A/N: Hey all! I planned on this being one chapter, but when it got above 8k, I figured I'd better split it in two. So enjoy part 4 of 5! :)
Thanks for reading, comment if you like it!
Bellatrix flourished her wand, ending the Cruciatus Curse she'd been using on Hermione. Her prisoner laid in a crumpled heap, whimpering quietly, the only noise in the profound silence. Bellatrix smiled at the sight, sweeping away gracefully, her blood red gown trailing on the packed dirt floor.
"As you know, the concept of a torture curse is hundreds of year old," she said, her voice soft, dripping with glee. "That's all I've developed here, really, a true torture curse." Her lips, painted as red as her gown, curled up maniacally. She blinked her heavily lidded eyes, surveying Hermione's prostrate form with morbid interest.
The Countess lowered herself behind a desk, unstopping a bottle of ink and picking up an eagle feather quill. "I just utilized my curse on you for one minute. I might someday go as high as five, but I really don't know what that would do to you." She rubbed the feather against her cheek lovingly, then dipped the quill into the ink. "So, let's just start with what we have." With the air of a researcher capturing field notes, Bellatrix held the quill poised above a blank scroll. "Remember, this is for posterity, so be honest: how do you feel?"
Helpless, Hermione let out an anguished cry, tears openly streaming down her cheeks as she curled her body into a ball.
Bellatrix was positively delighted. "Interesting," she whispered, and she began to write.
Princess Dolores' office was in a state of disarray, papers strewn about haphazardly. She sat at her desk, calmly polishing her wand, her demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos around her.
A man with high, hollow cheeks and a long grey plait appeared in her doorway, looking excited and flustered.
"Yaxley," she greeted him without looking up.
"Highness," his voice was deep and gravelly. He crossed the room quickly and knelt by her chair.
"As my Head of Security, I trust you with this task." The Princess placed her wand on her desk carefully, finally turning her squashed gaze to the man before her. "Killers from Guilder have infiltrated Knockturn Forest, and are planning to murder my groom on our wedding night."
"My sources have heard no such news," Yaxley replied carefully.
Dolores glared, and he fell silent. "The day of the wedding, I want Knockturn Forest emptied."
Yaxley considered this command. "My normal forces may not be sufficient," he finally replied. "Many of the miscreants will resist."
"Then form a brute squad," she snapped impatiently. "My dear Prince must not be murdered."
"It won't be easy, Highness," Yaxley warned.
The Princess sighed dramatically, her tone returning to its sing-song tone. "Try ruling the country sometime."
"There, be careful." A gentle, feminine voice floated over Hermione, a sensation she found confusing as she moaned and opened her eyes. Everything in Hermione's body ached, though she felt cool fingers on her wrist, checking her pulse. "Can you drink this?" The voice asked her softly, pushing a vial into her hand.
Hermione attempted to sit, her unknown acquaintance helping her find balance. As her vision swam into focus, she blinked in surprise. "Ginny?"
"Hey, Hermione," the youngest Weasley answered, smiling. She pointed at Hermione's fist, still clasping a glass vial of potion. "Seriously, you should drink that."
Hermione struggled to bring the flask to her lips, but after the first swallow, relief and energy filled her chest, immediately making movement and speech easier. She breathed out deeply, "thank you." Hermione evaluated the dank chamber, shadows flickering in the dim lighting. "Where are we?"
"They call it the Shrieking Shack," Ginny answered. "It's the Crown's dungeon and torture chamber."
"How long have you been here?" Hermione asked, surveying the younger girl. She looked relatively unharmed.
"A few weeks. Ever since the Princess decided she wanted to marry Ron." Ginny shrugged. "They've been holding me here as collateral."
"Are they torturing you?"
"No," Ginny blanched, rubbing Hermione's arm gently. "I'm sorry for you though." Hermione nodded her thanks. "They just keep me locked up. I'm supposed to be in chains in that chamber," she gestured at a heavy wooden door behind her. "But I picked the lock my first day. I just pretend to be chained when the rat-man is here."
