Author's Note
Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!
This chapter includes a flashback to Hermione's time at Malfoy Manor. It's pretty dark. Don't read the italics part in the second half of the chapter if torture or threats of rape thrigger you.
The events at Malfoy Manor won't be included in the next story (just afterwards), so this is the only opportunity to get some insight into what happened. It also explains part of why Hermione has such PTSD from the first war. Malfoy Manor happened just before the end of the war, so it didn't really affect her until afterwards in her day-to-day life and now that she is fighting again.
Any dialogue you recognize is from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Most has changed at least a little, but I did try to follow the events of the book to make it fit realistically.
PS I'm not J. K. Rowling, so I don't own anything :(
Chapter 13: The Whispering Ghosts of Past Scars
April 1997
"I think it's time you tell me why you react that way whenever Greyback is mentioned," Remus requested solemnly.
Albus had just left. He'd wanted to know if Remus believed the packs would continue working with him or if they had lost what little foothold they'd had. Remus's uncertainty had seemed to further deflate their leader. Dumbledore had looked so small and on the verge of defeat that Hermione wasn't even angry with him for focusing more on that than the fact Remus had been injured in the first place - injuries were risks they all understood they were taking. He'd been particularly troubled upon learning Hermione had never known of Remus's attack, and that it might not have happened before.
Albus was very rightly concerned that things might have changed. Though Hermione suspected it was much more likely that she'd just never been told about it before because she'd been in school, then on the run, then Remus had been gone, so there'd been no reason to inform her. Albus had cautiously agreed once she'd voiced that opinion.
"I…"
"Don't deny it," he said softly, more of a plea than a demand.
There was no refusal in her though. She knew precisely what he was referring to. Her whole body would tremble and she'd lose her train of thought, everything becoming jumbled. The notorious werewolf's name made her feel like a frightened rabbit preparing to bolt, but afraid that moving would draw attention - the very attention that frightened her to begin with. Ultimately, it left her stuck and hating herself for the unwanted and uncontrollable reaction.
"I wasn't going to," she promised, explaining, "I've only ever discussed it with one other person, so I'm not entirely certain how to go about it. And you know I must also be careful of what and how much I say."
"Harry or Ron?"
"Neither," she denied, shocking Remus. He quickly shifted to catch sight of her face, but the abrupt movement had him wincing and inhaling sharply.
Hermione watched him closely, willing him to open his eyes and confirm that he hadn't reopened any of his wounds. She didn't dare investigate for herself, not after having annoyed him so thoroughly all day long fretting about and mothering him. She'd learned her lesson after he'd accused her of putting Molly Weasley to shame just before Albus's visit.
When he finally exhaled, she relaxed, allowing herself to breathe again as well. His start had momentarily distracted her from the topic at hand, but the probing look he gave her just then brought it all rushing back in a tidal wave.
Her reasons for fearing Greyback were not something she ever willingly dwelled on. Neither of her best mates had known, each believing they'd heard all that had transpired that day at Malfoy Manor from their place in the cellar. They hadn't. Nor had they asked to know the rest. It wasn't all that dissimilar from how she'd never asked after Ginny and her time at Hogwarts while they'd been on the run. Some things were best left in the past, or only discussed with a person's heartmate.
For as much as they knew one another, they still somehow managed to keep the occasional secret.
Or maybe they simply just loved one another so much that they wished to spare the other from the shared pain they'd feel upon learning harsh truths.
"Hermione?" Remus prodded, drawing her back to the present. He shifted, attempting to sit up further, and she immediately moved to help, daring to risk his censure if it prevented the bleeding from starting up again.
It had only been a couple days since his fight with Greyback, and movement of any sort was a challenge yet even if he was wont to deny it. Sirius was still staying on their couch. He'd insisted on staying there rather than the guest room since that was for guests, and since he was family he should stay in the family room. Hermione figured it was actually just to put a bit more space between them at night to keep them from waking each other up with their collective nightmares. For the first time, Remus's presence didn't keep hers away. His injury brought her future to the forefront of her mind, and it didn't generate images that made for a restful night.
