Chapter Twenty-Four: Burned
"Alright, enough of this," Harry said the day before they were due to head to Malfoy Manor.
Hermione put down the dishes she was drying while Ron dispelled the knives that he had cutting carrots, onions, and potatoes.
"Sit," Harry said, pointing at the kitchen table.
Bewildered, Hermione took a seat, and Ron did as well. Harry looked between them, before settling his gaze on Ron.
"Ron, I know you've apologised. But it's not enough. You need to promise that you will never do that again, because—hell—you can't keep on saying mean shit to Hermione when you get angry."
Ron sat, face flushed, carefully avoiding looking at Harry or Hermione, while Hermione sat thunderstruck.
"I didn't mean—"
"It doesn't matter what you meant. You were an arse and you still said it. You need to promise that you'll stop saying shit like this." Harry glowered.
"I...I know. I'll tr—I'll stop," Ron looked down at the table, before looking up at Hermione again. "I am sorry," he added miserably.
Hermione didn't say anything for a long moment. It was incredibly tempting to continue her silent treatment of Ron, but Harry was looking at her expectantly, and she was tired of being angry at Ron. He had come back. He had been treating her with respect and taking the things she said seriously.
"It's...just don't do that again," she said, suddenly exhausted by the conversation. "I'm going to do some reading now. Please get the dishes Harry." She left the kitchen then, unable to handle the tense atmosphere any longer. She had forgiven Ron, but she didn't know if she could forgive him any more after this.
Severus balanced carefully on his broomstick, taking care not to let on that he was flying unassisted. He had recently reverse engineered the spell that the Dark Lord used to fly without a broom, but did not wish to advertise this fact. It was not safe to appear too clever in front of the Dark Lord.
He steadied himself mentally, shoving all of his conflicted and agitated feelings about Hermione deep down in his consciousness. He had grown more and more concerned for her through her close calls and injuries, and he knew that their plan to save the prisoners was a risky move. He could not afford to slip up around the Dark Lord, and he was honest enough with himself to know that there was something to slip up about.
He had gotten into a shouting match with the portrait of Dumbledore about his plan to save Luna Lovegood—Dumbledore insisted that it was too risky to his position, but Astoria Greengrass had been beside herself when she approached him for help (who knew that Lovegood's publishing partner had been Greengrass?) and he knew that he was the only one who could help now. He could not let his Slytherins down.
"I caught the trail of Potter and his friends," Severus said, carefully spitting out the word "friends", "right by the Forbidden Forest. I have brewed a potion that will allow us to follow their Apparitions for the next few jumps—it seems that they have been camping to avoid detection. Would you like to follow, my lord?" Severus asked with a subservient bow of his head. His breath came in white puffs out of his mouth, and he could feel the chill of winter through his gloves, despite the Warming Charm that he had cast on himself. He hoped the rest of the Death Eaters froze their bollocks off.
"Excellent work as always, Severus. Come, let us find the Potter brat," Voldemort said with a gruesome smile, and waved his hand for Severus to go ahead with his potion.
Severus carefully poured out a small measure of the potion in a circle where the grass had been disturbed. The potion melted into the ground, and then rose in a shimmer of green smoke, forming a writhing green mass. The ball of green smoke hovered for a moment, before it shot off directly east of the Forbidden Forest, in the direction of Loch Ness.
Severus smiled grimly as Voldemort and his followers sped after the smoke—the Apparition Smoke potion was an old invention that had fallen out of favour with the Aurors mostly because the moment another mode of transportation was used, the trail would stop, but that was a little-known fact, as the potion itself was quite old. Few knew of the potion, and fewer knew of its limits. Severus had claimed to have discovered the potion recently.
Given how many forests Hermione had mentioned camping before they had taken a short broomstick ride to find a nearby town for supplies, Severus estimated that he could keep the Death Eaters flying all day before they would stop, counting on Voldemort's obsession with finding Potter. He was not even worried about what would happen when he would inevitably fail to deliver Potter to the Dark Lord—this was the first credible lead they had to Potter in months, and Voldemort had been especially pleased with him in the aftermath of Dumbledore's death.