"And you haven't figured out how to escape?" There was a note of desperation in Hermione's voice.
"No," Ginny sighed heavily. "I don't have a wand, and I think they have magical wards. Here," she pulled a glass off a nearby table and handed it to Hermione. "Drink some water."
She accepted it gratefully, and despite the relief of the cold liquid against her chapped lips, Hermione felt her heart sinking with despair. How was she going to get out in time?
The day of the wedding arrived, and the brute squad had their hands full carrying out Princess Dolores' orders. Knockturn Forest was a hangout of sorts, operating as a gathering ground for the unseedy of the community. Yaxley's temporary workers tore between the sickly trees and semi-permanent housing, roughly handling Knockturn's inhabitants as they forced them out of the area.
"How is it going?" Yaxley growled at a passing lieutenant from where he stood, supervising the work.
"Fairly well," the man replied. "There's a swordsman giving us some trouble."
Yaxley's low voice was ominous. "Then you give him some trouble."
His lackey nodded, moving back through the forest. His route was winding, the scenes unfolding before him chaotic. People shouted and moved, whether willingly or not, in anarchic paths through the trees. He stopped a safe distance away from a man with unruly black hair and bright green eyes, who sat drunkenly on the ground at the base of a tree.
Harry looked awful, unshaven and puffy eyed. He swung his sword around angrily with one hand as he clutched a bottle of firewhiskey and his wand in the other. Even in his state of inebriation, his blade curving through the air with deadly accuracy.
"I am waiting for you, Lucius," Harry slurred loudly, blocking the curse that Yaxley's man sent towards him with his wand, though it meant he spilled some of the contents of the open bottle on his pants. "When a job went wrong, you told me to go back to the beginning, so I have." He took another pull of the firewhiskey. "I am waiting for you, and I will not be moved."
"Oi," Yaxley's man shouted, puffing out his chest. "The Princess gave orders-"
Harry, with lightning speed, lunged towards the man, his sword nicking the man's arm and causing him to drop his wand in surprise. "I am waiting for Lucius," Harry repeated, his eyes glazed.
The man looked around desperately, searching for help. "You, Brute!" He shouted, pointing. "Come here."
A large man with wiry black hair and beard lumbered over obediently, eyes glittering with delight as he reached down one large hand and picked Harry up by the shirt collar. Harry looked down at the dustbin lid sized appendage in confusion, holding his own hand in front of his face to compare their size.
"Hello," Hagrid beamed down at Harry.
"It's you," Harry answered, smiling back though he was unable to support his own weight.
"True," Hagrid responded happily, pushing Yaxley's protesting man aside and pulling Harry inside a recently abandoned hovel. Hagrid continued to hold Harry, surveying his friend closely. "Yeh don' look so good."
"Pah," Harry declared dismissively, waving his hand.
Hagrid flinched. "Yeh don' smell so good neither."
"Perhaps not," Harry protested. "But I feel fine." Hagrid nodded, pleased with this answer, and removed his hand from Harry's shoulder. Without his assistance, Harry immediately collapsed in a heap.
Hagrid nursed his inebriated friend back to health, propping Harry up in a chair and force feeding him sausages that he pulled from his pockets and warmed over a fire. As he gently encouraged Harry to eat, he told him of Lucius' defeat, and the existence of Countess Bellatrix, the tattooed woman.
Considering Harry's lifelong quest for vengeance, he took the news surprisingly well, and, eyes rolling back in shock, he face-planted on his plate of sausages.
Hagrid, sighing affectionately, pulled out two large barrels, placing them in the center of the room. He glanced about furtively, then decided Harry wouldn't mind if he briefly borrowed his wand. He tapped once to fill the barrels with water, and tapped each again, making one barrel ice cold and the other a steamy warm.
Casting the wand aside, he rubbed his hands together and grasped Harry firmly by the back of his shirt. Without any other warning, he plunged him headfirst into the cold water, pulled him back up for a breath, then plunged him into the steaming water. Back and forth he dunked Harry's head, shocking him with the temperature extremes.
