A/N: Why is Sarah here?

Chapter 36

Hermione granger, trussed up like a turkey, sat meekly against the wall, as the girl she had once known- Sarah Weasley- was 'coroneted'. Her unruly red curls were framing her gloriously youthful face, her eyes shining with some unrecognisable emotion. Her face wasn't smiling, so it was possible it was not a good emotion. Hermione was dutifully ignored throughout. She shook her hair, thinking about a good, hot bath to soak out the creeping feeling on her skin and the oils out of her hair. She sighed- quietly, so as not to draw unwanted attention to herself- as she watched the girl given two razor-thin cuts, one on each side of her face. They ran from the temple to the side of her chin. She stood, stony-faced, through this, before a coloured mud was rubbed into the wounds. She winced as though it stung. After this momentary lapse, however, she hardened her face again. Kiraten then cast a healing charm on her face, and a cleaning charm. She was left with two red lines down her face, like she had just been cut. Which, Hermione thought absently to herself, she just has.

The girl was then given a new black robe with red stripes along its edges and the black-on-black Blackhawk sigil on the back. Hermione had only noticed it when the firelight shone awkwardly on the back of a Blackhawk's robes, and the fabric reflected differently. After that, she had seen the design on all the backs of their robes. It was distressing. Like having her innocence ripped away.

Sarah was then paraded around, and all the other Blackhawks reached out and stroked either her hair, her arm or the back of her cloak. Once every person had touched her, she was let go, and things went back to normal. Whatever that was.

Hermione's eyes were watering from tiredness by now, and her limbs stiff from being tied up all day. Meat was roasted on the bonfire, somehow avoiding overcooking and emerging succulent. Hermione was fed morsels by a plain-looking Blackhawk woman, the juice dribbling down her chin. After being fed, Hermione was taken back to the bed she had awoken on that morning and left to sleep. They did leave her a blanket, which she was sure she was grateful for. Somewhere, deep down. After some time of writhing awkwardly for a few minutes she had the piece of cloth over herself suitably, and she fell into a fitful sleep, unused to the mattress (water, again) and the location, and still dealing with all the information that had been pushed into her in the past twenty-four hours. She slept fitfully, but she did sleep.

~*~

Adrienne, however, did not. All night she spent brewing potions- attack potions, and defence potions alike; planning out a strategy to break in and steal her mother back; and a quiet way of getting out again. It was difficult, and Adrienne felt that she was the only one putting in 100%. Snape was brewing potions in the lab; Lianna and Draco were preparing charms and soul magics to combat and disguise them; and Adrienne was trying to facilitate everything and do her own bit at the same time. She felt stretched too thin, but continued to do what she had been doing. She burst into the lab, saw Snape sitting down bottling a viscous green liquid into thin glass globes. He was wearing dragonhide gloves, so she assumed that the substance was quite nasty. She hoped that she wouldn't have to use it. Snape looked up as she closed the door behind herself.

"How are the dreamers going?" he asked, contemptuously. Adrienne smiled half-heartedly.

"They're getting there. When I left they were in the same position as when I arrived- cross-legged on the floor, far off in the world of spirits. Draco surfaced for long enough to assure me that they were actually doing work, not just floating. I'm still not sure I'm convinced."

"He reminds me of his father," Snape grimaced, capping the last globe. He levitated the cauldron over to the sink, and cleaned the pot without touching it. Adrienne frowned a little.

"Is it that nasty?" Adrienne asked, indicating the cauldron. Snape just nodded, fear and awe in his eyes.

"I was hit with this my second year in the Death Eaters. Still have the scars. It wasn't one of the highlights of my joyful life," he announced wryly. Adrienne, after being taught by this man for her entire school life, was amazed that he could speak like a normal person, without sarcasm or hate in his voice. She wondered if she was an exception, or if it was standard practice for him to recognise past-students as human, rather than the subhuman standard that he held all students to. She put the thought aside to think about later.

"How does he remind you of his father?" she asked after a moment's silence, water sloshing in the sink. Snape shrugged, as though reluctant now to talk.

"His father was always charming to everyone, except when it wasn't to his advantage. Then he used terror, or money. I feel that all we see now of Draco is glamour, put up to disguise himself to us. But," he shrugged again, "I haven't seen him- and neither has anyone else- for the past eighteen years. He may have changed." His tone implied that he didn't really believe this. Adrienne decided that now wasn't the time to talk about topics such as child-parent relationships. She returned her mind to the task at hand.

"So- what are we brewing next?" Snape looked at her, relief in being released from the topic of conversation apparent in his face. He flicked his hand towards the blackboard at the front of the room, and a formula began to appear. Adrienne grimaced at the ingredients' strength, but nodded at the board.

"Let's get to it then, shall we?"