He gripped his broomstick tighter at the thought of his deceased mentor. Even though he was in the Dark Lord's favour and they were engaged in a wild goose chase across the country, there was no reason to be lax in his Occlumency. He focused on his frustrations with the boy, an ever convenient smokescreen for his inner thoughts, and followed after the other Death Eaters at a relaxed pace.
The trail of smoke had led to the rocky shores of Loch Ness, and then southeast to Blackmuir Wood. The flying took only twenty minutes, and Severus frowned before he remembered that their next destination was in Wales. He leaned more into his broomstick—no sense in flying unassisted when there was a perfectly fine broomstick to help him—and prepared for a long day of flying.
Hermione went over their plan again in her mind as she studied the innocuous looking quill that was their Portkey into Malfoy Manor. (Severus had the ability to create Portkey to the Malfoy Manor as one of their Secret Keepers, as a part of the Inner Circle, and he had the background magic of Hogwarts to prevent his Portkey creation from being detected.)
They were to take the Portkey directly to the cellars of the Secret-Kept Malfoy Manor and Stun whoever was guarding the cells. She was to stand guard in disguise in case one of the Malfoys entered the dungeon and Stun if they approached. Harry and Ron were to blast open the cells and extract the prisoners with one of the four Portkeys that they had been given. Once they were done and gave her a signal, then she was to leave. In total, the whole plan was to take less than five minutes.
It was a simple plan. The Manor was supposed to be empty of all Death Eaters save for the Malfoys, and one jailor, and Lucius Malfoy no longer had a wand. So long as they avoided venturing too far from the holding cells, it was unlikely that they would run into any Malfoys; Severus had said that they preferred to stick to their own rooms and avoid the prisoners as much as possible.
It was going to be fine. Hermione repeated the steps of their plan over and over to herself, and checked her disguise one final time. She had charmed her hair platinum blonde and had it bound tightly in a bun. Her eyes were bright blue, and she had charmed her cheeks and lips fuller. Somehow it managed to make her face look all wrong, but at least she could not recognize herself. Ron had been charmed brunet again, and Harry's hair was dirty blond; their eyes, nose, cheeks and chins were also Transfigured so that they only bore a passing resemblance to themselves if one looked.
"Remember the plan," she said to herself one last time. She was nervous, but earlier she had dreamed that they had won the war, and all was right in the Muggle world, and that she had been having tea with her parents and her friends, including Luna and Severus. She tried to hold on to the sense of rightness that had come with the dream, which helped ease her nerves a little.
"Of course we remember the bloody plan," Harry huffed. "We went over it at least ten times."
"Sorry—I meant for myself," Hermione said anxiously.
"All right. Let's go—we won't have forever to do this," said Harry.
"Remember—"
"If we get separated, take the prisoners out and leave you to use your own Portkey or be rescued by your Slytherin friend. Don't lose your wand. I know," Harry said, exasperated. "I'm convinced it's actually Malfoy who you've been talking to all along."
"You know I can't confirm or deny that," Hermione said, repeating herself for what felt like the hundredth time since Harry decided on his theory that Hermione's contact was actually Draco Malfoy. It was closer to the truth in some ways than his previous theory that it was Theo Nott, and it made her uneasy. Harry had said he would forgive her even if it was Malfoy, but what would he think if it was a grown Death Eater with blood on his hands?
"Enough of that. We're ready, let's go," Ron cut in, carefully placing the quill that Severus had charmed into a Portkey onto the ground. Hermione studied the unfamiliar disguised faces of Ron and Harry, and took a steadying breath. She could do this.
"Portus," Hermione said, tapping the quill with her wand once. "Okay. One, two, three—"
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and focused heavily on breathing through her nose to lessen the sensation of nausea that Portkey travel caused, then landed with a wobble on her feet. She looked down and saw an ornate cream and blue Persian rug beneath her feet.
There was a door left ajar to the left of where they landed, where a faint stench of human waste came from.
