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Chapter 35

Hermione's Fate

Hermione Granger's mind was a chaotic whirlwind of feelings as she flew through the roots and the gloom and the murky haze to find Ron Weasley. During her Hogwarts' school years she had come through many severe hardships but now she was suffering the worst inner and outer crises of her short life - and she was all alone. She knew now how much she had relied on Harry and Ron and others when in physical danger. Yes, she had a Gryffindor's courage but to be venturing into the unknown like this without her friends added an extra layer of fear now that her fury had cooled and no longer carried her along.

For a while it seemed she had been possessed by a madness. She had abandoned her friends and now the repercussions of that were tormenting her. She had seen Neville still hobbling about and Ginny was at least half-sitting. She had released Feya to help them and was sure that - no, she told herself - she had assumed, taken it for granted, that they could help the others. She had seen only Luna's attack and defeat but was confident that Professor Bingley would quickly help her to recover. But what of Harry? And Rolf? At least she had left them her bag.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably on her broomstick. She had never been at ease flying this way but it was a sense of guilt that made her fidget now. She should have waited she muttered inwardly - another ten minutes at least to see if anyone desperately needed her help. Yet she knew she could not have stopped herself. Her yearning to find and help Ron had overwhelmed her common sense. It had blanked out every other good motive. It had defiled her Gryffindor integrity.

She had used an unforgivable curse. She gripped her broom more tightly and bit her lip. Had that been her? - or some demon that had taken over her mind? How she wished it had been. She did not like herself anymore. A surge of deep and painful remorse started her broom swaying and sinking and she fought to regain control. It did not help that she could not see clearly through her tears. Grow up, Granger! You're not a silly little girl anymore! You've committed a dreadful crime and will deservedly have to pay but crying will not help. It will not help Ron. Find Ron. Help Ron. Then give yourself up to justice.

Hermione's broomstick had wavered as much off-track as her thinking but as she steadied both she became aware of lights below her - flickering torches and candles; she had lost a lot of height while absorbed in her anguished self-condemnation. She flinched instinctively but then breathed a sigh of relief that she had at least taken time before leaving to cast a disillusionment spell to conceal herself. Her broomstick was visible but its dull browns and greys blended well with the murk in the root hall. She stopped the descent then slowly started to rise. She was sure there would be Death Eaters not far below her. She imagined she could almost see one or two. A movement of air from the gap ahead of her revealed the figures more clearly - but they were not Death Eaters.

Flying a broom took most of Hermione Granger's attention at the best of times so she let herself become numb to what she had just seen. To the intellect it was very simple; very matter of fact: there were hundreds of captive creatures - living beings, just below her and now becoming lost in the haze as she continued to rise. But to her feelings - they were already overloaded so her mind suppressed that ghastly perception. To her, in her current state, it simply could not be. Her mind had reached its limits of misery and would accept no more. She flew on nearer and nearer to the big gap. At this range she could see there were many smaller gaps between most of the roots but they were at best narrow doorways and she would not want to fly through any of those; she was not Harry Potter.

As she fixed her gaze firmly on the big gap she saw through it for the first time a distant figure walking across, brightly lit within the dark frame. She knew immediately who it was.

Whether she fainted or whether her mind snapped, she would never know. Perhaps a hex had affected her or had she merely been inattentive to where she was headed? Afterwards she could only recall a shocking vision where all her friends lay slain behind her yet they called out for help from their deathly state. And she, Hermione Granger, rejoiced in the music of their cries and kept her back to them as she laughingly cast ever more evil curses to torment a host of friendly elves. And the elves were thanking her, calling her The Gracious Dark One, begging for more; jostling each other in line to be next again. But it was acceptable because she had become Bellatrix Lestrange. The mad woman's body lay floating in a huge vat of polyjuice potion into which Hermione could dive at will to become Bella and wash away all her own sins. So long as she could remain as Bella there was no emotional torment so here she was plummeting down into the brew once more.

