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Below the new chapter.

Have a nice day,

Perhentian

oOoOoOo

Chapter 7 - November 1998

Lord Voldemort's following day began relatively well. Just after dawn he had received a message from Severus indicating that Bellatrix was now out of danger. He had been particularly angry with the Death Eater when he had learned that she had failed to defend herself properly. That she had been stupid enough to almost die. But he also knew that Bellatrix was far more dangerous when she was challenged. So the recovery of Bellatrix in a few days should finally ensure some results about the rebels. If not, he would have to take a close interest in these rebels, and he would be really pissed. He had already enough to do with the planning of the Asian countries governments' demise.

When the painted serpent guarding his study announced the arrival of his bookseller he immediately unlocked the doors. The bookseller had announced in his letter that he had found an essay entitled "Fundamental Magic Treatise: Magical Antiphase", and Voldemort could not deny that the title seemed promising. The man was introduced into his study and Voldemort quickly dismissed the Death Eater escorting him.

"My… my Lord. I... I've brought you the treatise I... I described in my… my letter, my Lord," the bookseller stuttered.

As usual, he was shaking nervously, and it was only thanks to the book he was already presenting to the Dark Lord that he escaped the Cruciatus curse. It was more a manuscript than a book, Voldemort immediately noted as he flipped through the pages filled in with handwriting. The author often wandered from the main subject, describing various unrelated topics during several paragraphs, but a quick glance through the book allowed him to know that he would find in this treatise the few answers he still did not have.

Closing the book he lingered on the author's name. Albus Perceval Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. His suspicions were confirmed. The old fool had not been able to stop himself from trying to protect the Mudbloods, at the cost of his own life. To be a mage of such power and to waste his life wearing purple robes and running a school full of idiotic children... Voldemort still did not understand how the old coot could have so much wasted his potential.

With a nonchalant hand gesture he dismissed the bookseller, who was clearly relived to get away without the slightest Cruciatus – especially after presenting a book written by Albus Dumbledore to the Dark Lord. Voldemort then indicated to the painted serpent guarding his study that he did not want to be disturbed in the following hours, and focused on the manuscript.

oOoOoOo

When the door of her cell opened, Hermione was surprised to see that it was not her two usual jailers who stepped inside, but an unknown man. He had long grey hair, was rather tall, and several unsightly scars crossed his face. He was dressed in a dark robe, like all the other wizards Hermione had met, but he had nothing of the natural elegance of the Dark Lord. Neither was he hung-up like Vincent Crabbe or Gregory Goyle. Instead, he radiated of something she can only qualify as bestiality. That immediately made her uncomfortable.

"Hmm, it has been a long time since I have seen such an appealing prisoner in these dungeons," the man laughed. "The Dark Lord has sent me to teach you a little lesson…"

Hermione looked at him apprehensively. This introduction was not sounding good at all. Was the Dark Lord still angry with her for daring to touch his books? Despite her fears the night before she had not had any nightmare when she had finally fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning, overwhelmed by tiredness.

She had thought that the Dark Lord's punishment was finished, that she would be okay, at least until their next meeting. But when she saw the man pulling a wand from his pocket and directing it at her, her blood froze in her veins. And her whole body tensed with apprehension as she recognized the wand movements.

"Crucio," the man casted, confirming her supposition.

Despite her attempt to avoid the curse it reached Hermione's chest. She stilled in expectation of the pain that always came with the spell... which felt strangely muffled. Surprised, Hermione looked up at the man, who seemed just as astonished as she was. She realized then that her shield had had to partially absorb the curse. And that the man was obviously not aware of its existence. Hermione berated herself for not having pretended to be in deep pain. After all, was that not what these wizards liked the most, to hear people scream in agony?

"Oh, accidental magic?" the man misunderstood.

He really did not seem to know anything about her protection, and Hermione suddenly hoped it will help her not to suffer too much. But she shuddered when he put his wand back inside his robes, and then paled as he pulled a long knife out of his pocket. Her shield did not protect her from physical attacks at all.