Sirius's help had been indispensable so far. He'd taken to helping Remus get back and forth to the bathroom and change his bandages three to five times a day. Funny how Remus didn't get on Padfoot's case when he hovered about. Perhaps he was just more used to it from his best mate.
"It was Draco Malfoy...of all people," she finally confessed, snorting at the irony of it all.
"Draco?" Remus repeated, clearly startled. "The two of you become... friends?"
"No. More, we learn to tolerate and appreciate one another, I suppose you could say. I spoke to him because he was there when it happened," she said vaguely, the past digging its hooks deep into her. It felt like being pulled unwillingly underwater by a kelpie. The pressure was suffocating, closing in on all sides at once and she couldn't escape the creature's restraining grip to swim to the surface. Remus tensed, and she was aware enough to place a staying hand on his shoulder. Quick movements would surely hurt him unnecessarily. "He saw it all."
"He didn't intervene?"
"Malfoy was very nearly as much a victim as I was," Hermione acknowledged. "After the war he came to see me… He'd felt compelled to apologize."
It had taken her a while to accept Draco wasn't just being a coward that wretched day. He'd told her about Astoria, his then girlfriend, and how one of the sixth year Slytherin's had raped her, believing it acceptable under the Carrows' reign of terror. Hers probably wasn't the only assault that happened that year, but no one had ever come forward publicly.
Sometimes she truly hated the silence. If atrocities weren't acknowledged, then they were that much more likely to happen again. When people weren't held accountable for their actions, then they gained a false sense of security, that what they'd done wasn't really wrong if no one protested. They often ended up believing that there weren't consequences and that they could get away with doing it again, because no one did anything to stop them. It was wrong on so many levels.
"If this is too painful…" Remus began, concern etching deep worry grooves over his loving face.
"I love you, Remus. Your joy as well as your pain is mine, just as mine is yours," she stated, swallowing thickly and mentally preparing herself to open the locked door in her mind where she stored the memories she didn't wish to think about. Denial. That was her MO. Too bad it couldn't last forever.
"Always," he confirmed. She was silent for a long time, trying, and failing, to find the right words. Eventually, he guessed, "You want to make sure that I can't prevent it from happening."
"Yes. It has to happen. Much as I wish I could let you protect me, that day was pivotal to winning the war."
Without that trip to Malfoy Manor she never would have gotten Bellatrix's hair or known that they needed to get inside her Gringotts vault. Hermione closed her eyes, wishing things could be different, wishing that she wasn't in a place to condemn her younger self to the suffering she would be going through in less than a year's time. But she was. This was war and sacrifices had to be made. Wasn't that the point Dumbledore had been trying to make to her when they'd fought just a week earlier? Hadn't he been trying to make her understand that since the beginning, since she'd arrived in the past?
Remus took her hand, gripping it firmly. His steady presence, waiting patiently for her to find the elusive words, grounded her. She held onto him like a lifeline, grateful that he had the ability to ease her ragged breathing.
"Harry, Ron, and I were caught and taken to Malfoy Manor during the height of the war. They separated us. Bellatrix wished to interrogate me, you see."
Warmth settled over her free hand, stilling her unconscious movements. Hermione glanced down to find that she'd been absently rubbing the scarred word decorating her forearm.
"Your arm. That's when you were cut," Remus stated, making the connection.
"Yes," she said simply. More time passed, though she was barely aware of it. She took a deep breath before ploughing on. "Greyback held me down while she did it. He put his hands on me. He touched me. It hurt - so much - and I couldn't stop him - couldn't stop either of them. All I could do was scream."
Remus looked so calm. It helped. Even though she knew he was anything but, knew that internally he was railing, knew his predatory werewolf instincts were likely screaming, raging, it helped to see the collected facade he presented to her. His focus was on her - not himself.