"That's enough," Harry sputtered after the fifth rotation through. He prised himself from Hagrid's grasp and shook his soaked head, pushing his hair from his face. His eyes held significantly more understanding than they had previously. "Where is this Bellatrix, so that I may kill her?" He demanded.
"She's with the Princess in the castle," Hagrid reported, having learned quite a bit of information in his short employ on the brute squad. "But the gate is guarded by thirty men."
Harry groaned. "It's too many." He kicked at the table in frustration. "I need Lucius. I have no gift for strategy."
"But he is gone," Hagrid protested, though Harry barely paid him any attention. His green eyes were lit with a sudden thought, and he turned to Hagrid excitedly.
"No," he whispered, "no, not Lucius. The figure in black."
"Wha'?" Hagrid asked, lost in the turn of the conversation.
"She bested you with your strength," Harry listed, the idea taking hold of him now. "She bested me with my steel. I'm guessing she must have outthought Lucius, and anyone who can do that, can plan my castle onslaught anyday." He shoved his glasses onto his still waterlogged face and picked up his sword, crossing the hovel in two short steps. "Let's go."
"Where?" Hagrid asked, incredulous.
"To find the figure in black, obviously."
"Yeh don' know where she is," Hagrid pointed out.
Harry wrenched open the door. "Don't bother me with trifles," he exclaimed impatiently. "After twenty years, my godfather's soul will finally be avenged. There will be blood tonight!"
Yaxley turned into Princess Dolores' office, somehow now even more cluttered than before. He sank immediately to his knees, and she looked up at him distractedly. "Rise and report."
Yaxley stood, though he kept his head bowed submissively. "Knockturn Forest has been emptied, and thirty men guard the castle gate."
"Double it," Umbridge simpered immediately. "My Prince must be safe."
"The gate only has one key," Yaxley rumbled in his low voice. "And I carry that."
"Ah, darling," the Princess declared, standing and looking over Yaxley's shoulder at Ron's entrance. Knowing himself dismissed, Yaxley slinked away. "Tonight, we marry," Dolores said happily, stepping out from behind her desk and grasping one of Ron's hands. "Tomorrow, we'll depart for the honeymoon, and every soldier in my employ will accompany us to ensure our safety."
Ron pulled his hand away, studying the Princess closely. "Every soldier but the ones you sent out, right?" Dolores blinked her slightly bulging eyes, clearly not comprehending his question. "Every soldier but the ones you sent after Hermione." Ron insisted.
"Yes, of course," she answered in a falsely bright voice. "Every soldier but those."
"You never sent them," Ron realized, leveling her with an accusing glare. She didn't respond, but she didn't need to. "It doesn't matter," he growled, following her as she turned her back on him to reclaim her seat behind her desk. He stood on the other side, staring down at her. "It doesn't matter how much you try to keep us apart, we will always find each other."
"You are a silly child," the Princess scoffed, and for the first time, Ron saw behind her perfectly curated mask to the ugly creature underneath. "If you believe in things such as true love."
Ron slammed his fists on her desk. "Yes, I am a child, for not having seen sooner what you really are."
Dolores stood slowly, her demeanor dangerous. "And what am I?" She enunciated each word slowly, as though daring him to answer.
"A coward," he spat, rising magnificently to the occasion. "A coward with a heart of fear."
"I would not say such things if I were you," the Princess answered, her voice significantly lower pitched than usual.
"Why not?" Ron was pushing his luck, he knew, but her blatant lies had driven him over the edge. "You cannot hurt me. Hermione and I are joined by the bonds of love, and you cannot break that; you cannot even understand that." He took in Dolores' red, sweaty face, and loomed over her triumphantly. "Where's Ginny?" He demanded. "I will not go through with the wedding tonight. I would never shackle myself to a coward like you."
With a flick of her wrist, bonds shot out of Dolores' wand and wrapped around Ron tightly. She took his wand out of his pocket, then levitated him to his room. "I would not say such things if I were you," she seethed, locking the door and ignoring his defiant glare.