"That way," Hermione hissed, and Harry and Ron left to enter the holding cells. The door closed behind them, and she heard nothing for a moment until there was the sound of a heavy thud.
Hermione bounced on her feet while scanning the hallway. She could hear a muffled conversation from the other side of the wall, and then a loud boom that shook the curtains she was perched by. There was a faint smell of smoke, and then—
"What's this?" a cultured female voice asked.
Hermione froze for a split second; there was a flash of red light and then she fell.
"ReEnnervate." A vaguely familiar voice addressed her.
Hermione found herself bound tight with thick black ropes in the middle of a drawing parlour, and distantly noticed that the windows were hung with beautiful damask ice blue curtains. She flexed her hands and found that she had no wand. She could not reach the Portkey in her pocket either.
"What have you done with the prisoners?" Bellatrix Lestrange asked conversationally as she came into view, her wild black hair a dark halo around her head. She twirled Hermione's wand idly in her hands.
This was not in the plan, Hermione thought with a rising sense of hysteria.
"I haven't done anything with the prisoners," Hermione said. Suddenly she felt a stabbing pain in her head, and instinctively shielded her mind from the pain with Occlumency. Bellatrix is performing Legilimency, she realised, and immediately pushed forward a nonsensical rush of the sense of disorientation she felt upon landing in the Manor, fear, and the sight of heavy curtains.
Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at Hermione, and circled her carefully.
I should have Disillusioned myself instead of attempted a disguise, Hermione thought, a touch more hysterical.
"You know, somehow, I don't think that's quite true," Bellatrix continued on in a relaxed manner. "I found poor Wormy knocked out and all of our prisoners gone, and you will answer me!" she finished on a shriek, and shot a short Crucio at Hermione.
Pain erupted across her skin and deep in her muscles. Hermione convulsed and the ropes binding her skin left trails of small fires where they chafed.
"I said I didn't do anything with the prisoners," she spat out, shuddering from the sudden cessation of the spell.
"Draco, come help me with our guest," Bellatrix cooed.
It was then that Hermione noticed the rest of the Malfoys huddled against the wall. Lucius was trying to escape the notice of Bellatrix, Narcissa stood stiffly with no expression on her face, and Draco looked visibly uncomfortable to be there.
"What?" He croaked.
"Just a little encouragement, dear nephew, you know how to do it." Bellatrix made a shooing motion at him, and then Draco walked into Hermione's field of vision.
"You don't have to do this Malfoy," Hermione said. His eyes widened, and she cursed herself. After six years of school together he would have recognised her voice, even if she was mostly in disguise.
"Do you know this filthy Mudblood?" Bellatrix demanded.
Hermione wanted to ask how she knew she was a Muggle-born, but she was wearing jeans and a jumper.
"...I don't think so," Draco said, swallowing. Maybe he did not recognise her voice.
"Are you sure? She seems to know you," Bellatrix said, circling Hermione slowly. She tilted her head, and then pointed her wand. "FINITE!"
Hermione shuddered, and briefly berated herself for underestimating the intelligence and paranoia of Bellatrix Lestrange.
"She looks like Harry Potter's Mudblood!" Narcissa Malfoy gasped. Hermione's heart was beating so fast it felt as if it was going to burst out of her chest.
"Does she?" Bellatrix asked with a pleased grin, slowly advancing upon Hermione.
Hermione clenched her jaw and forced herself to say nothing.
"What do you think, Draco?" Bellatrix asked, not looking at him.
Draco looked away from Hermione and mumbled something.
"Well? Speak up!" Bellatrix snarled.
"I'm...I can't be sure," he said, avoiding eye contact with Hermione.
"It's her," Narcissa insisted. Hermione wished the elder female Malfoy would fall off a cliff.
Bellatrix turned back to Hermione. "What do you have to say for yourself, Mudblood?" Hermione bit her tongue as she panicked about keeping her secrets.
"Draco, be a dear and help your old school friend remember her manners," Bellatrix said.
"C-crucio," he stuttered.
