Magnanimous Chapter 6 – Discovering
Disclaimer: I own the plot only. Also Gaius, Irwin and Malevium, but JK can have those if she wants.
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(Special thanks, as always, to Orchid my beta, Sophie my Gamma/Official Nagger, and Simrun my sub-official nagger.)
A/N: Welcome back for the new chapter! Quite a bit of drama in this one, as well as a nasty revelation at the end… I shall say no more.
The character of Malevium was inspired by a particularly nasty individual I met on a chat board somewhere, who basically said that atheists (of which I am one) should have no rights at all and be second-class citizens to the religious, which got me so worked up that I couldn't write for days. So I stole his name and immortalised him in fanfiction.
I am intolerant of intolerant people. You have been warned!
Anyway, nasty incidents aside – enjoy!
~*~
They had been travelling for half an hour.
It wasn't the floating that was uncomfortable for Hermione and Draco; it was the fact that the ropes binding them constricted their every movement and cut into their skin agonisingly. It was almost like being under the Body-Bind hex, except for the fact that they could move slightly, at the cost of painful rope burns.
They still couldn't see their captors. Hermione had tried, bruising her neck and straining her eyes to peer in their direction, but had seen nothing but night sky and trees. A similar process, stretching herself to the right, gave her a view of Draco, who was floating in perfect silence, eyes open and unblinking, not even bothering to try and look around him.
'Our little friend seems agitated, Irwin.' One of the Death Eater's remarked with a low chuckle. 'Scared, girl?'
In truth she was, almost too afraid to reply. Her heart throbbed a fast pace in her chest, and her mouth was suddenly dry and sticky. She remembered all the stories, everything she'd ever heard about the servants of Voldemort… Forcing the horrific anecdotes to the back of her mind, she made herself find her tongue.
'No.'
Another chuckle.
'You look scared.' This was from the gruff-voiced one, the one called Irwin. 'Doesn't she, Gaius?'
'Well I'm not.' She even managed to sound vaguely defiant this time; a triumph of her acting skills.
The one with the educated voice, the one called Gaius, spoke in such a way that she could actually hear the patronising smile on his lips. 'There's no shame in being scared, little girl. We'd quite understand if you were.'
'I already said, I'm not scared.' This retort was met by nothing but another soft and sinister chuckle. She glanced at Draco, at the cost of a sharp rope burn: he seemed to be ignoring the conversation. That or sleeping with his eyes open. His face was blanker than normal.
'You ought to be scared.' Gaius commented lazily. 'Aren't you scared for your friends back at the castle? They're all going to lose their magic. And then imagine how easy it will be for our Master to kill them all off, slow and agonizing deaths…' Hermione shivered. The tone of his voice was a perverted kind of happiness; there was pleasure in it as he spoke of death.
'They won't.' Hermione said, as much to convince herself as to convince the men. 'We'll stop that from happening, one way or another…'
'Oh, I'm sure you will.' came the amused reply. 'And then of course, there's your fate to take into account… What will Voldemort do with you, I wonder? Are you Pureblood?'
'I'm Muggleborn.' She said, drawing as much dignity as a bound and powerless prisoner can.
'Oh, perfect.' Gaius laughed, a harsh, cruel laugh that hung horribly in the cold air. 'Our Master does so enjoy a little ritual torture before mass genocide…'
They were playing with her, mocking her, Hermione realised. Like a cat plays with a mouse. The thought make her shiver again.
'Irwin, tell our little Mudblood friend what Voldemort will have in store for her.'
'Er, I dunno, Gaius.' Irwin finally spoke up. 'It's his choice what he does with her…'
'What do you think he'll do, you brainless buffoon?' Gaius sounded annoyed: Irwin had spoiled his game. There was another lengthy pause before Irwin replied in his slow, gruff voice.
'Well, he'll probably torture her… using the Cruciatius, and lots of other Dark spells, maybe that one that turns yer bones inside out, he likes that one, can't remember the name of it…'
'Oh, forget it, Irwin.' Gaius spat irritably. 'We're here now.
Hermione frowned. At the tower already? They hadn't even been able to see it when they had set off; surely they couldn't have got there in such a short time?
