Chapter four- Black Saviour
A/N: Me again, just thought I would say hi before the story, and thank my reviewers:
Googlibear
Swimminglizard20
Siriuslycallisto10
Tomorrows Dust
Love ya all! Hmm, doesn't seem to be many there though. You guys out there wound me to the heart.
So yeah, with that done, enjoy…
Tomorrows Dust: I am forever in your debt; your points are solid gold- I hate having incorrect spellings in my work…
I've done what you asked, and I think it has helped. Please, oh please will you do it for my other story? I know it isn't as interesting but I'd sell my soul for your insight…
Anyway, point being; a thousands ta's for the mile long review (literally).
Disclaimer; Inanimate objects will talk before I own Harry Potter. Actually, maybe I shouldn't say that, I could have sworn my fridge magnets were chatting yesterday…
Charlie
Darkness cloaked me, surrounding me in complete night. Not a minuscule scrap (A/N: I was sorely tempted to put 'Smidgen' but it's a) not a word as far as I know and b) not very imaginative, so…) of light penetrated the thick, black atmosphere; my father had chosen my prison well- the cupboard under the stairs (A/N: bit of irony there for you!), which was small and challenging to escape from. Of course, if I had had access to my wand, it would have been effortless; but neither I or my sister- who was still captive in the basement- had our wands, or indeed, anything magical whatsoever; Roger had confiscated all our belongings at the beginning of our return, anything magic related had been ensnared and whisked away to some cage where they gathered dust; helpless and immobile.
So I was trapped, I couldn't escape; and if I couldn't escape, I couldn't rescue Hermione. Breaking out of my personal hell was futile, I was almost positive Roger had barricaded me in-physically and magically- so I was forced to wait.
Which left me with only my thoughts, which was a situation I constantly avoided; no person in my shoes wishes to relive the horrors they so desperately try to bury.
Which left me with no choice but to fade away…
My inner sanctuary called enticingly to me- it was forever at the edge of my mind, waiting patiently for me to require it- and I replied, striding forwards, into her spread arms; like a man embracing their lover. I drifted, sinking rapidly into the swirling fog of my mind.
And this was how I was, what seemed an eternity later, when the door was cracked open and searing light spilled into my 'cell', searing my sensitive eyes and silhouetting the figures before me.
Sirius
Oh, God.
So this was where Hermione went when she came home for the three week break, to see her family. This hovel; a grotesque, filth-ridden skeleton of a house that looked as if it had never been cleaned.
This wasn't what Hermione had told us she went home to. She had told us she lived with her parents, that everything was dandy happy.
I should have known it had been a lie.
What was good in this world anyway? Only death, misery and pain existed, not happiness. At least, that was my view. What a pessimist I am.
I turned to the others, deliberately keeping my stone mask intact, my expression showing nothing of the horror, the guilt that swept through me in waves, each as bitter and sharp as the previous. Each face was an identical, shock and fear glaring at me, the result of sweeping through the mould spattered door and setting eyes upon what lay behind it.
I'll leave it at saying the outside was spotless in comparison with the interior.
"Split up." I ordered, my voice coarse. "Search everywhere."
Before anyone could move, a man's voice rang from behind us, the volume pricking my eardrums.
"Oi!" he bellowed, appearing at the entrance to the kitchen. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" The man was seething; his hands were balled into fists, his wand directed at my chest. My wand was poised in front of me, ready to counter the man's attack. I was about to utter the stunning spell when I caught sight of his face.
Although it was deformed with his lived leer, his features were definable; his jaw, his eyes, his cheekbones were all Hermione's.
"Roger Granger?" I said softly, lowering my wand. The man's tense posture did not change.
"Who wants to know?" He retorted warily, a fraction calmer.
"Are you Mr Granger?" I persisted, concentrating on making my voice calm and soothing.
"Yes." As one, the members of the Order behind me relaxed. Roger's gaze shifted to them, and his eyes widened slightly; as if he had only then realised how large the party was.
