Hello and thanks for reading!
Thank you very much for the feedback Ysa0, Smithback, Minerva394 and the Guest. I must confess that last time I was so tired that I forgot to look at the reviews.
There is so much more to come that I want to tell in this story. So many things that Rodolphus and Hermione have to go through, and so much feelings that must be revealed. But I am glad that today I can again post a new chapter and at least a little please you, my dearly beloved readers.
Music for chapter (you can listen to it or ignore it)
Unaloon (Lil Bo Weep) - Codependency
Marilyn Manson - Half-Way & One Step Forward
Someone mercilessly shook her by the shoulder, forcing her to wake up. Hermione slowly opened her eyes to peer into the darkness. Beside her, she could make out the shape of a house elf in a small wisp of faint light from a burnt-out candle. He was small, hunched, with a round bald head and downcast ears. On his wrinkled face, two large yellow eyes shone, and his hands, thin as twisted branches, were crumpling a washed-out towel with ornate embroidery along the edges, which served him instead of clothes. Hermione sat up abruptly in bed as the creature finally emerged into the dark night.
"What?" She managed to squeeze out one single word. Somewhere on the edge of consciousness, the thought was spinning that the domovik would never show himself if there were no reason for this.
The elf pointed a knotted finger somewhere behind her back. Hermione understood him without words. She turned to Rodolphus, but saw nothing. A few more seconds passed before she fumbled for her wand in the dark and lit Lumos at full blast.
Rodolphus was pale and did not budge, she was already used to this. Seeing nothing obvious, she threw off the blanket from him and only after that did she understand everything. He was bleeding again. The house elf raised the alarm, noticing that his master was getting worse.
"What's wrong with these injuries?" Hermione grumbled angrily, pulling herself out of the blanket as quickly as possible.
She haphazardly began to rush around the room, looking for the "Handbook of Fundamentals of Witchcraft Medicine", from which she took spells. The book disappeared somewhere, although Hermione had read it before going to bed. Finally, the handbook was found under the bed. Hermione flipped it to the right page and set it up so the contents could be seen while her hands were busy.
"Freezing the edges of the wounds did not help, so maybe I should try to cauterize them," she reasoned aloud, completely forgetting about the elf, now she had completely different worries.
She put out her wand hand, putting the tip to one of the injuries and was about to cast a spell that promised to solder the edges of especially viciously cursed wounds, when she felt a pull on her elbow. She turned her head. The house elf looked up at her and shook his head frantically.
"You don't think we should cauterize? Do you have another suggestion?"
The elf nodded, causing his rag-like ears to shake. Hermione shifted from foot to foot, waiting for what the house elf would say, but he did not utter a word, only beckoned her closer with his finger. She squatted down to understand what he wanted from her. The house elf snapped his fingers, and one of the bandages on Rodolphus's side vanished, revealing a jagged wound that had been cut open. A bony, shriveled palm covered that patch of skin for a moment. Then Hermione saw the damage heal. She thought that was all she needed to see, but the house elf seemed to read her mind, drawing her attention again with a wave of his hand. He again pointed to the place where the wound had been. It was ripped open again, as if a blunt, serrated blade had been slowly passed over it.
Hermione looked at the brownie wearily, "I already know the wounds are reopening."
But the house elf was not finished yet, he grabbed her hand with a magic wand and shook it with all his might.
"What do you want to tell me?"
She seemed completely unaware, three days of almost no sleep made themselves felt. She only realized that the house elf was trying to convey to her something about a magic wand.
"Am I using the wand incorrectly?"
The house elf shook his head.
"Am I need a special spell?" She looked at the handbook, but the house elf snapped his finger and the book instantly flared up and burned out in a second, leaving not even a handful of ashes. Hermione flinched in surprise and guessed incoherently: "Am I not good at healing?"
Again no. Hermione stared at the house elf, her head somehow completely blank. The house elf tried to bend her fingers away from the wand.
"Do you want me to give this wand to you?"
Genuine horror was reflected on the face of the unfortunate creature. At this, the witch only snorted with contempt for the wizards, who were afraid to give the elves magic wands. According to her observations, it was impossible to find a more harmless and kind creature than the house elf. He covered his eyes with his palms, while releasing Hermione's hand, and then it finally dawned on her.
