There is a content warning listed at the end of this chapter, nothing I feel needs to be tagged ahead of time, but if you have triggers, please check that out first.
The coffee had gone cold, probably had some time ago, but still, she cradled to her chest like a life vest. The room bustled with people, well-meaning Aurors and Weasleys abound, but Hermione saw none of them.
Instead, she wrote the list of her transgressions in her mind, etching them into her memory. She shouldn't have selfishly brought them home; shouldn't have then left for work; shouldn't have forgotten to send that damn letter to Ron. She was helpless under the weight of each mark against her, and if only they stopped there. If only the list didn't run over the parchment and onto the floor.
Sitting down on her antique coffee table and holding two new steaming cups of coffee, Harry stared at her in worry. "Do you need to go lie down?"
Her gaze flicked up, sharpening as she stared at her best friend. "Absolutely not. What I need is to know where my kids are. None of this makes any sense…" Pinching her eyes shut, Hermione felt the last of her waning energy fade away, fatigue washing over her. Harry lifted the mug from her grip and took her small hands in his, holding them tightly.
"We're going to find them, Hermione. I promise." Fiercely green eyes implored her to believe him, but with every damning minute that passed, her anxiety climbed.
The Floo roared to life, but then it had on and off for the better part of an hour now, and Hermione barely registered the sound. Not until a familiar someone was falling into the spot next to Harry.
"Minister?" Teddy.
Gasping, Hermione pulled her hands from Harry and reached for Teddy, gaining a tight, suspicious look from the Head Auror. "Teddy! You're here—"
"Of course I'm here. Would have been sooner but Harry wanted me down in Knockturn knocking on doors." She studied him as if he were brand new to her, the sharp cut to his jaw, the fierce blue of his eyes, and the worry that crinkled the edge of his gaze.
"Did you—"
"Nothing. I've got my contact digging deeper, and he'll report back as soon as finds anything." His thumb traced over the back of her hand, and she couldn't help but stare at the simple, soothing gesture. "What do you need?"
When she looked up, her gaze drifted to Harry, who was staring with wide, rounded eyes at their interlocked fingers, putting dangerous pieces together. Ripping her hands from Teddy's, she rushed to her feet.
"I'm going to the loo," she croaked, nearly stumbling over her furniture as she retreated to the safety of her ensuite.
Approaching her long mirror, she steepled her fingertips onto the marble countertop and stared at herself. How could she have allowed this to bloody happen? Her features were drawn, skin pallid with light purple circles around her eyes. Even her curls seemed deflated, hanging sad and heavy over her shoulders. With a long suffering sigh she dropped her chin and stared down at the pretty iridescent stone countertop she'd chosen a few years back.
Off to the left, tucked just behind her perfume bottle, she noticed something she hadn't seen before. A small scroll, no bigger than her forefinger, tied neatly with a small red string.
With a furrowed brow, she plucked it quickly from its resting place and peeled it open.
45 Bleaker Street. Come alone.
xXx
She'd found it easily enough even though she'd never been to this particular part of London before. And by particular, she meant seedy and grimy; the buildings were dark and unwashed, all the windows caked with dust so thick she couldn't see inside.
Unfurling the small scroll of parchment, her fingers trembled as she stared up at 45 Bleaker Street. Perhaps she should have just told Harry; that would have been the responsible thing to do, perhaps even the smart thing to do. But desperation had driven her forward, Apparating silently from her bathroom without another thought. It'd taken her nearly an hour to find the right area.
Now standing here, she considered going back, getting help; but if that monster saw, if he harmed a single hair on their precious heads, she wasn't sure how she'd ever come back from that. So, what, he wanted Hermione? He could have her. After all, she was nothing without them.
The soft thrumming of magic pooled at her lower back where her wand was stowed in her waistband. Every instinct screamed at her to withdraw it, to march in wand lofted and cursing anything that moved. But reason stayed her. She would need to use every semblance of cunning she could muster.
With a fortifying breath, she climbed the stairs and pushed the door open. The stinging pain of a ward washed over her shoulders, and she flinched away from it. Just an hour ago she'd felt devoid of any energy at all, and now adrenaline mixed dangerously with her magic and pulsed through her veins.
The house reminded her much of Grimmauld, dark and dirty, cobwebs hanging low from the ceilings as though their long fingers were reaching for her. There was also a distinct, unpleasant smell emanating from the carpet that made her nose wrinkle.
Luckily for Hermione, her skill at wandless magic had only increased in the years following the war and she muttered a short Homenum Revelio watching a soft, glowing ember appear and then light a trail up the rotting stairs. With long, hard breaths, she focused on her steps forward. The small ball of light paused over a door at the end of the hall near the back of the house, and she pushed ahead, listening for any sound of her children.
She stopped at the end of the hall, watching as the light disappeared through the wood. Horrifying images crawled across her mind, visions of her children dead or mutilated.
Knees shaking she reached for the door handle only to have it ripped away, the door crashed into the exposed wall with a loud thud.
Everything ceased; nothing mattered. In two rickety little chairs sat her children, dirty cloths tied in their mouths and hands bound behind them. Hugo's head hung low against his chest, his body limp, held upright only by his binds.
