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 Twenty-One
Heat, unimaginable heat, it's burning the air, making her eyes water. The world feels as though it's on fire. She can barely breathe, the magic it's pulsating, tugging, pulling at the runes on her skin.
The urge to run away, the urge to stay to watch in awe. The fight and flight, it wars with one another, self-preservation it fights with the magic that pulls at her core. Scorching, the walls of the shop expanding, the building struggling to withhold.
Curled in a ball hidden out of sight, she feels the ground shifting, rumbling, vibrating beneath her feet. Hiding beneath the desk her only protection, she glimpses the fight from the mirror.
The silence is deafening.
The duel ends, with a subtle thud, as the last one falls. It feels like a century has passed, but from the clock, she knows it is mere minutes. Her hands are trembling, she feels lost, a sheep without its flock. Wondering where the big bad wolf is? She shouldn't be out here alone, not designed for fighting.
She flinches as black boots appear in front of her, wild eyes gazing down. The smoke lingers clinging to her clothes, her voice lost. A hand offered; an eyebrow quirked. Tentatively, she takes the hand, the strong firm grip, plucking her from hiding.
Manic eyes are swirling, observing, a predator searching for prey, the grip is unrelenting, releasing Hermione as an afterthought. She recognises the body of her mistress, but she doesn't recognise Lady Lestrange. This isn't the mistress she serves, this is something else, an animal contained. The Overseer, the Dark Lord's right hand.
This creature, moving amongst the fallen bodies, the mangled attackers at her feet, this isn't her mistress. Both thrilling and terrifying, a sight to be held. The magic in the air, it's prickling at her skin, a tease. A promise of magic beyond Hermione's comprehension. Something she will never be able to touch, let alone wield.
Attackers alive, stunned, paralysed, Hermione gazes down at them, their panicked eyes, begging. Wishing for death, anything is better than what is about to come. A hand presses between her shoulder blades, pushing her, moving her along out of the shop where she was ambushed. Away from the wizards who wished to harm her, only to fall victim to her mistress.
It makes her wonder, who fell into whose trap? Was her mistress watching, monitoring was she hunting the wizards, tracking them down when they stumbled upon Hermione.
Drip, drip. Blood, it's dripping from the silver of her mistress's blade, creating a sickening trail. Away from the shop, past the bodies that lay mangled in the street.
"Stay." The order is simple.
She remains frozen left amongst the dead as the sound of arriving reinforcements. Lestrange moves to greet the Aurors who appear in droves. Following the trail of blood that leads to her mistress.
Hermione steps back as Aurors move past her, pressing against the brick wall of a shop, staring up the street. The lavender, it's gone, and the beautiful shopping street is now tinged with blood and smoke. She recognises some of the people, shoppers, and shopkeepers that lay dead on the cobbled street.
Blood is seeping between the cobblestone, creating a small stream, heading downwards, into the unknown. Folding her arms, she tries to fight off the cold, she smells of smoke.
"To the right Dolohov, it's where I left them," Lestrange calls after the wizard.
Swallowing, Hermione watches in dread as Dolohov moves to the mentioned building, with the doors that are boarded shut. Wondering what sight awaits the wizard. Are there more bodies buried high, shoved out the way?
A scream makes her jump, followed by a shushing, muttering. Civilians, slowly, emerge from the shop, from the protection of the building. Children, parents, workers, servants, they emerge. Ten or fifteen, slowly filtering out, herded in the direction of the waiting healers.
"You're safe now, it's okay. That's right over there." Dolohov instructs, helping an elderly witch to her feet.
Hermione looks to her mistress, who returns to talking to the Aurors oblivious to her the survivors. Did she save them? Stored them away from being attacked. A woman, small in build, dares to cross the line, moving to Lady Lestrange. Taking Lestrange's hand whispering her thanks repeatedly. An uncomfortable smile, Lestrange not one to accept praise easily, moving the witch along.
"You might get a recommendation for this," Dolohov comments as he walks past Hermione.