It was warm and wet and tacky and it hurt badly again and again and again as she fell. She was stunned. Her broom lay smashed to pieces in the juice all around her. A huge, fractured root towered above her, pouring its contents over and around her. She half lay in the mire, her mind not yet functioning properly. She thought she heard Ron calling out, screaming someone's name. She knew that name; someone she hated. Why did she feel she ought to answer that call when it was so much easier being Bella?

She twisted her head around and the stab of pain in her shoulder made her regret it. She saw a swirl of red - an enormous velvet curtain sweeping down and as it did so she saw Him. It was Lord Voldemort, her Beloved, her Dark Lord. He was gracing her by letting his divine eyes fall upon her for a few moments. She was safe now.

"Hermione!"

She came to herself at last. It was Ron; it was really him. She glimpsed his wide-eyed dismay; a fleeting view of imprisoned despair then he was hidden and silenced by the great red drapes.

Hermione spluttered magizoa from her mouth. She wanted to shake her head to wake herself but her shoulder was aching badly. She grasped her wand; that she still had it was reassuring. As she forced herself free from the slime she became aware that she was surrounded. She was standing right in the large gap and on both sides were the creatures of her suppressed nightmare. They were real.

Flickering torchlights revealed a terrible scene. House-elves and other magical beings, hundreds of them, sitting or standing at crude benches arranged in clumsy rows and columns in all directions. Instinctively she raised her wand before her and realized that she was now visible; the disillusionment spell had ended when the magic of her broomstick's flight had impacted and conflicted with the magic of the giant root. Hermione instinctively ducked down and moved into the shadow of the split root, staring at the creatures about her. None of them seemed interested in her but were absorbed in endlessly chanting out dark spells. She could see now that she was between two huge root domes that rose up high above her. Ahead, at the far end of the next dome were the tall red curtains. The did not reach all the way to the ground giving the impression that they were covering a raised platform or theatre stage. On their right she could see the glint of vertical metal bars. Was that Ron's prison? She could not see him in it but she was too far off to be certain that he was not lying down. She used the general healing spell on her neck injury, cleansed away the magizoa, recast her concealment spell and began making her way towards the cage.

The aisles she walked through were littered and stinking with debris. A multitude of different voices were chanting but they were not all the same spell; there were many. Their sounds clashed with one another yet Hermione knew they were working together for one purpose. As she angled left and right through the rows and columns she kept her eyes on the cage. Occasionally she would stumble against an old food package or a piece of broken seating, accidentally kicking it noisily to one side - yet still no one took any notice.

She passed only one house-elf involved in housekeeping; a haggard old creature magically vanishing weeks of detritus around himself as he trudged along - as disinterested as everyone else. She saw a middle-aged man in long-torn, food-stained robes and hacked grey hair hanging unevenly down to those robes. He was staring at his filthy bench and working his mouth but whether he voiced anything she could not hear. Only one row ahead was another, slightly younger wizard. Hermione wondered if they even knew of each other's existence. Both the humans were held by chains and both held strange wands - short, pale-coloured sticks hooked like a claw at one end. Hermione was not tempted to speak to either until she knew more. Most awful of all, here and there were the dead right next to the living. They appeared to have simply died where they sat and collapsed in a heap next to their neighbour. As Hermione watched, the passing housekeeper-elf made a gesture and a goblin corpse vanished along with the rest of the nearby rubbish.

Hermione bit her lip then grimaced and moved on. Was she becoming hardened to the suffering and horrors she had witnessed over her years at Hogwarts? Fleeting memories of her old muggle school came back to her: safe, secure, and... unexciting. It was only a few years ago. What would her old class teacher Miss Bradley think if she could see Hermione now? - crouching with corpses midst the Roots of the World in a deathly underground elf prison trying to save the world and her future husband from a powerful dark wizard? In a different time Hermione might have laughed but she was empty of all humour and happiness now.

