Hermione waned in and out of consciousness for what felt like years. Hushed voices were the only things she recalled when she was coherent enough to remember and even then she couldn't tell what the voices were saying. Any time a sound would jar her, she tried to listen intently. She wanted to know what was going on and why she couldn't move or open her eyes. Every once in awhile there'd be a small light that would make the backs of her eyelids glow orange. She desperately wanted to see where she was but her eyes wouldn't cooperate. She remembered feeling like this once before, right after she'd been attacked at Malfoy Manor during the ball. But then...

Her eyes suddenly decided to obey, flying open as the memory of who her attackers had been.

"Oh, no," she whispered aloud to herself. She recognized the room she was in immediately. Picture frames, shelves laden with books, gray tones, and a four-poster bed... She was back in Draco's childhood room. Which meant...

"Good morning,"

Hermione turned her head slightly to the left to see who'd spoken at her bedside. But she already knew without really needing to look. Her mouth parted slightly, a million things wanting to tumble from her lips. She knew better, though. The last time she'd shown cheek to this woman, all of her hair had been cut off...

"The haircut suits you, Miss Granger. Someone should have shorn you years ago," she taunted.

Hermione tried to sit up but a soreness she hadn't yet felt prevented her from much movement. She winced, sucking in a breath.

"I wouldn't. You just had surgery last night." Another female voice on her right. It was familiar.

"Lavender?" Hermione croaked out.

"Hey, Hermione," she said quietly. Her face looked troubled but she appeared lovely as ever. Her hair was tied in an updo and she was wearing pretty dress robes.

"I thought they arrested you?"

The woman on her left laughed softly.

"You think our reach doesn't extend to Azkaban? How do you think I was able to escape custody after getting caught administering those injections to you? I thought you were smarter, Miss Granger,"

"I was obviously smart enough to discover who you were when I first met you," she replied.

"An unfortunate discovery for you, though, wasn't it?" The woman asked. She looked just as beautiful as she had the night of the ball. Her silver-blonde hair was pinned back by a comb on either side of her head and her eyes sparkled jade-green. Her dress was every bit as high class and old-world as her mothers had been when Hermione first bumped into her. Divinius, too, looked as if she'd stepped out of an Austen novel.

"The only unfortunate part was not remembering," Hermione mumbled sourly.

"Ah, there's that cheek again. Maybe we ought to call in an old friend to remind you why I don't appreciate such talk?"

Hermione quieted.

Memories flooded in of being beaten and cursed. She felt the pain of being cut open as if it were happening to her at that moment. She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly.

"Excellent," Divinius' tone was light and pleasant as she began speaking conversationally as if she hadn't just threatened Hermione with violence. It made her sick to her stomach. "Let's speak of the matter at hand, shall we? I'm sure you're wondering why we've brought you here,

"You being hospitalized for a second time was favorable, really. We had planned on snagging you only if Draco didn't comply with our orders but then you suddenly appeared with an injury right in front of me at St. Mungo's. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to tie up loose ends. What if you remembered our last conversation on your own? I couldn't have that. You'd blabber to Draco and then he'd never leave that blasted home of yours with all your wards. No. This was a much better option for me, indeed. So thank you for being negligent about your doctors' orders," she inclined her head slightly. "it saved us a lot of trouble."

"I'm glad I could help," Hermione spoke sarcastically. Divinius gave her a pointed look and sighed slowly, humming inquisitively.

"That mouth again..." she shook her head as if amused by a naughty child.

"Divi," Lavender spoke; a warning in her voice. "If we hurt her while she's already injured, Malfoy won't cooperate."

"Who says he needs to know," Divinius asked rhetorically, looking toward the open door leading to the hallway. "Pans?"

Hermione's blood boiled. If Pansy Parkinson hadn't conked her over the head that night, she might not be in this mess.

