Yesterday is Tomorrow (Everything is Connected)
TWENTY
I want to understand if I can change it. If everything has a purpose, and if so… who decides this purpose? Coincidence? God? Or is it us? Are we actually free in our actions? Or is it all created anew, in an eternally recurring cycle? And we can only obey the laws of nature and are nothing but slaves of space and time?
– The Stranger, Dark, S1E8, "As You Sow, So You Shall Reap"
Trigger warning: torture.
Before they could fully gain their bearings, three nonverbal expelliarmus spells hit them from three different angles around the catacomb, wrenching their wands from their holsters and pockets. The wands soared through the air, where they were caught by other Death Eaters who secreted them away into their voluminous robes.
Barty snarled, even taking a step forward after his wand, but a Death Eater raised their wand to waist height level. The message was clear: one more step, and you get hit.
Voldemort didn't seem to care what was occurring around him, as his red eyes were focused on the three teenagers. He was surveying them, looking them up and down, still in their Hogwarts uniforms.
How young we must look to him, thought Hermione idly, surveying the Dark Lord in return. She knew that he was a strong Legilimens and fought to keep her innermost thoughts and truths of his future hidden behind carefully crafted shields while other surface thoughts were behind a much more obvious barrier for him to break through. Let him assume Regulus taught her and Barty Occlumency and did so poorly.
He looked less like the Voldemort Regulus and James described – tall with slicked back hair, pale and with red eyes – and more like the Voldemort Hermione knew from her own original time, but not quite there yet.
Somewhere, between January and June, Voldemort had lost his hair, leaving a shiny, bald head; his cheeks and face had thinned, leaving him with a long, pale face and smooth, hairless features. All Hermione could think was that he conducted another murder recently, perhaps with the ring, to create another Horcrux. That would be out of order from the other timeline, but it would explain his drastic change in appearance.
Finally, Voldemort began - although there was no obvious twitch or straightening of his shoulders. His magic seemed to vibrate in the air around him and he spoke.
"Join me," the dark wizard hissed, soft and slow. "All three of you exhibit magic in the most exquisite ways. Your power, your finesse, they mark you as true wizards."
His eyes turned to Hermione. "And despite your unfortunate background, Hermione Evans, your grasp on esoteric magic is – something else." He paused and then implored, again, "Join me as my faithful, and we can reshape Britain to our image."
Hermione kept silent, with the tiniest purse to her lips as her response to Voldemort's beginning spiel.
"Regulus Black," began Voldemort, sensing he needed to add more. "The dutiful son, the Slytherin son, the true son of the Blacks. You are from powerful, strong magical stock. I have been told of your wandless abilities and skill with a wand, no doubt thanks to your pure, double Black blood."
Regulus grimaced at the mention of his parents' close relations.
"Unlike your older brother, you understand your purpose and role, don't you?" continued Voldemort, moving slowly to circle the three. "You know the value of family, of your heritage and legacy. Of what it means to be a wizard and not a muggle."
He stopped behind Barty, who tensed as his back went ramrod straight, despite keeping his eyes forward. Hermione could see his jaw clench as he struggled, desperately wanting to turn and face the predator in the room as his lycanthrope tendencies rose to the surface of his thoughts.
"Bartemius Crouch, junior," hissed Voldemort, "The son of a long line of purebloods; and a Black cousin. You, too, have a wandless talent that my spies have spoken of, one stronger than your friend's. But more than this power, I know that you crave attention – you desire to be wanted. Your father has no time for you as Head Auror, this I know."
Barty froze, inhaling sharply and not exhaling as he held his breath.
He moved to stand before Barty. "I could be your father. I can encourage your magic and desires as you learn about yourself and your magic." He stared at the young man. "I know of your anger, your hatred for your father. He deserves it. He has my anger, too. Together we could punish him."
Slowly, carefully, he moved to the side and looked at Hermione, who looked back.
"How curious," he murmured, "You are not afraid of me."
Hermione did not speak.
"For a mudblood, you are… exceptionally powerful," he continued to hiss, his voice low. His eyes roamed Hermione's form, not sexual in nature, but considering. "You must be the child of a changeling, or from a squib line – no doubt a powerful wizarding family, given your older sister's abilities. But… you are still something other, are you not, Ms. Evans?"
Frowning, Hermione found she really didn't like her name on Voldemort's lips. And the implication… fear froze her veins as she remembered the hint of prophecy the Room of Requirement touched upon, and that frisson of fear settled low in her stomach as her nerves churned with the thought that one of Voldemort's loyal Death Eaters was already in the Department of Mysteries and had seen her initials on a prophecy shelf.
"I can overlook your impure blood," he declared, "if only due to your magical ability. Think of what you could accomplish at my side – what we could accomplish together!"
He moved closer to her, stepping around and to her back and side as his head moved close to her ear. "My collection is full of the most arcane and rare magics. Spells thought lost to us, spells that faded in antiquity. You could have those, to read through those ancient texts, and expand that mind of yours as you practice your magic."
Hermione fought a shiver – of disgust, of fear, or of want, she wasn't sure – and closed her eyes.
Voldemort's breath was as cold as his voice when it brushed against her ear, moving her hair. "With my connections across the world, you could have it all."
He then moved swiftly away, standing in his original spot. Bellatrix, unmasked and just behind him, looked very put out at the attention the three were receiving.
Voldemort's smile was wide and genial, but it seemed mocking and dangerous to Hermione as he extended his arms on either side and offered, "What do you say? Join me. Join me and have all you have ever desired."
The three were silent, their eyes nervously glancing at each other. It was one thing to know that they were actively dismantling Voldemort's soul and working to stop him when he was an abstract dark lord to someone before them, suddenly made human – however much of him was still human.
Had it been over a year ago - before they knew of the Horcruxes - perhaps Regulus and Barty would've been tempted. Had there been no Hermione Evans in their life. Still, it wasn't like they could rejoin, "Excuse me, Mr. Dark Lord sir, but could we have a few days to think about it?"
They had long ago set their course, and Hermione, at least, was determined to stay on it. She would not force Barty and Regulus, but she would prefer to not cross wands with them.
"I'm good, thanks," she said firmly, tucking her chin up a bit as she threw Voldemort's offer back at him. "I already have it all."
Barty - loyal, wonderful Barty - followed quickly with a firm, single-word answer. "No."
After Hermione spoke, Voldemort's face froze, and annoyance passed over it. When Barty spoke, it moved from annoyance to frustration, his eyes narrow red slits.
He turned slowly to Regulus.
"Think carefully, cousin," warned Bellatrix, speaking out of turn. It was a wobbly whisper that cut through the cavernous catacomb as loud as any shout.
Regulus barely glanced at her. "I know what my purpose and role is; I don't need you telling me what makes a Black. Toujours Pur - always pure."
He paused and then turned to face Voldemort. "Always pure doesn't mean blood. It means conviction and belief in one's self. A Black is one who knows who they are and what they stand for and remains true to their ideals." He then levelled a dark look at the dark wizard. "Blacks bow to no wizard."
Rage flashed across Voldemort's face, but Regulus wasn't done. With a studied, Sirius Black-casualness, he added in a voice reminiscent of his brother: "And fuck you, too, you bald pale-faced bastard."
There was a shocked silence, even as Voldemort's thin nostrils flared with anger. Magic rose thick around him as his magic manifested and the air turned molten. His Death Eaters shifted nervously where they stood.
"Master," began Bellatrix, haltingly as she stepped further into the lit part of the catacomb, pushing her hood back to reveal her bare face, free of any mask. "Master, please, he knows not what he's saying–"
"Fuck off, Bella," snapped Regulus, glancing at her.
"It's the Mudblood's fault," his cousin continued, her voice rising in pitch. "Let me curse her, let me make her beg on the dirty ground so she knows her place–"
"Enough, Bella," ordered Voldemort in the same cool tone he used when the three first appeared. She immediately snapped her mouth shut. "Your cousin is sound in mind. Unfortunately, it appears he takes after his brother more than his cousins. Perhaps the fault is his parents…"
Regulus glared back defiantly, refusing to speak.