"Ugh, give me a battle any day," Lestrange replies, staring at the group of civilians. "They were in the way, short of killing them, easier to shove them in the shop."
"Tell yourself that to yourself, Lestrange, we all know under that armour, you're just a big softy."
Closing her eyes, Hermione tries to remove the picture of the street from her mind. Her memories keep going back to the shop, the moment she was cornered, the moment she knew she had no chance of escaping. The second the attackers realised, she was no good, she couldn't spill secrets.
The dread that fell upon their faces, fear, it had paralysed them. It confused Hermione until she felt the hand on her shoulder. The familiar presence at her back. She hadn't even heard her mistress arrive.
"Stay low, stay out of sight," Lestrange ordered.
She had instinctively, dropped out of sight, ducking beneath the desk. Hadn't even questioned the order. Like a coward. She swallows at the thought, she had hidden, like a coward out of sight. Curled into a ball. What sort of Red Kite did that make her? What sort of witch was she, to hide while her mistress fought?
"Hey," A flash of ginger, a small smile. "You alright?"
"Weasley?" Hermione greets Ron, and steps next to her.
"The one and only," He grins. "Pretty crazy, you okay?"
"I'm fine," Hermione answers. "For the most part."
"I heard, your lucky."
"I don't feel lucky," Hermione replies. "Do we know who did this?"
"Nah, not really," He shrugs. "We'll look into it, but, I'm guessing by some of the faces they're part of the activists."
"Why here?"
"Don't know, part of the job though, to find out." He smiles. "I just wanted to check you were okay."
She smiles it is sweet of him to check on her, especially so publicly. She does wonder if he is simple, to put himself so willingly in harm's way by associating with her.
"You shouldn't." Hermione comments.
"I know, but I am, so are you okay?" He replies.
"I will be."
"Good,"
"Weasley!" The voice makes him jump, turning pale. "Speaking with the help?"
"Yes, ma'am, just wanted to know if Granger saw anything out of the ordinary?"
Ron answers greeting Lady Lestrange with a respectful nod. Dark eyes, no longer manic from the battle, calm, calculating, they slip from Hermione to Weasley. Deducing, studying, and looking for anomalies in their body language.
"Do the bodies on the floor, not strike you as unordinary?" Lestrange questions snarky.
"No, I mean yes. I mean before everything happened. If there was anything strange?"
Both Lestrange and Weasley turn to Hermione, waiting for an answer. What is there to say? That it appeared quieter than normal, when she left the bakery she felt as though she was being watched. The lady at the bakery was odd but to be expected because she is grieving. It all seems petty, foolish.
"Not really," Hermione answers. "I mean, it was quieter than usual, I did feel as though I was being watched when I left the bakery. But it's probably just my imagination."
"There's an empty shop opposite the bakery," Lestrange comments. "Take a few Aurors and check it out, could be a base of operation. I want all these shops swept, anything out of place."
"You got it," Dolohov answers joining them halfway through. "Weasley take the shop. Barty, let's go knocking on doors."
"Well done, Granger." Lestrange praises watching the Aurors split to search the shops.
"It could be nothing." Hermione protests, not wanting to waste anyone's time.
"It's usually not."
An arm offered, Lestrange about to move them on, away from the destruction. She's more than happy to escape the destruction, the smell is beginning to get to her. She shivers as a spell washes over her, Lestrange casting a cleansing spell.
"I need to see my sister, to ensure she arrived home safe. She would die from fright if I let you enter the manor in such a state." Lestrange comments.
Lady Malfoy, she had hoped they would return to Lestrange manor. Hoping to bath, to remove the days' evidence from her skin. To forget entirely of the day, but as the familiar tug pulls at her. Her body, swirling into darkness, she holds back the sigh as they hurtle towards Malfoy's manor.
There's always a strange feeling when inside Malfoy Manor. A disturbing silence, the manor not as large as Lestrange Manor, but still impressive. With its perfectly manicured garden, large white grand hallway, and sparking chandelier. A model house, not a single thing out of place, not lived in.
