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TRIGGER WARNING: no spoilers but there is a chase scene with the intent to non-con, but Hermione fights her arse off. No non-con occurs.
Counting the Stars
Chapter Seventeen
Fear of the Water - SYML, Soft Universe - AURORA, and No Mercy - PVRIS
O
Hermione raced through the corridors of the Manor.
Her mind and her heart were at war. Despair fighting anger. Confusion battling panic. It felt as though she were being tossed about inside of a tornado, like every time she came close to spinning out of the top, the clouds pulled her under again.
What was she supposed to do?
Voldemort knew. Tom knew.
And he was coming.
He was going to come, she just knew it. She was torn between falling onto her bed to have a cry, and running out of the front door with the clothes on her back.
But where would she go? She'd never make it far. Walking through the fields and hills of Wiltshire with no money in her pockets, she'd make it to town before she was recognized.
Why didn't my necklace work? Why didn't Draco come when I - when my heart rate - he -
The panicked thoughts redirected. Draco couldn't have come. Tom had him in his clutches. He'd been crucioed three times, possibly more. He couldn't have come for her.
Did he even want to?
Hermione burst into her bedroom, her head canting forward as the nausea overtook her. She fell to her knees, clutching her stomach. It simmered and jolted with terror.
Neville. Poor Neville.
Draco had killed him. She hadn't seen it, but she knew. In her heart, she knew that he was dead. Tom had made it clear that killing Neville was his punishment. His punishment for harboring her.
It was all her fault.
She held a hand to her heart, which felt like it was trembling and falling to pieces inside her chest. She'd let not only Neville down, but Luna, too. She could still remember the peaceful smile on Luna's face as she slid over the edge of the boat, whispering Neville's name.
And yet I still had the nerve to feel pity for Draco being cursed. I still had the gall to care about the way he was screaming.
Hermione was a horrible person. A horrible person and a horrible friend. Luna didn't deserve her. Neville didn't deserve her. No one deserved her.
What was she supposed to do? Tom would come for her. He would come for her and make Draco do to her what he'd done to Neville. He would kill her. They would all kill her. She would be dead. Dead, dead, dead, and all the sacrifice - all the pain and the torment and the sacrifice would be for nothing. It would mean absolutely fucking nothing because she had thought for a second, just one bloody second, that she was safe.
"Sing my praises, Draco. Or else I shall make her sing them."
Draco couldn't protect her. She couldn't protect herself.
"You. Are. Nothing."
She fell into gut-wrenching sobs. The anguish eclipsed her, clawing up from the depths of her soul. She fell onto her side and curled in on herself, sobbing without taking a breath. She could feel her chest constricting tighter and tighter, desperate for air. But she didn't deserve air.
She deserved to suffocate.
The black spots expanded in her vision. Her breaths came in short, violent pants. She was shaking, shaking so violently that it hurt her muscles. Her hands curled into fists as tight as vices. Her teeth clenched and ached.
With one final gasp, she fell into unconsciousness.
O
When Hermione awoke, she could see by the lantern light that it was 10:45PM.
With a groan, she pushed herself up and cast a weary glance around the room. She felt disoriented, like the Earth was tipping back and forth on its axis. Her body hurt in the faint sort of way that indicated that she'd had a panic attack. The right side of her body felt sore, and she could feel bruising on her back in all the places where she'd slammed into the bookshelf.
It all came rushing back to her at once.
The dining hall. The chandeliers. Tom's wand twirling back and forth between his fingers. Draco's pleading eyes. His trembling hand. Neville.
Neville.
Hermione closed her eyes against the second wave of emotions that threatened to take her down into the muck again. She hugged her knees to her chest and buried her face in them, struggling to calm her breath.
She knew better than to let her angst manage her emotions like that. She knew better than to lose control and spiral. Hermione had never been an irrational person. Today marked the official sixth year since the day Harry died. She hadn't survived this long on fumes of anxiety.
A breath that spanned two seconds. Air that filled her lungs to the brim, gentle and restorative. An exhalation.
Calm.
Okay. It was time to think about this.
What she knew for certain was that the dinner that Lucius had shown her was current. Tom had stated that it had been six years. The people sitting at the table were Death Eaters and they were feasting to celebrate something, likely the anniversary of the battle. Tom had chosen to open the dinner with a display, and that display involved Neville.
He had also chosen to use that display to punish Draco for something. Possibly the fact that he'd hidden Hermione. That meant that at some point, whenever the event was over, her time was up. If it was a Revel, the moment that Revel was over, Tom would come.