"You want me not to use the wand at all."
The fingers spread out and yellow eyes flashed in the gap between them. The house elf nodded.
"But how then to help him without a wand?" she muttered, glancing at Rodolphus, who needed her. She blinked once, twice, and turned to the house elf. Her eyebrows shot up. "Wait a minute, you mean he's bleeding because of magic?"
The house elf shook his head affirmatively, delighted that the witch had finally caught on.
Hermione gripped the edge of the bed, carefully examining what she saw in front of her. At least a dozen cuts that returned time after time, each time the edges of the wounds became more jagged and less pliable due to magic. And it was precisely those injuries that she bandaged by hand in the Muggle way that had decreased, they were opened much less often and bled many times less. Thus the house elf noticed the difference she had overlooked. Well, here she is - supposedly the brightest witch, who did not even guess that she almost killed Rodolphus with her attempts to heal him.
Hermione felt her elbow being tugged again. She turned around. The elf held a bandage and the already familiar Essence of Dittany in outstretched hands. Offering to repeat what she had already done, but this time it was necessary to do without magic.
"Will you help? Let's do it faster with two pair of hands," her lips broke into a smile. She was once again convinced that house elves are wonderful creatures, worthy of better treatment.
Two hours in the laboratory flew by like an endless eternity. Hermione was in a hurry to brew a potion to replenish blood. The previous supply was already exhausted, and Rudolphus was still losing blood, albeit with less intensity, and this was due to the vigilance of the house elf. The witch forbade herself to think that at this very moment, while she was busy and could not leave the cauldron unattended, one of the wizard's injuries had reopened. There was no one to look after him while she was busy here, because the house elf was out of sight again. She had to prioritize, it was more important to pour the finished potion into the wizard.
In a hurry to finish the preparation, she cut the ingredients with incredible speed, but it was impossible to speed up the cooking process. It was important to observe the temperature of the fire and bring the potion to the desired condition, without making mistakes in the amount of stirring and the sequence of adding ingredients. There was no hurry. The color of the potion had to remain transparent until the very last stage. And it was necessary to stir the brew patiently no more than seven times in thirty seconds, otherwise the contents of the boiler could curdle. By the end of the process, it seemed more than two hours had passed when the potion acquired a dark red hue and a condensed consistency. Hermione poured the liquid into the vials, which was also a very long task, collected a new supply of potions on a tray and went upstairs to her room.
She had just climbed the stairs and turned into the east wing when something unexpected happened.
"Who are you?" — her foot stumbled for no apparent reason when she heard a woman's voice. The wand was in her pocket, and her hands were still holding the tray of potions. The vials rang, threatening to fall to the floor and break, as soon as the witch turned sharply to the source of the voice.
A tanned woman in a purple robe was addressing her from a portrait. She had soft features, gentle eyes. She radiated calmness and benevolence with her whole appearance, but still... Still, Hermione noticed a certain constraint in the curve of juicy lips and a twinkle of impatience flashed in black eyes.
It took her a few seconds to calm her heart, which jumped to her throat, because for a moment it seemed to her that it was Bellatrix who came to check on her husband, and found her instead. But no, that woman wouldn't have asked Hermione who she was, because she knew the answer perfectly well. Most likely, she would have cursed her recent victim without further words, without giving her time to recover.
Hermione moved closer to the wall where the portrait hung. Until that moment, the frames were always empty, which was strange in itself, and therefore it was a big surprise to see someone's portrait. The woman didn't look like Rodolphus at all, and there was no nameplate on the frame. Based on the cut of her robes and the hairstyle in which her short black hair was tucked, Hermione assumed that this witch lived closer to the beginning of the twentieth century and most likely was some distant relative of Rodolphus, but not his mother.
The woman spoke again: "What should I call you?"
"Penelope Clearwater," — already habitually she had a prepared lie, this time it turned out to be very natural to call someone else's name. — "And you?"
"Leta Lestrange," — the witch introduced herself, smiling more sincerely. "I wanted to ask you, Penelope."
