AN: This chapter comes with a trigger warning as it involves torture-mostly psychological, but physical as well. I don't believe it goes beyond the T rating, however. As always, feel free to let me know your thoughts.
Chapter 12: What's the Name?
Harry and Hermione sit in the Room of Requirement in the comfy chairs in the corner. It's been a week and a half since we started and two shields have been erected. It is getting difficult to get in unless he puts them down, but they still have four to go as well as a special one.
Harry sips his hot chocolate, watching her over the rim.
"You've made loads of progress," she says, for lack of other words.
"Hmm," is his only answer as he still stares. Hermione sets her cup down and turns to him.
"Oh for Merlin's sake, what is it, Harry?" she huffs. He smirks, taking his time setting his cup down as well.
"What's his name?"
"Who?"
"The Slytherin you're dating." Her mouth pops open.
"W-what? I'm-I-I'm not dating anyone," she stutters. He tilts his head to the side with eyebrows raised.
"Come now, Hermione. I'm not daft," he says. "You've been happier lately and you really seem to have let go of what you wanted with Ron. Despite the disgust we all experience when we see him snogging Lavender, you don't seem to hold any jealousy. And the colors of this room? It's pretty obvious what house he's from."
"Harry," she deadpans.
"Hermione," he answers in kind.
"I'm not dating anyone," she insists.
"But you are spending all that time away with someone," he pushes.
"It's just a study partner." He smirks and she rolls her eyes, looking away.
"A name," he asks again. Hermione turns back to him, lips slanting down in the corners.
"No." All amusement disappears.
"Why?" She looks at her lap.
"I'll tell you when you finish your occlumency training. Consider it a reward," she offers.
"Hermione," Harry starts, still looking serious, "is something wrong?" A cold laugh burst from her lips.
"There are a million things wrong Harry," she says, then level her gaze with his. "But this isn't one of them." His eyes narrow for a second before he nods and turns back to his cup.
"I'll hold you to that," he says as he sips it again. She nods because she knows he will.
Friday, it is finally Friday. Ron glares at Hermione as she stands and leave at the end of dinner, still suspicious, but she pays him no mind. The conversation with Harry from yesterday still runs through her head though. Why would he think she was dating Draco? They're spending time together, but...but not like that.
Hermione's foot hit the first step on her way to the seventh floor when she first feels it, pins and needles prickling on the back of her neck. She glances around. There is no one there. She continues walking, head held high, but gripping her wand in her pocket. If three years of war taught her nothing else, it taught her to trust her instincts.
Hermione ducks around a corner on the seventh floor and waits, holding her wand pointed at the way she came. Theodore Nott comes around the corner. He raises his hands slightly when he sees her wand.
"I have a message for you Granger," he says, smirking.
"And that is?" she answers, not relaxing her stance.
"Oh, it's not that easy," he tsks. A mumbled word and a jet of red light heads towards the witch from her left side. She quickly dodges out of the way, the spell hitting only stone. 'Two? I fought worse,' Hermione thinks as Nott joins the fray.
The spells the attackers are throwing seems to mostly aim to disable not harm. Not enough to get around her shields or anything she can't dodge. When her spell ends with Nott on his arse, he sits up again with a smirk.
Hermione's stomach drops and she spins around, looking for another threat. Marcus Flint is behind her. She throw up another shield, but he reaches forward and closes his meaty hand around her neck. A silent stinging hex hits to his gut. He yelps, but tightens his hold.
Black spots appear in her vision. Her wand goes flying from her grips as she is hit with it a spell from behind. Hermione digs her nails into Flint's hands. He grunts and hits her head against the wall, everything going black.
"Rennervate," a voice orders. There is a blinding red light and then Hermione's eyes pop open, her mind aware.
"There you are, Granger," Nott says. He stands in front of her, leaning on the door of a broom closet they're tucked in. Hermione is bound to a chair. When she attempts to move, the bands burn and cut into the skin.
"I wouldn't move too much if I were you," the annoying high voice of Pansy Parkinson sounds from her right.