What she did not know was where the event had taken place, what event it truly was, and whether or not the "she" Tom had referenced was truly Hermione. There was a possibility that "she" referenced Narcissa. After all, Tom had cast an incurable curse on her and she was not dead. If he had somehow found out that Narcissa was being kept alive, then it stood to reason that Draco could be punished by extension of Lucius' betrayal.
But if it was Hermione that Tom was punishing Draco for, then why hadn't he punished Lucius, too? Why had he allowed Lucius to steal away to the Manor tonight?
Unless Lucius had made good on his promise to choose Narcissa over Draco.
Unless Lucius had thrown his own son to the wolves.
Hermione felt sick again.
What if Lucius was the reason why Tom knew? He had stated to Hermione in the library that when he gave Draco access to the 150,000 galleons to pay Carrow for his silence, he hadn't known that Carrow already knew who she was. Had Carrow let the information slip to him, causing his enraged outburst tonight? Had Lucius found out earlier, told Tom, and then waited until after he got the satisfaction of hearing Draco's screams to come home and harangue Hermione?
Hermione dragged her fingers into the depths of her curls and hung her head between them.
There was something else she knew for certain. It nagged at the back of her mind, lurking there like a dark cloud of mist. Barely-there, but present and noticeable all the same.
I want Draco to come home. Now.
Hermione took another deep breath. She didn't want to unpack all the reasons why she wanted him home. She could deal with it later. She just wanted him home, so she knew that he was alive and so she could get some answers.
Because whether she wanted to admit it or not, her hatred of him was purely circumstantial. She did not like the fact that she could still hear his screams. She did not like the fact that seeing tears in his eyes and on his cheeks and dripping down to the floor made her want to cry herself. She did not like the fact that all she wanted to do when he got home was ask him if he was all right.
Hermione did not hate him.
She hated the fact that she cared.
It was 11:30PM by the time that Hermione was able to stand up. She still felt a bit dizzy, but she knew that she needed to figure some things out. She needed to be rational. Rationally, if it were her, Harry, and Ron, they would be making plans to leave. To run. To break down camp and keep going.
I need to gather anything I think is important. If I have to run, maybe I can convince Malfoy to cast an extension charm on a bag so I can bring vittles and water. Perhaps even an extra change of clothing and a couple of books. Some healing potions.
She brought the change of clothing in question over to her bed and set it down. Then, she paused. If she had an extension charm, it would probably be all right to bring some more undergarments. She went back to the dresser.
Five minutes later, she was tossing things onto the bed in a frenzy. If she was going to go on the run with him, then he wasn't the type to deign to sleep in a tent, or in a log, or dally for three months inside an Underhill eating fruit. There was going to be a suite, or some house somewhere that was Unplottable. He was a Malfoy.
She was definitely jumping to conclusions. There was no confirmation that Tom knew, and no confirmation that Draco was going to "go on the run" with her. She was probably just being overdramatic.
Being overdramatic is what kept you alive on the hunt for Horcruxes, she thought. There's nothing wrong with being prepared.
This thought steeled her reserve, enabling her to move faster. Soon, she had a small pile of things on her bed, waiting to be packed into a bag the second Draco returned home, should he see fit.
What about Narcissa? Hermione frowned. She would need days to prepare extra doses of the potion. The cauldron would need to be used and reused, and that was provided there were enough mushrooms left in the jar. Since each brew took thirty-to-forty-five minutes, she would probably not be able to fix this issue.
Her heart sank.
Narcissa didn't deserve this. It wasn't her fault that Draco had brought Hermione here to help her.
Hermione's stomach twisted in her torso. She knew that Narcissa had been cursed in December, from what Draco had told her in Paris, but what she didn't know was why. To this day, Hermione still had no idea how the Dark Lord found the sanctuary. Hannah had assumed it must have been Narcissa. But if that were true, she would have been cursed or killed in July of 2002.
She felt confused.
Either Narcissa wasn't the link, Tom had forgiven her for the discrepancy, or Narcissa hadn't actually been cursed in December. Which made no sense, because if she was cursed before that, then she would be dead by December, or at the very least, beyond saving. That would make Hermione's being at the Manor pointless.
Or Narcissa had betrayed the sanctuary.
She held a hand to her temple. If Narcissa had betrayed them and Hermione had been treating the very person who'd gotten all those people killed, including Luna? Then she didn't think she could cope.
It was unfathomable.