"Where is your daughter?" Lupin asked, businesslike and commandeering. Roger's eyes narrowed considerably, and for a minute second, I thought I saw him pull his lips back over his teeth in a feral snarl. But the moment passed, and his eyes warmed, his sneer dissolving into a casual smile. Too casual. My body tensed reflectively. Why, though? He was nothing to fear, this man- at least, not if he was who he said he was.
"My daughter is away." Granger's smile was still too unguarded, too open. I frowned, my eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Where to?" I threw at him; Roger's stance faltered slightly, and I felt a surge of triumph, but it was accompanied by a sliver of expected trepidation. What was going on here?
"I, I…she"- he stumbled over the words, attempting to get them out as swiftly as possible. I glared at him.
Kingsley, who stood beside me, produced his wand from the folds of his conspicuous purple robes and muttered; "Homenum revelio."
The tip glowed blue.
Every pair of eyes turned to stare at Roger, and I was satisfied to see accusation and curiosity in each.
"Who's here with you, Roger?" Remus speculated quietly. Roger shifted, and then grinned evilly.
"I'll never tell you where they are." Every word's contents were seething with contempt and hostility.
I opened my mouth to retort, but then paused; they
Ididn't have to say anything; Harry spoke for us.
"You will," he growled defiantly. "Kingsley, the veritarseum, if you please."
Roger's vile face turned white as Kingsley delved into his voluminous robes a second time.
It all happened swiftly after Kingsley's movement.
An ears-splitting bang; an exclamation of surprise coupled with pain; copious amounts of foul puce-coloured smoke issuing from the ground, and a grey shadow retreating back through the doorway into the kitchen.
I didn't stop to think; I did what was considered later and forever remembered both as incredibly heroic and the most idiotic thing imaginable in the history of imaginably idiotic things.
I launched myself though the puce haze in the estimated direction of the silhouette.
Whatever the vaporous substance was, it hurt like hell.
"Crap, crap, crap!" I yelled as my eyes seared with more pain as the smoke seeped through my hurriedly closed eyelids and struck my eyes with animalistic ferocity; but more of the loathsome fog slid down my throat like hazy fire…
My flailing limbs connected with a mobile object; instinctively I extended my arms further and encased the thrashing thing in a cage of bone and skin. Together, the two of us span out of the befouled air and tumbled through the kitchen's entrance; colliding with the bare hearth of the neglected fireplace.
Now free of the tentacles of the wretched smoke, I could see what I had captured.
Roger Granger.
He was struggling against the binds of my arms, his face misshapen with fury, profanities streaming from his bared teeth. Freeing one arm, I hit him hard. There was a sickening crunch from beneath my folded fingers; I'd broken his nose- blood erupted from his nose, drenching us both.
Without warning, pain blossomed in my side. I doubled over; in doing so, I released Roger from his entrapments. I was beyond caring as he righted himself, and bent down to my level.
"See what comes with messin' with me, wizard?" he snarled, spitting in my face. "You pay a heavy price for it; Hermione learned that, Charlie learned that. It's time you learnt it too."
I froze as he jeered Hermione's name. "What have you down to her?" I tried to yell, but the blood in my throat hindered my speech, twisting the words until only strangled gurgles emanated from my mouth. Despite this, Roger seemed to understand.
"Oh, you'll find out soon enough."
Icy tendrils of dread curled around my heart, choking me, at his words. Oh god, what has he done?
Darkness was lurking at the corners of my eyesight, threatening to blind me, drag me under into unconsciousness. Roger chuckled as another wave of agony washed over me, its potency showing clearly on my face. "I might as well tell you, wizard, about what your precious little Hermione has been doing these past few weeks. Not that she had a choice, but that is irrelevant."
Whoever said words can't hurt you; they'd obviously never heard what Roger Granger told me then.
With one last cruel laugh, he leaned forward and whispered in my ear words that afterwards I would relive in my nightmares.
Roger drew back, satisfaction playing at his features when he caught sight of my horrified face.
With that revolting image and those terrible, haunting words, I sank into unconsciousness.
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Kingsley
The carpet less stairway creaked as I edged up the worn steps; the peeling wallpaper coiled in mould painted rolls cascading down the walls, flowing onto the stairs like snakes. I reached the dark landing and strode purposefully to the closest door, opening it and peering inside.