Pansy strolled in, obviously having waited to be called upon, and smiled sickeningly sweet at Divinius before shooting a sadistic smirk at Hermione. Her dark clothing and makeup made her appear vampy and dangerous. Her eyes were rimmed in black, making the brown of her iris's pop. It was unnerving.

"Yes, Divi?"

"Go and fetch my cousin, would you?"

Pansy hesitated. Lavender's complexion paled.

"Come on, Divi, let me-" Pansy whined but Divinius cut her a look that caused the strong-tempered girl to shrink back out of the room without another word. Once she was gone, Divinius replaced her passive smile and folded her hands on her lap.

"Where's Ronald Weasley?" She asked suddenly.

Hermione shrugged.

"I don't know,"

Lavender scoffed. "Of course you do, how could you not?"

"What the Auror's decide to do with a victim of an Unforgivable Curse during an ongoing investigation isn't something I'm made privy to. I'm not an Auror, I'm a Magical Creatures Officer," Hermione prattled, trying and failing to find her wand on herself under the bed covers. She discovered she was still in a hospital gown and discerned they must have snagged her right out of surgery. There were bandages covering her lower abdomen where most of her pain grew more steadily by the minute; pain medication wearing off fast.

"I think we should come to an agreement where we won't lie to one another, Miss Granger. It'll make things easier for you,"

"I'm not lying-"

"You're his best friend and Harry's an Auror of course you're lying." Lavender rolled her eyes.

"What does it matter? He failed to assassinate Harry. Move on and adapt." Hermione shrugged.

"That was a small request from Pansy. Compared to the other things we needed from him, Potter's death was a simple favor for a good friend, nothing more. It means little to me that Weasley didn't succeed." Divinius said matter-of-factly.

"Just tell us where he is, Hermione. He has something of ours. We'd like it back," Lavender pressed.

"Not to mention dear Lavender misses her love. You wouldn't deny her heart, would you? Not after you know firsthand what true love finally feels like," Divinius taunted.

Hermione blanched.

"Casting an Unforgivable on him, Lav... that's not love," she said as she glared over at the slight girl. Lavender's face was unreadable.

"Just tell me where he is, Hermione. He won't be harmed. We just need him to return the book to us,"

All this over a book?

Divinius cut her a look. Lavender quieted as if scolded.

"No," Hermione said strongly. She didn't care what their supposed intentions were towards Ron, whatever they needed from him wasn't worth the risk; to his life or anyone else's.

But Lavender had to know he was probably with his parents. Why wouldn't she just go there herself? She knew where it was and what sort of wards they had. It'd be tough work but she and a dozen others would probably be able to tear the wards down if they had a mind to.

"You lose the bet, Lav," Divinius said. "It looks as if the other Weasley boy will have to be the one to tell us,"

"What?" Hermione's head turned from one woman to the other, and back again. "What 'other Weasley boy?'"

"Bring him," Divinius instructed. Lavender left hastily.

"What other Weasley?" Hermione demanded, her voice rising.

"You shall see. But first, let's get you better, shall we? Can't be having you pass out before we obtain anything useful from that big brain of yours,"

Divinius plucked a teacup off the bedside table and held it out for her. It was delicate china, the rim adorned in tiny tea roses and gold inlay. The contents looked familiar, similar to the potion Draco made for her after her attack. The smell was the same, too, like wet hay.

"Take it," she insisted. "it's a stronger brew than what St. Mungo's prescribed. This will do the same amount of healing in a fraction of the time. It might make you feel rather woozy but I assure you it's needed for what's to come,"

"You're healing me?" Hermione asked in disbelief.

"As I said, we need information which you're privy to,"

"I'm inclined by your nature to think it's poison rather than medicine,"

"I assure you that if I wanted you dead, you would be. But it doesn't suit my purpose for you right now. Drink it,"

"How did you even know how to alter this?" Hermione pointed to the potion then took a tentative sip. She needed her strength, no matter where it came from, to get out of this situation. The first chance she got once she felt better, she'd bolt. But she had to keep the woman talking; keep her distracted. "You also gave me those injections in the hospital. I heard your voice. Only someone with medical training would know the correct doses and how to alter potions this way,"

"I'm a decorated Healer in Egypt," she smiled to herself. "as well as a Potions Master. My entire upbringing and education were targeted and limitless; making me the best at anything and everything that could ever interest me."