There was no trouble avoiding the sparcely-spaced torch lights and the occasional candles were choked by years of slipped wax and dimmed by the haze. Many had long since extinguished and full maintenance of the lighting appeared to have been forsaken. Someone, no doubt another house-elf, must have been relighting and replacing and restocking some of them while others were overlooked. It gave her an extra sense of safety because she knew the disillusionment spell did not render her totally invisible. But this shadowy gloom was threatened when there was a sudden splash of light from her far right as two Death Eaters came into view, one casting up a bright wand light above and ahead of themselves.

Dropping to one knee behind a row of empty broken benches Hermione saw the two figures walking the aisles. They were dark-hooded but wore no masks and she could see they were both women. One looked very old and had a slightly shuffling gait but her face showed determination and experience. The other was very young - perhaps Hermione's age. She was white-faced, scared but might be dangerously unpredictable. She seemed familiar but Hermione did not recognize her at first. Then as they drew a little nearer, the girl turned her head and scowled - it was Pansy Parkinson. Hermione could not help but think the Death Eaters must be scraping the very bottom of the barrel if they had recruited her as a fighter. The couple were pausing at every row and looking in each direction carefully. Hermione had no doubt for whom they were searching because Voldemort had looked directly at her. Ron had seen her too and called out. There could be no doubt - they knew she was there.

What to do? If she remained in one place they would eventually find her. Although close up in bright light even a sharp-eyed wizard might not see through her camouflage spell if she kept still, they were casting charms ahead of themselves and Hermione recognized them as revealing spells.

It would be reckless to try to attack. One or the other was regularly checking behind them while the other faced front and their vicinity was continuously illuminated by the bright light which hovered above them. Hermione did not have Feya with her now nor the element of surprise. When they had leapt from the elf-way, Hermione had been next to Feya and the elf had grabbed her to stop her falling and guided her into the safety of the shadows. Hermione had been enraged by the attack on her friends which only added to her fears for Ron. The anger still simmered deep inside her but now Hermione knew she must stay cool and think sensibly if she was to have a hope of saving him.

Hermione looked to her right in the direction from which the Death Eaters had come. There was a dark space which she thought might be an open door in the long side wall which was almost obscured by roots and mould growth. Cautiously she crouched along towards it behind her row of empty benches.

She had almost reached the last bench when two thoughts occurred to her. She had seen no guards of any kind - no Death Eaters at all except the two who had just emerged. Why had they not sent out twenty or thirty? Was it true then that only a few remained? It seemed more and more likely and that thought was comforting - the other thought was not. Why had they left this door open and why was it left unlit now they had moved away? It seemed too easy to slip inside. Were they trying to flush her out - or to entice her into a trap?

From here she could see no other door nor was there one on the front of the cage which she now could see was empty. She had to try for the dark doorway yet she felt more and more convinced that was exactly what they expected her to do. What then would be unexpected? What could she do that would give her some advantage? They would not expect her to attack - not with that bright light - two vigilant opponents against one schoolgirl. Should she try?

The two Death Eaters were now further away, almost out of range. Were they deliberately leaving her plenty of free space to get to the door? She needed a plan - perhaps a diversion? In an inspired moment she realized what she might try. She dug deep within herself to find some happy feeling; something that might lift her heart just long enough. She thought of when She and Ron first kissed in the Room of Requirement.

Quietly and firmly she cast her patronus wide and around to the other side of the Death Eaters. The silvery-blue otter silently swam low around the benches to another row. Hermione waited a few seconds; she had to judge the timing just right.

Again, as quietly as possible she cast her stunning spell from distance but she was at the limit of reasonable accuracy. The old witch stumbled and cried out but did not go down. Hermione grimaced. She had relied on taking out the more experienced opponent quickly, now both of them would be roughly aware of her position. Yet the patronus which she had intended to divert the younger Death Eater instead caught the attention of the older one and a series of dark curses were sent its way. Hermione felt she had no choice. She strode directly for the old woman and managed to send two more stunning spells before the two Death Eaters realized their mistake. It was too late for the old woman. Down she went, rolling and twisting then lay still.