A bathroom; the furniture cracked and yellowing.
An evidently unused bedroom cowered behind the next door.
Lupin had ordered us to search the house, look in every room to try and find Hermione. Ron and I were searching while the others questioned Granger; Tonks was tending to the injured Sirius – Granger had stabbed him with a nearby bread knife; a clumsy, misplaced attack, leaving Sirius injured but not fatally so. He was currently unconscious.
I sighed, frustrated and confounded- no room on the second floor had revealed what I sought- either Hermione wasn't here or she was downstairs. My body was half turned in preparation to descend the steps when I heard it; an almost imperceptible snuffle.
That was the moment I saw the door at the opposite end of the landing, its calloused surface covered with paint identical to that of its fellow walls. With vigilance, I stalked over to it, muttering a spell- causing light to emanate form my wand tip- and reached out to grasp the once brass handle; it coarse surface rough under my palm. It halted as I tugged gently at it- magic.
As it swung ajar, a consequence of my muttered spell, the hinges screaming in protest, my mouth opened to call my fellows, but no sound escaped my lips as I stared at what was before me.
The space behind the wooden entrance was nothing more than an airing cupboard; the miniscule archive was riddled with forgotten clothes and piles of dirt.
Amongst this was a boy.
He was pale, thin and dirty; seventeen, eighteen in estimation. He was lying, corpselike, on the floor of the cupboard, his eyes fixated on a point I could not locate. I reclaimed my voice as I gaped at him; "Lupin, Arthur!" My strangled cry echoed off of the walls, repeating my call so it rebounded of every object, surrounding me with my own voice. I could hear frantic footsteps bounding up the stairway, and seconds later Remus, Harry, Ron and Mr Weasley appeared at my side.
"What"- a voice began, but faltered and ceased as whoever it was caught sight of the open cupboard and its contents.
Arthur lowered himself onto his knees so he was crouching and spoke to the crumpled form still heaped in the closet.
"Can you hear me?" his voice was deliberately soothing and quiet. The boy's eyes flicked in response, but he did not speak. His eyes unnerved me; they were misted, as if he were in a trance or dream.
"Hello?" Arthur persisted, his voice questioning. The boy now stared at him, as if he knew that something was required of him, but he could not recall what it was. "What is your name?"
The boy gazed at him uncomprehendingly. Arthur and I looked at Lupin desperately. His eyes were thoughtful, calculating. After several epic moments, he whispered uncertainly.
"Charlie?"
The effect of the simple word was perplexing. The boy's eyes cleared, his breathing turned from even to jagged and he stared at the people standing above him. As he digested the sight before him- five cloaked men holding wands aloft- he uttered a cry of surprise and leapt up, retreating further into the closet.
"Charlie?" Lupin asked again, ignoring the perplexed gape that we were all sending him. The boy- Charlie, whoever he was- remained silent. It was then that I noticed his arms; blue and purple flowers adorned his skin; the fresh bruises ran the length of his arms, which also bore rows of neat white scars that shone in the wand light. He followed my line of sight and swiftly moved to cover them, tugging at the rolled up sleeves with unexpected urgency. My hands extended to halt him, but he shrank away from my touch as if I carried the plague. I frowned, and he flinched in terror; I froze; this boy was afraid of us. By now the other Order members had noticed our silent interaction and were observing us. I turned my head to stare at them, puzzlement plain on my face.
"We won't hurt you, we're from the Order." Lupin assured the boy, who relaxed his tense posture slightly at his words. "Please, you must tell us who you are."
"My name's Charlie." Charlie's voice was flat, it held no emotion, just like his eyes- my unease returned rapidly at his words.
Lupin nodded encouragingly, and Charlie continued in the same, empty voice. "I live here with my sister."
In unison, everybody drew back in astonishment. "Hermione has a brother?" I heard Harry murmured to Ron. "She never told us."
Curiosity sparked within me, why had Hermione neglected to inform her closest friends of the existence of her sibling?
