A/N: Content warning that some material in this and later chapters will include physical trauma of varying degrees and natures. And now, on with Chapter 2.
Chapter II – Pity
Hermione squinted against the sunlight. It had been years since she awoke to the sun on her face. She opened her eyes and saw the sunlight shimmering off the chandelier above her. That was when she remembered where she was. Waking up on the floor of Malfoy Manor was quite different than waking up on the floor of her cell in Azkaban. The sunlight was one thing, plus she was surrounded by hundreds of girls without cells to divide them.
A gong sounded waking the other girls around Hermione. It was followed by a voice directing them to assemble into orderly lines. There was some shuffling about as they somewhat reluctantly followed these instructions. Hermione kept glancing at the window longingly. They appeared to be unguarded for the moment, but Hermione doubted that was actually the case. She wondered what would happen if she tried to escape from the window. As the thought crossed her mind, it suddenly occurred to her that the opportune time for an escape would have been at night, why had she not thought of it when they had left them in the unused drawing room to sleep. Hermione wracked her brains, but had no memory of even entering this room. The last thing she could recall was entering the gates.
As they waited for further instructions, she took stock of her body. Despite sleeping on the floor, and not having a meal since her departure from Azkaban the previous day, she felt fine. She found herself well-rested and not hungry as she ought to have been.
The doors to the drawing room opened, putting an end to Hermione's thoughts, as all three Malfoys entered accompanied by Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione's eyes trailed over the youngest Malfoy. He looked different from Hermione's memory of him. One of the last times she had seen him was in this very Manor, in this very room, she realized suddenly as she took in the deep purple walls and marble fireplace. Her hand wrapped automatically around her forearm where the scar remained, forever marking her as a Mudblood.
For a moment, panic overtook her senses. She was transported back to that moment in time, when she had experienced a pain like she had never known. Her heart raced as she remembered the endless torture of Bellatrix dragging the silver blade through her flesh. A scream echoed through the drawing room, and for one moment Hermione thought the sound had come from her. But everyone had turned the other way to one of the younger prisoners who looked to be not much older than fifteen.
She had launched herself at an unsuspecting Bellatrix and was clawing at her face and hair screaming all the while.
"You killed them! It was you!" She screamed as Bellatrix struggled to find her wand.
"Enough," Lucius said, as he aimed his own wand at the girl to separate her from his sister-in-law. Unlike Bellatrix, all the Malfoys had entered with their wands drawn, but Bellatrix pulled her own wand out now.
"I remember your parents," she said to the girl, loud enough for them all to hear. "They had a tendency to scream as well. They were weak. Like you." The girl was immobilized in a huddle on the floor, glaring at her mutinously.
She flicked her wand and the girl rose 6 feet into the air, and then even higher. With a vicious slashing moment, Bellatrix flung her into the wall of the drawing room. The prisoners nearby scuttled out of the way to avoid being hit. The girl slid down the wall and lay motionless on the floor.
"Enervate," Bellatrix said, forcing the girl's eyes open. "Rise," Bellatrix commanded her, "I will spare you the Cruciatus Curse, your parents were too weak to stand it, and I expect the same of you. I have however been granted a personal servant. You will do."
"As you wish," Lucius agreed silkily, "though the Dark Lord did assign this lot to the Manor."
"For now," Bellatrix shot at him, before turning back to the girl. "I expect my servants to be obedient. Imperio."
Bellatrix watched the girl with a twisted smile as she directed her towards the marble fireplace where the embers of the fire still glowed. "Clear up that fireplace and then we will depart," she commanded. Bellatrix watched the girl avidly as she rose and placed her hands on the still hot coals. Her screams echoed through the drawing room again, and Hermione clenched her fist.
"Do it silently," Bellatrix added, bringing the girl's screams to an end. She waited a moment more, watching triumphantly, before summoning her new slave and exiting the drawing room.
"Misdemeanours will not be tolerated," Lucius said, drawing the attention of the remaining prisoners. "You may have been removed from Azkaban, but you are still prisoners. You are not permitted to wander the manor or its grounds unless you are performing a task assigned to you.