"But… but…" hissed Voldemort, eyes moving from Regulus to Hermione and Barty. "Yes, your idea has merit."
Oh, thought Hermione with a mental sigh. This again. She glanced at Bellatrix and a tiny, quick thought flickered through her: at least it's unlikely she has the cursed knife this time.
It always surprised her - as an adult and now, especially so - at how much Death Eaters talked about blood purity and the stain of mudbloods and muggles and muggle ways and yet, when push came to shove: they were no different. Violence beget violence.
A blast from Voldemort's wand - a strong gust of wind - knocked Hermione on off her feet and she did her best to control the wild burst of magic that rushed up in her defensively, wanting to transmute the hard stone beneath her hands as shield and protection. She ended up on her side, hands and knees scuffed and far away from her friends, who cried out in worry.
Immediately, independent of their master, a few Death Eaters moved toward Regulus and Barty. Bellatrix and her husband, Rodolphus, had a physical hold of Regulus, his arms pinned tightly to his side with them bookending him.
It was Barty who was the wildcard and caused them problems: with his strength and height, he towered over most of the Death Eaters except for Voldemort. His arms flailed as someone moved close to him, and he didn't shy away from biting if he thought he could get away with it. Eventually, a wizard rammed into him at the waist, lifting him up off his feet and slammed him to the floor, while two others used immobulus to hold him down in place. They kept their wands trained on him though, as Barty was already straining through the spell, nonverbally and wandlessly unweaving it, head twisted to the side and brown eyes wide as he stared at Hermione in fear.
Calmly, Hermione pushed herself up and then onto her feet, staring at the tall, pale-faced wizard as he watched her, just as impassively.
Then the Dark Lord flicked his wand. "Crucio."
The curse hit her with the weight of a freight train, but Hermione, who had experienced this once before, braced and took the hit, curling around her stomach as the wind was knocked out of her.
The initial strike of the pain wasn't as severe as Bellatrix's had been in her memory. Maybe Voldemort was teasing, or testing her, she wasn't sure – but while it still felt like her nerves were singed as electricity coursed through her body, it wasn't enough to knock her off her feet.
"Impressive," the Dark Lord's high-pitched voice cut through the haze of sharp pain as he released the spell.
Hermione inhaled quickly and sharply, glancing up at him from under her hair.
His thin lips curled into a parody of a smile. "Very impressive. What a shame."
Then he held his wand aloft and cursed again. This time, the pain was agonizing, and Hermione fell to the dirty ground, bracing her hands as her knees hit. She grunted in pain and squeezed her eyes shut.
Gods, oh gods, this hurts – so much more –
Whatever had removed her emotions to her memories had also removed a good deal of the memory of her torture, she vaguely thought in severe displeasure. She could remember the pain from the cruciatus, could remember the feel of her skin being split from the cursed scar, the absolute fear and terror that shook through her body – but it paled in comparison to what she experienced under Voldemort's own wand.
Hermione bit through her bottom lip and blood dribbled down over her chin as she kept a scream bottled in, even as Voldemort's voice murmured, "crucio," again.
The third time, Hermione let out a long, hoarse cry that rattled out from her. She quickly cut it off with a sharp inhale that turned into pants. Voldemort stopped casting, giving Hermione a few moments to breathe.
Her eyes opened and caught sight of Barty, now on his stomach and straining against the spells that held him in place. He dragged himself a few feet toward her, her name on his lips, even as two masked Death Eaters stepped forward and cast on him again, freezing him in place. His shirt had pulled out of his trousers, revealing the long, silver gashes from Remus's werewolf form.
"Look at this," muttered one of the Death Eaters, nudging at Barty's frozen form. "Looks like he's been mauled by a wolf."
Bellatrix laughed derisively, yanking on Regulus's arm. He tried to pull back. "Aw, does his big, bad, Auror daddy know that his son his a disgusting halfbreed?"
"Enough, Bella," the Dark Lord commanded as he walked toward Hermione. She lay panting, staring up at the ceiling and then him.
With casual disdain, used the toe of his boot against her shoulder to knock her back. Hermione grunted and fell on her side, rolling to avoid his boot a second time.
"The fact you can still move to avoid me," sighed Voldemort, "is a sign of your magic, girl. Many men have lost their mind under my wand, and none survive a fourth go."
"I've – had – worse," gasped Hermione between words, glaring at him.
Although eyebrow-less, an expression of interested surprise reflected on Voldemort's face.
"Is that so?" he queried softly.
Shakily, Hermione pushed to her knees, and then to her feet, wobbling in place. She brought the back of her hand to her mouth and wiped at the trickle of blood from her split lip, smearing it across her jaw. There were some surprised murmurs from the Death Eaters at her defiance. She then did her best to stand straight.
"Crucio."
Hermione grimaced at the pain, buckling almost immediately as she fell to the floor. Her back bowed and her fingers clawed at the stone, breaking some of her nails and leaving a line of blood. But she held in her shriek of pain.
Then Voldemort repeated the spell, and the pain sent her to her stomach as she curled protectively into a ball, her entire form shaking as thousands of burning hot knives plunged into her body from every angle, unable to escape them as her muscles twitched and spasmed as her nerves were abused.
She began to lose track of time. But then, the spell ended, and she got to her feet. Slowly, shakily. She took longer, often stumbling back to her knees several times before finally standing tall. Finally, she saw Regulus, pale-faced and hanging limply in Rodolphus's arms, grey eyes wide and stuck firmly on her. It looked like he had thrown up, mess still on his chin and down the front of his Hogwarts blazer.
Hermione took a deep breath and turned back to Voldemort. Breathlessly, she panted out, "Is that the best you've got? I could do this all day."
Something passed across Voldemort's red eyes - too quickly for her to figure out what it was. But then he hissed, "crucio," and this time, she went straight to the floor, her knees cracking as they hit the stone.
The spell was different from his other castings, far more powerful and maleficent. The knives were not just burning hot, it felt like she was being doused in acid and her skin was flayed from her in tiny slivers, slowly, one strip at a time.
She screamed.
The pain was never-ending. She bit through her lip again, sending fresh blood down her chin and took a knock to her head as her body twisted and writhed against the curse, seeking a way to avoid the pain despite Hermione rationally knowing escape was not possible.
This was how Neville's parents lost their minds – a continuously cast spell, a never-ending torture. Hermione could escape into her mind, but she knew she'd never return if she did that. And she had plans, things to do.
Despite the tears leaking from her eyes, and her blurry vision, her head fell to the side and she spotted Regulus, staring at her. His gaze was unwavering, despite his pallor. I'm with you, his eyes seem to say, even as the words stuck in his throat.
But Barty, on the other hand, was screaming alongside her, his voice thinning as they both continued to holler in tandem, wordless cries that meant nothing to those around her except to share in sympathy her pain.
They were depending on her. And so, she gritted her teeth and let her back bow, closing her eyes, and breathed in as deeply as she could. You've survived this before. You can do so again.
The pain began to disappear, and her nerves numbed. Her back lowered and she spread her fingers, palm side down, to feel the cold stone beneath her. Her magic hummed, just under her veins, angry and wanting to lash out. Instead, she allowed herself to feel the flow of her magic, the magic around her, deep underground, and opened herself to it. The sense of magic grounded her, and the pain disappeared.
Vaguely, she heard Voldemort cast again. The pain returned with a vengeance, and she cried out hoarsely. But she focused on the thought: You've survived this before. You can do so again, feeling the magic as it ebbed and flowed within her, in time to her breathing. It became a mantra, and slowly, the pain began to disappear again, although with it, her awareness of the catacombs, too.
The last thing she heard, before fading into a semi-lucid state, was Voldemort's voice. "Take them somewhere they can't escape. We shall see how a day in a dungeon changes their minds."
Although she had never spent time in the Malfoy dungeons, Harry and Ron had and between them, and Luna, she had a fairly good idea of their layout and defenses. Of course, there was a kind of irony involved, double-layered, that Hermione could neither escape fighting in the war and that ultimately, she would always be tortured with the cruciatus and end up at Malfoy Manor.