Once she'd shut him in, the Princess, pink-faced, stood in the hall, clenching her fists as she breathed hard, anger boiling her blood. Making a decision, she broke into a run, tearing down the corridors and out a side door into the courtyard. She didn't stop until she stood in front of the secret entrance to the Shrieking Shack, pushing the knot of the willow tree and descending the stairs beneath its roots. She barely acknowledged Bellatrix, who was sitting at her desk studiously, and crossed to the cot where Hermione laid pathetically.
"You really love each other." Her voice was dangerous as she bent over to meet Hermione's tired eyes. "And so you might have been truly happy. No couple in a century has that chance, no matter what the storybooks say." She straightened, glaring down at Hermione as she rolled her sleeves and extracted her wand. "And so," her voice has resumed its sickly sweet intonation. "I think no person in a century will suffer as greatly as you will. Crucio!"
Hermione screamed, writhing on the cot uncontrollably. Bellatrix ran over, her eyes wide as she glanced at Dolores, then Hermione, then her watch. For several long minutes, there was no sound except the anguish of Hermione, and with each passing moment, Bellatrix looked more concerned. "Highness," she ventured quietly, "it's already been fifteen minutes."
Dolores ignored her, blue eyes glistening with pleasure in Hermione's extreme pain.
Hermione screamed on.
Harry perked, listening with all his might as he heard the faint remnants of a heart-wrenching scream. He and Hagrid were in the crowded square of Florin City, chock-full with people bustling around excitedly for the royal wedding. Harry attempted to push his way through the crowd, desperately following the sound of the yell.
"Do you hear that Hagrid?" He shouted. "It's the figure in black."
"How can yeh be so sure?" Hagrid asked gruffly, following his friend's frantic motions.
"It's the sound of ultimate suffering," Harry answered, as though it were obvious. "It's the sound my heart made when my godfather died, and the figure in black is making it now."
"Why?" Hagrid's face crinkled, confused.
"Her true love marries another tonight. Who else has cause for ultimate suffering?" Harry was having no luck maneuvering through the crowd, and he threw up his hands in frustration. "Hagrid, please!"
"EVERYBODY MOVE!" Hagrid's voice roared so that the crowd parted easily, and Harry sprinted after the fading scream.
Several hours later, Harry and Hagrid were sitting in a private grove in the back of the Crown's curated gardens. Harry's search had led him this far, but the trail had long since gone cold. He hadn't heard the sound of ultimate suffering in awhile, and he was beginning to lose faith in his plan. Unable to surrender completely, he'd sat down at the base of a tree, leaning his head against the trunk and staring morosely at the sky. Dejected as he was, he never said a word, and Hagrid wisely sat with his friend in supportive silence.
Harry heard a rustling noise and his heart leapt into this throat. He glanced at Hagrid, pressing a finger to his lips, and crept forward, peering out from behind a tree. A pale man with a pointed, rodent like face entered a small clearing, pushing a wheelbarrow in front of him and whistling cheerfully. He paused at the base of a large willow, setting his wagon down and walking to the trunk. Harry watched in amazement as the rat-man pressed on a knot and a secret passage opened among the roots of the tree.
Without thinking about it any longer, Harry leapt forward, drawing his sword as he ambushed the rat-man. He held the blade with deadly precision at the man's throat, and his victim froze, mid step. "What's down there?"
The man didn't speak. Harry grew in frustration; he just knew that he was so close to the figure in black. "What will we find down there?" Harry demanded again. When the rat-man still remained silent, Harry called for Hagrid. "Jog his memory?" He asked when the half-giant had lumbered into view.
Happy to oblige, Hagrid let a meaty fist fall onto the rat-man's head. Immediately, the rat-man's eyes rolled back and he fell to the ground, unconscious.
"Sorry, Harry," Hagrid apologized, alarmed. "I didn' mean ter jog 'im so hard!"
"It doesn't matter," Harry replied. "Let's go." Without any uncertainty or fear, he plunged into the darkness of the secret passage.