Ron had ranted after it happened, and that was without even knowing the full story. She'd heard him going on and on to Bill and Harry about how he'd failed Hermione in the kitchen one night at Shell Cottage. About how he'd been unable to stop it. About how he wished to make Bellatrix pay. Him, him, him. Fleur had kept him away at the time, seeing how Hermione would flinch each time she heard him from the guest room after that. Hermione felt appreciation well within her at the small kindness from the woman she'd been oblivious to at the time.
This moment was different. Remus was focused on her. This was her trauma, and he was a pillar of support and acceptance for her just then.
It helped her process the event, begin to accept it, in a way she'd never dared try to do before.
It wasn't her fault. Any of it.
"I couldn't stop what they did. I was completely helpless. At their mercy - not that either have any to speak of," Hermione acknowledged. She hated not being in control. She surrounded herself with facts and information so that she'd always know what to do. That day her knowledge failed her. Brute strength won out, and it made her its bitch.
Quietly, and without inflection, Remus asked, "Did he..."
"No. We got out before it got that far, but he told me everything he planned to do to me once Bellatrix was finished. He would have if we hadn't escaped. She'd already agreed that he could have what was left of me afterwards," Hermione said flatly. Her emotions were in a tempest inside her. A storm raging out of control. "He got distracted, and let go just long enough for me to break free. Then probably two minutes later we were all saved."
That day could have been so much worse than it actually was. She'd been so close to enduring what no woman should ever suffer. Regardless, it was still difficult for her not to get caught up in the terror she'd felt while it occurred. To get sucked back in...
"Hold her down," Bellatrix ordered. Immediately hands raked over her. She squirmed, trying to break free, but the manacle-like grip caught up her wrists before twisting her to the ground.
Hermione bucked, jerking and tugging on her hands, desperate to get away. She thrashed and turned, but the hold on her only tightened. Then knees were suddenly on her arms, the weight two spots of increasing pain where her muscles were compressed and the tendons scraped against bone. His weight distributed on just those two spots made him three times as heavy as he truly was.
"Where did you get the sword?" Bellatrix hissed, her wild curls haloing her head like Medusa's snakes. Hermione turned away, fearing she too had the power to turn people to stone, only to find her face less than an inch from Greyback's.
A wash of rancid air fanned over her face when he chuckled, appreciating her terror. Hermione gagged on the stench, which only served to make him laugh harder. He leaned in even closer and ran his fat tongue over her cheek, savoring her fear. It was wet and sticky and the smell was amplified grotesquely.
"No, no, no," she muttered, willing the whole situation away. It didn't work.
"The sword, Mudblood! Where is it?" Bellatrix demanded again, impatient for a response.
"I don't know!" Hermione screamed, shaking her head. The refrain of lie, lie, lie, ran constantly through her head. "I don't - NO!" she cried, trying to repeat it, but Greyback shifted his weight and licked her again.
The tender flesh of her upper arms ground together, feeling like a balloon ready burst where the points of his knees pressed. The pain warred with the nausea she felt from his mouth on her face.
"Crucio!" Bellatrix called with a manic grin.
The pain was sudden, fierce, excruciating. Every muscle in her body seized and twitched, nearly ripping her arms out of the sockets as she flailed against Greyback's hold. She hardly noticed. Everywhere else hurt worse. It lasted for hours, years even, though it was actually only a few seconds.
When it finally stopped Hermione thought of her friends, needing the reminder of them to distract her from the pain.
Harry and Ron had been taken away. Harry looked determined, as he so often did in these life-and-death situations. Hermione assumed he was rapidly coming up with a plan. She just had to hold out and stay alive long enough for him to act on it. That was what he did - what he always did - save the day. Ron, though, she'd never seen him look so terrified - not even when he'd faced gigantic spiders. He understood exactly what was about to happen, and he was desperate to spare her from it. She loved him all the more for it. Ron -
"Do not lie to me. Where?" Bellatrix asked again, this time calmly, as though discussing the weather, or something equally mundane - as though she hadn't just used an Unforgivable Curse to torture Hermione.