A doorframe passed overhead, and the stars were replaced by a rather battered looking wooden ceiling. Wherever they were, it was dark, and Hermione suspected it was entirely built out of wood, judging by the hollow sounds the Death Eaters' footsteps made as they walked.
'Right, grab onto your prisoner.' Gaius instructed Irwin, and a moment later Hermione felt a large meaty hand clamp around her foot. She almost screamed. 'Holding on tight?' Gaius continued. 'Very well, let's go…'
A moment later came the familiar feeling that the world had just disintegrated, the tugging feeling behind the navel. Of course, thought Hermione, a Portkey…
~*~
'Look, Harry, I…'
'Shut up, Weasley.'
Ron flinched, as though Harry's sharp dismissal had been a physical attack, and went back to trailing disconsolately along behind his angry friend. They had made no plans for where they were going; the unspoken consensus seemed to be that they would follow along parallel to the border of the field, until they met up with the line that led to the main tower.
They had both run through the sandstorm – separately, as the whirling sand made it impossible to keep together, especially considering Harry was quite keen to lose Ron in the gale. But they'd both broken free of the sand on the far side, so far from their original path that the boundary line was only a dim glow on the horizon.
It had been a terrifying jolt to Ron, finding himself alone in the middle of such a perilous situation, especially knowing his friends were somewhere nearby and possibly hurt, just out of his sigh, just out of his reach.... His heart had leapt with relief when he'd recognised the messy dark hair that could only be Harry; he'd raced up to him, calling out.
But the instant he'd got close enough to see his face, he'd stopped dead. He couldn't forget how Harry's face had looked in that moment – not simply anger, not simply hate, but a dark and intense loathing. Something nearing the blistering looks of abhorrence Snape reserved for Harry himself. Ron's stomach twisted painfully with guilt whenever he thought of it.
How could he have been so stupid? A little irritation, a moment of anger… even he couldn't believe the words that had tumbled so foolishly from his mouth. Was there anything he could have blurted out that would have hurt Harry more? It was all his fault. He didn't blame Harry for hating him; he couldn't without being a complete hypocrite. In Harry's position, he'd hate himself too. Stupid, stupid, stupid…
'Harry, please listen…'
'No.'
The answer was cold and hard, radiating ice cold anger. Ron shivered at the tone, but kept on trying.
'Please, Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it…'
'Don't waste your breath.' Harry replied, still not looking in Ron's direction.
'I was angry, I didn't mean to say anything like that… And I'm sorry, I really am. And I guess I don't deserve forgiving but… can't we please just act like it never happened? At… at least for now… until we find the others…?'
Harry stopped walking. Somehow it was such an ominous act, that everything around them seemed to hold its breath. A deathly silence prevailed, as though the world had paused on its axle. Slowly, he turned to face Ron. His eyes were narrowed, and the malachite green slits burned with an icy cold fire that seared the soul.
'Act like it never happened?' he spat. 'You think you can just say… all that… and then act like it never happened? You think you can just apologise?' He gave Ron one last filthy look of disgust, and turned back, facing away from him. 'You don't deserve forgiveness, and you never will.'
He began walking, leaving Ron behind. Ron made no move to catch up, just stood there beyond misery, biting his lip and staring at the ground. Harry's words had cut him deeply, but he knew that he deserved no better. Deep down, he hated himself for what he had said.
Doggedly, he forced himself to begin walking after Harry again, not wanting to get too far behind. Why, he wondered, was he still sticking with Harry when Harry couldn't stand to be near him? Loyalty, he realised, and all those other things. Like not wanting his friend to get brutally murdered, and a stubborn hope that maybe they could patch things up. And stopping Voldemort, of course.
He carried on wallowing in his miserable manner of thought, staring sadly at the ground. His stride was longer than Harry's, and after a while he caught up with him; Ron immediately froze, waited until Harry was a few metres ahead, then continued, careful to constrain his steps so he stayed a short distance behind.
It was five minutes later that their progress was abruptly halted.
Ron realised that Harry had stopped walking. He looked up, curiously and not without some hope, but the reason for the halt was clear. In front of them, stretching as far as they could see in each direction, was a vast chasm in the earth.