Ginny, who'd been sobbing over Hermione's lifeless body, screeched in surprise as two people she'd never seen before, one easily the largest man she'd ever met, barged into her prison. She quickly grabbed an empty glass bottle by the neck and smashed it, holding up the sharp edges of her impromptu weapon as she stood shakily.
"Who are you?" She demanded, though her voice was scratchy from crying.
Harry blinked in surprise, his green eyes rapidly taking in the scene. When they landed on Hermione- her prone form still dressed in the same tatty black outfit she'd been wearing when he met her- he let out a cry. "What happened?"
Ginny watched his face closely, and, apparently convinced by his state of despair that he wasn't an enemy, cast the broken bottle down and grasped for Hermione's hand again. "The Princess killed her," she sniffed by way of simple explanation.
Harry came and stood on the other side of the cot, staring down at Hermione's body sadly. "It's just not fair."
"Who are you, again?" Ginny watched him curiously through her red and puffy eyes.
"Harry Potter," he answered, then gestured behind him. "This is Hagrid." His jaw set resolutely. "And we have never taken defeat easily. Hagrid, bring the body."
Harry turned on his heel, stalking towards the exit. "What on earth are you talking about?" Ginny squeaked, staring at this stranger in disbelief. "Take the body where?"
"I have a little money," Harry answered, pausing to look over his shoulder. "I just hope it's enough to buy a miracle."
Ginny's face broke into a grin. "Now you're talking," she agreed, rushing behind him as Hagrid picked Hermione up gently. "My name's Ginny, by the way."
Hagrid pushed a wheelbarrow along, Hermione's body draped in it ungracefully. He followed behind Harry and Ginny, weaving through the trees until they reached a hovel door. Harry knocked on it urgently as Ginny bent to inspect a sign: Keep off the dirigible plums.
Harry knocked again. "What?" A small window opened in the door, revealing only the slightly crossed eyes of the inhabitant.
"Are you the miracle man who worked for the Princess all those years ago?" Harry demanded loudly. "Xenophilius?"
"I left the position," the man said loftily. "The Princess and I had a- er- difference of opinion. Now if you don't mind, we're closed." And he shut the small window.
Undeterred, Harry pounded on the door again. "Please leave," the man called, sounding strained.
"We need a miracle," Harry insisted. "It's very important."
The little window snapped open. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm retired. Besides, why would you want someone the Princess fired? Er, I mean…" His eyes, still the only part of him they could see, darted around awkwardly. He spoke in a small voice. "I might kill whoever it is you're trying to miracle."
"She's already dead," Ginny interjected. "See? No risk."
The man's eyebrows furrowed as he considered this. "Alright, I'll take a look." He closed the small window and opened the larger door, gesturing for them to enter. He was dressed quite eccentrically, in golden yellow robes and a hat with a tassel. His hair was pale in color and hung around his shoulders, tangled and fine as spun sugar. He was tall, though thin as a willow, and the wrinkles in his face gave away his older age.
Hagrid lifted Hermione easily out of the wheelbarrow and laid her body gently on the table where Xenophilius had indicated. The miracle man lifted up her arm experimentally, then released it, watching it fall back to the table and flop with a dull thud.
He shrugged at the others. "I've seen worse." He busied himself checking her for other signs of life, humming as though he'd forgotten he had an audience.
"Sir," Harry probed, trying to keep his tone quiet though his voice was barely under control. "We are in a terrible rush."
"You don't want to rush me," Xenophilius replied seriously, putting on a pair of glasses with two different colored lenses. They magnified his eyes so much he looked like a demented, multicolored owl. He continued to examine Hermione. "You rush a miracle man, then you get rotten miracles. Here," he gestured at Hagrid. "Help me prop her windpipes open."
They maneuvered the body so her head was held slightly tilted backwards, and Xenophilius opened her mouth, holding up his wand. "People who are this far gone can only come back if they have something to live for. We'll have to find out if she does."
With a flick of the wrist, his wand began to stream air into her lungs. "What are you saying?" Ginny asked, looking torn between disgust and curiosity. "You can't mean to ask her. She's dead."