"We found it!" Hermione insisted, choking and sputtering. Blood coated the inside of her mouth from where she'd bitten her tongue to keep from screaming. She considered spitting it on Greyback, but knew his retaliation wouldn't be worth the momentary satisfaction she'd get from the act. Or worse, he'd like it.
As though he heard her thoughts, she felt his slimy tongue again, this time tracing along the seam of her mouth to lick up the blood that had bubbled out with her aching breaths.
Her stomach heaved, and she shook her head, trying to get away, but he just laughed, following her movement and smothering her in more of his stale breath.
"Disgusting animals! Filthy, rutting beasts! Tainted vermin can't get enough of each other," Bellatrix cackled, merrily calling, "Crucio!"
This time was longer and Hermione flopped about like a landed fish, legs twisting like a turtle on its back. The scream she'd managed to contain the first time now burst forth, expressing her pain for all to hear. When it finally stopped she fought to gasp in even a tiny mouthful of air. Every breath was a struggle, her lungs unwilling to expand without igniting twinges of pain. Hermione's hands were completely numb from squeezing them into such tight fists. Or had her limbs lost blood flow from where Greyback was squishing them?
Pain exploded in her chest. No. It was her chest itself - specifically her left breast. Greyback had readjusted his grip, shackling both of her wrists in one clawed hand, and freeing the other to molester her. He'd slide it down the collar of her loose sweater to squeeze and grope her. His fingers clenched about the tender mound and she screamed once more, utterly horrified.
"The sword," Bellatrix hissed, trying to reclaim Hermione's attention, but she was too focused on yanking her arms away or at least dislodging Greyback's hand from her person.
"Let me have her, and I'll wring the answers from her flesh," Greyback suggested, digging his fingers in painfully around the globe of her breast. There was a pricking sensation where his claws pierced the skin.
"Now there's an idea," Bellatrix announced, perking up gleefully. "I'll carve her up like a Holiday turkey. Lucius, a knife. Now!"
The older man sneered. Because of the order or what the woman intended to do with it, Hermione didn't know. Possibly it was for both reasons. Regardless, he turned to leave the room.
"Father!" Draco cried aghast, reaching out to halt his father's passage.
"Hush, Draco," his mother scolded, knocking his hands down.
Hermione's head lolled to the side, her eyes searching about the room. Malfoy was watching. She'd forgotten he was there. Mortification welled within her as Greyback continued to run his hands over her intimately and she could do nothing to stop it from her trapped position.
"Aunt Bella," he implored, "surely there is another way. And is the werewolf truly necessary?"
"You don't think he deserves to play? He was the one that found her, after all. Besides, the filthy Mudblood needs to be punished for lying to me."
"I'm not! We found it - I swear we found it," Hermione tried, feeling reluctant hope that Malfoy of all people was going to get her out of her current situation.
Maybe he'd have some luck if Mr. Malfoy took his time returning with the knife. Or it would give Harry time to figure out a plan.
"Lies! Now tell me where you got it," she said, sounding more deranged now, hands tugging at her own hair as she stared down at Hermione, then raised her wand to point at her once more. "The filth continues to disobey me. Now you see why we must do this. Speak out in her defense again, and I will begin to doubt your loyalty, Draco. Our Master would not be very happy with you - not that he is at the moment anyway."
"Draco," Mrs. Malfoy warned again, and Hermione saw his already pasty complexion visibly pale further just before he dropped his head, turning his eyes deliberately to the floor.
Hermione wilted, feeling the hope he'd sparked dying a swift death. A moth dancing precariously closer to a wavering golden flame suddenly catching fire. She'd hadn't even realized she'd been miserably clinging to any until the hope vanished. She could expect no further aid from Malfoy.
Harry was the only shot she had of surviving this. She just had to endure a bit more. A bit more was all she'd be able to stomach, she was sure.
"No, no, please," Hermione begged when Greyback tugged roughly on the prize he clutched. He pulled so hard her back arched unnaturally to follow the movement. Any harder and he might succeed in ripping the tender breast off her entirely.