Hermione walked softly, quietly, and almost invisibly in Pansy's direction. She was driven by necessity and a new fearlessness. A green killing curse was sent too wide by the young Death Eater and she faltered, unsure of herself. She knew Hermione's stunning spells had come up this aisle but she could not directly see her. The young Death Eater recovered quickly and Hermione dived sideways, crashing into a chanting elf, as a pale yellow revealing charm flashed by. The flailing elf gave away Hermione's position. The poor creature was rapidly hit by a leg-locker curse and fell wriggling and squeaking to the floor.

"Know where you are now, Granger!" shrieked Parkinson but her voice trembled and shook. She could not bring her cocky school corridor arrogance to the battlefield and she well knew Hermione's reputation.

Hermione was already under the bench, sneaking through invisibly to the next aisle and into dark shadow but Parkinson was both persistent and smarter than expected; she guessed Hermione's ruse. She sent the wand light forward to try to reveal some flicker of Hermione's concealment charm but all she saw was a row of benches hurtling towards her driven by Hermione's hover charm. Unable to avoid them she blasted several then panicked, turned, stumbled and ran while trying to conjure a protective shield charm around herself. That was her last spell for while she was trying to cast it Hermione launched a full body-bind upon her then strode away into the dark shadows without a backward glance. Behind her, a row of benchless elves continued chanting as if nothing had happened.

Hermione waited, listening outside the dark, open doorway. She was certain now that it was a trap. She whispered softly, "Homenum Revelio," then stepped aside, ready to follow the revealing charm with a curse but it was not needed; not a single living person was anywhere within.

Even more suspicious, Hermione cautiously entered through the doorway and cast her wand light. There was a short entrance corridor then several other hallways and various rooms but all were empty of people: an office, living quarters for ten or twelve, two common rooms - one for dining, a large kitchen - but nothing more. They were all grander and more decorative than the other areas she had seen but they were just as basic. Several of the rooms had been in use recently. Hermione found photographs and letters and pinpointed the bedrooms of the two female Death Eaters she had just defeated as well as Trandell's. Another bedroom displayed a family photograph with a young woman and a young man who resembled the old Death Eater that Luna had stunned. There was a complete suite of four rooms at the end of the furthest corridor which Hermione supposed to be Lestraithe's quarters but there was nothing personal in there to confirm it. Hermione eyed the shower room longingly but knew she had to press on.

Just outside of Lestraithe's suite was a short flight of steps down to a basement door but as Hermione descended she thought she heard a sound from the other side. She stopped completely still on the steps and listened carefully but could hear nothing. She tried the door; it was locked and warded. She tried the revealing charm again but it showed nobody within.

Cautiously she worked on the wards to break them down. That there were wards at all suggested there was something important inside worth discovering. When the door finally yielded it was completely dark within and gave out a terrible odour that seemed somehow familiar. Hermione tried to cast her wand light inside but it was diminished. Hermione felt this was even more intriguing and wished she had a box of muggle matches as she took a step or two inside. If the Death Eaters had placed a magic drain in this room it must surely contain something important.

Hermione remembered all the candles outside in the root halls and decided to go and fetch one - but she did not get far. As she turned around to go out someone or something grabbed her round the throat from behind. Hermione screamed in primitive mindless terror. The arm and hand were bony, covered only by torn, dried skin. She felt a hard skull pressed close against the back of her head and fetid cold breath rattled from dusty lungs onto her neck. She was screaming repeatedly as she struggled to pull free but another clawed hand gripped around her tightly. Hermione twisted and squirmed to escape the horrific embrace. The contact was repulsive and her skin felt defiled and contaminated. Her wand arm was free but she could not bring it to bear. Sheer necessity forced her to turn to face the creature's kiss. It was the Voldemort inferius. Sickening though the dead thing was, Hermione now had to suffer something she feared even more - her very worst fear. Hermione thrust her wand into its hollow gut.