But Rosie…
Rosie had thick, dirty tear streaks striping down her cheeks, her eyes wide and horrified as she struggled against the hold on her limbs.
"Oh, my sweet girl!" Hermione cried, rushing across the room and falling to her knees in front of them, just as she had the night before in her posh little flat. "Are you okay?" Her voice turned low and worried, palms lifting Rosie's face and pulling the gag from her mouth, then turning her attention to Hugo. His breath was there, consistent if not shallow, and Hermione let out a long breath that cut short when Rose began sobbing and shouting at her.
"What? Rosie, try to calm down. We're—"
Behind her, the door slammed shut, and from the shadows, Drew Watson appeared, clutching a bottle of firewhisky at his side. He vaguely resembled the man she'd met weeks prior in the States; his hair was disheveled, eyes bloodshot, a cruel smile pulling at his mouth.
She turned, throwing her arms in front of her children. "Watson, this is a bad idea. Do you have any idea how many people you have looking for you right now? Aurors will be here any minute—"
"Bullshite, Minister," he snorted. "You're not stupid enough to risk these two on something so stupid as bringing the fucking Auror Department or your little boyfriend." A sharp inhale sounded in her ear, and she felt Rosie tense under her arm. "Besides, anyone who walks through that front door will be dust before they've made it two steps. Funny little dark ward of mine, picked it up in Southeast Asia."
"What do you want? I didn't do anything to you! I didn't even tell anyone about the photos—they were found!"
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Well, that seems like a grave error, Minister." The way he spoke her title caused a shiver to bloom at the base of her skull, inching along her skin until her limbs trembled. As he stepped from the shadows, she could see the full deterioration of him, skin gaunt and grey, dark purple circles puffing under his skin. "After all, I did implore you to be careful. I'll ask for your wand, if you please," he said, gesturing to the space in front of his feet. "And don't do something fucking stupid like pointing it at me, or I'll kill the dweeby one with the bad haircut."
Even the thought shot fear through her heart, and her breath hitched painfully, catching in her throat as one hand left Rose and reached for her wand. Her instincts rioted, begging her to fight, but something deeper implored her to listen, to find a weak spot and not bring this to a wand fight. If that happened, she'd have three people to protect and only one wand. Her hands grabbed the length of her vinewood, the same one she'd had since she was eleven years old, and tossed it haphazardly towards his feet.
Rosie fought, thrashing and pulling at the ropes tying her hands back, screaming nonsensical profanities.
A wide, maniacal grin crept across Watson's features, and he bent down to pick up his prize, twirling it clumsily in his fingers before flourishing it through the air with a lazy, "Silencio."
Rosie fell quiet, though her body still rioted. Managing a quick, meaningful look at her daughter, Hermione stood, willing her legs not to shake as her hands rested at her sides, and she stared down the fool who'd gone and made the biggest mistake of his life.
"Smartest thing you've done all day, Minister. Now..." He paused, pacing back and forth with an idle canting of his head. "I'm not sure if you realize just how much of a mess you've made for me. A criminal investigation, forced to resign from my seat in Congress, a whole slew of slanderous press—it's a mess, truly."
Hermione's brow arched as she watched his every step. With each movement, she shifted, squaring herself between him and her children. "I have to say, I'm not sure I can take full responsibility for that. Seems like maybe you might have had a hand in it as well, no?"
He pulled a face. "Still, seems that we should even the score a bit, yeah? So, here's what I want you to do, Hermione. Run on down to Gringotts, and I want you to withdraw an exorbitant sum. I've always thought it was a bit—" is nose wrinkled as he thought "—tacky to request a ransom. Bad taste and all that. So I'll leave it to you. You get to decide how much your children are worth, bring that back in a pretty little bag, and I won't be forced to do to Rose what Hugo had to endure. It's a messy business I'd rather avoid if possible."
Narrowing her glare, Hermione felt her magic crawl across her skin, sparking and sizzling on her fingertips. Something dangerous flashed behind his dark eyes, and he lifted his own wand, pointing it directly at Rose. "Crucio."
"NO!" Hermoine turned, watching in horror as her daughter's mouth fell open in a silent cry, still inflicted with the silencing charm that stole her screams. Her body contorted, arms pulling and twisting—fighting. It was, mercilessly, quick; he dropped his wand and her daughter's tiny frame went limp, head rolling back as she dragged in broken breaths.
Baring her teeth, Hermione turned back towards the man cackling in the corner of the room. "That was a mistake," she hissed through gritted teeth.
With a watery snort, Watson brought the bottle back up to his lips, tipping it back and then throwing it against the wall. "I've got two wands, and you've got nothing. Checkmate, Minister."
Eyes fluttering, she felt that welcome surge of her magic, and her hands flattened, fingers splaying as it coursed through her. Magic shot from her hands and with a hard shove of her palms backward, both chairs flew backward, fractionally further from the monster across from her.
Watson's eyes blew wide as he fumbled for his wand, but he was too drunk, too slow. Raising her palms, channeling her magic with nothing at all but the fierce love for her children, she formed a shield around them as three successions of magic plummeted against the hard shell of her Protego.