"Do you hear how she begs so prettily?" Greyback taunted, chuckling nastily. "Can I have her when you're done?"
"Table scraps. How fitting that the mutt wants the bloody leavings," Bellatrix sneered, disdain dripping from her as she stood straighter, adopting the visage of a noblewoman above such things. Hermione trembled, recognizing the true extent of insanity in the woman - the woman preparing to torture Hermione with a knife herself. "I wonder… will she still be able to scream and beg for you by then?"
At first Hermione thought she was strong enough to handle what was being done to her, but as she glanced back and forth from Bellatrix to Greyback, doubt swept over her. Which tormentor would be worse? It was too much. She was breaking. Surely they could see the cracks webbing across her body like a broken mirror, shards falling to the floor only to shatter on impact. Surely they could? She was going to die there. Or at least end up like the Longbottoms.
"Such a tight little body. I prefer them young. Ripe. A juicy strawberry just ready to bite into," Greyback leaned in to croon his version of a seductive promise. His foul breath made her gag as his words caused vomit to rise in the back of her throat, choking her. Each word was punctuated with a twist of his wrist that shot more pain through her abused chest. "You'll beg for me too, won't you? Will you still find a way to scream for me when I bury myself inside you… when I ride you so hard you think I'll split you in half?"
"No, no, no," Hermione chanted, tears pricking her eyes like little needles repeatedly stabbing her as Bellatrix kicked her side hard. The heel of her boot making contact with the bottom of her rib cage and blinding white stars exploded across her vision. When they faded, Hermione was left with a red haze of agony throbbing through her.
Then Mr. Malfoy was back and Bellatrix was lightly hopping over her supine legs to receive it with gleeful anticipation. The mad woman looked like a child on Christmas morning who'd woken to a significantly larger pile of presents than she'd dared hope for.
Hermione sucked in a breath, trying to mentally prepare herself, but Bellatrix suddenly spun back towards her screaming, "I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?"
"We found it - we found it - PLEASE!" Hermione screamed, desperation taking hold as Bellatrix's wand came up again.
"CRUCIO!" she screamed, and the power and rage behind the word seemed to amplify the pain.
Agony worse than before consumed her. Hermione was burning from the inside out, volts of electricity coursing through her veins unwelcome and unending.
Hermione screamed, and screamed, and screamed. Fresh blood coated her chin where she'd bitten her lip in addition to her tongue. And once more Greyback was there to lick it up.
The pain was so intense, she didn't even notice when Bellatrix stopped. Hermione's head rolled helplessly to the side, her neck muscles too weak to support it - not even to shift away from Greyback when he latched onto her mouth, sucking more blood from her split lip directly as he followed her movement.
Draco was there. She could see him again. His mother's white knuckled hands were gripping his shoulders tightly. His face wore a look like he was the one being tortured. The idea that he cared and his mother was stopping him from intervening cleared the fog of pain from her head a bit.
Hermione whimpered and renewed her struggle to get away. Her kicking legs did no more damage than to turn up the corner of the plush rug covering the marble floors of the drawing room. Her feet found no purchase on the smooth floor, just slipped and slid over the polished surface. Tiny shuttering spasms rocked Hermione's body, making her limbs uncooperative and useless until she finally stopped trying to push off the floor.
She was too weak to dislodge Greyback and he seemed to find her efforts to escape a game. The predatory look in his eyes deepened, becoming hungrier. She whimpered at the sight, and tried harder. Her efforts were in vain and rewarded by an amused chuckle. How could anyone be so evil? How could anyone enjoy hurting someone defenseless?
"Do you know what happens to the mind when it undergoes the Cruciatus Curse for too long? Would you like to experience it for yourself?" Bellatrix merrily asked, momentarily excited by the idea. The Longbottoms again. Hermione truly was going to end up just like them. "Or would you prefer the knife?"
"Use the knife," Greyback all but begged. "She's all tense and could use a bit of tenderizing before I tie her up."