Life was funny that way, she found herself thinking as she was bodily flung into the rectangular cellar that looked familiar to the catacombs, except damper, with lichen growing in the corners of the walls and up some of the smooth, stone columns.
She caught herself, despite the tremble in her legs from the aftereffects of the cruciatus, and slowly, wearily, made her way to one of the columns opposite a tiny, grate-covered window. She was panting, there was a faint sheen of sweat on her skin, and dried tears that left shiny imprints on her cheeks that mingled with the bloody smears from her split lip that dribbled down her chin, throat, and to the front of her white button-up.
Regulus walked in on his own, although he shook off Bellatrix's hands with a scowl at the bottom of the stairs. He made his way directly to Hermione's side and wrapped an arm around her, helping to take some of her weight.
His cousin eyed them distastefully, a sneer on her thin lips. "So, you prefer taking it from a mudblood whore, too, just like your blood traitor brother."
"I guess I do," replied Regulus, dryly, even as he turned from Bellatrix to help Hermione slide to the damp floor. "I guess I really am just like Sirius."
Hermione grinned up at him. He even sounded proud of it.
Barty, however, was snarling, fighting the wizards that held him, until one finally had enough. He was thrown from the top of the stairs, crashing, and rolling down each stone step. He landed at the bottom, hitting the open grate of the cellar door. It clanged loudly as he did so.
Hermione pushed herself to her feet but still leaning heavily against the column, indignant, as she shouted, "Barty!"
Regulus rushed forward, but Bellatrix stepped in his path and held her wand up, aloft, pointed at his chest. "Ah, ah, ah, little coz – leave the half-breed alone."
"He's not a half-breed!" protested Regulus. "He's a wizard! A human being!"
Barty's form groaned, his body uncurling itself. The wizards who flung him reached him at the bottom of the steps first and used his confusion and pain to drag him into the cellar, away from Regulus, Hermione, and Bellatrix. He was left in a heap in a dark recess.
"Use the time you're down here to think about your loyalties, little coz," hissed Bellatrix, her voice soft and sibilant as she tried to mimic Voldemort's own cool, pitched voice. "We'll check in on you later."
Regulus stared at Bellatrix as she backed away, slowly, until she moved out of the cellar with the other Death Eaters. Then, the gate closed behind her and the three were left alone.
Hermione took a few fumbling steps forward and then stumbled; Regulus was at her side and with his arms around her, he half-carried her across to Barty where they fell to their knees.
"Barty?" whispered Hermione, reaching out and touching his side.
"'M fine…" He groaned and rolled onto his back and blinked woozily at the two. "Why's there four of you? I had a dream like this once, but it didn't hurt as much..."
Regulus snorted. "He'll be fine."
Both Hermione and Regulus arranged themselves around Barty, who winced as he eased himself up into a seated position, leaning against the cold, wet wall beneath a small grated window. Hermione was next to him on his right, and Regulus found himself on Barty's other side.
"Well," shakily began the Slytherin, stretching his legs out straight in front of himself, "We had a good run."
Hermione rolled her head so that she was facing him, her bloodied chin touching her shoulder as she did so. Bits of dried blood flaked off.
Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean, a good run?"
Regulus blinked back. "Well, we're stuck in a dungeon. No one knows where we are. We just told a Dark Lord off. I don't think we're getting out of this one alive."
Hermione rolled her eyes and turned away.
Barty sighed and shook his head in an exaggerated, rueful way.
"Oh, ye of so little faith," he teased, stretching a bit, and moaning softly in pain. "Hermione'll get us out, Reggie."
He paused and glanced at her. "But, uh, maybe in a few hours once she's had time to rest."
"We're in a dungeon." Regulus stared at Barty, but both Hermione and Barty had their eyes closed and missed his expression of disbelief. Was he the only one appropriately worried? He felt his heart begin to pound in his chest and his breaths quickened. "Hermione was tortured with an Unforgivable. They kept you from moving, Barty! They're going to do worse. I just know it."
"Yeah," wheezed Barty, hand fluttering to his side where one Death Eater had kicked at him, "That wasn't really pleasant."
"At least it wasn't the cruciatus, so that's a plus," added Hermione, nudging Barty lightly in the side. He grinned at her, his canines a bit long and poking out between his lips.
Regulus stared, eyes lingering on the dark red blood around her chin and lower jaw. "Did you just joke about being tortured? Wizards have gone insane from its exposure, Hermione!"
"Eh." She shrugged one shoulder.
"Hermione!"
She turned her head. "What do you want me to say, Reg? Yeah, it sucked. It hurt. It feels like thousands of burning hot knives are plunging into your body, all over, and you can't escape it. It's sensory overload."
Bile worked its way up Regulus's throat - again. Hermione had been tortured on and off for hours. She had barely been given time to rest between Voldemort's merciless spellcasting toward the end.
"They're going to want to do that again, aren't they," whispered Regulus in horror, saliva choking him.
"Probably, yeah."
Barty had his eyes open and was watching Hermione with a carefully blank look on his face, even as Regulus tipped forward and buried his face in his hands.
"Merlin, what are we going to do?" his voice shook. "I – I've only been here once before for Narcissa's wedding – maybe – maybe I remember the layout? If I see her – I can convince her to help us escape? She always liked me…"
"She won't go against her husband," pointed out Barty quietly, turning his eyes away from a very calm Hermione to watch Regulus as he began to panic.
Regulus's lips trembled. "What are we going to do?" He turned to Hermione. "Is Potter waiting for you? Please tell me you had plans, like, a day after returning home from Hogwarts."
Hermione shook her head. "James has Auror training all this week. Late evenings, so we made plans for a fortnight later."
Regulus moaned.
"What about the cellar itself?" Barty suggested, looking around. He squinted his eyes, like that would make it easier to see the darker recesses.
"It's enchanted," answered Hermione calmly. "The glass on the windows is spelled unbreakable. The gate is wand-signature activated. The stone is about a meter thick all around."
Regulus' mouth dropped open. "How do you know all that–"
"So, we're here until they let us out or you come up with a plan," summed Barty as he cut Regulus off, nodding decisively. He wriggled his rear a bit further down, so he was in a slouch and crossed his arms over his chest. "Good to know. I'm going to nap."
"Nap!? Nap?!" Regulus snapped, launching to his feet as he stared down at his two Ravenclaw friends. "How could you nap while we're stuck in a dungeon? You're going to just wait for them to come back and torture us?"
Barty yawned. "Got nothing else pressing, mate."
Regulus scowled, turning his eyes to Hermione. "Listen, I understand that you're a seer and know what's going to happen but for the rest of us clueless sods, Hermione, could you please–"
"A seer? Regulus - what?" Hermione turned her stare at Regulus, completely befuddled, just as Barty burst out laughing.
Regulus and Hermione turned stared at him, one in concern, the other in frustration as his laughs got louder and louder. Barty bent at the waist, tears streaming down his face, until, finally, he began to wheeze.
The other wizard turned away from Barty to stare at Hermione, also confused. "You're a seer, that's how you knew about the lake and the inferi, and the other–"
"Ugh." Hermione's nose wrinkled up in disgust. "Oh, God, no. No. A seer? Divination? That's just horrible. No. How dare you suggest a thing–"
Regulus blinked. "Then what–"
Barty, finally finished laughing, hiccupped, and gasped out, "She's from the future, you daft git. It's been obvious from the beginning."
There was a moment of breathless silence.
"WHAT?" shouted Hermione, throwing herself back from Barty, eyes wide as she stared at him.
"Ibegyourpardon," squeaked out Regulus, quickly, all in one fast tumble.
Barty didn't look at either of them as he settled back against the wall.
Hermione continued to stare, even as Regulus sputtered out, "We met Hermione before the Sorting, Barty! Are you telling me an eleven-year-old travelled back in time from the future?"
"My family has baby pictures of me, Barty," added Hermione, her voice low and careful, despite her furiously beating heart. She hoped he couldn't hear it. "Both Lily and Petunia remember my mum being pregnant with me. I can't be a time traveller."
"Maybe not your body," he replied stubbornly, opening his eyes enough to squint at them both. "But your mind definitely travelled through time."
Both remained silent: Regulus due to his skepticism and Hermione due to her fear of her secret being exposed.