"Like I said, we have a message for you," Nott starts, "from the Dark Lord." She narrows her eyes, but doesn't respond. Nott leans forward. "Tick tock, Granger. Time is running out. It's already February. Best get a move on on that assignment." Parkinson runs the tip of her wand from the bound witch's shoulder to the top of her wrist. The point sears and the skin splits apart.
Hermione hisses at the pain, but clench her jaw. 'You've been through worse,' she reminds herself. Nott smirks, stepping forward.
"You dress like a slag, might as well treat you like one," he sneers. He says a spell she doesn't recognize while making large sweeping motions with his wand. Her clothes tear with each motion, the skin scratched underneath leaving angry red marks that refuse the bleed. He steps back and looks at his handy work. Her skirt and shirt are hanging together by threads and revealing her upper thighs, midriff, and a generous portion of her chest. The fabric covers little more than her meager dignity.
"Well, we must be going," Nott says, setting her wand on a self. "Marcus?" Flint steps forward. The back of his hand whips across her face, splitting her lip and tasting blood. The world sways as the three leave the room. Hermione reads the words written in red on the door before the world turns black again.
"TICK TOCK"
Hermione is still disoriented when the world comes into focus again, unsure of how long she was unconcious. Blood drips down her arm, sizzling slightly when it meets the bands holding her. The metallic taste in her mouth grows stronger each second. She stays silent for a while, jaw clenched tight. But as the moments drag on, the dim light casting more shadows than illumination, a sob escapes her lips. How long has she been here? Minutes...hours...days? She feels the drain on her body, her energy leaking out with her blood. Her wand, her salvation, lays a mere two feet from the witch, but it might as well be miles for how much good it does her.
She tries to think. They couldn't have expected her to stay her forever. The magical ropes must disappear at some point. But her head spins as she attempts to focus. Another sob breaks through her split lips. Releasing the sound in the small space hurts her ears as well as her aching face. There's a soft ringing that echos in the silence before it's broken with another sob.
The tears slip down her face, burning when they land on the scratches. The sobs become constant, racking her body and causing as much pain as relief. Time continues. Tick tock.
There's growl outside the door. Hermione pauses her cries to listen.
"I need to bloody find Hermione," a man yells. "Finally." The door snaps open. Hermione's eyes close involuntarily against the harsh light. "Hermione?" he says weakly. He rushes to her side, hands and wand finding her bindings immediately. The bonds grow hot for a second before disappearing. She slouchs in the seat a bit more.
"Merlin, what did they do to you?" he asks. She forces her eyes up to look to his face.
"Draco?" she mutters before throwing her arms around his neck, sobbing again.
"Granger," he says, but she doesn't respond. "Granger?" She continues crying. "Hermione, I need to take you to the hospital wing." She freezes at his words.
"No, no, I can't." She shakes her head fast and the world tilts.
"Hermione," his voice a reprimand.
"I-I can't...I'll-I'll take care of it myself. I don't-I'll do it," she stutters. He sighs.
"Ok, come on." Draco hands her her wand and lifts her into his arms. With the exception of a tightening of his jaw, he shows no signs of strain as he holds her tight to his chest. He carries her out of the broom closet, kicking the door closed behind them. Then paces in front of the wall three times, still holding the witch.
The plain white door opens of its own accord and Draco walks into the Room of Requirement. He sets her down on a bed, reminiscent of the cots in the hospital wing.
"Thank you," she tells him, finally getting her sobs to stop. He shakes his head and pulls out his wand. "What are you-"
"I got pretty good at healing spells during the war too," he cuts in. "And some of these would be downright impossible for you to do on your own." He moves his wand over the scratches in a complicated pattern, but she recognizes it from some of the healing books and scratches begin to fade. He goes to her arm, the skin knitting back together. The curses chosen were simple to fix, but would be painful until tended to.
The split lip is healed as well before he begins waving his wand around the witch's head. He shakes his own before heading off to one of the walls with shelves stacked with potions. He returns with a light blue one.