Hermione hadn't even noticed Bellatrix's approach, but the feel of her rancid moist breath mingling with Greyback's on her face made her stomach roll unpleasantly. Then Bellatrix suddenly reared back, striding away. The madwoman's jerky movements were giving Hermione whiplash. She couldn't keep up, and the unexpected nature of it all made the anticipation that much worse.
Spinning back just as abruptly, Bellatrix screamed, "You are a lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth! Crucio!"
Hermione screamed. On and on it went. She feared she'd never stop hearing the sounds of her own pain. Bellatrix hadn't even given her a chance to answer that time, though maybe that was a blessing. It was easier to conceal the truth when nothing was said at all.
She must not let Harry down. She had to lie so the three of them could finish this and everyone would finally be free. You one else would have to suffer as she was.
Even if that meant only the two of them survived to end it all. Hermione was truly beginning to doubt she'd last long enough to see it through herself.
"What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!" Bellatrix threatened, waving the dagger with a wicked blade in the air. Light sparked off the tip, reflecting onto the nearby wall where it wavered erratically as she shook the blade.
Bellatrix paused then and considered the knife in her hand, a savage grin twisting her features. Hermione dreaded what was going to happen next. She'd almost hoped that Bellatrix had forgotten the knife when she'd continued using the Cruciatus Curse even after Lucius brought it to her.
"Greyback, give me her arm," she commanded, nodding to Hermione's right arm.
Greyback gave the peak of her nipple a last vicious twist before he moved, finally releasing the breast he'd mashed to a miserable pulp. It was a fleeting relief, because between one breath and the next, Greyback had turned to kneel on Hermione's chest, one of her arms trapped beneath his heavy body while he stretched the other out, laying it flat upon the cool stone floor. It was clear he'd done this sort of thing before and knew how to keep his victims immoble while keeping his hands free to inflict pain. His weight made breathing even harder than it already was.
"Expose it. Yes, like that," Bellatrix praised breathily, giddiness at what she was about to do filling her so fully it spilled into the air around them. The sound of Hermione's sleeve tearing rent the air, the fabric pulling and shredding between his taloned hands.
Immediately, Bellatrix began carving. It was a different sort of pain. Hotter, more localized to a single point, rather than Hermione's whole body. With each slice, she felt the actual beats of her heart more. Each contraction propelled a rush of fiery pain radiating outward from the site of Bellatrix's artwork.
"M. What else did you take?" Bellatrix asked, perched beside them.
Hermione bit her lip to keep from screaming again, a renewed surge of copper filled her mouth as she did, and she could taste the foul remnants of Greyback's slobber. But she said nothing.
"U. Tell me!" Bellatrix insisted.
"You're a stubborn one, aren't you. It'll be that much more fun to break you. The way you've been squirming about, I bet you like it rough. Might have to chain you down and whip you bloody," he said pondering, clearly disinterested in Bellatrix's game and eager to begin his own. "Yes, I like the way you're reacting to that."
"No. No. Nothing," Hermione whimpered, finding it difficult to focus on any one thing. The threats and burning mingled in her mind, overwhelming her. Her denial only seemed to enrage Bellatrix impossibly further though.
"D. There, mud. The filth in your veins," she said, sitting back to admire her effort. Her face hardened. "What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"
She laughed as Hermione screamed, body seizing and contorting uncontrollably beneath Greyback.
When the curse finally stopped it took her several moments before she realized Greyback had torn her pants open and shoved one of his hands down between her thighs.
"Keep your legs open if you know what's good for you," he ordered, digging his fingers into the juncture of where her thigh and hip met and pulling hard enough that she feared he'd rip her leg clean off. Then, with no further warning, he speared two fingers into her core. It felt like a hot poker was being inserted as he scraped against the sensitive tissue. The burning rivaled the sensation radiating from her arm, twin fires scalding her. "Might have to cut you up a bit here too - you're dry as a bone and I like it hot and slippery. Blood usually does the trick."