Another spell, this one stronger, dirtier, slammed into her, and she felt the small crack in her protection, a tear slipping from the corner of her eyes. Defensive magic wouldn't win here, not without her wand to fortify her. Eyes slipping closed, she focused on the most powerful memory she could: Rosie's cry as she fought her way into the world, pink and pudgy and all hers.
The shield dropped and a rush of ethereal blue magic burst forward, staggering the ex-Senator as her fingers danced in the air calling her wand to her. She could kill him, could fucking dismember the arse, and with her wand firmly in her fingers, she considered it.
But his gaze drifted to her children, nostrils flared and eyes hard, and she couldn't think past protecting them. Bringing up a stronger shield as his Avada slammed into its surface, she cried out, feeling a bit of her magic whither away, and with a loud crack, his spell ceased. Letting out a broken, relieved breath, her eyes snapped open. Teddy was there, his thick arm wrapped around Watson's neck and his wand pressed into the hollow his jaw.
"You sick fuck—" Teddy barely managed the worlds through gritted teeth, and Watson's wand clattered to the floor. Summoning it quickly to her grasp, Hermione turned for her children. Despite being thrown back with too much force, she hadn't harmed them further in her rush to push them back.
Rosie's eyes were still blank, unseeing, as she swallowed ragged breaths; Hugo was still limp and unchanged. Behind her, Teddy stunned and promptly dropped the man with a loud thud, rushing to her side. He worked quickly, methodically, lifting her son's head and pushing his eyelids open, shining soft light in his eyes. With a quick flick of his wrist, his body was freed and deposited into Hermione's waiting arms.
Shuffling across the dirty floor, he freed Rose and lifted her gingerly, holding her in the crook of his arm as he cradled her cheek with his other palm, performing similar tests on her, checking her pulse and a quiet diagnostic. Hermione watched with bated breath, looking for bruises or other signs of assault, and finally breathed when there was nothing but the lingering effects of the Unforgivable.
"They'll be okay. There's a healer downstairs to take a closer look, but they'll be okay, Hermione." A thundering of creaking footsteps sounded from below, and Hermione's bewildered gaze sought out his. "It's okay, it's the Aurors—oh shite." Turning towards the heap of stupefied wizard on the floor, Teddy pulled his wand. "Incarcerous. Harry will have my arse if I forget to do that part." An awkward grimace graced his lips, and she couldn't help the dry laugh that bubbled forward, still in disbelief he was there at all.
She turned to Hugo in her lap, tears slipping from her cheeks and onto his, and as the sound of impeding steps bound up the stairs, she reached for Teddy, fingers curling around his forearm as she mouthed a silent thank you.
The door was shoved open, half a dozen Aurors pouring into the room, wands drawn, scouring for the perpetrator. Harry followed, his worried features falling into relief then transforming again as he leveled her with a narrowed glare. Next was Ron, pushing past them all as the Aurors began tending to Watson. Horrified, he fell to his knees beside his children, pushing the long red fringe from his son's forehead and then turning to Rose, searching her blank expression and faltering.
"She'll be okay, Mister Weasley," Teddy said confidently, lifting Rose and depositing her gently in her father's arms. He stood, avoiding Hermione's probing stare as Katie Bell—and was that Lucius Malfoy?—burst in behind them. Teddy rose swiftly to his feet, tucking his wand behind his ear and pushing his chestnut fringe from his eyes. "Harry! These two need immediate evacuation to St. Mungo's Unforgiveables Department—"
"Unforgiveables!" Ron choked, tears welling in his eyes as he cradled his trembling daughter tighter.
An older witch pushed through the throngs of people, hollering at them to get back, and came to Hermione and Ron's side. Quietly, she reassured them that she was going to look after the children and that they would be quickly admitted to a private room and available for visitors after a series of tests and diagnostics.
"I'm going to take them with me now, is that okay?"
On instinct, Hermione's hold tightened, but upon seeing the spasm in her daughter's hand, remembering how her own tremour had lingered for several years due to lack of proper treatment, she acquiesced, tears streaming down her cheeks as the Mediwitch placed her hands on both children and Disapparated with a quiet pucker of magic.
"I need to get to the hospital," she croaked, rising to her feet and buckling, falling back to her knees as Ron wrapped a protective arm around her.
"We will, but you can't apparate like this… Portkeys, Harry?" Ron nodded at their friend, and with a mumbled command, an Auror slipped a bag from his robes and handed it to his boss.
Behind tear-logged eyes and heavy fatigue, she noted the worried expressions on Katie and Teddy's faces, the absolutely furyon Harry's, and the resident scowl of Lucius Malfoy. Then, a small Muggle die was falling into her palm, and with a swift tug of magic, they were gone.
xXx
A/N: Thanks again for reading and reviewing! It means so much to me, I wish I could tell you all properly! Biggest of thanks to my dream team, MCal, Indreams, and Ravenslight for their eyes, hearts, and love on this piece!
I'll get this last chapter edited and up as soon as possible! Please let me know what you think!
CONTENT WARNING: A small scene of torture is depicted in this chapter.