Hermione nodded at this, trying to understand how dangerous it is for her to talk to the portrait and where the inhabitants of the paintings go when they are not sitting in their rightful places.
Leta continued: "Rodolphus has not been seen for several days. Where is he?"
Hermione stared at the portrait for a few moments, trying to think of something to say. The smile on the woman's face faded, leaving only sadness and worry when she did not wait for an answer.
"It bothers me," she whispered hurriedly. The witch carefully examined the contents of the tray. "Is he hurt? Looks like he's lost a lot of blood... Did you summon a healer?"
Hermione was embarrassed, she shouldn't have stopped next to this picture at all. She should have ignored the witch in the portrait and then she wouldn't have had to frantically invent an acceptable answer.
"There was no need for that-"
Leta interrupted Hermione's inarticulate attempts to justify herself: "Are you sure about that? In my memory, Rodolphus has never disappeared from view for such a long time."
"Really?" — Hermione blurted out with unnecessary mockery before she could stop herself. She ruefully tried to smooth it over, "He's fine. He will appear soon, and you will see for yourself."
"Can I see him? My portrait is easily removed from the wall."
Hermione shook her head, "You have nothing to worry about, he's fine, he's resting now, he needs peace."
Leta looked Hermione up and down and back again, a smile appeared on her face, but this time it was frankly arrogant: "Well ... It was nice to meet you, Penelope," — the name was pronounced so that it became immediately clear that Leta did not fall for the deception. — "I have to go."
Hermione felt that she had done something stupid by being rude to this lady and maybe signed Rodolphus' death sentence. She asked in a distracted voice:
"Where to go?"
"Home," the woman replied simply and disappeared behind the frame.
Well, that's it, she left and it was unknown what the consequences of this conversation would be. Hermione hurried into the room, quickening her pace. The feeling that this witch did not appear by chance was strengthened when she recalled all their dialogue in her head. Most likely, the woman came to find out what was wrong with Rodolphus, maybe his brother sent her. Most likely it was Rabastan Lestrange, probably the main portrait of Leta was in his house. Then as soon as he becomes aware of everything, he will definitely appear without an invitation.
Hurriedly flying into the room, Hermione slammed the door with her foot not carefully enough. One of the potions staggered and fell on its pot-bellied side, after which it rolled to the floor right under the sole of her shoe. Cursing softly, the Gryffindor went to the bedside table, where she placed the remaining vials. Only then did she pay attention to the man lying with his eyes closed.
His face was pale, as if the potions did not help, but the measured breathing and calm expression did not leave him. Hermione had suffered a lot with him, but still hoped for his speedy recovery. It was strange how indifferent the Death Eaters turned out to be to his fate. No one except his own brother, the silent house elf and the portrait of a long-dead relative did not even bother about him. No one seemed to notice his absence. Even his own wife. If this was the way it was accepted in the pure-blooded world of wizards, then it is not surprising that many of them became embittered and cruel people, although this did not justify their actions.
To adjust the down pillow and bend the blanket to check the condition of the wounds — all this has already become a familiar sequence of actions. The bandage on his left shoulder was soaked through with blood, so Hermione sighed and went to the bathroom to get some water. She set a small basin on the bedside table and began to untie the knot of the bandage that she had tightened only that morning. A lot of things now had to be done manually, reducing the use of magic to a minimum. Fortunately, the house elf noticed a certain pattern in time that wounds opened more often from spells. Otherwise, it would be impossible to imagine that she would have to completely abandon witchcraft in treatment. Just in case, Hermione tried not to conjure at all to the room next to Rodolphus. It is possible that even such sorcery directly affected his condition. Otherwise, she chose Muggle methods as a good alternative to healing, so the wounds reacted less. The only thing that was justified to use was potions and extracts in ready-made form.
Is it worth mentioning how tired she was in just a few days. She slept only fitfully. In addition, she had to suspend taking the the potion for dreamless sleep in order to be able to wake up easily at any second. This affected the quality of her sleep.