"Disgusting. You dirty beasts deserve each other," Bellatrix announced disdainfully. The point of her dagger drove in again, cutting deeper than before as she started the next letter. "B. How? L. Tell me," she coaxed, carving faster, seeming more excited as she hastily wiped the weeping wound so she could see her canvas. The pressure of that almost hurt worse than the actual slicing.
"You're tight enough to be a virgin. Untouched, are you? All that time with those two - they must not be man enough to handle you. Don't worry, Little Morsel, I'll fill you up good before I eat you," he vowed, pawing at her underwear until they ripped and stopped blocking his full access to her center.
"Stop, please. D-don't! I can't! Please, please. We fo-found it. Let go of me! I-I swear!" she cried, sobbing freely as her jumbled protests spilled out.
Her head whipped back and forth, denying the stark reality of her situation. Desperation wrapped her in its unyielding embrace, bands of unbreakable steel or chains ready to drag her to the unknown deep of the ocean. She met Draco's eyes briefly, then he was vomiting onto the floor.
"O. Lies. O. One more chance then I'll give you to the mutt. You've heard how anxious he is to sink his teeth into such soft, tender flesh," she said while making the final cuts. "D. There. All done," she said, patting it roughly.
Bellatrix's head cocked as she studied her work, Hermione wanted to pull her arm in, prevent Bellatrix from seeing what she'd done, but the pain was too great and Greyback was in the way. Her arm was as useless as Harry's when Lockhart had vanished all of his bones.
"How did you get into my vault? Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?" Her words were enough to clear Hermione's head again somewhat. She couldn't let the goblin suffer for what they were doing. No one should endure what was happening to her. No one.
"We only met him tonight! We've never been inside your vault…. It isn't the real sword! It's only a copy, just a copy!"
"Shame. That was your last chance. Draco, get the Weasley whelp," she ordered, not checking to see if he complied. A thought seemed to capture her, and her lips twisted into a grotesque grimace. "You want it. That's why you're lying. You want me to let him have you. A filthy whorish Mudblood like -"
"Come back to me," Remus whispered, pulling her from the hellish screams echoing in her mind and the last few minutes of her hellish experience before Harry and Ron burst into the room.
Hermione blinked rapidly, banishing the final razor-like tendrils of the trance still gripping her.
She shivered, and he lightly tugged her arm, encouraging her to nestle against his side. She went glady, careful to avoid bumping any of his injuries, but aching for the promised solace she knew she'd find with him. He didn't offer any platitudes or faint apologies, just held her. The physical reassurance of strong, safe arms encircling her, his familiar scent invading her senses, helped far more than empty words.
After all, Remus understood trauma. He'd killed. He'd fought. He'd been hurt - multiple times. He'd survived.
Just like her.
Their hearts were puzzle pieces that perfectly matched. They fit around each other. Interlocking. Forever.
"I'm not ready to lose you," Hermione admitted, the fear from seeing him laid out and barely breathing clinging stubbornly to her and refusing to dissipate. It lingered, twinning itself with her memories of Greyback. The horrors of her past refused to stay buried. Her situation was such that things kept happening to dig the rotting carcasses up.
Part of her idly wondered if Remus was piecing together the source of some of the scarring on her body from what little she'd confessed. There were seven or eight tiny punctures on her left breast from Greyback's claws along with a thin, two inch long scratch on the inside of thigh that had never properly healed. Ron had never bothered asking where they came from, and she'd brushed off her other partners' questions by simply saying they were souvenirs from the war. Remus knew he couldn't ask, not without risk, but now that he knew about Greyback, he'd be able to put the clues together. He certainly knew enough about werewolf scratches. She'd been lucky that they were so minor there were no lasting consequences, unlike Bill and Remus, aside from the not healing.
"I love you," she added, needing to hear the truth aloud.
There would be no sleep for her that night. Not if she didn't wish to succumb to the inevitable nightmares. And Remus wasn't up to banishing them right then.
"No one is ever ready. Not really," Remus said sadly. "But I will always love you too. No matter what."