of Hermione's hair, pulling her head up. She was looking back into the merciless and smirking eyes of Quincy Nott. He wrapped one hand around her throat, lifting her up off the floor and pushing her naked body against the wall. The room started to darken, Hermione clawed at Quincy's arm, kicking her legs out against him. Everything was dark.
'Hermione!" She could hear someone calling out. "HERMIONE!", it came again, this time much louder.
Hermione woke with a start. Her voice was hoarse, a sign she had been screaming. She let out a shallow break, and began clenching and unclenching her muscles, trying to slow down the shivering. Tomlin's voice cut through the silence in a soft, gentle tone, "It was just a dream there hen, no need to pay 'er any mind."
Hermione nodded, so he knew she had listened to him. She rolled over onto her back and looked up at the pale rock ceiling, picturing instead she was looking up at the Big Dipper and Cassiopeia. She wished with all her bones that Tomlin's words could soothe her. But Tomlin was wrong, it wasn't all a dream. It was a memory.
•••
It was past midnight, and raining. Draco never minded the cold, it meant peace and quiet. The rain was settling on the shoulders of his roves, rolling off in thick beads, hitting the earth hard. The rain was nice too. It added to the cold, and drowned out any noise that was left. He walked along the stone path leading up to the back greenhouses. Over the past year, the glass roof had become a sanctuary of some sorts. The gardens had been a wedding gift to Draco's mother from Lucius, and as everything is in the Malfoy family, they were extravagant.
There were four wings leading off of the centre glass rotunda, known as The Observatory. The four wings extended like a compass, north, south, east, and west. A loft had initially been put in place for the gameskeeper, but the manor would no longer need a gameskeeper- or any staff for that matter. This was wear Draco was headed. With a wave of his hand, he passed through the gates and into the loft. It was small, and musty. There were empty beer bottles, and grass turf covering every available surface. A copy of To Kill a Mockingbird- a muggle book, sat on the bedside table. Draco took a few steps into the room and looked up through the glass dome rotunda ceiling. The whole room was illuminated by moonlight, and by the close, bright-burning stars. It smelled of piss, hay and fertilizer. Draco pulled his wand from his pocket, twelve inch elm wood, unicorn hair core- his late mothers. His grip tightened on the wand, as he once again examined his surroundings, allowing a small smile to settle on his face. It would take some work.
He waved his wand, scourgifying all remains of the previous gameskeeper. Spell after charm after incantation was cast. In the morning, he would be able to move his bed and furniture over. He let out a sigh of relief and sunk into the creaky double bed. Looks like he'd be spending the night there. He'd be damned if he had to spend another minute living in his father's manor. My manor- he mentally correct.
He thought of the muggles living down of the cellar. Draco sneered in disgust. The poor girl he'd had to pull Roddy off of just a few short hours ago was barely 18. They couldn't stay under his roof for long- couldn't. They'd all be sent off to some other pureblooded family in good favour with the Dark Lord. Except for her. She'd bloody be here until the end of time if the Dark Lord had his way.
The manor was a fortress, even Draco couldn't deny this. Impossible to penetrate, the manor offered more defenses than Azkaban- save the Dementors. Draco tried to dismiss these thoughts. He wanted to sleep peacefully tonight, and he wouldn't be able to do so if he thought of the mudblood. She often found her way into Draco's dreams.
Draco frowned and looked up at the open night sky above him, right away spotting Cassiopeia tucked in beside the Big dipper. His eyes slowly fluttered closed, giving him way to sleep.
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Gill