Barty sighed, turning to Hermione to address her. "Hermione. I love you. I really do. You're my best friend and if it wasn't for you…" he trailed off and shook his head. "Anyway. Let's be honest here: how could you have known anything that you have? How is it that you could do magic so well, right from the start, as a Muggleborn?"
Hermione bristled, and Barty saw.
"I'm not saying it like that," he sighed, rolling his eyes at her. "You know what I mean. Even if you were a magical prodigy, it still wouldn't explain away things."
Hermione opened her mouth to demand, "like what?" but Regulus interrupted her with a breathless, "You never got lost."
"What." Hermione turned her stare on him.
Regulus, however, was lost in his thoughts as things began to come to him from his memories, and he whispered, "You always knew where all our classes were."
"Mmhmm," added Barty, a knowing glint in his eyes and a tiny smirk on his thin lips.
"The homework was too easy," continued Regulus, grey eyes wide, "You always finished it well before us. You never had to look up reference books in the library. You'd help us in class and outside of it because you mastered the spell on the first go, always."
Hermione tightened her mouth into a long, flat line.
"You never got lost," echoed Barty, "To a classroom, a toilet, the library, or the kitchens. You knew where the trick stair was–"
"Lily could've told me that," interrupted Hermione sharply. "She was ahead of me at Hogwarts–"
"Sure," said Barty with a shrug, "But after you were sorted, you removed yourself from her almost immediately. You didn't want to have anything to do with Gryffindor. You were avoiding her."
"And others," added Regulus, a light going off in his eyes as he turned them to her. He was convinced, as things came to him and began to click into place. "You didn't just dislike people, for no reason - you already knew them. You wanted to avoid them!"
"Potter, Black, Lupin, Pettigrew," began Barty slowly, quietly, as his eyes held Hermione's. "Snape, Malfoy–"
"You skipped ahead in several classes," added Regulus, "Arithmancy–"
"It's just maths," muttered Hermione petulantly.
"Ancient Runes," added Barty.
"Children's minds are more malleable and can handle learning new languages–" argued Hermione.
"Charms," her fellow Ravenclaw added with a glint to his brown eyes.
"Hermione," breathed Regulus, grey eyes wide, "Hermione, just how far in the future are you from?"
Hermione stared at them both for a long moment before flatly declaring, in a very heavy accent, "This is bullshit. Bullshit!"
The look Regulus gave her tinged on the border of pity. "How else would you have known about the pieces, Hermione? You said you saw them fight back – you destroyed them once before. Fiendfyre or basilisk venom. Those are two extremely specific means to destroy Dark Magic."
"The Lake. The inferi," continued Barty, but this time, there was pity in his eyes. "The Room."
"Your understanding of magic, and your control over it," added Regulus. "Hermione – transmutation. That's just… it's not possible at our age. It's not."
"You're just not taken by magic," said Barty, matter-of-factly. "That's what you and Evans - Lily - fought about, remember? She accused you of not being taken in by the wonder of magic, as any Muggleborn would."
"Unless you already did it before," finished Regulus. "Unless you already saw and experienced it all before."
Hermione's heart thundered in her chest and somewhere, along the time of their observations tripping over themselves, she held her breath. Slowly, she exhaled, doing her best to appear unaffected by their accusations and – truthful – words.
Her brown eyes flickered between Regulus' grey and Barty's brown, glancing back and forth. There was conviction in them, a steady return of her gaze that read We know the truth, don't deny us.
For a moment, a breathless moment, Hermione considered Obliviate. She had done it before on her Granger-parents, and her fingers twitched with the desire to cast the spell on her friends to protect her interests. But then she deflated, visibly wilting, and slumping down where she sat on her knees, a few feet away from the two.
Barty and Regulus were her friends in the 1970s. Her Harry-and-Ron. Her other halves. They had decided to stand against Voldemort with her, because they believed in her – and, with a tiny snort – she realized now because Barty always knew and had faith that because she had done this before, she wouldn't steer him wrong.
To take their memories – no. She wouldn't betray them that way.
"I won't talk about this here," she muttered, finally looking at them both in the eye. It wasn't an admission to their words, but enough that she acknowledged them.
Barty nodded, but Regulus' mouth dropped open like he couldn't believe it was true, despite his own words backing Barty's claim.
"Okay," agreed Barty easily. "Later. Once we get out of here."
Hermione sighed. "Give me a minute."
"Wait, what–" Regulus' words were cut off as Hermione stood, stepping back to look at the grated window above them. "I thought you said that was enchanted? Unbreakable?"
"Sure," nodded Hermione, "The window is. But not the stone around it."
Regulus levelled a very flat stare at her. "You're kidding. Hermione, we're nearly two meters below ground."
"That's easy enough to work around, Reg," she replied, taking a few steps back to review the stone. She knew it was thick, but she could transmute that easily. It was just gathering her magic, considering the array she wanted to use and focus on in her mind and then the release.
Barty rose to his feet and Regulus steadied him. They turned to face the wall with Hermione.
She spread her legs a bit, widening her stance and closed her eyes, stretching her hands out in front of her despite not really needing gestures.
"I can't wait to get out of this place," Barty muttered.
"Would you care for one more to join you?"
Hermione would later deny it, but all three of the teenagers shrieked loudly and clutched at each other, spinning, and cuddling close in a huddle as they faced where the strange voice came from.
From a distant corner, a broad-shouldered, hunched-over wizard stepped toward them. His blond hair was dirty, smeared with mud, and there was an ever-present grimace of pain on his face – probably due to the vivid red burn that stretched along the left side of his face, into his hairline and down below the gap on his robes, showing a bit of his collarbone. His robes had seen better days, now torn and faded, and he slid forward with a pronounced limp.
"Who're you?" squeaked Regulus, fingers tightening on Hermione's arm as he did so. He cleared his throat and asked again, his voice deeper, "Who are you?"
"Caradoc Dearborn," the man replied, his voice rusty and rumbling.
Hermione inhaled sharply. She recognized the name as an Order member who went missing, never to be found – there was no body, just the knowledge that Voldemort killed him.
Barty stared as the three slowly loosened their grips on each other. "Were you there the whole time?"
"Yes," the man replied, hissing as the burn stretched. "But I only heard you when you spoke of escape."
The first or second time? wondered Hermione. She turned her eyes to Regulus and Barty, raising her eyebrows in a silent question.
Regulus shrugged, but Barty scowled. "I think we should leave him," he said, not even bothering to lower his voice. "Who knows what he heard!"
"All the better to take him," argued Regulus quietly in a hiss. "If he stays, he could tell – him!"
The two boys turned to Hermione and she sighed.
"He comes," she declared as the deciding vote.
Barty hissed his displeasure, eyeing the man as he lumbered closer.
"Thank you," Dearborn said, quietly.
"Just – stay back. And be ready to run to the Apparation markers," said Hermione. She went to the same position, arms and hands spread, and ignored their slight tremble. Her eyes closed and she frowned, concentrating on the feel of her magic pooling within her, flowing down her arms and into her hands.
Then, she thought of what she wanted to happen, visualizing it in her mind. She made a rectangle with her thumb and forefinger of both hands, two upside-down Ls, and held it in front of her. She began building the array from that, murmuring under her breath as she did so.
In front, against the cool gray of the stone, a golden rectangular in the shape of a tall door appeared. Hermione's fingers began moving, tiny flicks and twists as two circles appeared inside the rectangle, forming an 8 but interlocked where they touched with smaller, geometric circles.
Inside each large circle was a diamond, points touching north, south, east, and west, and inside each of those diamonds were pentagrams. Runes for stability, strength, illusion, earth, and water appeared at different points in both pentagrams, a mix of languages ranging from the Phoenician that she argued with Rabastan over, to Futhark. She linked the runes through the pentagram to the directional points, and along the edge, there were astrological symbols.
And then she pushed.
The wall trembled and she distantly felt Regulus grab her shoulder to keep her upright. When she opened her eyes, the thick wall had split open, revealing nearly a meter of stone and then a very dark tunnel of shiny, dewy compact earth. The edges were glowing gold, but it was beginning to fade.