Hermione took several deep breaths. It wouldn't do to think about things like that. It was unlikely. Hannah had said that Narcissa had been helping them for years. If she were going to betray Wicklow, she would have done it immediately, the second she entered Dumbledore's office the day of the battle. But she hadn't.
Hermione could feel it in her bones. Narcissa wasn't the enemy.
I need to focus, Hermione told herself, tousling her hair to get some cool air on the back of her neck. I need to go downstairs and get some potions, and then I need to wait here for Malfoy to get home. Then, I'll have answers.
O
Hermione could hold no more than 5 bottles of potions at one time.
She hadn't thought there'd be more than one or two that she could bring that were already bottled and corked, so she hadn't brought a bag down with her. She would just have to come back down a second time.
As she walked through the grand entryway, towards the staircase, she stopped. Her gaze slid to the left, towards the hall that led to the Drawing Room.
Harry's things. They were in the sitting room, in front of the Floo.
She couldn't leave them behind. It wasn't even an option. It would be like leaving Harry behind to run away with Draco. She couldn't live with that knowledge.
They can be shrunken down, she thought as she ran up the stairs as fast as she could. They can be shrunken down and I can place them into the bag. Having the Invisibility Cloak will be helpful in and of itself.
She tossed the bottles onto the bed, trying to run back down to get the chest. One of the bottles bounced and rolled down onto the floor. She let out a sound of frustration and doubled-back, panting as she reached down to grab it.
Still breathing heavily, she made it back to the sitting room. Falling before the chest, she took the cloak and stuffed it into the box, slamming the lid shut and throwing the latch. A faint, relieved smile crossed her face, as though she'd thought she was going to forget it or lose it.
She would never leave Harry behind.
WHOOSH.
The Floo had come to life.
Draco. Draco had to be home. Lucius was probably with him, but at this point, she didn't care. She just wanted to know Draco was okay.
All other thoughts flowing from her mind, she looked up with a relieved smile.
The grandfather clock in the room struck 12:00AM midnight.
Hermione froze, her heart racing ten thousand kilometers per hour.
The emerald green flames faded into ash as Amycus Carrow appeared in the depths of the Floo. He wore his robes, black as pitch, and his sandy orange hair was worn pushed back. His onyx eyes glittered like the endlessness of a black hole as he stared directly at her.
He took a step forward, out of the fireplace.
"The song and dance with your master has been fun," he said, leering out across the room at her. "But my patience has worn out, and I'm itching to fuck someone who doesn't belong to me."
Hermione's mind raced and whirled. Where were Draco and his father? Why weren't they home yet? How had Carrow gotten permission to come to the Manor while the Dark Lord was hosting a Revel at court?
She knew the answer.
He hadn't.
Carrow took another step forward.
Oh, Gods.
Hermione dropped the chest to the floor, where the latch popped open and sent the items inside cascading out across the stone.
His grin chilled her blood to ice. It was nothing like the man she'd last seen when he came to the Manor. In front of Draco, he was a bumbling fool. In front of Hermione?
He was her worst nightmare.
"Run, little muddy," he sang. "Run."
She ran.
"If anyone enters the Manor that isn't me or my father while we're both gone, the windows will turn black. If that happens, run to your room and lock the door to activate the wards. You'll be hidden."
She took to the stairs, glancing behind her.
The windows by the front doors were black. They were black.
She had to get to her room. The knife was under her pillow and it was safer in her bedroom.
Carrow was coming after her, walking slowly. Like a panther on the prowl.
She made it to the top flight of stairs, heading across the hall for her room. If she could just get inside, she could lock the door. If the windows were black, then the wards on her room would activate the second she locked the door.
Crack.
He appeared in front of her, pulling a shriek of fright out of her throat. She skidded to a halt and stumbled, falling back onto her bottom on the floor. How could he Apparate in the Manor? He wasn't a Malfoy. He couldn't be -
Unless the wards were deactivated.
Unless he was allowed inside.
Hermione let out a cry and she scrambled to her feet. She felt Carrow's hand in her hair, dragging her back against the hard planes of his chest. He wasted no time. His hand groped her left breast with vicious zeal. It hurt.
"Let go of me!" she screamed, struggling against the pain even as her scalp pulled and her chest throbbed. She kicked her legs as wildly as she could.
"You're -" He grunted as he struggled with her. "- as feisty as I thought you'd be. Which is exactly how I imagined it. You -"
Hermione slammed her head backward, her skull blossoming with pain as it connected with his nose. Hard. He let out a sound of shock and his hold on her hair slackened. The moment she was free, she took off.