The bandage wet with blood flew into the trash. Hermione blotted the sponge, squeezed out its pulp from excess moisture and began to wash the wound. She had done this several times before, but still felt a little embarrassed at it. The "Handbook of Fundamentals of Witchcraft Medicine" described the daily routine of caring for unconscious patients: spells that helped with hygiene procedures; spells for injecting potions; spells to check the general condition; and much more. But! There was definitely nothing about how to do without spells at all. In the first days, she used these convenient methods of care without a second thought and rejoiced, because otherwise it would have been much harder for her to cope not only physically, but also mentally. Now she had to give up this convenience. Even when it came to single injuries, it was safer to just wash off the blood with a regular sponge and water. That's what she did. And it gave its result, the damage became less each time. All of this had a peculiar price.
She didn't want to know too much about Rodolphus. Especially what she shouldn't have known. And now it has become inevitable, but necessary. Last time, the old house elf helped her, taking over most of the work. This allowed Hermione to avoid the most uncomfortable moments. However, even the little that was revealed to her was more than enough.
She had never seen a mature man so close and so clearly in detail before. Her gaze itself noticed what ingredients nature used to enhance the aesthetics of male appearance. Rough in character, it clung to a combination of mature features, harmony of muscles, tendons and large structure, articulation of protruding bones in places, a combination of elastic but rough skin, scars and body hair. Hermione would rather not be so attentive. It's not something she should be thinking about. Although her thoughts sometimes drifted in a kind of tired oblivion. Her hand holding the sponge unconsciously ran strokes from the line of the neck along the sinuous shoulder arch. Only after a moment, catching herself, she stopped. She looked away in embarrassment, glad that there were no witnesses to this scene. The strangest thing about all this was how the boundaries were erased in those seconds, and she forgot who Rodolphus really was. She shouldn't have let that happen. And what Hermione had doomed herself to by getting involved with this man. All he brought her was a solid bunch of problems, and she depended on whether he would survive or not.
She had finished washing off the remnants of blood, now it was possible to apply healing extract and bandage the wizard's shoulder, which she tried to finish quickly, touching warm skin as little as possible during the process. It remains only to hope that this time the bleeding will not happen again.
"The woman in the portrait asked about you," — she said, lifting Rodolphus's head and placing pillows one by one. — "She called herself Leta. It looks like she's worried about you."
Finally, with enough pillows, his body was raised at a comfortable angle. Hermione sat on the edge of the bed. She covered his neck and chest with a napkin. Then uncorking the bottle and armed with a teaspoon, she carefully opened the man's lips. It was necessary to pour two bottles of potion into his mouth in drip portions. Another long process that required patience and care. It was the only way she could give him a potion without using magic.
"I'll shade the portraits because I don't want to take any chances. You'd better wake up soon, Rodolphus."
Rodolphus was an ideal candidate for the role she gave him, but he had one significant drawback in the face of an annoying brother. Hermione didn't even think about him at first, but she should have.
Standing at the window in the living room, she looked through the veil of a gray downpour. A tall shadow loomed at the gate. Hermione could have bet it was Rabastan Lestrange himself. He walked along the gate with a sweeping step, like a wolf at the bars of a cage, and somehow resembled his older brother from a distance. He probably didn't even see her, but just in case she was standing so as to remain unnoticed. His behavior made her nervous. She was afraid of what he could do to her if he managed to get into the house. But she had his brother's wand and Harry's invisibility cloak — so she could stand up for herself.
He never answered the letter, which means he suspected something was wrong, and when Leta's portrait informed him that Rodolphus had not been seen for a long time, an unknown witch was wandering around the house instead of him, who also dared to curtain the portraits, he decided to fulfill his threat. Spell lights flashed from his magic wand every now and then, but the gate wouldn't budge. And no one, including the house elf, came out to meet him. He must have been furious.
"When will he calm down and leave?" she muttered.
There was a booming bang from upstairs. Hermione jumped in fright, it seemed to her that Rabastan decided to take the estate by storm, but no, he was still powerlessly pacing at the locked gate. Then it dawned on her that the noise came from the bedroom.
She rushed upstairs, completely forgetting about the uninvited guest. If Rodolphus was finally awake, then she had nothing to worry about anymore. He will convince his brother to leave or...