It had no craggy bits of earth on the sides, or at least none as far as they could see down, for the depths of the gap were lost in dark, impenetrable shadows. The sides were perfectly smooth, cut off from the ground at a perfect right angle. In some places, they could see where the spell that had created it had sliced perfectly through hard rock, creating a dangerously vertical drop. It had the unrealistic look of a sedimentary fossil diagram.
There was a silence.
Neither of them asked the obvious question, which was 'What do we do now?' Neither would speak to the other unless it was absolutely, absolutely necessary. Harry wasn't speaking to Ron, and Ron felt strangely timid of speaking to his ex-friend.
They stood, without speaking, and individually considered the options.
Ron glanced towards the glowing line whose path they were following, the on which marked the boundary of the field. There was no magic inside that field. Therefore, it was entirely possible that the chasm cut off abruptly at that boundary… It would be a long way round, but it seemed like the only way…
But for it to work, he'd have to tell Harry. The mere prospect of speaking to his friend took on a new and frightening aspect; Ron was terrified of saying anything to him now lest Harry grew more angry.
Summoning together all his courage, Ron opened his mouth and prepared to speak. But as he did so, Harry wordlessly turned and began walking along the edge of the chasm, in the exact opposite direction to the one Ron had planned to take.
Objecting to this would mean speaking. And Harry had probably thought of something that he himself has not… Quickly, he began to follow along behind him, staying a few metres back as usual.
As they progressed, Ron spotted what Harry's Quidditch-trained eyes had picked out from a distance: the chasm was spanned with a flimsy-looking mass of wood and rope, a primitive-looking bridge. As they drew nearer, Ron began to harbour doubts about its safety. The ropes looked tattered and old, the wood decidedly thin. The supporting posts that held the thing in place were leaning at odd angles.
Harry didn't appear to notice, or at least not care. Without a pause, he reached the beginning of the bridge and stepped on, holding tightly to the ropes and walking at a normal speed. It swayed and creaked ominously under his weight.
Ron paused nervously at the brink of the wooden contraption, and gulped. He could back out, find another way across… But then he'd lose Harry. Then both he and Harry would be alone, and more vulnerable… He could die. Worse, Harry could die, and all because he, Ron, hadn't had the guts to cross a rickety bridge.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped onto the bridge.
Creak. Sway.
Ron grabbed tight hold of the ropes, the rough fibres rubbing coarsely against his palms. He glanced up. Harry was about halfway across, completely unfazed.
Nothing to it. Nothing to be afraid of. It's just a bridge….
A dangerous, old, rickety bridge that wasn't safe, over a magical chasm that, Ron suspected as he peered nervously over the edge, was quite possibly bottomless.
Forget about it. Just take one step at a time, one foot in front of the other. Never, never let go of the ropes.
Slowly, Ron began to shuffle across the bridge. The world was so silent, so still, he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. Nothing but the sound of Harry's footsteps up ahead, the ominous creak of the bridge beneath his feet, his own harsh breath…
And then, another noise. A horrible noise, with the same spine-wrenching intensity of fingernails on a chalkboard. It was the sound of a rope fraying unnaturally quickly…
He turned around, panic erupting in his eyes. The rope on both sides of the bridge behind him were surrounded by a fuzzy yellow glow, and he could see them being eaten away, vanishing before his eyes…
There was no time to run. Only time to grab the rope even tighter and cry out, as the sky above them and wood beneath them fell away, sending them swinging through the air. After a second that lasted an eternity, they thumped into the smooth but rock solid wall of the chasm, a hard wallop that knocked the wind out of them both.
A few boards fell silently into the chasm. Ron made the mistake of watching them fall into the blackness, until he could no longer see them.
He was hanging, both hands on one rope, nothing to give his feet support. He scrabbled with his toes at the perfectly smooth walls of the chasm, but in vain. His stomach lurched with fear.
Above Ron, Harry was in better luck; the boards had held up there, and they provided a kind of ladder up the side of the chasm itself. But this bridge was now only supported by the two dangerously insecure poles on the far side, and they began to slowly and ominously creak, being pulled out of the ground by the sheer weight they were now supporting alone.