The servants, she never really sees them when she visits. Cold, the building is cold, there is no warmth here. Lestrange manor, it always feels alive, buzzing, something always happening. Malfoy manor remains dormant and quiet, and any activity is hidden out of view. Silenced.
Perhaps Lady Lestrange enjoys the bustle of the servants, encouraging them to be seen around the manor. Hermione supposes it would be a rather quiet existence living in a manor on your own. At least the servants provided some entertainment. Lady Malfoy appears the opposite, wanting to neither see nor hear the servants. Even her Red Kite fails to make an appearance.
Lady Malfoy is more than happy to have a surprise visit from her sister, but not so happy to accommodate Hermione. It comes as no surprise, that Lady Malfoy's disdain for Hermione, is becoming ever more evident. Seeing Lady Lestrange's vision from their first meeting at the academy. Lady Malfoy was not a fan of Hermione then, nothing will change it now.
The glass of water half drunk left abandoned on the table, she enjoys watching the gardens. The peacocks strolling through the garden, the memory of Lady Lestrange trying to hit one blindfolded and with an antique crossbow comes to mind. Thankfully for the peacocks, Lady Malfoy intervened before Lady Lestrange could adjust her aim.
In the sitting room, the two sisters are catching up alone. Not wanting to be disturbed, they had sent Hermione away. She is used to entertaining herself. Thought she would enjoy watching the peacocks, anything to take her mind off the day's events. The smell of the chocolate truffles on the table call to her. She will have to order more, they had become damaged in all the commotion, still edible, but no longer appealing to the eye.
The book, the stolen book on transfiguration weighs heavily in her pocket and her mind. She wants nothing more than to read it and nothing more than to return the book. The bookkeeper may have died, but it is disrespectful to steal his book. She should return it, shouldn't she?
"Looking spooked." The words make her jump, swirling around to see Draco by the table.
"Sorry?" Hermione replies.
"Hey, easy," Draco states, raising his hands. "I'm on about the peacocks. They look spooked."
"Oh," Hermione breathes, glancing back to the peacocks. "Yes, they are acting strange."
"Mother mentions something regarding, a wolf in the area." Draco continues. "Are these for eating?"
"Yes, I suppose." Hermione shrugs, looking at the truffles on the table. "They were meant to be a gift, but they are no longer appealing."
"Waste not, want not, hey?" Draco chuckles, opening the box.
Smiling, Hermione regards the peacocks, they are acting strange, but if there are reports of wolfs in the nearby bushes. It would explain the reason for their behaviour. Although, wolves are not common, can still be found in odd places.
"Want one?" Draco asks mouthful of chocolate; he holds the box to Hermione.
"No, thank you. I best not."
"Your loss."
Except for the squarks from the peacocks and the happy munching of Draco, there is nothing. It's comfortable, the silence between them, strangely comfortable.
"So," Draco mutters leaning against the open door. "Why does my mother hate you so much?"
"You noticed?" Hermione quips.
"Hard not to," Draco replies, chocolate around his lips. "What did you do?"
"I have no idea," Hermione shrugs.
"Mother hates most things, but she does despise you the most. I had always wondered why."
"When you find out, can you tell me?"
"Sure," Draco agrees. "If you tell me where you were that night?"
"How long have you been waiting to ask that?"
"Long enough, I'm curious. My aunt believed my lie, and she knows when I lie. Which means she knows the real reason you were out."
"You don't miss much, do you?" Hermione states studying the young Malfoy.
"No, not really."
"My mistress has requested I do some surveillance on her behalf. I have been seeing Lovegood."
"Luna?"
"You know her?" Hermione questions.
"We were at school together," Draco acknowledges. "Bit eccentric, she didn't have any friends. But she's smart though, people overlook that when others don't fit in."
"Were you friends?"
"Not really, we were in a group together. Slughorn's group. It's for those Professor Slughorn sees potential in. We talked a bit." Draco answers. "My aunt is okay with you seeing Lovegood?"