Lucius couldn't have done this, Hermione thought, desperation and horror pushing her forward. Lucius is not that vile. He couldn't have done this.
Down the stairs she went, hearing Carrow's laughter echoing off of the ceiling after her.
"The Revel is in full swing, little muddy! Your master was punished tonight, so he won't be coming home. So while the insects are being squashed by the Dark Lord's glory, I'm going to take my chance to reap my rewards."
Hermione didn't know what to do or where to go. The mansion didn't loop. Every direction eventually hit a dead end.
Her mind cleared. She saw a flash of sharp, white teeth. The glint of a blue crystal. The moonlight.
Teensy. Teensy can help.
She made a break to the left, towards the corridors that led to the kitchens and the lab. She screamed Teensy's name, over and over, but no one came. There was no answer.
She had just turned to go towards the back door when crack, Carrow was there.
"Oh, don't worry about them," he said, and his grin spread miles wide. "I just used the Floo for dramatic effect. I like to make an entrance."
Hermione sucked in her breath and backed away. The horror was too much to bear. He couldn't have. He was lying.
Not unless Lucius dropped the Apparition wards.
Carrow lowered his chin and the look of dark glee that burned in his eyes showed Hermione everything that she needed to know about why Teensy wasn't coming.
"The Malfoy Manor won't be needing House Elves anymore."
Hermione felt rage filling her up from deep inside. She curved her hand into a claw and whipped it around with all of her might, slashing Carrow across the face. The satisfaction of feeling his skin split beneath her fingernails filled her heart with darkness and intensified her bloodlust.
"Teensy was my friend!" she roared, her face contorted with fury.
Hermione leapt across the space at him, shoving him backward until he slammed against the wall. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she attacked him, slamming him with haymaker blows that had the intensity of a supernova behind them. She was screaming her ire. He was trying to defend himself, but she was too wild.
Until his foot slammed down on her bare toes.
The pain was immense, like stubbing her toe on the corner of a wall. She gasped in agony, half-staggering, half-hopping backward.
Carrow stood there, visibly seething through bared, gritted teeth. His black eyes were alight with the fires of hatred. He looked like he wanted to set her aflame and watch her burn.
Hermione didn't wait to see what he had to say.
She fled.
She could hear his footsteps against the floor, coming after her. His silence was more terrifying that his words had been. She felt her desperation turning to whimpers as she pushed her body to go faster and faster. When she got to the stairs, she tried to take them two at a time, but he'd anticipated it.
He grabbed the hem of her dress and yanked so hard that she went careening backward. Her arms spun for balance, and then she was being pulled down right where she stood. She tried to fight, to kick and struggle, even as Carrow pinned her beneath him.
"You're a fucking handful," he growled, but he was laughing. He was laughing and Hermione knew it would haunt her for the rest of her life.
"I'm sure you're barely two fingers' full," she spat out, even as she tried to smack his hands away from the buttons on her bodice.
His face darkened, the mirth dissipating as quickly as a hurricane rolled in. He exploded.
Carrow grabbed her by the throat, hauled his other arm back, and slammed his fist into the center of her face.
Hermione saw stars. Her nose was numb with pain. She went slack beneath him, in a daze as he grabbed the collar of her dress and tore it open. It felt like there was a fog in her head.
She tried to fight again, tried to get her knees up between them so she could use her leg muscles to shove him off. She writhed, twisting her torso as he grabbed the cups of her brassiere and started to pull.
A choked sob left her lips, but she was determined. She began slapping his face, pushing against it, smacking her palms on his skin. She aimed her fingers for his eyes. Anything. Anything she could do.
WHOOSH.
The Floo.
She didn't think. She didn't know who it was. She just screamed his name.
"Draco! Draco, help me! Help! Ple -"
Carrow struck her again and then she felt his hands gripping her waist. Crack. They were at the top of the stairs. Crack. They were through the only open door in the hallway: her bedroom.
And then she heard him.
"Carrow!" Draco roared, and his voice came from the stairs. Hermione had never heard him sound so angry. It was as though someone had stolen Persephone from Hades. "Touch a hair on my witch's head and I'll slit your fucking throat!"
Nauseous from the Apparition, Hermione rolled onto her stomach as Carrow got to his feet and ripped his wand out. He aimed it at the door.
"You will not take this from me!" Carrow hollered.
The door slammed shut. The lock turned. A muffling charm was cast.
But Draco could Apparate into her bedroom. He'd always been able to -
She looked to her left. The window was black.