Harry glanced upwards at the poles, then downwards at Ron, and seemed to come to a decision. As quickly as he could, he clambered downwards, towards where Ron dangled precariously over the drop.
Ron, as soon as his face came properly into view, appeared a fearfully pale white in the moonlight. Harry clambered down as far as he could while still keeping in the safe part, grabbed tight to one of the ropes with one hand, and stretched the other towards Ron.
'Grab on.'
Ron blinked at the hand, as if unsure whether to take it or not. Because of the way the bridge had broken, the only way Harry could reach Ron while staying on the safe parts was to hang on the other side of the bridge. If Ron took his hand, he'd have to let go of the rope, and trust his entire weight to Harry… One glance at the chasm below seemed to make his mind up, however, and he firmly gripped Harry's hand.
As Ron released the rope, another board fell away.
Ron looked up, their eyes meeting for the first time since their fight. For one horrible, horrible moment, as he dangled from the arm of the friend who hated him, he thought Harry would let go.
He wouldn't, Ron chided himself. This is Harry, not some Slytherin git like Malfoy. I'd trust him with my life. Even if he did hate me at the time…
Slowly, face pale in the moonlight, Harry tugged Ron up. A further ominous creak from above indicated the bridge was a step closer to breaking; they both ignored it. Gritting his teeth, Harry heaved Ron up, until he could catch hold of a firm board and haul himself to safety.
Without another word spoken, they clambered up the remnants of the bridge. All the time, there was the disturbing creaking of the wooden poles being wrenched from their places in the ground. Ron reached the top first, grateful to be on firm ground again. Almost timidly, he turned and offered a hand to Harry, to help him over the edge.
Harry ignored it, dragging himself up, and Ron's heart sank.
They sat for a few minutes at the top of the bridge, resting after their ordeal. The wrenching of the poles from the safe earth carried on, although slower without the weight of Harry and Ron dragging it down. The whole thing eventually plummeted into the abyss.
Ron gulped, looking from the place where the bridge used to be to Harry and back again. 'Thanks…' he said, in a small voice. 'For helping me…'
'Don't waste your breath.' Harry replied shortly and coldly. 'I did what needed doing, and I've have done the same for anyone. No matter how much I hated them.'
Ron winced, and the two lapsed back into silence again.
~*~
They slammed back to reality with a force that was almost painful. Hermione, who had wanted to see what the tower looked like, felt almost cheated: they were inside it already. What she could see of the room was equally disappointing: white ceiling, white walls, completely bare.
Still being levitated by the Death Eaters, they passed through a door and through a narrow, twisting corridor, still completely white and devoid of any decoration. They went down a spiral staircase, getting banged quite a bit on the rails. The cold whiteness persisted; Hermione began to wonder why it was there. The towers of evil Dark Lords should be black, or at least a very dark green. Not pure and simple white.
Then again, there was a menacing touch to the white. Hermione always thought of white as a fresh, clean colour, but here it wasn't. Here it was bare and blank, cold and clinical. Here it was unfeeling, uncaring and utterly unnerving.
Another flight of stairs, and another bashing against the railings. And then they stopped.
'Evening, Malevium.' said Gaius smoothly. 'Two prisoners for you here.'
A cold, harsh voice which made Hermione shudder responded, 'That's Lucius' son.'
'We know.' Gaius replied curtly. 'He disobeyed the order to stay inside the school. Lucius can deal with him as he sees fit.'
'And the girl?'
'Mudblood.' Irwin replied shortly. 'She was outside the school too. Found her in the grounds.'
The shuffling noise of Malevium's feet drew closer, and a twisted, bitter face craned over Hermione, peering down through slitted green eyes that glittered with rage. He exhaled harshly, and Hermione had to hold her breath in disgust at the rank stench of his breath.
His narrow eyes spiteful, the man hawked and spat directly in Hermione's face, making her gasp aloud. 'Filthy Mudbloods.' He growled. 'They're second-class humans. Shouldn't have no rights, shouldn't even be people.'