"Don't worry my dear, I know a lot of other ways to play with you," the man purred with a sadistic smile.

Fenrir Greyback was not one of those Death Eaters who had joined the Dark Lord for political power or influence. No, he was more of those who had joined the Dark Lord to indulge in their vilest instincts, without hiding. Fenrir Greyback had been more than pleased to torture and to transform as many people as possible in the 80s, but since the war had ended 11 years ago he had not really been able to attack random people without incurring the wrath of the Dark Lord.

So he had found himself another hobby, torturing prisoners who were from time to time held captive in Slytherin's Castle. They could not denounce him, as they were there to be tortured anyway. And with magic, nothing was easier than healing too visible wounds.

Fenrir Greyback enjoyed the pained screams of the girl while he ran his knife all over her body, artistically cutting her skin. She tried to struggle of course, but she was not really a match for his knife and his strength. It was exhilarating to hear her cry and beg him to stop. But he stopped only when his victim's gaze began to become unfocused, and he looked with satisfaction at the blood that now covered the floor.

He would probably come back the following days as this girl really was a nice victim. She was not too ugly either, maybe he could even have fun with her in a slightly different way next time. Satisfied, he conscientiously cleaned his knife, put it away, and cast several healing curses, in which he had become quite expert out of necessity.

His good mood quickly vanished when he realized that his spells had no effect at all. Although he had thrown them several times, the wounds of the girl were still widely opened, and her blood continued to leak gently on the floor. It did not take long for Fenrir Greyback to decide that his best choice was to run away, and he disappeared as quickly as possible from Slytherin's Castle.

oOoOoOo

As soon as his study's door opened Voldemort discarded the book he was reading and stood up with a satisfied smile. He had finally found what he was looking for. He was now able to tear apart the shield. And once it will be done, it would not be very difficult for him to learn how to create it again. But his satisfied expression quickly gave way to anger when he realized that only Crabbe, whom he had sent for Hermione Granger with his sidekick, had returned, and without the girl.

"Explain," he ordered in a chilling voice.

"My Lord, we feared she'll die if we moved her," Vincent Crabbe quickly said.

"You feared she'll die if you moved her?" Voldemort repeated slowly while raising his wand.

Vincent Crabbe felt his blood freeze and he hurried to answer before the Dark Lord had the time to throw a Cruciatus.

"She's injured, my Lord, there's blood everywhere," he explained hurriedly. "Everywhere!"

"Crucio!"

Lord Voldemort was furious. He was even beyond furious. When he finally had a good idea of how to break down the shield of the girl, Crabbe dared to tell him that she was injured! If she died before he could solve her mystery, he would make sure to skin the guilty ones alive.

He suddenly Apparated from his study to the cell, startling Goyle who was awkwardly waiting inside. At a glance he spotted Hermione, lying on the floor, covered in blood. Her eyes were glassy, her breathing seemed very difficult and she did not react at all to his arrival. With an abrupt gesture he sent Goyle flying out of the room and approached the girl.

He quickly cast a few diagnostic spells, but they returned blank, too weak not to be absorbed by Hermione's shield. She must not have been in this state for more than half a day, otherwise the house elf who brought her meals would have warned him. Her wheezing proved that she was in pain but alive. And she better stay that way.

Voldemort raised his wand and casted the most powerful healing curse he knew. But it was in vain, and he blew one of the cell's walls out of rage. Medical spells required a very precise dosage to be effective, as the slightest imprecision could have serious repercussions. If even this spell had had no effect, magic could not help his prisoner. In his mind, the Dark Lord cursed Dumbledore, the time the old coot had spent alive, and his stupid ideas full of failures.

He summoned Tyler, the only one of his Death Eaters who was aware of Hermione's existence, with the exception of the two idiots who were guarding her. The urgency of the call was important enough for Tyler Greengrass to only take a few seconds to appear, his right hand clutching his left arm that seemed to have literally caught fire. For a moment he was taken aback by the scenery, before noticing Lord Voldemort's anger and bowing eagerly in front of him.