"Incendio!"

The fireball blasted them both apart. Hermione fell back on the basement steps, her clothing on fire. She screamed again.

"Incendio!" she shrieked again, driving the leering horror back while beating out the flames on her shirt front and sleeve with her bare hands.

"Colloportus!" and the door slammed shut, sealing in the hellish creature.

Hermione stood for many minutes fully clothed in Lestraithe's shower, trying to wash away the sense of filthy contact and diminish the effect of the burns on her arm and stomach with cold water. She shuddered now and again but it was not due to the water temperature.

The fire had briefly illuminated the basement. At the far end was a black panel set between two stone pillars. It had to be a void portal. This was the way that Voldemort used to come in and out of the shelter bringing others with him. She thought of the long and dangerous journey she and her friends had made to reach here. Voldemort needed only to walk across the fiendfyre trap, straight through the void portal and instantly be here. If they could control his inferius they might all return this way.

When Hermione finally came out of the shower she looked and felt a mess. She examined the reddening burns on her stomach and forearm and hands and stifled a sob. Her jeans were scorched but although she had felt the heat on her thighs they were unharmed. She used the healing spell on her burns and they started to fade but it felt like they were going to sting for a little while yet. The drying spell spruced up her clothing and hair but her shirt was in a bad state. She rummaged through Lestraithe's things and found something suitable then sat for a few minutes before the dresser mirror brushing her hair - more to collect her thoughts than to beautify herself. She stared at her tired, gaunt features in dismay then stiffened as she heard footsteps again outside.

She ran, wand drawn, to the top of the basement steps but the door was still sealed. The sound had come from further along the corridor the way she had come in. Someone had entered while she was indulging her hair brushing therapy. Whoever it was seemed unaware of Hermione's presence because there was no attempt at stealth and she traced the clatter and bumping to the kitchen.

It was the old housekeeper-elf from the root dome. They must be short-staffed thought Hermione if one elf has to cook dinner as well as maintain the root halls. Hermione stood in the kitchen doorway staring at the creature but it took no notice of her. The elf already had a dozen pans cooking away on the range which had been cold and empty only minutes before. Trays were assembling themselves and filling up with plates, cups and cutlery. Various types of fresh bread were slicing and buttering themselves on a side table then leaping across to the trays. The elf started to serve up various dishes for the absent diners. Hermione could see minced beef, shredded chicken, spaghetti, buttered potatoes, several types of rice and various side dishes of salads and crisp breads. The aroma was delicious and her stomach growled. How long since she had eaten?

Hermione grabbed one of the trays and seeing the elf still ignoring her she took it into Lestraithe's suite and sat down at the table where she ate slowly with a mixture of guilt and defiance and worry. What should be her next move? Could she blast her way into the cage or through the curtains? Most likely they would be magically protected.

Hermione had satisfied her hunger and thirst and was about to explore further when she had a sudden inspiration. She dashed out and found the elf in the common room, tending to the fireplace.

"I wish to see the Dark Lord!" declared Hermione.

"Dark Lady... Only the Dark Lady sees the Dark Lord..." muttered the elf without turning around.

Hermione hesitated.

"The Dark Lady has ordered me to visit the Dark Lord..." she began, "and orders you to take me!"

The elf slowly turned and stared at Hermione as if seeing her for the first time but it was an empty, lifeless stare. "No one can enter but the Dark Lady... Klaff is not worthy to step on holy ground... The young lady cannot enter."

"She is to meet me there! She insists that you take me there immediately!"

"But the young lady cannot enter..."

"You are to take me there so that the Dark Lady might... instruct me," said Hermione. "Does Klaff wish to refuse the Dark Lady's instructions?"

"Klaff is obedient. Klaff will take the young lady."

