WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: Character death. Abuse. Violence. Death. Gore.
Warning for every chapter: Slavery. Dubious consent. Violence. Mentions of rape. Death. Assault. General gore warnings. Please read responsibly.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters and no money has been made from this.
Enjoy...
Chapter Thirteen
"Begin."
A hush falls over the crowd, some fidget uncomfortably, unsure whether to laugh or oppose the idea. The two servants both glance at their masters unsure if they should start duelling or not. Shifting, Yaxley sneers at his servant, before turning back to the Dark Lord, but he remains quiet.
"My Lord," A volunteer breaks from the crowd, Dolohov stepping forward.
"Yes, Antonin?" The Dark Lord replies taking a seat upon a chair shaped like a throne.
"To the death my Lord?"
"That is what I said, was it not?"
"It is my Lord," He struggles to try to think of how best to oppose the order.
"They are not trained in the Dark Arts," Lady Lestrange speaks out stepping forward.
"I am aware."
A murmur breaks out from the crowd, whispering between the Elite, confusion mostly. Servants are trained to defend and heal, they are trained in many aspects of magic. They are not trained to fight, not to duel.
"How do you suppose they duel, my Lord?" Lestrange asks curiously. "To the death my Lord?"
"Well, that is the challenge, isn't it?" He smirks.
"Well come on then!" Crouch Junior snaps at the servants. "Get on with it! Begin!"
A spell narrowly misses Crabbe's servant, a spell from his own master a warning to start duelling or else. It's sloppy the first few spells, with neither servant outdoing the other. Sighing, Bellatrix snatches a glass of wine, downing it in one go coming to stop near Hermione.
Neither wizard nor witch is particularly talented, it ends when Crabbe hits his servant with the killing curse. A bark of a laugh from the Lestrange brothers, Crouch clapping in amusement.
"I thought I'd fall asleep!" Crouch shouts. "Edwards, go."
Swallowing, the young wizard jogs into the ring as Yaxeley's servant slinks back to her master's side. Raising his hands Crouch Jr entices the crowd challenging the servants.
"I thought our Lord was choosing!" Avery comments.
"Anyone willing to oppose Barty?" The Dark Lord asks sipping his wine.
"Have it Barty, Henderson. Show the lad what the Lestrange household can do." Rabastan calls.
Smiling, the witch steps out from the shadow of her master stepping into the ring. The air clashes, much stronger spells a variation of creative spells, each servant trying to outdo the other. Neither are trained in the dark arts, both using everyday spells in the hope to gain the upper hand.
Henderson emerges victorious, her last spell propelling Edwards backwards, colliding with the stairs. The crack as his skull connects with the stone, the red seeping across the floor. A cheer from Rabastan, the finger from Barty as he sulks.
"Longbottom the redhead and Nott the strange-looking one." The Dark Lord orders.
It's a brutal game, some servants revelling in the idea of causing pain. Just as twisted as their masters, some servants distressed by the events. Dragging the body of a servant from the ring, Wormtail throws them to the side. Shuffling back from the ring hiding in the back of the room.
"Carrow the tall one, Goyle, the blonde."
Shaking, Goyle's servant moves to the ring, and Carrow's servant bounces on his feet excited. A screech, Goyle's servant runs, heading for the doors. The laughter of the Elite, the red face of Goyle. Chuckling, the Dark Lord rises with a flick of his hand, the servant is lifted into the air.
"Nagini, dinner."
Turning away, Hermione stops herself from watching the snake constrict the life out of the servant. The screams ended in gagging noises. Somewhere a servant pukes, and Theo shifts uncomfortable, most likely scared. It's only now, that Hermione regrets bringing the servant with her, if she knew this was going to happen she wouldn't have brought anyone.
"Very well, Snape," The Dark Lord replies holding his hand preventing Carrow's servant from leaving his ring. "Burbage."
Turning, Hermione stares at the older witch, hoping Snape will stop her from entering the ring. Nodding, Snape steps aside, allowing Charity to step past, walking hesitantly into the ring.
"Unfair," a voice shouts from the crowd. "She's trained in the Dark Arts!"