You will be moved to the servants' quarters once the elves have relocated to the kitchens. When your services are not required you will return to your sleeping quarters. You will be provided with garments to wear. You will wear these at all times. Today, you are all required to assist with preparing for the Dark Lord's arrival tomorrow. You can find your assigned duties on these scrolls." With those brief instructions, the three Malfoys exited, leaving them to their tasks.
Hermione's feet ached by the time she entered their new quarters that night. It was a cavernous underground hall celled off into several sections where they were to eat, sleep, and bathe. There were cots spaced out on the ground for them to sleep on. She had barely taken stock of her new surroundings when a new group of prisoners were escorted into the servants' quarters. Her heart leapt when amongst them she saw a flash of flaming red hair.
"Ron," Hermione called out making her way towards them, tears coming to her eyes.
"Hermione!" Ginny exclaimed, when she had caught sight of her. Hermione realized her error instantly all the prisoners she had seen here were female. Hermione hugged her tightly, her tears still flowing fiercely.
"I'm so happy to see you," Hermione told her. They made their way to the cots and found two together where they could catch-up in peace.
"You called Ron's name," Ginny whispered once they had settled into their cots, "is he alive?"
"I don't...no," Hermione admitted, "Ginny, I'm so sorry. His body was there with Harry's that night. I just got caught up in the moment, when I saw your hair."
"I know, I saw it too," Ginny said, looking crestfallen, "I had just hoped maybe he had gotten away somehow." Hermione took her hand as they both cried old tears.
"But we're here now," Hermione said at last, "and together. They would want us to move on."
"And to finish what they started," Ginny said to Hermione seriously. Hermione did not want to tell Ginny that it might be hopeless, the prophecy had been fulfilled and Harry had not survived. But there was a very good chance Trelawney had been mistaken in her prediction, perhaps they could still defeat Voldemort, but they would need to eliminate his last Horcrux first.
"They would want us to," Hermione agreed, keeping her other thoughts to herself for now. "But we'll need to stay alive to do that and find a way to escape."
Draco gritted his teeth in exasperation. Three of the prisoners were cleaning the windows and had upended a pail of dirty water. He watched in annoyance as the spill spread sprawled further down the wooden flooring. Draco raised his wand and put a stop to it only when it was about to stain his mother's favourite rug, inherited from a long-ago ancestor in the Black Family Tree.
"Get fresh water," he snapped at one of the girls. "If you want clean windows, use clean water," he added rudely over his shoulder as he continued down the hall. He regretted helping them with the mess instantly, if the prisoners thought he was soft word would eventually spread. He made a note to be harsher on the next one.
Quite frankly, Draco did not understand why they needed so many servants getting underfoot is his house. The additional elves they had taken from Hogwarts had proved perfectly capable of attending to all the additional work at the manor with the Dark Lord using it as his headquarters. But now he wanted servants as well as house elves, so the elves were assigned to kitchen duty because no one trusted the prisoners to prepare their food.
Draco was just about to enter the dining room when he noticed them. More prisoners, but these two were familiar, and how could he not recognized that red hair. It was Granger and the she-Weasley. He froze with his hand on the door handle. He almost didn't recognize them in the plain brown dresses the servants wore.
He entered the dining room, his head spinning. He had yet to recognize any of the prisoners, but now that he could he found himself feeling strangely uncomfortable with them serving in his house. Granger looked slightly the worse for wear. She was thinner than he remembered her, with dark circles beneath her eyes, and he thought he had seen a bruise beneath her eye. Apparently she still had difficulty with speaking out of turn. He wondered which of the Death Eaters she had angered. He had not heard anything from his father, so it had not been him.
He greeted his parents as he took his seat for lunch. Lucius insisted on having some of the prisoners serve them, though both Narcissa and Draco had thought this was unnecessary, just another invasion of their privacy. While they served, Draco wondered whether he ought to tell his father about Granger. She was a formidable witch, and from what he had heard, so was the youngest Weasley. He did not think giving them the chance to co-conspire together was wise.
Draco opened his mouth to voice his concern, just as his father embarked on a detailed account of their last raid of a muggle village. Fenrir Greyback had gone with them, and it had been rather savage. Draco found himself losing his appetite.
"Did you find any of the blood traitors you had been looking for?" Narcissa asked.
"No, but it was a good exercise for Greyback," Lucius said nonchalantly, "the Dark Lord doesn't want to reign him in too much, otherwise no one will fear him. What's the use of a werewolf that doesn't frighten anyone?"