The old house-elf led Hermione into the office room which on closer inspection seemed to be Lestraithe's own rather than a general office and a large brass-locked log book dominated the main desk together with an ostentatious name plaque bearing the title The Dark Lady. Hermione made a mental note to inform Kingsley Shacklebolt if she survived to do so but right now she was wondering why the elf had brought her here. There was paperwork everywhere and the whole room was an untidy but partly organized mess - a typical working office.

"Name?"

Hermione whirled around. Hanging on the wall next to the door she had just entered was a large portrait of a handsome, haughty, and very muscular warrior clad only in a loincloth and wielding a golden battleaxe. His blond hair was long but neatly shaped. In fact he looked altogether too clean, too well-manicured, and too unscarred to ever have been a true soldier. As he waited for an answer he posed and preened himself, squirming his hips at Hermione provocatively. She had to think quickly.

"Pansy Parkinson."

Both the portrait warrior and the old elf flinched and stared at Hermione.

"Well then, Miss Pansy Parkinson," said the portrait, and there was such sarcastic emphasis on the name that Hermione knew the game was up, "then you know exactly where the portkey-"

Hermione's blasting curse shredded the portrait before it could continue but somehow she could not bring herself to harm the old elf. She tried half-heartedly to stun it but deep down she knew she had deliberately delayed a second and the elf disapparated with a pop.

Hermione groaned. She had acted impulsively. What was she thinking? She probably needed both the elf and the portrait to reach Voldemort. Now the elf would raise the alarm and she would be unable to get to Ron.

What was it the portrait had said? thought Hermione desperately. Portkey? In this room? Could be anything!

The log book? Ridiculous. Hermione stared around then seized the log book to make sure. Nothing happened. She shrank it and stuck it in her sock.

There was a large calendar on the wall next to the desk. A picture of the Grim Reaper pointed at Hermione while his wicked scythe rested on today's date below him. His bony features leered at Hermione from under his hood and he rasped, "Soon you will be mine."

Hermione stared at the date and was startled to realize it was the week before Christmas. Hogwarts would be closing down for the holidays; students would be heading for the train station to go back to their cosy family homes. Would Hermione ever see her parents again? She went over and gripped the calendar for a few seconds but when nothing happened she turned it over to face the wall despite the protestations of Death's image.

There was a hat and cloak stand beside the door. It held neither but there was a pair of small muddy boots at its base. They looked like they had been used for walking in the mould and the slime and she suspected the house-elf was rarely allowed in here. She grasped each boot separately then the stand for a while but nothing happened. Her shoulders sagged as she wondered what to try next; the office was full of hundreds of items. The elf would no doubt return quickly with other Death Eaters and Hermione had to think quickly.

Lestraithe was a conceited egotist; she would not use an old boot as a portkey. Hermione's eyes fell upon the name plaque. She walked over and grasped it firmly with her left hand keeping her wand aloft in the other. Nothing happened for several seconds and she feared she had judged wrongly but after the delay the travelling was nearly instantaneous. It was the shortest portkey journey she had ever made. She estimated she was probably only on the other side of the back wall. There was a dark wood-panelled corridor and a Four-Point Spell quickly confirmed it was heading roughly in the right direction to where she had seen Ron. Furthermore, she could hear the faint murmurings of the elves chanting in the root hall.

It seemed futile to try to be stealthy at this point so she lit her wand, lifted her chin, and walked along the passage to meet her fate. There was a glimmer of light at the far end on the left and as she approached she could see the shiny metal bars of the cage. It was open - its gate slid upwards into a recess in the ceiling. It was so obviously a trap and that she was expected that she almost smiled.

She extinguished her wand light, stood well back from the gateway and peered in. She could at first see only blackness with the red fabric of the great drapes on the left but as her eyes adjusted she saw a reclining figure. It was brightly lit as if by a spotlight in the darkness and was lying on a dark blue leather couch. It was Voldemort. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping. Hermione pointed her wand then, after a few seconds, she lowered it. This was an absurdly baited trap; even a wild animal would be suspicious. Likely he was taunting her - knowing that she would have no choice.