"It would be true, except Carrow servant here works at the Auror department. Tell me, boy, what is your name."
"Johnson." Carrow's servant answers confidently.
"Do you feel this to be a fair fight?"
"Aye, My Lord. I do."
"Very well, begin!"
It's a different kind of duel, both experienced in some aspect of duelling. Johnson is sloppy in footwork, but his magic is strong. Hermione watches, hand balled into fists, and dread it fills her stomach. She can see Charity struggling, such a peaceful person, she wouldn't wish to cause harm. Smoke erupts from burning clothing, a poorly aimed Incedio.
The flashing of their spells cast shadows in the smoke. They barely contain to their rings, the duel pulsing, pushing them to their limits. A sharp gasp, then silence.
Stumbling, Charity collapses.
Dead.
Hands shaking, Hermione stares at the older witch, she's dead. Staring into space, never to offer advice. To offer her help, to never speak again. The sight makes her sick and makes her angry. Carrow's servant is no longer cocky, no longer bouncing. He is staring at the witch dead on the floor as though everything is catching up with him.
Nothing is by accident. Nothing.
The room is bustling, with activity, and the servants are shrinking. Dropping in number. They are all nothing. She blinks back tears watching as they drag Charity's body from the platform throwing her amongst the rest of the bodies.
"He's after something," Hermione whispers to Theo.
"Sorry?" Theo asks, eyes red, not from the smoke in the air, but sadness.
"The Dark Lord, I don't know what but he is up to something."
"What do you…"
"Red Kite!" The voice makes her jump, she turns back to the Dark Lord who is watching her. "Granger."
All eyes turn to her, she swallows, no Red Kite has been chosen yet. Why did she open her big mouth, she should have stayed quiet?
"Would you care, Granger to share with the rest of us," The Dark Lord demands? "Why do you whisper between yourselves?"
She avoids the glare from Bellatrix, foolish of her to be caught talking. She knows better than to open her mouth to voice her opinion.
"Apologies," Hermione bows her head. "I was just explaining to my colleague, the rules of a duel, I did not mean to interrupt."
"Has he never seen a duel before?"
"No, my Lord, he has not."
"I see," The Dark Lord sighs, "Boy, what is your role?"
"I work in the gardens my Lord," Theo's voice trembles but he follows Hermione's advice looking at the Dark Lord but focusing on his collar bone not meeting those dark eyes.
"The Gardens?" The Dark Lord replies amused. "A peculiar choice, I'm assuming you chose to bring him, Granger?"
"Yes, my lord." Hermione agrees.
"Why, in your words boy, why did Granger choose you to accompany her here. You have never been here before."
"No, I haven't," Theo agrees, blushing from all the attention. "I… I. Granger chose me because I'm quiet."
Blushing, Hermione closes her eyes, as the crowd chuckles, even her mistress seems amused, sipping on her drink. Fascinated, the Dark Lord rises from his chair. Please don't pick him, please don't pick Theo. Hermione begs any God that the Dark Lord spares Theo, she's not sure she can have the young wizard's death on her conscious.
"Is this true Granger?"
"Yes, My Lord," Hermione agrees as she spares a look at Theo. "He is an excellent Herbologist and alchemist, but I appreciate his silence most."
"A servant perfect for you Snape," The Dark Lord comments. "Did you not wish for any more servants Bella?"
"Granger is a walking encyclopedia she has enough knowledge for three servants," Bellatrix comments with a shrug. "If I had known we were having a clear-out, however, I would have brought some other servants."
Laughing, Bella shrugs, it's true there are a few she would happily get rid of, some servants truly got on Bellatrix's bad side.
"Especially the lanky one, what is his name?" Bellatrix asks.
"Terry." Hermione sighs.
"Ugh, can I borrow your floo my Lord, I'll be straight back with some more? Just take a second."
"Now dear Bella, this is a test. Not a punishment." The Dark Lord chuckles. "Your mistress speaks highly of you Granger. It wasn't long ago, you so willingly took a curse meant for your mistress, was it?"
