With Darkness There'll Be Light
Seven - In The Cavern
It was damp, dreary, dark and depressing. Water somewhere was dripping in a slow, pitter-patter motion. It sounded like a leaking sink…but it couldn't have been; there was no sink in the immediate vacinity. Stone surrounded them on all sides; no light could be seen, there were no windows.
It was the kind of place that created nightmares, the kind of place that evil creatures lusted after, the kind of place that caused insanity in a matter of moments. The kind of place that brought out all your fears and made you feel as if you'd never been cheerful again.
Hermione lifted her head, surveying her surroundings the best she could. She felt all around her, her fingertips scratching against the cold, hard stone to her right side. She pulled them back in pain, but then began her search again. She felt around the walls with her palms, feeling the smoothness of granite turning into the sharpness of an unpolished diamond. She couldn't see anything despite the fact that her eyes were wide open. As her eyes tried their best to adjust to the darkness, she cursed herself for not being part cat.
She sighed and sat back, leaning against one of the walls. It was cold on her bare back. She realized suddenly that she wasn't nude, but her robes were completely tattered and ripped the entirety of the back side. Tears filled her eyes and cascaded down her swollen, hurting and ashen cheeks. She knew she was filthy just by running a hand through her matted hair. The hair that had once been completely frizzy and poofy was completely stuck to her skull. When she licked her lips to moisten the intense dryness, she tasted caked-on blood. Her muscles ached with a pain that suggested she'd been beaten up quite horribly. What the hell had happened to her? More importantly, where was she?
Sighing again, she rubbed her arms to keep warm. It was drafty in this place. Hermione assumed she was in some sort of man-made cave (or wizard-made, her brain reasoned), but she couldn't be sure. Her eyes could barely make out the outlines of jutting rock and a slumped figure in the corner. She didn't want to know who…or what it was.
The tears began flowing so fast that she didn't bother mopping them up. Soon, the tears turned to sobs she could no longer control. She bent over her knees and cried more than she could remember ever having cried before.
Hermione was shaking now, from the raking sobs cursing through her body and from the oppressive cold. It chilled her right down to the bone. Feeling around in her robes, she tried desperately to find her wand. Of course, it was gone.
"Think, Hermione, think," she leaned her head back against the stone wall and searched her brain for the last memory she possessed.
Screaming.
That's all she could remember. Just lots and lots of screaming, screeching; someone reaching out; someone crying; someone with a wand pointed at her face; someone grabbing Ginny around the waist, red hair whipping around her friend's face.
A black cloak, a deep, dark and evil laugh that made her shiver with fright.
"NO!" Hermione cried, standing up and hitting her head so hard that she fell right back down. She looked up and could see that the ceiling of this place was not high. It couldn't have reached more than five feet tall. Her head was spinning from the intense blow to the head, but she refused to let herself loose consciousness.
A whimper entered Hermione's awareness. She looked around frantically, searching for the owner of the whimper.
"GINNY!?" Hermione yelled as loud as she could manage. Her voice sounded quite unlike her own, hoarse and raspy, like a croak. She felt, suddenly, like a feeble old man on his death bed. She felt useless…she hated that. Hermione Granger did not do helplessness well.
"Hermione," said a very low, quiet whisper to Hermione's left.
Hermione's mind screamed, "The figure in the corner is Ginny! It's just Ginny!"
She got to her hands and knees and hysterically searched the cavern's floor. Her hands brushed dirt and small rocks, but she couldn't manage to get to where Ginny lay.
"Ginny," cried Hermione in a hissing whisper.
"I'm over here," Ginny said, and coughed. Hermione's fingertips brushed something that felt like soft blankets and she knew she'd found her friend. Hermione engulfed Ginny in a very tight hug, nearly crushing the poor girl to death.
Ginny, as far as Hermione could see, was much worse off than herself. Her hair was spiked up in odd directions, indicating that she was quite sweaty and had pushed her hair back off her face; her nails were all broken (Hermione knew this because she had taken Ginny's hand and felt that her nails were all gone); she was shivering beyond control and her words were few and far between. She seemed to have been completely shocked by something, or completely scared out of her wits. Probably the latter, Hermione reasoned.
Ginny was grasping at Hermione as if her life depended on it. The older witch was beginning to wonder if Ginny was ill…mentally or physically.