"What can I do for you my Lord?" he asked.

"Find me a Muggle healer who can fix that," Voldemort ordered. "Now."

Tyler Greengrass glanced at Hermione Granger. Cutting spell? Knife? He had no idea what had happened, but he had to find a Muggle able to close those wounds. After his quick examination, he quickly left the cell. Lord Voldemort was clearly not in the mood to tolerate any question or waste of time.

He only knew one Muggle hospital, the one in which the Muggle Prime Minister had been treated once and where he had been asked to go to for their monthly appointment. He had not at all been pleased all those months ago at the idea of having to go there, but now he could only be thankful for the time he will save knowing where to go. He ran to reach the castle's apparition area, and wasted no time, Apparating directly into the hospital's lobby.

His arrival caused quite a stir among the Muggles, but he did not pay much attention to it. He would send them the Obliviators afterwards. His main mission currently was to bring back a competent doctor to the Dark Lord as soon as possible. Or he will have serious problems. He spotted the reception desk quickly and resolutely walked in its direction.

There was an important queue, and with a clever wand movement Tyler cast a Confundus charm at the crowd. If he was able to pass in front of everyone without any fuss, the secretary, spared by his spell, glared at him when he stopped in front of her.

"Sir, please stand in line like everyone else..."

"Impero," he cut her without waiting.

The secretary's eyes immediately became unfocused and she closed her mouth.

"Take me to your most competent doctor. To cure deep cuts. Now."

The secretary blinked twice, then stood up like an automaton and dragged him into the corridors of the hospital. Tyler Greengrass swore against the length of muggle hospitals' corridors. And their whiteness. And their Muggleness. He had not seen Hermione Granger's condition very well and was afraid to bring back a doctor too late. To accentuate this sense of urgency his dark mark had not stopped burning fiercely since he had left the Dark Lord. He was about to lose patience when they finally arrived in front of a room with several patients and a doctor among them.

"Dr. Alford," the secretary said. "Someone wants to see you."

The man turned around, surprised, and Tyler Greengrass did not wait for his answer to move towards him, grab him by the arm, and Apparate back to Slytherin Castle, guided by the dark mark.

oOoOoOo

If the beginning of Dr. Jonathan Alford's day had been the most classic one, the afternoon had suddenly rocked into the heights of improbable. He had hardly seen a man in a black cloak come forward and seize his arm that a feeling of compression and suffocation submerged him. It lasted only for a moment, but when it stopped, he was even more shocked. He had just been teleported from an ordinary hospital room to a kind of gloomy Middle Ages' cell, one of whose walls seemed to have been blown up.

He widened his eyes as he noticed a girl bathing in a pool of blood on the floor, before turning his gaze to the man of undeniable presence facing him. He was looking at him with a particularly intimidating expression and Jonathan tried hard not to fidget. The first man, the one he had seen in the hospital, let go of his arm and bowed to the other, and Jonathan Alford had to struggle to put his thoughts back into order.

"What... What's…?" He began, stammering lamentably.

The menacing man, whose anger was so palpable that the doctor shuddered, was suddenly just in front of him. He grabbed his doctor's coat and stared at him with a carmine glare that instantly froze Jonathan Alford's blood.

"Do something," he ordered, pointing to the girl. "Or her injuries will be nothing compared to what will happen to you."

Jonathan Alford stood still for a moment, before turning to the girl and getting closer to her. He did not understand the situation. Neither how he had landed here. Nor who were these men. Nor if he should take the threat seriously. But the man had asked him one thing, and it was the only thing he excelled at. He acted as every time a serious case happened in the surgical emergencies of his hospital: he concentrated on his patient and forgot everything around, because sometimes the limit between life and death depended only on a few minutes.

The girl was alive, she was even conscious, but her condition was not glorious. She seemed to have been stabbed all over the body, sometimes deep, sometimes superficially. She also had hematomas everywhere. Perhaps even broken ribs.