Dread fills the pit of her stomach, hands clenched, she knows what is coming. Knows he is going to choose her next to take to the ring.
"So, let's see," The Dark Lord continues. "We have tried the servants what of the Red Kites?"
Refusing to flinch, Hermione stares straight ahead, even though her heart sinks into her stomach. The urge to hurl, her head thrums with pain, the anxiety turns every inch of her to jelly.
"Granger, step forward."
Bowing her head, Hermione steps forward, past her mistress waiting for the command to step into the ring. Deep breaths, her hand shakes from fear, but she controls it by clenching her fist.
"Now let's see, Dolohov, your Red Kite." Susan shrinks at her name. "Step forward Susan Bones. If I recall these two ladies have their history, perhaps it's time to put it to an end."
Looking up, it all seems rather pointless their feud. Big round eyes of Susan who trembles at the thought of death.
"Any objections?" The Dark Lord asks. "Antonin?"
Mouth opening, Dolohov closes it stepping back thinking better of speaking out. He shakes his head nodding for Susan to go step into the ring ready for the duel. Swallowing, Hermione stops as her hand prevents her from moving. Lady Lestrange moves in to focus, a strange hush falling amongst the Elite.
"Bella," The Dark Lord tuts. "I didn't know you cared."
A slim hand moves between Hermione's robe, pulling the master keys for the Lestrange mansion out. She doesn't think I'm going to make it. It feels her with dread, the urge to run, the urge to curl up into a ball. The keys jingle as Bellatrix unclips them from the chain.
"I prefer not to touch dead filth my Lord," Bellatrix comments pocketing the keys.
"Callous Bellatrix," The Dark Lord comments. "Even by my standards that is callous."
"I like to keep my hands clean, think of my poor nails."
Lord Lestrange breaks out into laughter it sets a chorus of, shouting from some of the Elite. Lady Lestrange is always an entertainer, the Dark Lord shakes his head amused returning to his seat.
"Don't think," Bellatrix whispers, removing the purple pass. "Don't look at me."
Turning her eyes to the ring, Hermione can barely hear over the noise of the crowd, the mutterings of bets passing. It's a ploy. It fills Hermione with some hope. That Lady Lestrange is using this moment as a distraction.
"You think too much, in a duel, you just must react. And Hermione," Eyes shoot to the black abyss. "Don't you dare fall?"
Stepping past her Mistress, Hermione moves into the ring. Swallowing back the bile she draws her wand. Standing exactly where Charity had stood before she died. Focussing, she stares down the witch opposite.
Dread and fear radiates from Susan, it makes Hermione wonder if the witch has also seen her death.
"Begin."
The order falls, the room silencing. They stare at one another, waiting for one to start the duel, neither sure how to begin. Susan is the first to act, casting a spell, it bounces off Hermione's shield. She may be a novice in duelling, but Hermione knows how to block spells. The smoke blurs their vision, their spells bouncing off shields. A hex narrowly avoiding Susan's face swearing, the witch retaliates.
The attacks drive Hermione back to the defensive, reacting to Susan's attacks. She's trained to a degree, Hermione acknowledges this. Will Susan take Hermione's position at Lestrange Manor if Hermione dies?
Don't think!
The words shoot through her mind, it snaps her from her thoughts. She cannot stay on the defensive; she needs to move. With a complex twist of her wrist, Hermione sends a hex, it curls, bouncing off Susan's shield. Making her flinch, as she falls backwards.
It gives Hermione momentum to push forward, to deliver the attack, narrowly avoiding a hex that burns her robe on passing. Sweat it clings to her back, they are not designed to fight not designed to duel. None of them has training in stamina.
Crack! The spell breaks the ground apart spitting rubble, as both witches flinch. Dust springs into the air. Neither witch is sure who cast the spell, they move through the debris. Eyes watering from the dust and smoke, Hermione flinches as a spell strikes her chest. She stumbles to her knees gasping in pain. Her chest burns with every breath, dazed she clutches her sternum. Her throat aches and her eyes blur she notices Susan struggling to her feet, Hermione's errant hex catching the witch off guard.