"Where---where are we?" Ginny stuttered, rubbing her arms for warmth. Hermione put her arms around her friend, trying to keep her warm.
"I don't know. It's too dark to tell. I don't even know if there's a door." Hermione looked around the harsh cavern. "I don't remember how we got here."
"That's because they knocked you out first," muttered Ginny sardonically.
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, taken aback. "What do you remember, Gin?"
Ginny gulped, a low sob escaping her throat as she did so, "Death Eaters. So many of them…Hermione, don't you remember what they did to your family? What they did to us?"
Hermione's eyes clouded over, but she shook the sadness away, "No. No, what happened?"
Ginny violently shook her head, "I don't…I don't want to say, Hermione. Please don't make me."
The young girl sounded so miserable that Hermione didn't have the heart to press her for knowledge.
"We need to get out of here," Ginny said suddenly, shaking more feverously. Her voice sounded cracked and horror-filled. "We need to get out of here now."
Immediately after the words were out of her mouth, Hermione knew why.
Footsteps.
Soft, clunking footsteps approached.
*
"BLASTED SAND!" Draco cursed as more sand flew into his mouth from the dry desert they'd been walking on for the last forty-five minutes. They had been walking, however, the entire day. It was nearing sunset now. "I have more sand in my mouth than a toddler at the beach!"
Gemma giggled slightly; George and Fred both smiled; Seamus seemed quite satisfied with this news.
"Stop shuffling your feet," Ron commanded from ahead of him, "You're kicking dirt up."
"Weasley," replied Draco calmly, marching now instead of walking, "YOU are putting the sand in my mouth with your great big feet! They're clown feet, honestly, Weasley! Have them surgically removed and save your friends from the horror of dying because of too much sand intake!"
Harry chuckled, "Draco, stop being so dramatic."
Ron looked back at him, eyebrow raised, "Why don't you use your wand to put a protective shield around you so that the sand can't penetrate it?"
Draco stopped walking instantly, "Ron Weasley! That is the smartest thing I've ever heard you say!" Draco pointed his wand at himself, muttered a few well-chosen words, and then was quiet for a while, humming happily to himself.
"Can you die from too much sand intake?" Fred asked after a while.
Draco looked at him, and when he spoke, his voice was slightly muffled due to the invisible bubble around his head, "Of course you can. I read about it in some Muggle magazine. National Geographic, I believe." Draco adjusted his backpack straps and continued to walk, this time next to Harry. The two of them proceeded to speak in quiet whispers while Ron looked on, nodding to himself.
"Draco's so learned," remarked Gemma to no one in particular.
"He's a prat," retorted Seamus, "A massive one."
Justin cleared his throat, brushing sand from around his half-beard, "Actually, he's not that bad. I mean, he was in school of course…but now he's quite alright."
Seamus rolled his eyes, "Easy for you to say, Justin, you don't get hit with his leftover branches."
"It was merely a twig," argued Fred, grinning. "Not a branch."
"No way, dear brother, it was a branch…a very large one," George said, nodding to Seamus, who nodded back.
It seemed the Fellowship had decided that keeping the mood around them light was the way to go. If you let yourself get sucked into the unhappiness, it becomes very hard to get back out.
Draco and Harry had stopped talking by now and were setting their packs down by a large boulder. The rest of the team thankfully (and with lots of sighs of relief) fell around them, laying on their bags and panting.
"When we get home, I'm going to get fit…the gym everyday!" George stated, raising his fist slightly into the air.
His twin snorted, "It'll never happen." George was too weak to retaliate.
"How much further for today?" Seamus asked, swigging down some water.
"About a mile," Draco answered, "Then we'll rest for the night. Tomorrow, no more magic. It's traceable already, but as we get closer the odds go against us."
Everyone nodded in understanding.
"No more magic," sighed Gemma. "Bloody hell."
Harry grinned, "It'll be fine. We can handle it. We all had to during summer holidays, right?"
Draco shrugged, "I did magic during the summer holidays. The longest I've gone without doing magic is, I think, two hours." He shook his head sadly, "I'm going to die."
Seamus, "You probably shouldn't joke about death, Draco."
Draco looked up at him suddenly, "You're right. I'm sorry."
Seamus nearly fell over from shock.