Hermione flinched, bracing herself for the burn of the spell, and let out a yelp of surprise when all she felt was a dull ache. A long-forgotten voice in her head reminded her that you have to mean it.
"I think you can do better than that," Bellatrix said. "Make her scream."
"Crucio," Draco said, looking desperately at Hermione.
Hermione's mind felt sluggish, but then all of a sudden she felt as if she was floating into the air, and then Draco's voice was in her head suggesting that she should scream, wouldn't screaming at Bellatrix be nice? Distantly, she remembered Severus' voice drilling her to ignore the floating sensation, but screaming sounded like a good idea, and in this moment she trusted Draco. So she screamed.
"Better. You must be the Mudblood—how many Mudbloods can there be with that hair? Tell me—where is Harry Potter?" Bellatrix growled. Some distant part of her noted that Bellatrix was in no position to comment on her hair.
The voice in her head ordered her not to answer Bellatrix before it was cut off, and then Hermione jolted with alarm. Pain bloomed in her head, as if someone was twisting a pickaxe in her skull. Her eyes watered. She felt nauseous and tried to focus on counting her breaths to maintain her Occlumency.
"This won't do. Crucio! Imperio!" Bellatrix's Cruciatus was magnitudes worse than Draco's. Hermione felt as if her brain had swelled and burst, as if her insides had been cut and exposed to the elements, as if she was burning alive, and then the sensation suddenly ended with the most relaxing sensation she ever felt. She couldn't focus on her pain, but in her mind she could hear Bellatrix crooning, asking for where Harry was. She opened her mouth to respond, but then Severus' voice was telling her that she needed to fight. Distant memories of lessons with Severus helped her come back to herself. She hung on tightly to those memories, as she clawed her way free from the suffocating mental control.
Pain slammed back into her when she threw off Bellatrix's Imperio; she let out a low groan as an echo of the Cruciatus' burn erupted across her body.
"What have you done with the prisoners? WHERE IS THE POTTER BOY?" Bellatrix screeched. Hermione nearly threw up with the brief respite from the Cruciatus, before another wave of pain hit her. Her head hammered with the pain of rough Legilimency before her entire body tensed and spasmed. She hit her head against the marble floors as she toppled over and screamed.
Bellatrix cursed, then drew a knife from her belt and advanced on Hermione. Draco flinched and left the room at the sight of the knife. Hermione had the presence of mind to be grateful that he did not see her tears and sobs at the sight of the knife.
She screamed again when Bellatrix stabbed the knife into her left arm.
"Last chance to answer before I split your pretty skin in ways that can't be undone," Bellatrix hissed, dragging the knife up. "Where is Harry Potter?"
Hermione screamed at the pain of the knife as it cut through her flesh, already tender from the Cruciatus. Every part of her body was on fire and each breath she drew dragged cold air against her raw throat. Something warm trickled down her skin where the knife met flesh.
She screamed again when Bellatrix withdrew the knife and hit her with another Crucio. It felt as if all the blood in her body was leaving through the gash in her arm, and her mind whited out with pain. She reached out desperately in her mind—in her head, she heard Severus' voice saying go somewhere safe—then suddenly all the pain dimmed down, then—
"Where—" There was a crash, and then there was a spray of breaking and tinkling glass shards.
The chandelier, Hermione thought dimly, once she saw the candles spilt everywhere. But that made no sense. Chandeliers did not belong on the ground. She barely had time to notice the cut-up faces of the two elder Malfoys and that Bellatrix was groaning before small bony fingers gripped her right arm tightly. She just had enough presence of mind to pick up a wand off the floor when she spotted it.
"Dobby is here to help you," she heard in her ear, which made as much sense as the chandelier on the ground, and then the world began to spin.
AN: Happy holidays everyone, and thank you all for waiting patiently! Sorry this was a bit late - it's been busy and I've been under the weather, but feeling better now. :) But the good news is two chapters this week, and back to the regular posting schedule after this. Hope everyone is enjoying the holiday season or is recovering well from it!