Something in his father's tone made Draco decide not to mention Granger and Weasley. Weasley was a Blood Traitor and Granger a Mudblood, but no one deserved to have Fenrir Greyback unleashed on them. Draco had witnessed enough carnage at his hands and he did not particularly wish to see more, not that he would ever voice that thought aloud.
It was later that week when he came across Granger again. She was scrubbing the frame of a gilded mirror with a toothbrush. Her eyes met his in the mirror and they both froze until two other prisoners came down the passage giggling. One of them glanced back at Draco flirtatiously and he smirked. She was too young, but attractive nonetheless.
Granger had been watching the scene unfold in the mirror and made a noise of disgust. Draco curled his lip, turning his smirk into a sneer.
"Something funny, Granger?" he asked.
"You are," she said viciously. "You do understand that we are prisoners here. You may have had everything handed to you on a silver spoon, but every one of us has lost something or someone. It amazes me that you are so conceited to believe that any one of those girls would actually look twice at you as anything other than a means of escape or revenge."
Draco struggled to find a suitable response before his aunt Bellatrix came sauntering in.
"Tut, tut," she said, looking gleefully at Hermione. "You need to discipline them early, Draco, to break them in." Hermione watched them defiantly, but as Bellatrix drew her wand, they let out a hiss in unison. Draco felt the burn itching unpleasantly on his forearm.
"Your master is calling," Hermione said waspishly, when Bellatrix's hand rose to cover her Dark Mark.
"Another time," Bellatrix promised Granger, before they both Disapparated.
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when Bellatrix had gone. She shouldn't have bothered getting angry at Malfoy, he was not worth her time or the punishment that was sure to come. She had already suffered the costs of her temper when she snapped at Alecto Carrow. The bruise on her face had only just started to fade.
Now there would a punishment from Bellatrix to endure. Hermione resigned herself back to cleaning the mirror. She glanced at the small table up the hallway where Bellatrix had abandoned a copy of The Prophet, and Hermione stilled. She had not read anything since before Azkaban.
She glanced over her shoulder before darting up the hallway and snatching up the paper. She glanced at the headline first before taking in the date of issue and her eyes zeroed in on the date in astonishment. Four years. She had been in Azkaban for four years.
Her hands trembled as she replaced the paper and stumbled back to her post at the mirror. She glanced at it again, taking in her reflection more closely noticing the differences time and prison had marred upon her. Her face held the same gaunt quality she recalled Sirius having when he escaped prison, and the yellow-purple bruise under her eye did not help matters.
She abandoned the mirror and returned to the servants' quarters. She was sure she would find another menial task assigned to her when she returned. The parchments that had listed their duties on the first day were cleverly enchanted to continuously populate themselves with new tasks, and those were in addition to any random orders Death Eaters decided to throw at them when they were at the manor. The next morning Hermione found the scroll directing her to the kitchen for further instructions.
"The kitchen?" Ginny said in surprise after reading the task over Hermione's shoulder, "I thought the elves were handling all the kitchen duties. You don't think they want you to help prepare meals? Or maybe they want you to replace one of the serving girls. This is the perfect time to poison the lot of them," she added as an afterthought.
"Shh," Hermione chided her laughing. No one was around to catch them, but should they be overheard the consequences would be painful.
Hermione made her way to the kitchens wondering what tedious new torment they had decided to bestow on her. She faltered when she reached the entryway and found an unconscious elf on the floor. She gasped, bending to down to find a pulse.
"You can leave him," said a voice that made Hermione freeze in her tracks. Bellatrix had been standing hidden in the shadows and steam from the stove.
"The stoves are filthy down here, and need to be cleaned," Bellatrix said softly, watching Hermione with a gleam in her eyes. "I've hear you are quite the supporter of elf rights, so I knew you couldn't live with yourself if the elves had do to it themselves." Hermione took the filthy rag Bellatrix had gestured to and began working, watching Bellatrix from the corner of her eye. She flinched back instantly well Bellatrix raised her wand.
"A little jumpy, aren't we?" She said, coming closer to Hermione and running her wand through her hair. Hermione withheld a shudder.