She edged closer to the gateway. Now she could see the edge of the curtain reached only to the cage and on the left was the root hall. There were elves there chanting but most of their noise was suppressed by the huge soft fabric of the drapes.

She was now right at the threshold of the open gateway. She looked up anxiously at the suspended barred gate then heard a gasp from ahead and to her right. It was Ron. Just for a second he stared at Hermione with a mixture of hope and despair then grimaced in pain and lowered his head. Hermione ran quickly through into the cage and grasped the bars.

"Ron! Ron!" she called in as loud a whisper as she dared, "are you alright?"

Ron tried to raise his head but he was clearly suffering when he did so. He was stood at a bench much like all the other captives but this one was constructed of ornate wrought iron with brass fittings. One end of a chain was visible at its base. Ron held one of the short pale wands and he was muttering almost inaudibly to himself. As Hermione strained to listen she heard another faint sound instead behind her and whirled around. It was the gate sliding down. There was a loud metallic clang as it locked. She was trapped. Behind her was the sound of movement and a sharp intake of breath.

"Welcome, Miss Granger," hissed the sharp mocking tones she knew well. It was Voldemort.

She squared her face proudly refusing to show any fear and turned to face him. He had stood up from the couch but he did not come forward.

"I had a hard time persuading the Dark Lady that you could possibly be so foolish, so idiotic, as to blunder into such an obvious trap that even the lowliest monkey would avoid," he sneered, "yet here you are. Such is the self-evident folly and weakness of... love." He greased and smeared the last word with plenty of scorn.

Hermione glared at him. "You are NOT Voldemort."

"Ah! There you are much mistaken again. How on earth you, a misbegotten mudblood managed to stumble your way thus far is truly astonishing." He continued to gloat. He had the same voice, the inflections, the tone, and all the mannerisms of the Dark Lord. "You must share the same blind luck as that other meddlesome simpleton, Potter."

Hermione noticed he was not holding a wand - but she was.

"Stupefy!" she cried. The flash of the spell dispersed around the bars of her cage and faded.

"Yes, quite, quite astonishing," continued Voldemort almost as if he had not been interrupted."But now you work for me you can be put to good use-"

"I will NEVER work for you! NEVER!" yelled Hermione defiantly.

Voldemort shook his head then laughed wickedly and gestured dismissively towards Ron. "Almost the same words as used by this witless muttonhead here and now look at him."

Ron had continued his chanting almost without pause. He did not look up when Hermione turned to him.

"Yes, with a little more training he will be completely broken and will take his place amongst my servants - and I can tell you with certainty that so will YOU!" He pointed directly at Hermione. There was no more humour; only malice, spite, and cruelty were evident in both his face and his voice.

Hermione looked around in despair. There was no way out. The entire stage seemed to be made of the same matt black stone as the entrance to the shelter above. Voldemort, the couch, Ron and his bench, all seemed illuminated like shining moons in the night sky. Something puzzled Hermione. How did anyone enter upon this stage? By portkey? Apparation was not working and there were no visible exits. There was a huge lever at the front of the stage no doubt for raising and lower the curtains but it seemed hardly likely that was the only way in or out. Her only chance was to keep talking; to engage and occupy Voldemort's attention in the hope that help would eventually come.

There was a sudden piercing and sustained whistle that echoed from the root halls. Hermione spun round to look out. Was that a call to arms for more Death Eaters? Or was it a cry for help from one of her friends? There was something out there. It flickered and fluttered in the air not far from her prison bars. Suddenly it sprang into view. Hermione's heart soared. It was Harry! Harry on his Firebolt! And Ginny and Neville with him! Hermione was so glad to see them she called out exultantly.

"Harry!"