"Something to do with the Quibbler." Hermione lies.
"Ah, yeah, now I get it. That piece of paper, you had intel?"
Hermione shrugs, not answering. Respect, Draco nods, lost in thought, slowly putting pieces together of that night.
"Mr Malfoy…"
"Draco," He answers. "When we're alone. Just Draco."
"Draco, I'd prefer you not to tell anyone this."
"I'm not daft Granger, I won't say shit about this. My aunt might be blood, but she won't appreciate my loose lips."
"Why, why are you being nice?"
"Nice?"
"You know what I mean," Hermione replies. "You were always such a…"
"Pompous, a prick?"
"Something like that?"
"I don't know, things change." He shrugs. "Let's just say I had a wake-up call at the Academy. Puts things into perspective you know."
"I can only imagine."
The idea of the academy fills her stomach with dread. The institute was bad enough, let alone being at the academy. The Dark Lord's hand-picked talent, mixed with their professors a recipe for disaster. Hermione can picture a million different scenarios which could cause Draco to reflect on his life.
"Today sounded like hell on earth." Draco comments.
"It was something else." Hermione answers.
The memories of today will forever be burned into her memory. Perhaps instead of her death, she will be dreaming of lifeless bodies. The blood, the silver dagger, maybe they will haunt her until she dies.
A cough from Draco as he tries to clear his throat, waving away her concern. She turns back to the peacocks, as Draco coughs. Jolting as a hand clutches her arm, wide eyes, hand gripping his throat. Coughing. Choking.
She grabs his arms as he collapses, coughing, blindly clawing at his throat. Eyes red, she jerks, nearly losing grip as he starts to convulse in her arms. Eyes rolling back, he hits the floor, fitting. Foam formed around his lips.
"Draco, Draco?" Hermione questions.
He has no illness, not as far as she has been made aware. He suffers from no allergies, as a Red Kite, hosting the family she would know if he had any allergies. His fitting, convulsing on the floor, foaming at the mouth.
The half-eaten truffle on the cold marble, Hermione grabs it. Sniffing. It's sweet, but not from sugar. Poison. Scrambling to her feet, she nearly trips into the table, racing through the hallway. Her shoulder collides with the large wooden door, shoving it open with a bang. Startling both witches, wand poised in her direction her mistress prepared for an attack.
"What in Merlin's name!" Lady Malfoy shouts.
"Granger!" Lady Lestrange shouts.
"Your store, Lady Malfoy, your potion store. Where is it?"
"Excuse me? Do you have any idea…"
"YOUR potion store!" Hermione shouts. "Please, where is it? Mr Malfoy he's… Where is your potion store?"
"Have you forgotten your…"
"Second door, first floor." Lady Lestrange interrupts.
She doesn't wait for a response, turning, her feet propel her away from the bickering witches. She's halfway up the stairs when she hears Lady Malfoy shouting for Draco. She trips on the top step, her knee colliding with the wooden floor. Cursing, she pushes on, shoving the door to the store open.
Blindly, she searches through the draws, checking every item. Wiping blindly at jars.
"Come on, come on." She whispers pulling everything apart.
It's the second to last draw, she finds the ingredient she needs. Her side collides with the railing of the stairs as she rushes downwards. Nearly losing her footing, she hurtles into the room with Draco. He's still convulsing on the floor.
Lady Malfoy is holding him, cradling her son, whispering. Hermione doesn't have time as she comes to a sliding stop. Pushing the witch away, she forces Draco's mouth open. Shoving the ingredient in. She closes his mouth forceful, ensuring his teeth pierce the ingredient allowing the contents to be released.
She waits, with bated breath, hand on his neck. Please, please work.
"Draco, darling please." Lady Malfoy whispers.
Glancing, Hermione notices, that Lady Malfoy is being restrained by Lady Lestrange who watches on impassively. Holding her sister back from either striking Hermione or preventing her from getting in the way, Hermione will never know.