"Were you expecting something else?" Bellatrix asked, watching her closely. "I'm rather good with the Cruciatus Curse, didn't Potter ever tell you?" Hermione opened her mouth and closed it quickly.
"Aha," Bellatrix declared gleefully. "Nothing to fear Mudblood, I won't be wasting that on you. Imperio!" Hermione was too slow to react, not that there was much she could have done. Her hands rose of their own accord, and Hermione tried to focus her willpower on breaking the curse, but a seductive voice kept telling her to put her hands in the oven, just for a moment.
The oven doors slammed shut on her hands, and a scream escaped Hermione's lips before she could contain it. She clamped her mouth shut, muffling the noise, but tears continued to stream down her face as the hot metal seared her fingers.
Bellatrix watched for a while, satisfied at Hermione's tears and whimpers while the doors repeatedly closed on her fingers. Hermione shuddered through another spasm of pain, wondering how much longer she would need to endure it. After a while, Bellatrix left Hermione to suffer on her own for what felt like hours before she felt the curse lift and was able to snatch her hands back. She fell to the ground sobbing.
Her fingers were swollen, discoloured, and the skin had cracked leaving a bloody trail. The elves scurried around her glancing at her apprehensively from time to time, but Hermione remained on the floor bloodied and broken. Tentative hands pulled on her dress, and big watery eyes met hers. The elf pressed her fingers to her lips and began dapping Hermione's hands with a cool potion.
"Thank you," Hermione whispered, "thank you so much."
"Dipsy, you mustn't!" Scolded one of the other elves, "Mistress Bellatrix would be so angry. So so angry."
"She isn't our Mistress," Dipsy said. "She did not forbid it. She did not." Hermione saw Dipsy's eyes dart towards a wooden spoon nearby. She abandoned Hermione's hands, grasped the spoon and brought it down over own head.
"No, please don't," Hermione whispered, trying to grab the spoon and then pulling back her injured hands. "Like you said, she never gave you any orders." After a little more wheedling, Hermione managed to convince Dipsy to put down the spoon. One of the other elves tucked the potion bottle into Hermione's pocket and ushered her out of the kitchen, murmuring all the while, "we must prepare dinner."
Hermione made her way back to the servants' quarters taking the quietest route, and was thankful that no one saw her. She was sure there would be another task assigned to her, but she ignored the parchment, intending to go straight to her cot, but she was detoured by a small cluster of girls. Hermione paused when she heard the sobbing.
"Amy, you need to tell us who did this to you," one of the girls pleaded. The girl called Amy shook her head violently, and despite the tears, Hermione recognized her from a Hogwarts. She was a Ravenclaw two years below them.
"Please Amy," one of the other girls added, "we want to help you. Won't you tell us what happened?" The girls shifted and Hermione got a better view of Amy. She had a black eye, and her arm seemed to be disjointed at the shoulder.
"It was Avery," Amy whispered. "He wasn't happy with my work...I don't know why... and he did this to me," Amy began to cry again, her body quaking. Hermione faltered, her injuries were nothing compared to this. Amy noticed her movement, and flinched back. The other girls eyed Hermione apprehensively.
"I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered, "I promise that we will find a way to get out of here, but for now we all must protect each other as best we can."
"There is no way out," Amy replied, "we were better off in Azkaban."
Those words haunted Hermione well into the next the day while she was attempting to scrub the floors in the ballroom. It was true, she thought Azkaban was bad, but they were all in far more danger now. Her thoughts were interrupted when a group of Death Eaters walked by, Malfoy among them. A young Death Eater she didn't recognize kicked over her bucket. Hermione grit her teeth and struggled to right it with her injured hands.
"Such a clumsy girl," the boy sneered. He reminded her of Malfoy when they had been at Hogwarts, but when her eyes flashed to the blonde now she was startled and angered by the pity she saw there. She kept her eyes downcast as the exited the ballroom, fuming inwardly. Perhaps it had not been pity, only disgust, she decided. Her injuries were not to be pitied. Hermione knew they were a small price to pay compared to what other girls had faced.
Hermione had no doubt that they would have all been much safer in Azkaban.
Coming Up in Waiting in the Shadows:
He glanced up, meeting her inquiring eyes just for a moment, before he cleared his throat, abruptly dropping her hand.