Barty stepped forward first, jerking his head at Dearborn to join him. He held a hand up and then snapped his fingers – a light appeared, a nonverbal and wandless lumos that bobbed and hovered near Barty.
"Let's go," he muttered, stepping first into the tunnel.
Regulus and Hermione were last. Hermione raised the earth and stone behind them, an invert of the original array appearing in the open space, only for the stone to waver back in place to hide their escape.
"We'll need to be quick," she instructed, gasping a little. The magic under Malfoy manor was slippery, like trying to hold onto water, and the magic fought her, despite its organic nature around them. "They'll have noticed what I did, and worse, I can't hold the magic as well as I can elsewhere. It's fighting me."
"Can a homenum revelio find us?" asked Regulus, grimly, as he helped guide Hermione behind Barty and Dearborn, their toes practically stepping on their heels.
She grimaced. "Maybe. I don't know."
"Then let's move," barked Barty, barely taking a moment to glance over his shoulder at Regulus and Hermione.
"What are you doing, by the way?" asked Dearborn curiously as he looked around the tunnel.
"Essentially, vanishing the dirt," replied Hermione with a grunt, eyes forward as she focused on the space in front of Barty. "And then bringing it back to cover our tracks behind us. But I had to punch my way through the rock first, by changing it from rock to earth so it would all vanish in one go."
Dearborn's gaze was sharp as he glanced back at her, but he kept silent other than a thoughtful "hmmm."
The four were silent, their entire bodies tense. Hermione felt sweat drip down her spine and pool at the waistband of her Hogwarts skirt. The scabs on her knees and shins were beginning to itch and the dried blood on her chin and throat made her skin feel tight.
"How far do we need to go?" asked Regulus, his voice hushed. There was no need to be quiet four meters below ground, but everyone kept silent.
Hermione bit her lip. "I'm not sure…"
"Then how do we know we're far enough through the property that we're near the ward lines?" asked Barty curiously. "I've never been here before."
Everyone turned to Regulus, who caught their looks, only to back up a few steps until he bumped into dirt. "Oh, no – don't look at me! I don't spend my time admiring the Malfoy's lawn, thank you. Have you seen the peacocks?"
Both Barty and Dearborn stared at Regulus, who blushed.
He muttered, "The Malfoys have something about peacocks. I'm not lying – you look at one of them funny and Abraxas or Colette will fuck you up."
"I… don't even know what to say to that," replied Hermione after a moment. She shook her head, swaying a little as vertigo hit her in the dark of the tunnel, and stepped up to stand next to Barty, wiping away sweat with one hand that beaded on her forehead. "We're going to have to decide when we've gone far enough."
"How far do you think we've gone?" he asked, glancing at her. He frowned. "Are you doing okay?"
"Yeah, why?"
Barty gestured with his free hand, the other still hoisting the glowing orb from his wandless lumos. "You… you're sweating. You were also just tortured for hours, Hermione, should you be doing this much magic—"
"I'm fine," grumbled Hermione, narrowing her eyes and then pointedly turning her head away from her friend to look forward. She moved both her hands and the dirt in front of them glowed for a moment and then vanished. Trying not to pant, she added, "See? Totally fine. I can do this."
"Uh-huh."
The two fell silent, Hermione constantly repeating the motion to vanish the dirt. Without their wands, they had to get as far away from the Manor as possible. They would not be able to fight their way out if they were swarmed, and if Voldemort decided to check in on them – and them without wands or luck – things could go poorly.
"We can't keep doing this," Barty suddenly announced, causing Regulus and Dearborn to make cries of surprise, even as he stopped walking and Hermione crashed into his back.
"What? Why?" asked Regulus, coming closer as he hovered by Barty's shoulder. Dearborn, beside him, was frowning, pulling at the burn on his face and twisting the skin grotesquely.
"Hermione can't keep this up." Barty nodded and her and she scowled back.
"Hermione bloody well can—" she began, even as Regulus leaned closer, into Barty's lumos, and swore.
"Bloody hell, Hermione, you're as pale as a ghost!"
Her scowl deepened. "And fuck you, too, Reg—"
"Is it the magic?"
Three heads turned to Dearborn, who cleared his throat. He scratched at his burn on his neck and then yanked his hand away. "The magic you're doing. And you said you were tortured before you were in the dungeons. Should you really be doing any more magic? You must be tiring yourself out."
"I'll keep doing it if it means we get out of here alive," snapped Hermione, eyes narrowed. "We have no choice—"
"There's always a choice," Dearborn said quietly, the surety in his voice reminding the three teenagers of their age difference. "It just might not be one we want to make."
The new Hogwarts graduates were silent, and Barty's glowing orb flickered a bit. He glanced up at it and then at Hermione, waiting to see what she wanted to do.
"We can't stay down here forever," agreed Regulus, a bit tactfully. "We're going to have to head to the surface soon."
"There could be Death Eaters there," pointed out Barty, as Hermione refused to speak. Instead, she leaned against the nearest earthen wall, cool and thick and solid against her shoulder. Nothing wrong with a little break, she reasoned.
"We're in the middle of a war," pointed out Dearborn tartly, "There's always going to be Death Eaters."
"So – what? We jump out and make a run for it?" asked Barty with a heavy frown.
Regulus's face was pinched. "I don't like it. I don't like our chances."
"It's the best we've got," argued Dearborn. "We can't sit here forever – the air will go toxic. And if they get smart and homenum revelio works, they can just use bludgeoning spells on the ground until they get us, and then we're dead."
"Charming," muttered Hermione, with a sigh. "Alright. I'll take us up. And we'll all hope that we're close to the property line. If not, we run."
Hermione rolled her neck, hearing the cracks and pops, and knew that her shoulders were up closer to her ears from tension than where they should be, making her arms stiff and ache. Despite that, she took a deep breath. Her breathing evened out and the dizziness that she had been fighting eased, giving her time to focus on transmuting the dirt before them into solid stone.
Runes and etchings in glowing gold spread across the dirt and then inward as first dirt steps appeared; then, the gold fizzled and sparked, and the dirt was stone, disappearing into an earthen ceiling.
Regulus pursed his lips. "Do we need to dig our way out?"
Hermione sent him a scathing glare. "I'll vanish the dirt when we're ready."
Barty's Adam's apple bobbed in his throat, and he moved to be the first out – but Dearborn put a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him back. "I'll go first, Crouch."
No one opposed it, leaving Hermione at the back with Barty and Regulus between her and Dearborn. Dearborn himself crouched and got as far as he could up the steps, head brushing against the dirt and leaving chunks of it falling onto the crown of his head and shoulders.
"Ready?" Hermione glanced around at everyone. When only silent, pale faces looked back at her, she sighed, and flicked her hands at the earth ceiling, thinking bombarda.
The dirt exploded outward, sending chunks of grass and rock in all directions – and telling everyone where they were – as much as a lumos maxima could have caused. Dearborn was up and out of the hole first, standing guard and point as Barty and Regulus emerged.
Hermione, last up, collapsed the dirt into the hole, leaving the ground displaced and churned up from the uneven fill. It was clear that they had been underground, and they had tunneled – even if the Death Eaters would never figure out how.
"We're about two hundred yards from the property line," announced Dearborn grimly.
"That's doable," argued Barty quietly, eyes darting around, and then focusing on the far line of the property, where a low, thick rock wall demarked the wards.
Dusk was settling in and the sun was hovering just above the treeline of the forest around them, skimming the tops and sending lengthy, thin shadows across the manicured grounds. The white peacocks were grazing, shining beacons in the growing darkness and a few were crying out, their warbling trills echoing. One or two sat in the trees on the property, but most were grazing around the well-trimmed hedges and topiary hedges in the shape of other exotic animals, pecking at the ground. Other than the few peacock cries, it was eerily silent.
"You can run it in less than five minutes," agreed Dearborn dryly, "But when you're under fire and fighting for your life?"
"No one's here yet," protested Barty.
"Spoke too soon," muttered Regulus, facing back toward the Manor.
"What—?"
Lights were popping on in the windows as room after room was being searched. The four could hear the faintest of cries as the main doors were flung open.