Hermione couldn't imagine this soft, delicate-looking woman studying and pouring over books, let alone going through vigorous internships and training programs. It usually took years to be a proper Healer and sometimes even longer to become a Potions Master, but this woman could hardly be much older than herself. She had to be vastly intelligent and diligent to achieve these things being as young as she was. But Hermione wasn't surprised that Pearlman had her daughter go through so much education. As a Pureblood child, she'd be expected to conform to a certain level of elevated status in order to be considered "accomplished" by her peers. As was expected in her circle of society. Victorius Fawley trained her daughter well, in typical Pureblood fashion, it seemed. No wonder she had that air of superiority oozing off of her that Hermione had seen so many Death Eaters exude before.

Divinius Fawley was molded in her mother's image. A spitting one, at that.

They both had soft features that turned vicious at the drop of a hat. They could both convey in a single look exactly what they were thinking, making others submit at the intensity of it.

Hermione finished the contents of the cup and discovered Divinius was right, she began to feel lightheaded and dizzy. She risked sitting up but when she sat erect, she doubled over with a sudden wave of nausea.

"That'll be the potion. Forgive me. The side effects can be a bit disorienting. The human body isn't used to this type of potency. But it'll pass," She sounded almost concerned, which made Hermione cringe. This woman was an enigma. She was threatening one minute and seemingly worried about her health the next. Despite her act of civility and proper conduct, Hermione sensed an unhinged quality in her that was frightening.

Movement in the doorway out of the corner of her eye had Hermione looking up.

"There you are. Where were you? You know we have guests arriving soon," Divinius asked.

Latif Geraard strode in, Pansy at his side, looking his gentlemanly self. The product in his hair shone in the light, looking greasy in his slicked waves. The black suit pants he wore were fitted and the long-sleeve, button-down shirt he had on was a pastel-blue.

Why was everyone dressed so nicely?

The dread of seeing Latif again was fully realized as he entered the room. Hermione's breath picked up and she could feel herself breaking out in a sweat. Whether that was a direct effect of seeing him again or a side effect of the potion, she wasn't sure.

"Sorry, cousin. I was showing your mother the improvements I've made to the grounds for her,"

"Frivolous nonsense,"

"She wants everything to be perfect for when the others start to arrive,"

"They won't be concerned with the gardens, Latif," she waved him off.

"You're probably right but you know how she can be; Aunt Victorius is tenacious when it comes to appearances,"

"As most purebloods should be," Pansy said affectionately.

Hermione snorted, not entirely sure it was voluntary, and three sets of eyes that had been ignoring her before suddenly focused her way.

"Miss Granger," Latif looked pleased to see her as if she were an old friend. "I've been informed that you can't keep that smart mouth to yourself," he pulled his wand from his pocket and twirled it around casually. But he looked over at Divinius, as if deferring to her to make some decision.

"Let's wait for Lavender," she spoke softly.

"As you wish, cousin. This is, as they say, your party,"

Divinius grabbed Hermione's hand suddenly. Hermione tried to recoil but the woman's grip was strong around her wrist.

"Your pulse is already much stronger. Good." She said simply and released her. "How's your incision site feeling?"

Hermione blinked several times before she let a hand wander over her abdomen. She pressed it, fully expecting a soreness to still be apparent, but felt nothing. She twisted back and forth slightly and felt no discomfort, only a tightness.

"All better, right?" Divinius said smugly.

"Apparently so," Hermione murmured, unable to hide the complete surprise in her voice.