"Take this," he presses the vial into her hand. "It will take care of the head ach and heal the damage, though you will need to be careful for the next few days." She nods and swallows the liquid.
"I'll make sure not to ask anyone to bash my head in for a week or two," she smiles. Draco turns his cold gray eyes to stare into hers. His lips stretch out in a thin line.
"Who did this?" he asks, making her shiver at his tone.
"Draco," she says as she shake her head, internally grateful that the action doesn't make her dizzy anymore.
"What's his name?"
"His?"
"Was it a girl?"
"Draco," Hermione replies, her tone patronizing.
"Give. Me. A. Name," he growls.
"No."
"Dammit, Hermione," he says, planting his fist into the wall. "Who did this?"
"You can't do anything," she tells him, trying to sound indifferent, though her voice wavers.
"Like hell," he roars, turning back to her. He walks back to where she's sitting on the cot. He places a hand on either side of her face gently, a thumb darting out to catch the traitorous tear that escaped.
"Hermione," Draco says softly, "tell me who did this."
"Voldemort," she snaps, pushing him away and standing from the cot. He seems frozen by the name, but she can't stay still and starts to pace.
"He wanted to send me a message. Tick tock. Time is running out. Kill the leader of light. The usual," she rants.
"Bloody hell," he whispers.
"Yes," she says, stopping in front of him. "If I tell anyone they will want to know why. I can't tell them why without breaking the vow. If anyone knows why, not from me, Voldemort will go crazy trying to find the mole. So no, there is nothing to be done. There is no retribution, no punishment, no justice."
Hermione's eyes drop to her tattered clothes. The shredded skirt barely hides her knickers, one piece of fabric dangling by her knee as a few threads holds it to higher piece and several chunks are missing altogether. The shirt is missing nearly the bottom half of it. Tears cover the remains of the top, revealing her tan cotton bra at parts. She points her wand at the clothes, uttering a repairing spell. When nothing happens, she says a mending spell. A few more spells later, still standing in the treads of her original outfit, she looks up at a weary Draco.
"The specific spell they, whoever they are, used to destroy your clothes cannot be mended with magic of any sort," he replies, looking tired.
"So this can't be fixed? Ever?" she asks with wide eyes. He shakes his head. "How am I supposed to get back to my room?" Draco sighs, knowing the trip through the castle in rags was the part of the point.
"Hogwart's elf?" he calls. A small elf in a clean white sack appears.
"How may Blainy help yous?" the elf asks with a smile.
"Blainy, please get Miss Granger another outfit from her truck. Do not be seen," Draco instructs. Blainy bows and disappears with a crack. It's only a moment later when she appears again with clothes appearing folded on the cot.
"Anything else Blainy can do?"
"No," Draco replies.
"Thank you Blainy," Hermione says. A wide smile stretches over her face before she disappears again.
"I'll let you change," Draco murmurs before disappearing out the door. Hermione slips into the fresh skirt and shirt, taking comfort in being properly covered again. With all the outward signs of the evening erased, she could almost forget what had happened. Almost. Looking at the arm that Parkinson had cut open, Hermione's thoughts turn a different scar, a scar that isn't there anymore.
"Why didn't Bellatrix carve mudblood into my arm this time?" she asks as she joins Draco in the hallway.
"This time around the idea was torture for fun not for information," he answers.
"How is that different?"
"Carving that word into your arm is psychological torture as well as physical. Knowing that even if you ever got out alive, you would have that scar forever...well most will give up anything you ask to avoid that. They need to believe that they can walk away and go back to living their life like it never happened. A scar like that would get in the way of that fantasy."
"You can never go back to living life like it never happened," Hermione says quietly.
"No," he agrees. "But believing that you can is what gets people through some of the worse of it." She nods, still examining her unblemished arm.
"Hermione?" Draco draws her attention back to him. "Be careful, okay?"
"I will," she says. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight Granger." And with that they part ways.