The window was black, so did that mean that he couldn't Apparate into the room if the door was shut and her bedroom's wards were activated?
She didn't have time to fret over it because in the next second, Carrow's wand was on her.
"Crucio!"
Hermione's eyes went wide.
She burned.
Her back arched off of the ground and her feet slid with manic abandon against the carpeted floor as the curse rocketed throughout her entire body. Her head was thrown back from the force of the agony that overcame her. She hadn't been crucioed in years, and it was just as horrible as the first time.
She just wanted it to stop.
In her ears, she could hear a cacophony of screaming. It was her own, mingling with his. Pain with rage.
She felt lost. Despaired. Her only saving grace was the knowledge that her necklace was still around her neck. Draco could feel her heartbeat. He had to. He had to know she was burning.
Could he hear her thoughts?
Please, help me! She projected the thoughts out, desperation intensifying her will. Draco, please!
And when the curse stopped, when her body lay prone on the floor in a convulsing heap, Carrow was upon her.
Still, Hermione fought. She would never stop fighting.
With meek hands, she tangled her fingers in his hair. All she had was the element of surprise. Even though it killed her, she dragged him down until his entire body was flush with hers. Then, stomach churning, she wrapped her legs around his waist.
She could feel him pressing slimy, open-mouth kisses to her neck as his lust overcame his suspicion.
Hermione let out a cry of exertion as she gathered all of her strength and rolled them both over. He gasped in momentary shock, giving Hermione just enough time to start punching. She could feel her energy leaving her with each blow.
She had to get to the door. She had to turn the lock.
Hermione felt his fingernails clawing at her bare thighs, leaving fissures in her flesh, but she paid it no mind.
She clasped her hands together and brought her fists down with a vengeance. At the last moment, he turned his head. The strike connected with his temple, stunning him on impact.
Gasping for air, Hermione limped over to the door. She could feel blood trickling down the sides of her legs, along her calves. She fell against the wood, head spinning and chest fluttering. Sweat-slick fingers closed around the lock.
And then she was being hurled across the room by magic, her bruised back smashing so hard into the wall that it stole the breath right out of her lungs. The emotional strength that she'd managed to build up began to crumble and she felt tears pricking at her eyes.
Carrow stalked toward her, his wand outstretched.
"I knew," he said with laborious breathing, "that you were a formidable witch. However, I was not aware that you were a formidable woman."
"Underestimation," she said, her sentence broken by a groan of agony, "has been the death of many men when it comes to me."
Carrow stopped in front of her. "It won't be the death of me. Crucio."
Hermione dissociated through the pain. Her body was in Hell, pure Hell, but her mind had started to soar. Just like it had the day Bellatrix Lestrange broke her mind open and sent the pieces scattering, she drew upon her magic in its purest form and urged it to protect her. She felt Carrow's crucio pushing those shards as far as they could go and then, at the height of her screams, she felt her magic searing to life.
Hermione willed all of the pieces back to her. She felt her magical core swelling, pulsating within her. Even though she hadn't felt this in years, hadn't felt a wand in her hand in so long, she knew that this power was what was thrumming through her veins and up into her mind. She knew that this was magic.
Hermione was neither a formidable witch, nor a formidable woman.
She was both.
She broke through the Cruciatus, and slammed her knee upward.
Carrow dropped his wand and screamed, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. He dropped to the floor like a fallen tree, clutching his groin and heaving for oxygen.
"Yes," Hermione said with another gasp, eyes cold as they gazed upon him, "It will."
Quick as a lightning bolt, she was bounding across the room. She didn't know if Draco was going to be there, if he was even the one who was coming home, but the pendant wrapped around her neck told her that it was him.
She pitched forward, into the door, her fingers throwing the lock. Her heart raced faster as she threw the door open . . .
. . . And found herself at the end of a wand.
Draco Malfoy's wand.
He stood there, his teeth bared, seething. His eyes blazed down at her, full to the brim with anger the likes of which she'd never seen before. This was the most frightened she'd ever been of him. She almost took a step back.
He did not lower his wand.
She looked up at him, feeling her body trembling as it held the weakness at bay. She wanted to fall apart. She wanted to cross the distance and fling herself at him. In spite of everything that they'd been through in the weeks leading up to this moment, he was the only person she wanted right now.
He glared down at her, something akin to acrimony flickering in the depths of his eyes, and she felt ice spreading along the forefront of her mind.
I'm here.
Then, as relief chilled the heat of battle from her body, his contemptuous gaze slid past her to Carrow. He sneered.
"Move, Granger."