"Run," muttered Hermione through suddenly bloodless lips. "Run!"
The four turned and made a dash across the grass.
Hermione's heart thundered in her chest and she was panting almost immediately. Her body had been abused the entire day, from her torture to using so much magic for their escape. She just wanted to lay down and sleep. She tripped over her feet and then Barty was at her side, teeth bared as he gripped her arm and yanked her up. He then propelled her forward, shoving at her and remaining at her back in case she tripped again.
"Shit!" Dearborn skidded to a halt, and Hermione nearly hit his back, Barty only able to yank her back in time.
They had crossed half of the distance, one hundred yards, and on the other side of the ward wall, several masked Death Eaters appeared, their smoky Apparation blending into the twilight and thick, dark forest behind them. Two climbed over the stone, visibly shuddering as they moved through the wards. The other three followed, a barrier between the four and freedom.
Shouts from behind had Hermione and Barty turn, pressing back-to-back with Dearborn and Regulus. A dozen Death Eaters were forming a line toward them in a pincer move, hoping the squeeze between them, their prey in Hermione, and the others.
As the sun sunk behind the trees, turning the sky red and deep purple, Hermione slashed her hand diagonally across the approaching Death Eaters. Her knees trembled and she barely managed to keep herself upright as the ground beneath them began to rumble.
"What the—"
"Hey!"
Alarm coloured the Death Eaters in front of them, and then the ground crumbled. It split into a wide chasm, a gaping maw in the ground over two meters wide and stretched from a smooth flagstone path to a pond water feature, which cracked and bubbled over and then down into the hole, sending golden orange goldfish the size of her forearm flopping over the rim.
One Death Eater shrieked as they fell into the trench. Hermione stomped her foot and twisted just so, imagining the bottom of the trench in her mind. Golden sparks sizzled and hissed as the trench glowed from below, and another's screams were abruptly cut off as they realized at the bottom of the trench, Hermione had transmuted metal spikes from the goldfish.
A few managed to leap back in time – one losing their mask, that let their white-blond hair shine in the dark.
"Oh, little coz," taunted a feminine voice from behind Hermione, pitched high. "You didn't think you'd get away, did you?"
"Kind of, yeah," muttered Regulus under his breath.
Hermione did not turn her head around to see what Regulus and Dearborn were facing, but she felt Regulus dive to the side and Dearborn move the other way, so she dragged Barty to the grass, breaking the scabs on her knees as she did so.
A sizzling orange spell sailed over them and the Death Eaters by the trench – who didn't fall in – scrambled out of the way of the spell as well. It hit one of the well-maintained hedges on the property, one shaped like an elephant, only for the leaves to shrivel and the entire plant to wilt, and then crumble to dust.
Lucius Malfoy, without his mask, moaned. "The hedges…"
It seemed that was the cue for the Death Eaters to engage because immediately a barrage of spellfire was sent toward them. Hermione split from Barty, rolling, and hurtling toward the trench and grabbing at the metal spikes from the ground and summoning them straight up in the air.
Four blocked incoming spells, reverberating loudly with a clang that sounded more like a deep gong.
Barty had not been idle, and instead used Hermione's cover to dash across the ground and met two Death Eaters who jumped across the trench, using their magic to aid them. He slugged one in the face, using his momentum to do so, and their mask went crooked, revealing Corban Yaxley's startled face.
Yaxley yelped, and Barty continued past him, tripping over his feet and wheeling his arms as he fell into the other Death Eater, who shoved him away physically and then brought their wand up to curse at Barty.
Hermione snarled, but Barty was prepared: he allowed himself to fall to his knees and then kicked out with his foot, connecting with the Death Eater's knees and sending them sprawling on their back – completely unused to physical, Muggle brawling. Barty climbed on top and swung his fists down but was blasted off after only hitting the Death Eater twice – Yaxley had his wand out and aimed at him.
Turning, Barty flung dirt at Yaxley, whose mask was hanging half-off his face. Hermione reached out and caught the dirt with her magic, transfiguring the grains into shards of glass even as Barty piggybacked onto her magic and banished the pieces at the man standing above him.
The shards pricked at Yaxley, bright lines of blood appearing on his cheeks, hands, and throat – or anywhere exposed – and the man shouted, dropping his wand.
Barty dove and caught it, and then swung up in the next move with the tip a deep green as he slashed toward the other Death Eater, causing him to bring his own wand up defensively.
Behind them, a Death Eater was helpfully levitating a fellow wizard over the trench. Hermione smirked, transfiguring the remaining metal spikes into silver cobras that slithered their way toward the Death Eater on the ground, only for them to rear up and strike with their pointy fangs, biting down onto the man's wrists. He jerked his hand back and the Death Eater he was levitating fell into the trench, screaming – which stopped with a sickening crack and thud.
With Barty now engaged in the Death Eater with a wand – the only one to have one – Hermione turned her defensive attentions to Regulus and Dearborn behind her. Dearborn was dodging spells from two wizards who were tag-teaming him, one being Lucius although the wizard was clearly not focused on the fight, his eyes constantly darting around and flinching every time someone set a hedge on fire or a peacock shrieked in alarm.
That's an idea, thought Hermione, glancing around and summoning the nearest peacock to her with a wandless accio. The albino peacock shrieked and flapped its large wings, its tail feathers fanning out threateningly as it soared through the air.
She caught the bird and hugged it tight around her middle, smoothing her hands down the feathers as the bird slowly altered from fowl to swine. The peacocks were already large, but the animal transfiguration was only on the species and not the size, resulting in a rather large boar with threatening tusks when Hermione was done.
She fell to her knees, exhausted, and watched as the peacock-pig grunted its annoyance and squealed, rushing off and away from her as quickly as it could and toward Malfoy and the wizard he was fighting with.
Malfoy glanced toward her and did a doubletake, crying out, "No! Not the peacocks! Mother is going to kill me!" but then realized what she had done, and paled.
The boar reached Malfoy, who began sending sparks at it, trying to deter it without hurting something his mother clearly loved even if it was in a different form. But the wizard was dancing around, being pushed further and further from the other Death Eater.
The Death Eater he was fighting alongside, on the blind side, didn't see the boar or realize the Malfoy was being herded away. Instead, he made a jerk with his wand and shouted, "Levicorpus!"
Dearborn was yanked up into the air by his ankle, and Hermione saw red, rising to her feet.
"SNAPE!" she screamed, causing the Death Eater to jerk back, his head twisting toward her in a whip-like manner. Dearborn fell to the ground, on his burned side, causing him to grunt and moan out in pain.
A shaking hand pushed their mask off their face, revealing Snape's long face and hooked nose, as well as wide, dark eyes. "Hermione?"
"You fucking prick!" shouted Hermione, planting herself before Dearborn. "How could you? I thought you and Lily were friends again! And this is what you do – how you repay her?"
Snape, already pale, went bone white. "Hermione – I – what are you –" He shook his head, blinking away his thoughts. His face hardened. "You're the prisoner? I – I can't let you go—"
"Let?" snarled Hermione. "Who said anything about you letting me do anything, you bastard?"
Hermione's anger took over, and she half-snarled, half-though Ignis Graecus as she clenched a fist in front of her, the bottom hem of Snape's robes catching on fire.
Snape's face hardened further at the same time, and his mouth moved, a familiar spell on his lips. "Sectumsem—"
But the spark was bright against the darkness that was swiftly covering the Malfoy grounds, and the smell stopped Snape first. He glanced down, swearing and turning his wand from Hermione to put out the fire.
Except, each time he tried to turn aguamenti on it, the flames grew. He shrieked, yanking off his robes and flinging them off, batting them against the ground and revealing a worn shirt and trousers – he had learned from his O.W.L. year, and there was something viciously pleasing in lighting Snape on fire – again – for Hermione.
Distracted from her, Hermione turned and hauled Dearborn to his feet.
"Thanks," he grunted, and they hobbled quickly toward Barty. He had a protego up with Yaxley's wand, protecting them in the bubble as he backed up toward them. All three now moving toward Regulus, who was the closest to the stone wall, but was also fighting Bellatrix, who wore no mask.
