A/N: Another chapter of Children up. What could be better?
Tomfeltonssexiiwun: Thanks! Just knowing that you're reading is a great blossom of joy that bursts into my heart. Let's hope that our darlings get somewhere, and don't get dead, hey?
Snape'sWitch: Glad you're reading!! Nothing more would make my day. Thanks!
Hermione's in trouble. I wonder if she knows just how much? Of course not.
Chapter 32
She came to consciousness slowly, her head pounding, her vision blurred and filled with stabbing light, ripping into her eyelids and demanding they open. She strained her hands to rest them upon her burning eyes, but there was something holding them firm. Her throbbing head made her vision spin as she squinted her eyes open. She was, her blurry gaze informed her, tied up on a bed. The contoured mattress curved to her every protrusion and recess- when she tried to move she learned that the reason for this was that it was a waterbed.
"Only Muggles could have thought of such a useless waste of water," she grumbled. There was a large window in the wall, letting in the sun. After laying there for a long while, she decided that the sun was rising- therefore the window was facing east. She puffed out a huge sigh, moving her restricted fingers and waiting for something to happen other than the pins and needles that were beginning in her feet. She wriggled around; thoroughly disturbed when she bumped into something behind her that she couldn't see. Flipping herself over efficiently (and making the bed wobble outrageously) she saw that a blonde woman was trussed up beside her on the huge bed.
"Kate!" Hermione exclaimed, waiting for the woman to respond. After a moment, she wondered what was wrong with the woman. After all, she was barely tied- her feet and hands tied, but in front of her body. Hermione inched over to listen to her friend's breathing- only to come into contact with clammy, cold skin. She pulled back sharply, her breathing coming in short, sharp gasps. She knew that her eyes were wide and her mouth open, but she could think of nothing other than that her good friend and role model was now dead, and in bed with her. A shriek flew without forethought from her mouth. She shuffled to the furthest edge of the bed before she spared a thought for falling out of it. The white linen bedspread bunched at her feet, and she kicked at it, trying to spread it evenly again. Every movement she made caused the bed to rock and kick, the waves moving and causing Kate's limp body to roll and lurch.
A door opened, a breeze floated in, carrying a scent of charcoal and the tingling tang of iron. A man dressed entirely in black robes walked around to the side of the bed, casting a wary eye over her, before grabbing Kate's dangling arms and throwing her over his shoulder. Hermione was disturbed to see a large bruise at the back of Kate's neck- yet it was almost certainly what had killed her. Hermione squinted her eyes shut. The door thudded closed, and she heard the man inform someone that, 'the other woman in there' was awake. His voice was raspy, and his tone was sneering. Hermione came to the conclusion very quickly that she didn't like him, nor this place. She took the chance to flip over and look at the scenery outside. Better to look uninterested and unperturbed, she decided.
Outside, the sun was still shining brightly, having climbed a few more degrees up the horizon. The light pouring through the window carried with it a lazy warmth. Hermione looked down at the grounds; they were manicured, plush lawns and sculpted gardens covered a large area, surrounded by a tall, ivy-encrusted stonewall. Protection, Hermione remembered with disgust. The door opened again, and though she couldn't see the person, she expected the worst; they would kill her like they had Kate.
"I'm sorry about the reception you received," a deep feminine voice resounded in the woodwork around the room. Hermione strained with herself to keep from spinning around to see the woman. She kept her eyes firmly planted on the gardens. The woman chuckled, before she grabbed Hermione's bound hands and pulled her backwards. Her shoulders ached, but she moved, recognising the pressure as threatening, but only if she disobeyed. The woman pulled her from the bed and to her feet before her.
She was dressed in similar black robes as the man had been, her hair tied up in a complex knot at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were a burning grey-green, startling in combination with her black hair and pale complexion. "It's impolite to ignore your hostess when she addresses you," she growled. The words caused Hermione to shiver, though she hoped that the woman didn't feel it and diagnose it for the fear that it was.
"I'm sorry, but when you truss me up and kill my friend, I'm not prone to being polite. If I'm a prisoner here, I'd like my phone call." Hermione glared at the woman, daring her to respond and grow angry.
Instead, the woman laughed. "A witch who knows Muggle ways! It's been a long time since anybody here gave me intelligent conversation. About all most wizards know about Muggle ways is that they have crazy objects that work without magic, and they must be so hard done by, because they have to rely on something other than their magic. Wizards are so blind." This last was vehement, the woman's disturbing eyes turned away from her captive and glaring out the window. Hermione felt relief flood her for the moment that her eyes were diverted, then apprehension fill her once again as the woman's eyes rested on her again. "I am Carmen Kirati. Everyone here calls me Kirati. I prefer it. Once we know if you are safe, we will unbind you. Until then, you'll be guarded. We'll tell you the story of your friend Kate later." She spat the name as though it were a curse. Picking up the woman (though Hermione protested, she could do nothing), Kirati brought her into the room beyond the bedroom.
A large room with dozens of black robed men and women rested beyond. Most eyes turned towards them for a moment, before returning to the tasks that they were doing. Hermione winced at the sound of blades being scraped against whetstones. Everywhere she looked, people in black robes were squatting or sitting and grinding blades. Hermione kept her trepidation to herself, but could feel it growing like cancer in her stomach. In the centre of the room was a large, hot fire. A chimney funnelled the smoke through the roof and into the atmosphere beyond it, though it was open on all sides.
"We'll find a use for that later," Kirati informed her, catching her gaze on the roaring blaze. Hermione winced as the woman threw her to the ground. She landed surprisingly gently. "Blackhawk, keep an eye on her," she ordered a man nearby, who nodded curtly and moved over to sit in front of her. He had a long, balanced blade in his hand and he was grinding his whetstone down its length. Seeing her discomfort, he grinned maliciously and leaned in closer.
"You'll be more squeamish later, lambkin," he smirked. His blade glittered. Hermione was startled to see runes carved into the hilt and all along the blade itself. Protection, bloodshed, honour, vengeance were all written clearly into the blade; grip, determination, balance, trust in the hilt. Hermione wondered exactly where she was, not for the first time today, though a suspicion entered her mind, telling her that she didn't really want to know.
A long time went past, and the man- Blackhawk- ground several more blades to razor sharpness in her sight. Finally, Kirati returned. From her spot on the floor, the woman appeared even taller and more imposing than she had when Hermione had had the vantage point of the bed. "It's time for the ceremony," the woman announced in her deep, throaty voice mysteriously. A wink of her disturbing eye at Hermione, and the entire room erupted into movement.