Never was Hermione more delighted to see her friends than at this moment. They were yelling advice at her but their voices were muffled. Harry was hurling curses at her cage but they were deflected before they even passed by the drapes even though it did not extend in front of her cage. The curtain was certainly more than just physical. Its charms and curses would no doubt be protective of Voldemort in many ways.

What was Harry saying? It seemed to be something about a conversation. He wanted her to keep Voldemort talking!

"So... more recruits for my workforce," smirked Voldemort. "Harry Potter - the boy who lived, come to join me in my endeavours at last."

"Hermione!" It was Ron. He was shrieking in pain but forcing himself to point at the curtain which was rising. "Stop it! Stop it!"

Hermione saw the slowly moving lever and the drapes beginning to ascend. Was this bad? Why did Ron wish it stopped?

"He'll call the elves!" screamed Ron. "It's the elves!"

"Bombarda!" yelled Hermione, pointing her wand at the curtains but the spell was absorbed by the cage.

"The lever, Hermione!" shrieked Ron.

"Bombarda Maxima!" she cried - but it was clear that no magic could penetrate the walls of her cage.

"Ron! Ron!" she called out desperately. "You must do it!"

She leaned down, pushed her arm through the bars and slid her wand along the floor to where Ron stood. His face was almost unrecognizable it was contorted in such visible agony but he flung his short wand away, bent low, swept up Hermione's and pointed it desperately at the lever.

"Bombarda Maxima!" he shrieked.

"No!" screamed Voldemort as the lever, blasted by the curse, twisted, crumpled, stopped - and the curtains with it. "You - you and your pathetic friends - will all pay with unimaginable suffering for this, Granger. You can never escape. You will, in the end, beg me to let you serve in my workforce - but I shall deny you all!"

Ron had collapsed over his bench, blissfully unconscious. Harry, Ginny, and Neville were still gesticulating, their shouts muffled, mouthing words that Hermione could not distinguish. Voldemort was strutting up and down in a fury, cursing and yelling for his Death Eaters to come. Hermione noticed he did not move far beyond his couch. There was something odd about him but she could not think what. Think Hermione! Think!

What was she forgetting? What had she overlooked? Of course! She had torn a page from Worley's notes. There was something on it someone had said under interrogation - an elf or someone that had died later; something out of place. She scrabbled desperately in her pocket, pulled out the crumpled sheet and unfolded it. Her hand was shaking so badly she could hardly read but she found what she sought.

"Nobilis!"

The front of the cage opened. It was not just a trap; it was a caged access. Hermione ran to Ron and took back her wand. She turned on Voldemort but he was still yelling and screaming a mixture of threats and calls for help. Why was he not attacking her? She ran to the front of the stage - as close as she could to the invisible barrier beyond which Harry hovered on his broomstick. She stared closely at the words he was mouthing. She grasped one word.

"Canvas!"

All was clear in a flash. She strode over to Voldemort and cast the brightest light she could. Close up it was obvious. It was a huge curved drum covered in unframed sailcloth and he and his couch were merely magical images painted upon it. There was fear now in his eyes.

As Hermione stood back and blasted the portrait there was one last shriek of defiance from it - then the final remnant of Voldemort's will was destroyed forever.

.

Author's Notes

I quite enjoyed writing this chapter once I got going. I had a rough idea of this stage scene way back last August so it's one of the few parts that I didn't have to think up as I went along. I've been working towards this all along. There's another scene in the next chapter too that I had the plot for long ago (though not quite from the start.) So it ain't over till it's over so don't miss the next chapter!

Oh yeah, and I guess you figured out who it was that whistled just at the right moment that turned Hermione's head to see Harry & Co. Clever those Ravenclaws (but not that clever surely!)

Oh one more thing - if you're wondering where the counter-spell came from it's near the bottom of Chapter 31 in Worley's notes.

Comments and reviews are welcome and very encouraging. Thank you. :)

- Hippothestrowl