It's painful. Fear strikes her numb, the whole scene reminiscent of her dream. Her death is the one that plagues her. She searches through the smoke and searches for her mistress. Searching for those dark eyes, needing to see the witch.
A flash of green is barrelling towards her, and Hermione rolls the spell disappearing into the crowd. Curling, her wand lashes out, the spell clear. Thud. Susan hits the floor.
Rising slowly to her feet, holding her chest, Hermione moves her wand held aloft and pointed at the witch. Noticing Susan's wand laying just out of reach, the witch struggling. Squirming on the floor. A leather rope wrapped around Susan's throat, choking her. Eyes desperate, hands clutching pulling at the rope, that tightens with every second. Eyes bulging, gagging.
Shouting, Crouch Jr, shouting for Hermione to finish the witch. Lestrange brothers cheering her on. Hermione sees the pile of bodies to the side of the room, the other servants. Charity. With a flick of her wand, she releases the spell. Choking, Susan splutters for breath, heaving she rolls to her side.
Gasping, Susan coughs trying to breathe, her throat damaged from the attack. Her eyes are red, spittle dripping from her lips. A shush falls over the crowd, the smoke clears the Dark Lord rises to his feet.
Falling to her knees, Hermione bows her head. Susan still struggling for breath. I'm not a killer. The thought runs through Hermione's mind as she bows her head, willing to accept the punishment.
"What is this?" The Dark Lord asks, moving down the steps. "Why have you stopped? Granger? Were my instructions not clear?"
"They were my Lord," Hermione acknowledges.
"Then why, have you stopped?" He demands.
"It's not my place, my Lord."
"Your place?"
"I am a Red Kite, I am to run a household, tend to my mistress's needs, deliver punishment to servants. This is my duty. It is not my place to have the power over another person's life."
Her refusal to kill is going to kill them both. She's very aware of this, but she cannot willingly take the life of another. Can never imagine taking the life of another, and the damage it would do to one's soul.
"To have power over life and death is too much for a servant, therefore I cannot kill my fellow Red Kite. Forgive me."
She dares not breathe, dares not look at her mistress can only imagine the disappointment. All she can feel right now is pain, it's crippling, and her chest is burning. Her breathing laboured; she can barely focus.
"I will applaud you, Bellatrix," The Dark Lord's voice echoes in the room. "Dear Servants, look to your Red Kite. You have ridden Granger of her basic animal tendencies."
A clap, hollow, echoes in the room, confusion from the Elite as they follow their leader, clapping. Daring a glance, Hermione peeks at her mistress, who wears a forced smile, acknowledging the applause.
"My Lord?" Dolohov breaks from the crowd. "Why are we applauding her? She disobeyed your orders?"
"Because, Antonin, did I not say this was a test? Look at them all," The hand sweeps to the bodies in the corner. "So eager to kill, such a waste. Animals, that's what you are."
Swallowing, Hermione looks to the winners of the duels, they shift under the scrutiny of the Dark Lord. Looking to the pile of bodies, the servants who haven't duelled step back from them, outing them to the room.
"Your kind, you are so eager to kill, to act like savages."
"You told us to." Carrow's servant states boldly defiant in front of the Dark Lord. "You told us to kill."
"Animals." The Dark Lord hisses. "Mudbloods, no different to the muggles, all animals. Filth."
Closing her eyes, Hermione flinches as a flash of green erupts from Dark Lord's wand. There's no scream of pain, nothing. Just a hollow eerie ringing fills the room as the servant collapses to the floor. Dead.
"The rest of you winners. You are dismissed. To the factories."
They dare not protest as the Dark Lord's guards appear, ushering them from the room. They will remove their marks. They will be rebranded, and wands snapped.
"Rise," The Dark Lord orders.
Pushing to her unsteady feet, Hermione holds her chest, offering her hand to Susan who struggles to stand. The clammy hand clutches Hermione's like a lifeline, pulling Susan to her feet.
"Thank you," Susan whispers pressing her forehead to Hermione's shoulder.
The Dark Lord speaks to the room, engaging them all, a lesson for them all to learn. Forcing a smile, Hermione squeezes Susan's hand before releasing it. She may have just saved them both, by being incredibly stupid.