Her vital organs did not seem affected, but the blood she had lost was alarming and she did not seem to realize what was going on around her. It was necessary to put compresses quickly, and once that would be done, the girl would be out of danger. Jonathan fumbled in his pockets but he had nothing on him. Looking around, he saw sheets lying on a mattress in a corner, but they were stained with blood. He turned towards the two men, avoiding however to meet the red glance which made him particularly uncomfortable.

"Do you have compresses and suture thread gentlemen?" he asked in a professional tone, even though his voice was not as firm as he would have liked.

He could not hold back a shudder when the carmine-eyed man approached him.

"Look into my eyes," he ordered in a cold voice.

The certainty that this man could kill him without a moment of doubt crept unpleasantly into Jonathan Alford's mind, but he lifted his head slightly until he met the gaze of his vis-à-vis. He had just the time to tell himself that he wished to never be the subject of the fury he could detect inside, before he had the impression that his eyes had caught fire. Images of his workplace violently flashed in his head, without him being able to control anything.

The unpleasant experience stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and Jonathan put his hands to his eyes in an instinctive gesture of protection. He had never felt such pain in his eyes. He had the impression they had exploded and was surprised to realize that he had not lost his eyesight in the least. Before he could recover completely the man pushed him brutally and he found himself right in front of a small table with compresses, organized exactly as he was used to. He had only one second of hesitation, before grabbing what he needed and starting to work quickly.

Once he had finished putting compresses over all the wounds, he seized a needle and the suture thread, before stopping. Given the depth of the wounds, anesthetic was needed. The girl had not reacted so far, probably because of the blood loss, but stitching her wounds was going to be particularly painful without anesthesia. Mustering up his courage, he turned to face the two men.

"She should be brought to the hospital for anesthesia," he said.

"No."

The man's voice had slammed, irrevocable. And Jonathan Alford could swear he saw a bundle of sparks coming out of the man's right hand, before some of the rock fragments on the ground exploded into smaller pieces. He swallowed before speaking again.

"If she is not asleep, it will be very painful for her. And that could be dangerous," he added, seeing that the pain of his patient did not seem to bother them in the least.

For a moment he feared for his life, at the sight of the anger that appeared on the man's face, but finally he disappeared in a cloak motion just in front of him. Jonathan Alford blinked, astonished. He turned a questioning look at the other man.

"The Dark Lord will be back soon," he said.

The Dark Lord? Seriously? Was it a sort of mafia? If he had had any doubt about the dangerousness of the men in front of him it was no longer the case. He returned to the girl, wondering where he should begin.

He jumped in fear when the "Dark Lord" rematerialized in a pop right next to him. He handed him a vial filled with a liquid of a strange bluish color. Jonathan Alford took it and hesitated. Should he apply it on the girl's wounds? Should he make her drink it?

"Make her drink the whole potion," the other man provided, seeing his hesitation. "That should make her sleep about ten hours."

"Barely two," the Dark Lord commented irritably.

He was radiating anger and Jonathan Alford felt compelled to intervene.

"Two hours should be enough."

Neither men answered and Jonathan Alford turned his attention back to the girl. He gently made her sit up. Her eyes were still unfocused and she still did not react to what was going on around her.

"Miss," he said. "You will have to drink what I'll give you okay? So that I can cure you okay? You will feel better afterwards."

She did not seem to be able to hear him, but when he brought the vial close to her lips and slowly poured the liquid into her mouth she swallowed it by reflex. A moment later she was asleep and Jonathan began his work.

"Tyler, keep me informed."

The voice was cold, sharp, and an instant after a pop was heard. Jonathan Alford glanced behind him, and noticed that the Dark Lord had vanished again. The one named Tyler made an armchair appear out of thin air and sat inside as if nothing had happened, beckoning him to get back to work.

oOoOoOo

When Tyler entered his study one hour after, Voldemort was still in a foul mood. He had got rid of part of his anger by torturing the first fool who had fallen into his hands, but it had not calmed him down completely. He should have been unveiling Dumbledore's secrets instead of being dependent on a Muggle doctor. He hated to depend on anyone. And he hated even more to rely on an insignificant Muggle. He had even had to refrain from torturing him to make sure he could do his job properly! He glared at Tyler as soon as he came in, and Tyler hurried to kneel and talk.