"Perfect. Come," she indicated Hermione to stand. When she hesitated, Divinius glared, her smile falling. "Stand. Now." She commanded.

Hermione didn't want to. All she had on was the hospital gown. She was lucky it was the kind that tied on the side so it wouldn't cause her too much immodesty, but that could be altered with the pull of a string. She felt, and was, practically naked around these people who were her enemies. All three had recently attacked her in some way or another; being in their presence in such a state left her feeling vulnerable and exposed.

But the look Divinius and the others gave her left no room for argument.

Hermione gingerly pulled her legs from inside the covers and swung them to dangle off the side of the bed opposite of where the others stood. She got up on slightly-shaking legs as her dizziness began to wear off. Hermione glanced at the expansive windows longingly, wondering how far the drop might be if she made a break for it and could actually manage to fling herself out before anyone could stop her...

Divinius laughed softly.

"Distance won't prevent what's to come," she said. "you might as well face the music like the brave Gryffindor I've heard you are,"

"You don't know a thing about me," Hermione grit out, trying to summon any of her magic to the surface. She was gifted at wandless magic and hoped she could muster enough to stun these people. But the further away from your wand you were, the weaker your magic was, too. As far as she could remember, she'd left her wand in the pocket of the dress she'd worn out to dinner with Draco and her friends.

Draco.

She wished he were here right now; she could really use his strength. But that was selfish thinking. Of course she didn't really want him here. He would do anything to keep her out of harm's way and she couldn't stand the thought of him getting hurt on her account.

"We know plenty, don't we?" Divinius asked the others, rhetorically again. "Pansy here went to school with you. She's told me a great deal. Stop me if I get something wrong, won't you?

"You are Hermione Jean Granger. Born to muggle parents on September 19th, 1979. You attended meaningless muggle schools until, at eleven, you miraculously received a letter to Hogwarts. You were sorted into Gryffindor, made friends with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, then proceeded to assist them in any and all wrongdoing and general hijinx in the years that followed. You were an exemplary student, beating out everyone for marks in any subject you took. Well, except halfway through year six when Draco Malfoy scored a percentage better than you on a Potions exam,"

"How could you know that? The scores weren't public knowledge-" Hermione interrupted.

"You think Snape couldn't get the information from Slughorn and wouldn't have let Draco know if he had beaten you at something? You, of all people?" Pansy laughed.

The only way scores were shared was if the students decided to tell them. She'd found out his trumping her, of course, due to him parading his score to his own set of friends. It was right after Harry was made to get rid of the Half-Blood Prince's potion book and things had gone back to normal finally with the grading. She'd decided to keep her own score a secret, hating that he'd done better. Now that she was reminded of it all these years later, she found it endearing, almost smiling to herself. Draco was so incredibly smart. He'd have been first in their graduating class if she hadn't attended and Voldemort hadn't risen again, there was no doubt about that. Finding out that Snape had boosted Draco blanketed melancholia over her, though. Even then, the man was just trying his best to obey Dumbledore's wishes; that was the year Draco had become a Death Eater and been tasked with killing the Headmaster. Snape had been instructed to try to help Draco as much as possible, knowing he was just a child who needed guidance in such a terrifying mission. Dumbledore knew his own days were numbered, anyway, due to the curse spreading over his body from one of Voldemort's Horcrux's. The man was nothing if not dramatic and empathetic, even going as far as to sacrifice himself for the greater good. She wondered idly if Draco ever really knew the extent of what Dumbledore had done for him...

"You're reputation for truth-seeking tenacity combined with over-rational cleverness precedes you, Miss Granger, but you're working way below your level of expertise at the Ministry. Whether that's due to your mental illness or just self-deprecation, it does not matter,"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but was cut off.

"You're a skilled spellcaster, having performed spells way beyond your years since you first discovered you had magic. You scored higher on all your schooling exams than any known witch or wizard in Britain for more than a century, only surpassed by Dumbledore himself. You've received awards from your current post for your diligence as well as numerous commendations for acts rendered during the war.