"Look who knows so much about miracles," the man replied cynically, ceasing his charm and laying Hermione's head at a normal angle again. "It just so happens that she is only mostly dead. There is a big difference between mostly dead and all dead." He positioned her hands at her sides, and placed his fingers carefully on her sternum. "Mostly dead, well that's still partially alive."
Ginny and Harry exchanged incredulous looks, though Hagrid gazed on, seemingly intrigued. "Hello in there," Xenophilius called, shouting at Hermione's prone form. "Why should we bring you back? What have you got that's worth living for?" He pressed down on Hermione's chest.
As the air exited her lungs, Hermione pushed out feeble, weak words: "true love."
Ginny jumped, startled, grabbing onto Harry's arm. His eyes were gleaming again. "Ha! True love, you heard her! You cannot ask for a more noble cause than that."
"True love is the best thing in the world," the miracle man agreed. "Except for maybe proof of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack." He finally pulled off the odd spectacles, a far off look in his eye. "They're very elusive you know, and the discovery would be quite a game changer for the magizoologist world. The last known sighting was Sweden. I should travel there next to try to capture it."
"Sorry?" Harry asked, so confused by the sudden change in the conversation that his urgency was slightly abated.
"But," Xenophilius rapped the table with his knuckles. "She did not say true love, did she? She clearly said to bluff. Maybe she's a gambler. Does she owe you money?" He asked, demeanor becoming sharp. "Is that why you're here?"
"Did you get Wrackspurts in your ears again, Dad?" A short, pale woman with waist length dirty blonde curls wandered into the room, her voice dreamy. "She clearly said true love."
"Luna," Xenophilius exclaimed, melting immediately. "Leave these matters to me."
"But how can you not help her?" Luna asked, wrinkling her light eyebrows at her father, her tone taking a steely tone. She turned her attention to the others. "Don't mind him," she said airily, flapping her hands. "The Wrackspurts have been infesting since Princess Dolores fired him." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "They can sense his loss of confidence."
"I thought we agreed to never say that name again," Xenophilius said, looking shocked. "And I haven't lost my confi-"
"This woman is the Prince's true love," Harry interjected, struck by inspiration. "If you heal her, she will stop the wedding tonight."
The miracle man paused mid-rant. "If I heal her," he repeated, gesturing at Hermione's body. "Dolores will suffer?"
"Definitely," Ginny agreed, cottoning on to Harry's line of logic. "Humiliations galore."
Xenophilius made a noise of delight and flicked the tassel on his hat over his shoulder. "I'm on the job."
Luna shrieked happily and hustled to her father's side. The two worked in a practiced balance, moving around their lab in precision. Harry, Ginny, and Hagrid watched in quiet appreciation of the work, as they performed a series of spells over a slightly smoking cauldron before Luna carefully extracted a large pill with a set of tongs. Xenophilius carefully painted something brown on the pill's exterior.
"The chocolate coating makes it go down easier," Luna explained to her perplexed audience. She dropped the pill in the paper bag that Xenophilius held out, then offered it over to Harry.
"Wait about fifteen minutes before you give it to her," the miracle man explained, pulling off his dragon hide gloves. "To ensure it reaches full potency. And she shouldn't go swimming after for, at least what?"
"An hour, I'd think," Luna said seriously, large protuberant eyes gazing at Hermione's still form.
"At least an hour," Xenophilius agreed, nodding.
Hagrid lumbered over to pick Hermione's body up again. "Thank yeh for everything."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, distractedly. "Thanks." He ducked out of the house, waiting impatiently as the half-giant placed Hermione gently into the wheelbarrow.
"See ya," Ginny called, and the weird crew set out on a slow pace away from the miracle man's hovel.
"Goodbye," Luna called, waving at the front door. "Have fun storming the castle!" She lowered her voice, turning to her father. "Do you think it'll work, Dad?"
"It would take a miracle," he answered, equally as quiet through a plastered smile before raising his voice. "Goodbye!"