"I thought I was dead," Susan mutters hair covering her face. "I kept having the same dream, it's been driving me nuts."
"You saw your death?" Hermione questions.
"How'd you know?"
"I see mine, it's not clear yet."
"I kept seeing this room, blurred faces. My head is ringing, pounding. It's gotten worse the last month every time I close my eyes I see my death at the hands of another. In this room. It's stopped now though, the ringing, the headache."
Relief, tired, but relieved. Did Hermione save Susan from her death? Is it possible for a Red Kite, to survive death? Perhaps, losing the duel will mean Susan will be stripped from her duties as Red Kite, but if it means she lives.
"Step back to your mistress, Granger." The Dark Lord instructs.
Trying to hold back her wince, she walks with as much stride as she can muster, coming to a stop just behind her mistress. Chest still burning, standing becoming increasingly, difficult. She focuses on breathing, in, out. It burns her lungs and sucks the energy from her body.
"Susan Bones," The Dark Lord turns to the Red Kite. "You lost."
Bowing her head, Susan waits for her punishment.
"Dolohov, kill her."
No. Wild eyes turn to Hermione, confused, this cannot be.
"Avada Kedava!"
Flinching, Hermione stares at the witch as she crumples to the ground. No. No. no.
This cannot be happening.
It's as though nothing has happened, music begins to play, the rings disappear, and the game is over. The Elite begin to mingle, the bodies slowly removed from the room. It doesn't make sense.
His room is cold, perhaps it's not the room, maybe it's just everything he has witnessed. The game. It wasn't duelling, it was a slaughter. Wrapping his blanket around his shoulders, he stares out the dusty cracked window.
When Hermione approached him, told him he had been selected to come to the Assembly. It didn't faze him, nothing fazed him. He didn't understand why she chose him, but it was an order nonetheless.
He neither liked nor disliked Granger, she was his boss, that's all that mattered. He knew some in the household hated Granger and some loved her. She could be harsh, responsible for punishment, he has heard enough stories to not get on her bad side. Knows not to speak his mind, the story of the servant losing his tongue is always on their minds.
Lady Lestrange, he had hardly anything to do with her. He worked the gardens mostly, he kept to himself and enjoyed working in solitude. No one at the house so much as paid him much attention, what with his ability to see. He didn't even realise Granger knew he existed.
It was refreshing though, to talk with someone, to be in the company of someone who didn't shrink from his eyes. She was kind. Granger was kind to him, like the other night when she helped ease him to sleep. He also knows the only reason he is here, is because of Granger.
He had expected her to be cold, snobbish, and callous. The way the other servants in the household spoke of her. She was kind, strong-minded and fair. Sharing stories on the train ride here, he found her rather funny. She's a know-it-all, but funny. They shared facts, refreshing to speak to another who wasn't just interested in gossip or the latest fashion.
It all made sense, however, after being in the same room as Lady Lestrange, why Granger is like she is. Trying to predict Lady Lestrange's mood, was like trying to catch a bludger high on caffeine. He could barely keep up with her moods, and keep up with her demands, but Granger takes it in her stride.
Anticipation, always working to be a step ahead of Lady Lestrange's needs. He marvelled at Hermione's ability to work, to manage the elite. Like others, he assumed she got the position of Red Kite because she was Evan's favourite. Now, though he knows why she got the position. Lady Lestrange respected Granger. In return, Granger protected them all from the Lady's wrath.
He still cannot shake the image of Lestrange strangling Hermione on the train, it's burned into his memory. She had shrugged it off as though it were nothing, perhaps it was nothing to her. After tonight, he knows very few things phases Granger. He also wonders why Granger tolerates Lady Lestrange. He had mentioned it, briefly, probing, asking. She had rebutted his question, she's more complicated than that. He didn't understand it, and will probably never understand.
Clank. He glances to the door, wondering if Lady Lestrange is going through one of her moods. Hermione had sent him to bed, explaining she would help Lady Lestrange to bed.