She stopped at the open door and her smile faded. The bed was empty. The room also seemed empty at first glance, but then the witch noticed that a blanket was lying on the floor. She walked around the bed and found Rodolphus. The wizard was lying there looking around in some kind of prostration, apparently he tried to get up, but failed in this, still too exhausted.
"Rodolphus!" she knelt down in front of him and helped him sit up, putting her shoulder as a support.
He leaned against her, apparently not realizing that she would not be able to hold his weight easily for a long time. The wizard was sweating, his body still exhausted by the insidious spell. Heavy hot breath touched her cheek. He fixed his bleary gaze on Hermione.
His hand abruptly gripped her forearm until it hurt. Just like the first time he pressed her into the sand, causing pain. Just like then, her fingers instantly went numb due to the fact that the blood stopped circulating through her veins. She looked at it and with difficulty coped with the impulse that seized her whole nature — the desire to fight back. But a simple thought stopped her: it would be wrong to show him her fear. It was probably just the reflex of a man grasping at straws, it's unlikely Rodolphus realized how much he was hurting her. And he was hardly going to do anything to her, he was in no condition to plot evil. She had to take several deep breaths in and out to convince herself of this. After that, she tried to gently but persistently free herself. It didn't work out, Rodolphus only tightened his fingers. She looked into his face, he was looking straight at her. There in his eyes was only vulnerability on the verge of pain, no evil.
"Do you want some water?" — swallowing a lump in her throat, she asked the first thing that came to mind. Her free hand reached for the wand in her pocket. After all, if he doesn't let her go, then she will have to...
He let go.
The man's fingers unclenched. Rodolphus exhaled wearily without answering, and did not show that he understood the question at all. His eyelids closed, and his head rested on the witch's shoulder, as if he was convinced that she would not run away anywhere and calmed down on that. Only after that Hermione relaxed a little and imperceptibly wiped a burning tear from her cheek.
Emotions have always only hindered her. She needed to reassemble herself. She had to believe that everything was fine. After all, she's still alive. She's breathing. It will continue like this. She shouldn't feel broken. And Rodolphus... he had to believe her. That she wouldn't hurt him, that she'd be there if he needed her. This will calm him down and help her.
"You should go back to bed," she whispered, stroking the man's quivering back as if that might convince him. "I'll help you, Rodolphus, but you have to get up yourself. We can't use magic now.
She coaxed him with a gentle voice, afraid to provoke a man into something she would be completely unprepared for. Maybe he didn't hear her at all. It seemed like his mind was as foggy as his gaze had been earlier. Hermione swayed, giving momentum to the movement, and Rodolphus obediently made the necessary effort, he tried to stand up on his own, rather understanding her intention at the level of instincts than realizing her whispers: "Yes, that's it, you're doing well. A little more and we can rest."
He exerted strength, overcoming his own weakness, and she guided him. Only their last step turned out to be wrong, and both lost their balance. Fortunately, Rodolphus still landed on the bed when he fell, and not on the floor. Hermione freed herself and helped him wrap himself in a blanket, not failing to briefly examine the bandages. What a relief it was not to find new traces of blood. Together they coped with the task, although it took a lot of effort from both of them and took at least a minute. It must have been a hard pull for the wizard, because he was now lying exhausted with his eyes closed. Hermione crawled away from him to the other side of the big bed and gave herself a few moments to overcome the trembling.
Soon she rose to give Rodolphus the promised water. She was glad that now the time when she had to pour potions, water and liquid food from a teaspoon into his mouth was over. It took an inordinate amount of time and patience. And now he could drink and eat on his own, all Hermione had to do to get him drunk was to help him get up and bring a glass of cool water to his lips. After several days of unconsciousness, it seemed like a miracle to watch him take sips. When he got drunk, she left him to rest. It was necessary to wait for time before starting to feed him, and the time for the next batch of potions would come only the next morning. Rodolphus fell asleep almost instantly.
The witch left an empty glass on the nightstand and looked out the window. It was harder to see the gate from here than from the living room, but Rabastan was nowhere to be found. She hoped he was gone, and not found some loophole in the protection of the house. A few more minutes passed, and the younger Lestrange did not show up.
Hermione gave up the pointless waiting and lay down on the bed, she wanted to sleep while there was time for it.