This said, he drew back, leaving Hermione to shudder at the grim audacity of his statement. For a moment, she wanted to cry out against him, to tell him that he was wrong, to scream at him and ask how on earth could something as trivial as whether your parents were a witch and a wizard could matter. But she bit her tongue, allowing her fury to simmer. It would do no good to anger her captors…
Gaius' hand – she assumed it was Gaius' – fumbled briefly in her pocket; she squirmed away from his touch in revulsion as he drew out her wand, leaving her powerless. Presumably Draco too, but she couldn't see. With a jerk, they were levitated through a door into a small room, presumably a cell. Their bonds were removed with a muttered spell, and the door slammed shut.
'A filthy Mudblood in my cells…' she heard Malevium begin, and the statement was suddenly just too much for Hermione: she stumbled blindly to her feet, vision blurred as hot, angry tears welled up. She threw herself at the door, bashing at it with her fists.
'You'll see!' she screamed. 'Harry and Ron are going to stop this curse, turn it off, and then you're all going to go to Azkaban! You bastards… You're the ones who aren't people, because you don't care about anyone! You aren't human!
A low snicker came from outside; a cruel, cold chuckle that turned Hermione's bones to ice. 'The Mudblood thinks her little friends are going to save her.' Gaius laughed.
'Well, the little Mudblood's in for a shock, isn't she?' Malevium chuckled. 'Filthy thing doesn't know, does she…'
'Know what?' Hermione demanded. There was no answer but another low snigger. 'Know what!' she screamed, pounding on the door.
'Her little friends can't turn the spell off, now, can they?' Malevium's voice, full of smug gloating. 'Because the dark Lord is the one who set it up. And if anyone other than the Dark Lord tries to stop it… why, they die, don't they. Very, very painfully.'
It took a moment for this to sink in. 'Die?' she whispered softly, the pain of the whisper stabbing her like a dagger. 'Die…' She shook her head, shock giving way to feat, anger, hate. 'No!' she shouted. 'No, it can't be true, it isn't true!'
'Oh, it's true alright.' said Gaius. 'Best start mourning them, filthy Mudblood…'
There were footsteps, and the chatter receded. Hermione hammered on the wooden door, shouting her lungs out.
'No! No, they're not going to die! I won't let them! Let me out, let me out!'
Draco cut into her screaming softly. 'They're gone, Hermione.'
She spun round. 'I know! I know they're gone, you idiot! I've got to get out of here, Harry and Ron…'
'We can't get out.' He shrugged. 'These walls are fairly thick, whatever they're made of. There's no window. And that door may be wood, but it's going to be a hardwood, and it's a few inches thick. You'd never break through it.'
'Well, I have to try!' she shouted, vision blurring with fresh tears. She span again, slammed herself against the door, slammed again, before sinking to the ground in a limp bundle, sobbing loudly.
'Don't cry.' Draco said, sounding as neutral as ever though perhaps a little alarmed. 'What are you crying for?'
She raised her head. 'Harry and Ron are going to die, you imbecile!' she sobbed. 'And I can't get out, I can't help them, I can't tell them not to do it...'
The blond boy shrugged. 'Well they aren't even near the tower yet. They might not get here. So there's no reason to cry.'
'But what if they do…' she replied, her voice now barely a whimper. 'If they do, and I can't warn them… and they'd not have died if I'd just have been able to warn them…'
'If someone you care for dies, and you couldn't do anything to stop it, then you can't be blamed…' he said firmly.
'But I would… I would blame myself…' she whispered.
Draco looked away, and didn't speak again. Hermione kept on sobbing; sobbing for the fear of what might happen, sobbing for the anger she felt at Malevium's cruel words, sobbing at the horrible impotent feeling that had settled sickeningly in her gut. Sobbing until she fell asleep.
~*~
AN: *hums a quiet, 'Dun dun dun!'*
Hehehehehehe…
Is that a coffin we see looming in Harry and Ron's future, or is some ignored factor going to save them? Only new chapters will tell!
And as to the question of Draco's actions, Chapter 8 is the one you're all waiting for. What, you don't think he'll just tell her all that straight away? These things take time. And I know you all have questions… Do ask them, even though most of them are going to be answered. I may have missed something.
And that, I think, is all. Review, review, review, a thousand times review (well, don't actually review a thousand times… just once will do. You know what I mean.)
Please?