"She's out of danger my Lord, the doctor has finished," he announced, hoping it would lessen the Dark Lord's fury.

Voldemort gestured for him to continue with a dry hand movement.

"He stitched up all the wounds. He also thinks that some ribs are broken or cracked but Muggles don't know how to fix them."

With a bored gesture Voldemort conjured a vial of Skele-Gro, which he levitated to Tyler.

"How should it be dosed my Lord?" the Death Eater asked cautiously.

"Three times the normal dose," Voldemort replied.

He got up, and dragging Tyler after him went down to the dungeons. He wanted to see for himself the condition of the girl, and to know how long this incident will delay the destruction of her magical shield. Since he did not exactly know the effect of the spell he had invented for it, he was going to have to wait for her to have recovered a little to try anything.

A well placed shortcut later they were in the cell. Hermione was laying on the floor, still asleep, almost all of her body covered in white bandages. Despite the blood that was still on the bed sheets and the floor, the scenery was much quieter than before. The doctor was squatting next to her, and got up quickly as they entered. His hands were shaking but he stood straight in front of them.

"What should be done now?" Voldemort asked him.

The doctor paled and Voldemort held an exasperated sigh. For now, he had other priorities than terrorizing a Muggle doctor. His death would anyway come soon enough.

"You should just wait, sir," the doctor answered, his voice slightly shaking. "Her wounds should take a few days to heal; she needs to rest a lot and uh ... maybe a cleaner location?"

Voldemort looked around him. Glooming walls and a damp, cold ground, as well as a worn-out mattress directly on the floor. The previously exploded wall and the blood stains made the whole place even more sordid and Voldemort had to agree that if he wanted Hermione Granger to recover quickly her cell was not the most suitable.

He made a sign to Tyler Greengrass, who immediately casted a levitation spell on the girl, who rose only a few inches. Voldemort raised a haughty eyebrow when he saw the exasperated look of his Death Eater.

"I'm sorry, I forgot," Tyler half-sighed.

He gently rested the girl's body on the floor, before magically creating a wooden board below her and levitating it. He went out of the room first. Voldemort turned to the doctor, a cruel smile on his lips, and made a quick gesture beckoning him to exit before him.

"After you, Dr. Alford," he said contemptuously.

Voldemort once again manipulated the castle to shorten their journey, and few minutes later they were at their destination, a guests' suite among so many others with a living room, a bedroom and a bathroom. Tyler laid the girl on the bed and made the board disappear. The girl did not move, and laid on her back, deeply asleep. Turning his eyes away from the Mudblood, Voldemort spoke to the doctor.

"You will stay here, Dr. Alford, and make sure that she heals as soon as possible."

"But..." the doctor began.

"Keep quiet," Voldemort ordered dryly. "Tyler, make sure the dear doctor does what is expected of him. And bring me Hermione as soon as she can stand up."

Then he disappeared.

oOoOoOo

When Hermione woke up, she realized that all her body was aching, but that she was laying in an incredibly comfortable bed, which was a first since her abduction three months ago. She opened her eyes and tried to straighten up, but the pain that suddenly ran through her stopped her. She let out a small cry, and a man she did not know immediately entered her field of vision.

"Calm down miss, you may hurt yourself if you move, your ribs are in bad shape," he said.

Hermione turned her head towards him. By doing so she noticed that she was in a large room, richly decorated.

"Who are you?" she asked. "What do you want?"

"I'm Dr. Alford. I healed you yesterday. I've made stitches for most of your wounds, but you have to lay down while waiting for your ribs to heal. You should feel a little better in a few days."

Hermione looked at him in disbelief, failing to understand what had happened, or how she had arrived here. Could it be that she was no longer in the Dark Lord's castle?

"Where am I?" she asked.