Despite being proficient in wandless magic, or what Hermione had taught him and Barty, there was little any wizard could do in a fight using it as they were so used to using a foci such as their wands.
But somehow Regulus had thought of that – and was using a tiny, sharp thread he had likely picked up from the Haberdashery. He had the thread wound around his hands with a long, trailing bit between them that he held up and out, infusing it with his magic as he nonverbally cast and channeled his magic through the thread, turning it into a makeshift shield against Bellatrix's attacks.
Each time the thread snapped, he discarded the bits in the grass and unwound more, beginning the cycle again. Bellatrix was becoming frustrated, shrieking in rage as her spells became darker, sharper, quicker, but also flying off target often.
Finally, Regulus lashed out with his thread, his wandless magic changing the thin thread to something thicker, firmer, and it became a whip, latching around Bellatrix's wand hand. Bellatrix's beautiful face twisted into something ugly as she clenched her hand tight around her wand and yanked her hand toward her, pulling and testing on the string that tied her to her younger cousin.
"Do you honestly think this will hold me, Reggie?" she sneered, eyes flashing dangerously. "I am better than you, stronger than you, in all the ways necessary—"
"This was never meant to hold you, Bella," commented Regulus, his voice tight as his fist closed around the thread. "But meant to connect us."
Bellatrix's eyes narrowed.
"Fulgur virga!" shouted Regulus, gritting his teeth as bright, white lightning crackled around his fist and then raced down the thread connecting the two Blacks.
On the other end of the thread, Bellatrix's eyes widened and she desperately, instinctively pulled her hand with her wand, trying to cast and turn it to create a shield, but it was stuck pointing up to the sky. Her panic overtook her common sense and the delay cost her as the lightning struck.
She shrieked – her voice high and loud in the night and causing the other peacocks to take up equally loud cries – and the smell of burning flesh wafted toward them. Her hand turned black, and her entire body shook with the aftereffects of the electricity coursing through her. She collapsed to the ground.
Regulus was breathing heavily when the lightning finally sizzled away, partially bending as he sucked in heavy breaths from the wandless spell he cast. The hand that was holding the thread and connecting the two cousins was blistered and red, and he carefully cradled it in his other hand, trying to stop the shaking.
"Let's get out of here," muttered Regulus, glancing at Barty, Dearborn, and Hermione. "I'm so done with today."
Barty's laugh was brittle. "Aren't we all?"
Dearborn and Hermione, still supporting each other, took a few steps forward and toward the stone wall. Barty was behind them, and Regulus leading the way with determined steps. They were only a few meters away when a familiar chilling voice caused them to halt.
"Leaving so soon?"
Dearborn let his arm drop from around Hermione's shoulders as they all turned, wearily, to face Voldemort.
The four stood in a line, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder. They were a grim picture: bloodied, dirty – both Dearborn and Regulus were burned and she and Barty were covered in scrapes and bruises. Hermione didn't even want to think how badly her hair looked, humidity causing it to poof out, partially singed unevenly in places.
Death Eaters stood silently behind the tall Dark Lord; Yaxley had removed his mask entirely, a mulish scowl on his face as Barty taunted him by doing a stupid, elaborate flourish with the stolen wand, and then pointing it at Voldemort.
Voldemort just eyed it, and then at Barty, and then at the ragtag band of them, a dismissive look on his face. "I certainly hope more than one of you has a wand. If not, then my Death Eaters are in dire need of correction."
A few shuffled nervously at that, a brief look of fear crossing even Lucius's face.
"I guess we're just that good," taunted Regulus with a proud tilt to his chin, looking so much like Sirius that Hermione felt her breath catch.
"Such a shame," murmured Voldemort, red eyes travelling from Regulus to Barty and to Hermione. His mouth turned down in displeasure at Dearborn. "I see you picked up a stray. Another little bird trying to flee."
Dearborn's eyes narrowed.
"Well, this was a distracting amusement, if anything," continued Voldemort blithely, "But all things must end—"
Except you, of course, thought Hermione rudely.
"—and your time has come," he finished, drawing his yew wand. It practically glowed in the darkness of the evening, the sun long gone and behind the trees, and the sky more purple and a deep navy blue speckled with stars.
A peacock cried, somewhere on the grounds.
"Who shall face me first?" Voldemort asked.
The four were silent, and then Regulus muttered, apologetically, "I gave it all I had with Bella. I'm done without a wand."
"I don't have your wandless abilities," said Dearborn, shaking his head.
Barty and Hermione shared a glance, more like a grimace, and then stepped forward together, Barty with his stolen wand in front of them protectively, just a smidge ahead of Hermione.
Voldemort seemed amused. "The halfbreed with a wand and the Mudblood without anything?"
"Don't hold back, Hermione," murmured Barty, eyes bright as he focused on Voldemort completely. "Let's show these bastards what we're capable of. Let's let them know just who the fuck they're dealing with."
Hermione felt a grin stretch her face, pulling at hard, dried blood around her chin. She must have looked deranged, she thought, but she nodded and spread her legs, sliding one out and back along the grass and then arranged her hands in front of her, in fists, and then braced ready.
Voldemort laughed, a high sound that made Hermione wince. "What are you going to do, girl? Fight like the Muggle you are?"
Hermione just narrowed her eyes.
"Remember," whispered Dearborn behind them, "We want to give ground and get to the wardline behind us. Let them press forward."
"Got it," muttered Barty.
The silence between them was all-consuming, a terse showdown as neither side said nor did anything, until Barty jabbed his wand forward, sending bombarda nonverbally at Voldemort's feet, making the Dark Lord – amusingly – hop to avoid it.
Hermione laughed, loudly. Barty unleashed a variety of spells, all aimed at the Dark Lord's feet or the ground, sending dirt up in the sky, or changing the dirt to mud in hopes to sink the wizard.
Voldemort's thin lips pulled back into a snarl at the insult of being treated like a plaything, and he slashed his wand at Barty, causing the younger wizard to backpedal and hastily summon a nearby hedge to block the spell. The two collided and it sent leaves fluttering into the air.
Lucius Malfoy vaguely moaned in despair.
But the Dark Lord wasn't idle, sending a snap-like motion at the two along with a dark, heavy, and inky spell that cut through the air toward them. Barty yelped, but Hermione dove in front of him, calling up transmutation arrays. The snapped into place, golden circles the size of dinner plates on the back of her forearms.
The spell hit the circle with the force of a sledgehammer, shaking Hermione's arm and making her gasp. She gritted her teeth as her arm tingled from the magic, but Voldemort's spell dissipated, and her array held.
She lowered her arm, the circles disappearing in golden sparks as she did so.
Voldemort's eyes were wide, greedy. He murmured, "What magic was that?" but he didn't want an answer from her anyway, sending another spell – a low-level fifth year spell by the looks of it – at her. Hermione's arms came up, ready, and the arrays snapped back into place, with runes of strength, protection, placed within a smaller circle.
His red eyes gleamed, and another spent was sent at Hermione – now a seventh-year spell, and then he upgraded it, lobbying spell after spell at her. Hermione had to alternate between her arms, sometimes ducking and lengthening her body to ensure the spell hit on the circles and not Barty, or, somewhere on her body.
With each catch of the spell, she stepped back, Barty protectively at her heels until they were near Regulus and Dearborn. One of Voldemort's spells bounced off the shield, causing the array to dangerously flash, the light blinding Hermione momentarily. She glanced back over her shoulder at Regulus and Dearborn and cried, "What are you waiting for? Go!"
They turned and ran, Barty a few steps behind them. Hermione turned back to Voldemort and went on offense.
She let her right hand swing out, letting the magical circle disappear, its sparks floating up like a bonfire's embers; then, as her flat hand came parallel to the ground, she felt the humidity in the air, and pulled at the water, calling it to her in a more solid state.
The water swirled around her arm, flashing between a bright blue and white, with runes that ran up and down the whip-like coil, and Hermione make a sweeping gesture across her body, the coiled water following as it snapped out at the Dark Lord.
He blocked the whip with a wall of fire, a semi-circle bursting from the ground at his feet to chest-height. The wall twisted and turned into fiendfyre, turning from warm orange to chilling green in an instant as monstrous creatures of sphinxes, gryphons, and basilisks raced toward her.