Creeping to his door, he realises, that Lady Lestrange has placed a charm, preventing him from seeing inside her chamber. Quietly, he turns the handle, peering into Lady Lestrange's room.
The tray carrying tea lays on the carpet, tea dripping from the cracked teapot. Cup broken. Anger, laces his veins, the urge to run to shove Lady Lestrange aside. She's standing over Granger. Is she receiving punishment for defying the Dark Lord's orders?
"Granger?" A whisper stills him. Lady Lestrange, kneeling her hand pressing against the witch's neck. "Granger? Bugger."
Kneeling, hands scoop under the unconscious witch, with one swift move, Lestrange lifts Hermione on to chaise longue. Pressing the back of her hand to Granger's forehead, Lestrange curses under her breath.
Flinching he ducks as Lady Lestrange swishes from the room. He considers moving across the room to check on Granger, she absorbed a curse from Susan. Perhaps she was more injured than she appeared. Before he can decide, the door swings open, Lady Lestrange returning with Lady Malfoy.
"Dolohov's curse," Lestrange comments coming to stand next to the unconscious servant. "He taught his little slut, his curse."
"Now, now," Lady Malfoy replies. "I think he learnt his lesson."
Scoffing, Lady Lestrange paces as Lady Malfoy tends to the injured witch. Slowly lifting the Granger's top so as not to catch her, Malfoy flinches as Lestrange uses her dagger to cut through the material. Shrugging at the disapproving look from her sister, she resumes pacing.
Reaching into her pocket, Lady Malfoy pulls out two potions, placing one on the table, the other she removes the cork. Summoning a bowl and flannel, she mixes the potion in warm water. Ringing out the flannel, she gently dabs it against Granger's chest.
"Could be a lot worse," Malfoy comments rinsing the flannel. "Lucky for Granger, Miss Bones was not as practised in the spell as Dolohov."
"Stupid," Lestrange mutters. "Thanks to his foolish actions, he got half of the servants killed, and Granger injured."
"Careful, dear sister. Someone might think you care for your Red Kite."
"I don't," Bellatrix bites. "I just hate change, you know that. Takes forever to mould them to my needs. Granger, well she's a quick learner, thankfully."
"We don't know if Dolohov was the reason for the Dark Lord's rage."
"Please, it's Evan's situation all over again."
"It could be you," Malfoy replies, dropping the flannel in the bowl as she rises to her feet. "Perhaps it's you the Dark Lord is concerned about."
"Oh please," Lestrange comments rolling her eyes, she folds her arms. "If that were the case, he would kill Granger for refusing to kill Dolohov's slut."
"He is quite fond of Granger." Malfoy comments. "Perhaps he's seeking his own Red Kite, careful, sister he might poach her."
"Doubtful." Lestrange comments, her voice lacks its usual bite. "He does not need a Red Kite."
"Maybe," Malfoy answers drying her hands on a towel. "She will need the potion applied three times a day. She should be fine. Do you want a hand moving it to its room?"
"No, I'll summon the other one to move her."
"Very well, goodnight."
"Goodnight. Cissy, this is the potion you asked Granger to brew the other day, is it not?"
"It is, I may have been prewarned that a duel might take place. I was not aware of what would take place. I thought it prudent to prepare, just in case one of us duelled Dolohov."
"Very wise."
"I am, yes."
Smirking, Lestrange watches Malfoy slip from the room. The door closed with a click. Waiting, Theo waits for Lady Lestrange to summon him, to order him to carry Hermione to her room. To tend to her wounds.
A sigh escapes red lips, Lestrange swigs her glass of whiskey before turning back to Granger. Raising a hand, Lestrange summons a throw from her bed, moving to the witch. She kneels next to the chaise longue. Placing the throw over the unconscious witch. A pale hand, caresses a cheek, before brushing hair from Granger's face.
Swallowing, Theo looks away from the tender actions. Quietly, he pulls his door closed, slowly moving back to his bed. Was he wrong about Lestrange? Was Malfoy correct? Was Hermione? Curling into a ball, he pulls his blanket around him. Hermione's words from their train ride echoed in his mind.
"We're not the only ones in servitude."