One last jolt, Draco falls still, his pulse erratic beneath Hermione's fingers. It slows, a cough escaping pale lips, Confused eyes, blink, stirring open.
"Draco?" Hermione whispers.
"Granger?"
Oh, thank the gods. Releasing a breath, Hermione collapses backwards away from the wizard, allowing Lady Malfoy to embrace her son. Pulling her knees to her chest, Hermione rests her head on her arms.
When will it end? She's not sure she can take anymore, she feels physically and emotionally exhausted. Watching mother and son, embraced on the floor, Lady Malfoy clutching her son. The pink cheeks of her son as he shifts uncomfortably in her grip. Her only son, Hermione wonders if the witch forgets, that Draco is no longer a child.
A hand plucks the near-empty box of truffles from the floor, dark eyes analysing the contents. Sniffing, a wince, the smell obvious now, especially to a trained witch. Poison. It's subtly hidden amongst the expensive smell of chocolate, but detectable.
"The bakery," Hermione states gaining Lady Lestrange's attention. "Madam Henrietta, she didn't want to sell me these truffles. She said they weren't good enough. They looked fine, but she was adamant. A man, claiming to be her brother overruled her, sold me the truffles."
"Probably not her brother," Lestrange reflects. "Most likely another one of the attackers. A last resort?"
"Gerry," Lady Malfoy summons a servant. "Call for the healer."
"Of course My Lady," The servant bows.
"I am fine, mother," Draco argues, trying to rise from the floor.
"Not until you've been checked." An insistent hand holds him down.
"If I may, poison can have unknown effects. It may be bed rest, for a least a week," Hermione mentions casually.
Annoyed, Draco glares at Hermione.
"Maybe even two weeks," Hermione replies.
Just enough time for Draco to miss the final exam of the Academy. It takes a second before he realises how long the time will give him. Relaxing background onto the floor, clutching his stomach, he nods.
"I do feel queasy." He admits.
"I will get the servants to help you to your bed," Lady Malfoy instructs summoning more servants.
Watching in silence, Hermione waits for the servants to help Draco to his room. A motioned thank you from the wizard as they guide him. Sighing, Hermione doesn't realise her hands are still shaking until she brushes the hair out of her face.
The shuffling of feet, as Lady Lestrange takes a seat on the floor with her. Legs stretched, she taps her foot on the floor, as Lady Malfoy follows Draco to his room.
"Peacocks seem anxious." Lestrange comments.
"Wolf in the area."
"Hmm, maybe they would like a truffle?"
Snorting, Hermione glances at the witch next to her. Despite everything, Lestrange still wants to annoy Lord Malfoy by killing his prized peacocks. A sigh from Lestrange as she reclines, against the wall.
"I need a fucking drink," Lestrange mutters.
~ Paint It, Black ~
"I'd never seen anything like it." Hermione gushes. "I mean it was terrifying, don't get me wrong, I thought I was going to die. But, you should have seen it, the duelling. It was insane."
"What happened to them?" Luna asks.
"Who?"
"The people, the ones who duelled Lestrange?"
"I don't know, does it matter?" Hermione questions.
"You're not curious?"
"They attacked us," Hermione replies frowning. "I mean, where they're going will be worse than death, but all those people died. Regular people, no one needed to die."
"I suppose, depends on their motives."
"Motives?" Hermione asks. "What motives warrant killing people? Children?"
A sigh, subtle, so quiet, but Hermione catches it. Luna sitting atop the desk, she had practically pounced on Hermione when she arrived. It was no surprise, the attack had been all over the paper. Lestrange involvement is impossible to hide, the survivors gushing about being rescued. She will receive a recommendation from the Dark Lord for her service, it would be a snub if he didn't.
Readjusting her top, Hermione had tried not to mention the incident. She had just wanted to share her thoughts; she had never seen a duel like that. A slight tap touches her mental shield, but she refuses to allow Luna entrance. All their time spent together; she has silently been training her mind to reflect on Luna. It would appear, that her work has paid off if the slight frown on Luna's face is anything to go by.