"You also surprisingly returned for your last year of Hogwarts, even after the battle that slew my Father, which is pretty brave on your part-"

"Your father?" Hermione was confused now. Wasn't Victorius' husband her father? He'd died long before that time. She'd read about it while doing research on the pureblood families for the ball. (She'd wanted to be as prepared as possible.)

But as Divinius's feigned smile faltered, Hermione felt the niggle of memory at the back of her mind...

"This was a rash decision, Pansy, very rash," a silky-smooth voice uttered quietly. The rustle of fabric as it circled around her head caught her attention and she allowed her eyes to open a sliver. Her head was pounding, her neck too stiff to turn as she laid flat on her back. The room was too dark to see anything other than slim, shadowed figures.

"This bitch needs a lesson in manners, Divi, she's not even human, more like an animal,"

"Regardless, you shouldn't be so impulsive about an attack, especially if she's as talented and connected as you say-"

"I don't care who her friends are or how good she is at reading books. She hexed me. And Latif. She has to pay the price for tainting us with her foul, dirty blood,"

The hatred-filled voice of Pansy was easy enough to recognize. Hermione remembered bumping into her in the hall by Draco's old room. She guessed the witch had decided to physically bump back...

"She should be reprimanded, you're right. I only wish you had thought to be a bit more discreet," the other woman said calmly.

"I was; no one was around. Besides, she'd start asking questions about why I was up in the rooms instead of at the party. We couldn't have her knowing I was meeting the daughter of Victorius Fawley and the Dark Lord-"

Hermione's eyes popped all the way open at hearing such shocking information and she tried sitting up to grab her wand from the holster at her calf...

"Hex her!" The woman Hermione didn't know called out and Pansy, who'd already had her own wand aimed at Hermione's chest cast stupefy, effectively mowing her down. She was disoriented a few moments. When she came to, an oil lamp was lit, casting harsh shadows of the two women in front of her. Hermione tried to get up from her sitting position on a bench at the end of a four-poster bed but felt that she was bound to one of the posts. Her hands were at her back and her feet were tied together with harsh, rope-like bindings.

"She needs to forget," The stranger said.

"What about her punishment?" Pansy asked harshly.

"Punish away, if you must," the stranger said, sounding bored. "just don't get too carried away, my Mother will be furious if this comes back to her,"

Pansy smirked wickedly, grabbing a handful of Hermione's hair and ripping her head back harshly.

"I'm going to enjoy this, mudblood,"

"Try your worst," Hermione spat, literally, in Pansy's face.

She may have an anxiety disorder and ptsd from the war but damnit if she wasn't going to go down without a fight. Pansy was a bigoted, sadistic monster. She wouldn't give her the satisfaction of showing vulnerability.

Pansy recoiled, quickly releasing her death-grip on Hermione's hair, and smacked her full-force across the face.

Hermione instantly saw stars, letting her face hang to the side the momentum forced it to.

After that, there was a flurry of movement from Pansy as she began harsh wandwork that annihilated Hermione's body, paying special attention to ripping and cutting off her hair.

She could remember going numb after a while. It wasn't until the tears were caked and drying on her face did she realize she was crying.

"Enough," the stranger said after a time. Pansy ceased immediately.

Hermione was too catatonic to realize that she was bleeding profusely or that she no longer had much hair or clothing intact. She couldn't even hear the slurs or foul things that Pansy muttered as she had slashed her again and again; only felt the sting and immense pain of the cutting as it pierced into what felt like every surface of her skin.

All she really remembered with clarity was the strange woman, who looked so angelic in her white gown and blonde hair, crouched down a few feet away from her and smiled calmly before she spoke.

"Normally I wouldn't waste such magical talent but I'm not sure how much you heard and I can't have my secret out just yet. So shhh," she put one small, delicate finger to her own puckered, pink lips and shushed Hermione like a child right before Pansy muttered an incoherent word and everything went dark.