Hermione swore under her breath, flinging herself back and transmuting the air again at the same time, both her hands sweeping up to mimic the rise of her wall of fire, hot orange and yellow.
The two flames crashed into one another with a roar, sending dark grey plumes of smoke high into the sky as the flames licked and raced along the smokestack, up higher and higher until they obscured the stars, a twisting dual coil of green and orange, of white and yellow.
The air was hazy and shimmered with the heat of the two spells and it was hard to breathe with the heat, smoke, and humidity in the air mingling with both Voldemort and Hermione's magic. She inhaled and coughed, tears stinging her eyes.
The flames fed off one another, Voldemort's fiendfyre creatures trying to push their way through the thick, transmuted flames of Hermione's – but while Voldemort's fire was conjured and summoned, hers was made from the water molecules in the air around them: each time his flame creatures tried to break through, Hermione was able to instinctively strengthen the weak area.
But there was only so much she could do as the Dark Lord's magic and will bore down on her flames, and Hermione found herself giving ground: her feet slid across the damp grass, or she had to step back and brace herself until she found herself pushed against the low stone wall that marked the ward line.
"Hermione, let's go! C'mon, end it!" shouted Barty, from the other side of the ward, beckoning her with a wave of his hand. His eyes were wide and wild, bouncing between her and the giant wall of flames that inched closer and closer to her.
She glanced back, her hair wild and bouncing around. The heat from the flames whisked away any sweat she had, drying her face, and turning her cheeks pink. She couldn't stay much longer, and with a quick nibble on her lower lip, Hermione peered through the thick flames and smoke, barely making out the Dark Lord as he confidently strode toward her.
Enough, she thought, and then, crossing her arms in front of her, she brought both arms down in a violent motion, sending her orange and yellow flames tumbling down and around the green fiendfyre, smothering it briefly and sending up white billows of smoke that obscured the Malfoy grounds.
She turned and leaped over the ward stones, landing hard on the other side, gasping for air. She stumbled into a nearby tree, dizzy, but then pushed off it and stumbled toward Dearborn and Regulus. Barty kept his stolen wand up to protect her back, lips pulled back in a snarl.
"That was amazing!" crowed Regulus, wonder in his eyes. "Holy shite, Hermione!"
"We're not safe yet," cautioned Dearborn, making the two turn back behind them: Voldemort had pulled back on his fiendfyre and cut through the smoke, parting it like Moses did the Red Sea, and banishing the clouds in opposite directions down the grounds.
His red eyes were alight with wonder and greed aimed at Hermione, but also anger at them escaping him; he snarled something on the other side of the ward line, but they couldn't hear him. His Death Eaters, however, began to move and converge around him and toward the stone ward wall.
"I don't think I could do that again," gasped Hermione, clutching at Regulus's arm as the forest swam in front of her.
"Then – we need to run!"
But, then, suddenly, there was a loud crack.
Then another, and another, and four more.
In front of them, appearing in the spaces between the forest trees, Aurors in their brilliant, bright red jackets popped into existence in the darkness, some tossing up hovering balls of light while others were already shooting off spells at the Death Eaters emerging over the ward line. Some Aurors were on their knees and others standing behind them as defense, knocking back retaliations with protego maxima and summoning heavy bronze shields, looking like ancient Roman warriors.
Hermione, Regulus, Barty, and Dearborn all glanced at each other and then ran toward the Aurors. Regulus was the first to make it past the line of Aurors, sinking to his knees, with Barty and Dearborn next. Dearborn leaned heavily against a large tree trunk, gasping for air. Hermione let a burly Auror be her cover, stopping next to Barty with a skid and cartwheeling of her arms, just as a woman in lime green came up to them, hands raised in peace.
"I'm from St. Mungo's," she began, her eyes clinically running over them, still in their very dirty Hogwarts uniforms, "On attaché with the Aurors. You all seem like you need some rest and to be looked over."
"That would be nice," gasped out Regulus, slowly getting to his feet as he hugged his hand to his chest.
"Hermione was tortured with the cruciatus," agreed Barty, nodding at her. "I was kicked around but I think I had it the easiest out of everyone."
The woman's lips pursed, and she nodded. "Right. The Portkey won't be enjoyable, but it'll take you straight to Janus Thickey."
All Hermione wanted to do was crash and then sleep for a year. Even in the heydays of the Second Wizarding War, she had never used as much magic as she had this evening, and it was exhausting.
Barty's hand was warm as he slipped an arm around her back to hold her up; her entire form was trembling. Regulus took to her other side, bracketing her between her two best friends, her two boys who had stood up to Voldemort, to his Death Eaters, and won – bruised and battered, but they won.
She sent a tumultuous smile at first Regulus, and then Barty. Both wearily returned it: Regulus's hair was sweat-dampened and he smelled vaguely of his old sick, his Hogwarts robes torn beyond repair and his button-up stained something awful; Barty, his hair no longer straw-coloured but mixed with bloody red and brown dirt, with a bruise on the side of his face swelling up and split lip.
"On three," the Healer said, counting down. "One… two…"
And then the three were whisked away, in a swirl of colour, to St. Mungo's.
One was not picked up by Aurors, though, or taken to St. Mungo's. Instead, they slipped off during the confusion and noise, disappearing with a crack of Apparation that was hidden in the general bustle.
They reappeared far away, staggering a bit from malnutrition and general weariness, before righting themselves. They had appeared at the edge of a grove of trees, overrun with vegetation to hide their arrival. Beyond the trees was a dirt road, with wildflowers growing in clumps. Birdsong and the soft hum of insects turned the location idyllic, and to complete the picture as they stepped onto the road, there was a stone cottage on the opposite side.
The person moved slowly toward the cottage, hissing a bit in pain. At the wooden gate, set between two low stone walls, they leaned against one for a moment to catch their breath. The door of the cottage opened.
"I feared you were dead," the man in the doorway said, quietly, backlit by flickering candles from their entryway.
"Takes more than a few Death Eaters to kill me," the person replied with a grimace. "But I could use a pick-me-up."
"Your favourite?"
"Odgen's, twenty-four. The best year."
"Come in then," the man instructed, stepping back as the man confirmed his identity, and letting the other walk toward the cottage on his own.
Once inside, their eyes swept the cluttered living area, filled with books, scrolls, and lazily spinning objects of strange import.
The man pointed at a comfy armchair and they sank gratefully into it with a long sigh. A teapot and teacups materialized and hovered in the air between the two as the other man sank into an armchair opposite.
"Shall I get burn paste for you?" the man asked, as the teapot tipped and poured the perfect amount of tea into a cup.
The person glanced at the teacup, and then at the man, raising their eyebrows. With a hint of a smile, the man snapped his fingers and a bottle with swishing amber liquid appeared on the coffee table between the two.
"Or, perhaps, it truly is Odgen's that you are after," the man continued, his blue eyes twinkling.
The other person snorted. "You would want it, too, if you were a guest of his for almost a year."
They tapped the side of their teacup with a finger, and it enlarged to more of a mug or small bowl, and then they generously poured the whisky into their new drink. When they picked it up, their hands were shaking the tiniest amount. Both politely ignored that.
The other man also picked up his teacup and sipped at it.
Finally, after the warmth of the drink settled in their stomach, they said, quietly, "You were right."
"About what?"
"The girl. The Evans girl. She's the one," Caradoc Dearborn said, peering at Dumbledore from under a heavy brow.
Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows also rose.
Dearborn sighed. "She's the one the prophecy spoke about."
With a heavy heart, Dumbledore put down his teacup.
TBC…
Note: And that's the end of, essentially, the first arc to this story. A lot has happened to our band of plucky heroes, and secrets have come tumbling out. For a tiny crack story, this really grew into something wild!
What does this all mean for Hermione now? What is Regulus thinking? How long has Barty known? What is the prophecy that Dearborn mentions? So much more and all that will be answered in the next arc as the First Wizarding War truly takes off. I'll try to have a new chapter up by the end of September, so put this on your alerts if you haven't yet and check back often for more!