"Ah, uh, I don't really know. It's the one who is called the Dark Lord who has you transported here."

The small glimmer of hope that was growing inside Hermione died instantly. There were probably not many psychopaths who called themselves Dark Lords... Then she registered another part of the doctor's speech.

"You don't know where you are?" she asked.

He must not be a wizard. He looked even more lost than her, and she noticed that he seemed pretty nervous.

"Well, I landed here while I was in the middle of my service and they hadn't let me leave for the moment."

Obviously, the kidnapping was really not a problem for wizards. Before Hermione could answer something the door opened. Hermione raised her head slightly and saw Tyler Greengrass appear. The doctor abruptly pulled away from her and Hermione noticed the sudden tension in him, as well as his frightened look at Tyler. The latter approached them and Hermione gave him a venomous glare. After all, it was partly his fault that she had been abducted. He took a vial of potion from his robe and handed it to her without a word.

"What is it?" she asked, suspicious.

"A potion to heal your ribs Miss Granger. It will be painful but it'll save you from being bedridden for days."

Hermione doubted that it was really for her well-being that he had brought the potion, but she did not really see any way, or interest for that matter, to escape drinking the potion. She tried to lift her right arm to take the vial, but the pain in her chest stopped her immediately.

"I'll help you," Tyler Greengrass said.

Before she could answer him that she had absolutely no desire for his help, he lifted her head, and slowly poured the liquid into her mouth. She swallowed not to choke. Nothing happened at first, but then pain spread through her chest and she had to restrain herself not to scream. The pain was nagging, and if it was nowhere close to the Cruciatus curse it was still not pleasant. It lasted a few minutes, before it started to fade away. Her erratic breathing calmed slowly. Tyler was looking at her with indifference, while the doctor seemed to try to refrain himself from intervening.

"Could you check if it worked?" Tyler Greengrass asked the doctor in a clipped tone.

Hermione saw the doctor's hands shake when Tyler spoke to him. He was definitely not there of his own free will.

"I'll take a look at your ribs miss, if it hurts, it means that they are not fully healed. In this case, please tell me immediately."

Hermione nodded. His examination took a few minutes, quite unpleasant for Hermione, but the pain was now dulled.

"Well, it seems like all the ribs are healed," the man said in a surprised tone. "Can you raise your arms?"

Hermione tried to lift her arms. It was painful, but bearable.

"It looks like it worked well sir," the doctor said.

"Perfect," Tyler said before turning to Hermione. "Stand up Miss Granger."

"That's out of the question!" the doctor intervened.

A glare was sent to the doctor who stepped back and whitened instantly, visibly frightened by his own outburst.

"I... well... she cannot really do that without danger sir," he explained. "It may reopen her injuries if she moves now."

It was clearly courageous to oppose Tyler, and Hermione thanked him silently in her head. She did not feel at all able to get up without suffering martyrdom. Tyler Greengrass, on the other hand, did not seem pleased at all, and Hermione felt an icy chill run through her. If he wanted her to get up, it probably had to do with some meeting with the Dark Lord. And Hermione had absolutely no desire to be face to face with the Dark Lord.

"How long before she can get up?" Tyler asked the doctor.

"A few days would be the best."

"Do not make a fool of me doctor," Tyler said sharply. "Tell me how long at the shortest."

"T… Tomorrow morning," the doctor stammered.

Tyler Greengrass seemed to hesitate for a moment, his gaze wavering between Hermione and the doctor, but he finally nodded dryly.

"Come with me, doctor," Tyler said in a dangerous tone.

Hermione opened her mouth to try to defend the doctor, but Tyler cut her off.

"Keep quiet Miss Granger, and calm down. I assure you that you do not want to delay your healing. Call Dory if something's wrong," he added, already out of the room.

"You don't have the right to dispose of people like that!" Hermione shouted to his back.

But Tyler Greengrass did not bother to answer her and the door slammed behind him.

oOoOoOo

AN: Thank you all for reading this chapter!

See you in two weeks!