Hermione didn't remember how she was discovered; she couldn't recall anything from the rest of the ball or how she got to St. Mungo's. The next thing she knew, she heard that woman's voice speaking to Molly and Ginny in the hospital. She remembered her blood running cold, thinking she was finally going to die... and by the hands of Voldemort's heir...

"I remember..." Hermione whispered, her eyes flicking to Divinius in recognition. "you're-"

"Divinius Victorius Fawley, daughter to Victorius and Lord Voldemort," she finished for her. "I'm pleased you're finally remembering. I really wasn't sure, especially after all the injections I gave you,"

"What were they? You obviously wanted me dead but not bad enough to give me a lethal dose of anything serious. What was the point?"

"Fear," Pansy's lip curled with humor. "we wanted to prove that no matter where you are, or how closely you think you're being guarded or protected, we can always find and get to you. We have many people who believe in our cause. It will never be difficult to prove a point, whether to you or those you care about. Besides, the side effects of the injections given included memory loss,"

"Why take a risk that I wouldn't remember, though? Why not obliviate me and be done with it?"

"Like your parents?" Divinius asked.

Hermione felt the blood drain from her limbs. Her heartbeat pounded deafeningly in her ears.

What her parents endured... it wasn't public knowledge. The only people who knew were the Death Eaters responsible, her friends, and Draco.

And Lavender.

Fuck.

"I couldn't risk you forgetting entirely. I needed your brain intact. Obliviate has very unpredictable side-effects," Divinius said.

"A lot of good that'll do you," Hermione scoffed sarcastically.

"We shall see,"

"I don't care what you need my brain for. It's fruitless to ask me for favors or information. I won't give you any,"

Latif chuckled darkly. "Who says we'll ask?"

"Don't get hasty, darling," Pansy cooed into Latif's ear. "she'll be compliant soon enough. Then we'll have our fun,"

Hermione snorted. She couldn't help it. Whatever scheme these people had cooked up, there was nothing they could do to her to make her give them what they needed. She'd been tortured in this house before. She didn't break then and she wouldn't now.

"As humorous as it might seem, Miss Granger, Pansy speaks the truth. You'll be compliant. Or you'll pay the price. Or should I say, he will," Divinius pointed to the doorway where Lavender stood motionless.

"Are you ready for him?" She asked.

"Yes, bring him in,"

Lavender leaned over into the hallway and grabbed someone's arm. It was long and lanky, attached to a long torso, legs, and neck. Perched on his nose were wire-rimmed glasses and his flaming-red hair and freckles contrasted vividly against his pale skin. His gray eyes regarded her warily and he had a small cut over his left eye where a trickle of blood had made its' journey around his eyebrow and down his left temple.

"Percy!" Hermione took a step towards him but Latif was in her path in an instant.

"We require information from both of you that the other has. If one of you will not give it, the other will suffer the consequences. We shall begin,"

Hermione looked over at Percy agonizingly. His gaze was unreadable save for one singular emotion: fear.

Fear by what he supposedly knew. Fear that if he didn't tell these people what they wanted to know, she'd get hurt. She had the very same fear, now.

Percy had never been tortured before. Sure, he'd joined the battle of Hogwarts and fought valiantly, but he hadn't been very hurt or experienced much else in the way of pain since. He'd been fairly sheltered, which made him an ideal target to these sorts of people.

Hermione thought back to their last real conversation; how she'd blown up at him for shaming her friendship with Draco and told him she didn't want to talk to him again. She still felt strongly that the way he'd treated her wasn't right but knew in her heart she'd overreacted and felt tremendously guilty. Now that they were staring down the probability of torture and possible death, all she wanted to do was apologize. She missed her friend, no matter how warped he'd become over the years. She hoped he could see the sentiments in her eyes for she knew she'd most likely be unable to voice them out loud.

"Who wants to go first?"