"Do you know where Hermione is?" Arthur asked. Suspicion entered Charlie's eyes for a second, disappearing in an instant, in its place the granite mask.
"Why do you want to know?"
I was about to answer when Harry interrupted me; "We're her friends, we've come to get her- she was expected at our Headquarters yesterday." Charlie stared at him incredulously, and then shook his head.
"If she is still where father put her several hours ago, she's in the basement."
He returned our shocked glances evenly. "Don't you get it?"
"Get what?" Lupin enquired curiosity and horror warring clearly on his face. Charlie did not answer; only stepped forward into the wand light and passed Lupin's shoulder. Still with mystified expression adorning our faces, we followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Charlie
I didn't have the faintest idea why these people were here, but if they helped Hermione I really didn't care; she was my priority now- it was time everybody knew what Roger had been doing to us.
I could hear my father's furious bellows issuing from the kitchen, and knew that in order to reach the basement; I would have to endure the kitchen first.
I met his livid glare- he really did have an astonishing temper- as I entered the room, following behind me were the five people I had seen when the door of the cupboard was opened. Three others robed beings occupied the kitchen; two women and an unconscious man. The women gave me encouraging smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes, and Roger glared at me from the chair he was magically bound to.
"So," He snarled, hatred filling his weedy voice; I stared grimly at the face of the man I had thought loved me as the others flinched at the venom in the man's voice. "You thought you'd play games, did you boy? Well, you'll learn again that you won't get away with it while I'm in charge." I said nothing. Roger's eyes narrowed in disgust. "Answer me, boy!" When I remained silent, he slapped me hard with the back of his hand; causing my head to snap sideways. The people gasped as I didn't grimace and returned my gaze to his. I turned my back on him and opened my mouth to speak to the black man wearing intense purple robes, but a groan to my right caught my attention and I halted.
The recently unconscious man grunted again and rose, springing lithely to his feet. His gaze swept over the scene before him; a man, bound to a chair with invisible bonds, a scrawny boy feet away from the first and a gathering of shocked people crowded into a revolting kitchen. His eyes came to a standstill on Roger and he growled.
"You." Although his voice remained calm, the man's posture revealed his internal rage at the sight of my father. That's when it hit me- he knew.
Without warning, the man launched himself at Roger, who ducked, but could not move as the attacker crashed his balled hands into his face repeatedly until several of the men dragged him off.
"Bastard!" he spat, the two men still restraining him with evident difficulty. "You cruel, heartless BASTARD!" Roger only sneered in response, and stood up. This, of course, should have been impossible due to the fact that he was bound by magic and had no access to a wand.
"Have you never heard of wand-less magic?" He asked, replying to the puzzled stares he was attracting. "No? Well, go back to fucking school." We watched, helpless, as he summoned his wand from the counter top and disapparated with an echoing crack, leaving us staring at the spot on which he had vanished.
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The clouds where dark, heavy with water, but we remained dry as we flew under them on broomsticks, leaving the nightmare of my life far behind. Hermione twitched in my protective arms and I glanced down at her. He face was pale, drawn and starved-I doubted I looked any better-and even in sleep her forehead was creased with premature lines.
After Roger had disapparated, I had led the black man and his followers down into the basement, where we had found my sister lying in a mixture of rainwater and her own blood, unconscious from lack of sleep and blood loss. Now we where following the unknown people to a place I had no inclination of the whereabouts, but, I reasoned, wherever we were now headed, I was certain it was better than what we were leaving behind.
"It's okay, baby." I whispered in her ear as we passed over the London Eye. "Everything's going to be okay."
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A/N: Wow this chapter's long. I'm so sorry you poor readers! Hopefully there won't be any errors, but if so, do tell. Now, I KNOW Hermione is meant to be muggleborn, but you know what? I really don't care because this story wouldn't work without it and the creation of this is only for pleasure and possible practice for future published works so… whatever.
Oh, and Tomorrows Dust, if you have recovered from spraining your fingers from the last review, let me hear from you, please!
Go on, press the 'Review' button, you know you want to. Even if you hate it, TELL ME. I'm a big girl; I'll handle whatever you throw at me.
GP