It's not that she doesn't want Luna in her head, not that she wants to hide from the witch. Things are becoming complicated, she wants to protect her thoughts and her feelings. As well, she cannot let Luna learn just yet that Hermione is an animagus.
"Sorry I know you don't want to hear about it." Hermione comments.
"it's fine," Luna replies.
"No, it's not I can see it's making you uncomfortable."
"I just, I don't understand how you can admire that?" Luna questions.
"Admire?"
"Lestrange? I don't understand what there is to admire?"
"The duel, I'd never seen anything like it," Hermione answers slowly, wondering what Luna isn't saying. "But, I do admire her, I won't lie."
"Why? She's crazy. A monster."
"She's not crazy," Hermione defends hotly, taking a second to calm herself. "It's complicated. There's more to her than what the papers published."
"Oh trust me, I know." Luna answers picking at her nails. "I've seen the memories remember."
"That's different. What if my memories, the times I've had to reprimand staff. I'm not defending her actions. Not by any means."
"But you are, she treats you like shit," is the angry reply. "You still defend her."
Taking a breath, Hermione bites her tongue, wondering if there is any point in this argument. Yes, her mistress is harsh, yes she can be cruel. But there's more to it, there's more to all of it.
"I won't have this fight." Hermione answers. "I should go."
"No, just," Sighing Luna rubs her face. "It's. I'm sorry. I just miss you."
Stepping forward, Hermione envelopes the witch in a hug, pulling her tight. Hands clutching at Hermione's shoulders.
"What's wrong?" Hermione questions if there's something wrong.
"Nothing, I just. It gets to me sometimes."
Pulling away, Hermione studies the witch before her. There's something wrong, she can tell by the way Luna is biting her nails. Duty will come before anything else. Lestrange's words whisper in her mind. When you sit, being friendly, does she tell you the woes of her life?
"You never talk about your life," Hermione broaches the subject.
"Yes I do," Luna states slipping from Hermione's embrace. "I'm always talking, sometimes too much."
A chuckle, but the tone rings hollow. Swallowing, Hermione moves around the desk, creating a distance from the witch as though to protect herself from invisible heartache. Chose to focus on the paper on the table, trying to act indifferent.
"You tell me about Hogwarts, stuff like that." Hermione continues. "But nothing about now."
"Not much to tell," Luna shrugs. "Not compared to your life it all seems rather trivial."
"I'd like to know." Hermione presses.
"What, how long it took me to get the ink to take, forty-seven minutes for the record. To try to get the blasted thing working."
"Yes,"
"You want to hear about that?" Luna asks in disbelief. "Compared to you standing off against the Dark Lord. Or how you managed to survive an attack?"
"Or survive strangling my mistress," Hermione mutters.
"What?"
"Nothing," Hermione disregards the question. "I want to know. I want to know about your life. It's what friends are for right?"
"I thought we were more than friends?" Luna teases, moving across the room.
"We are, but I feel, it's very one way."
The kiss against her neck makes her lose focus, and forget what she was meant to be saying. The hand sliding into forbidden territory, she pushes the witch back. Hands lifting the witch, legs wrapping around her waist. She presses Luna down on the table, Hermione's hand moving beneath the dress. Conversation forgotten.
A/n: Teaser for future chapter:
Laughter, it's high pitched, followed by a snort. She would recognise that laugh anywhere. Luna. Swallowing, Hermione shifts, trying to be emotionless clutching her glass searching the crowd for Luna. Groaning, Lestrange leans against the bar, rolling the glass around in her hand, playing with the ice cube.
Hermione desperate to see Luna, she fears the witch being near Lady Lestrange. She had forgotten Luna would be here, she should have looked out for her. The ice cube stops moving, the hand growing rigid against the glass. Eyes narrow, jaw setting, the tinniest tick of Lestrange's vein.
Lestrange has spotted Luna...