Click. Snap. Click. Slap. Click. Click. Click. Slap. Snap.
The unmistakable sound of heels attacked her ears. Hermione hurried to sit up and cover herself. Who was this? Someone new? Were they bringing her food too?
"Wakey, wakey!"
The shrill, peppy voice sent a cold shiver through her spine. Hermione couldn't identify the owner, but she recognized the voice. Whoever this was, her body instinctively wanted to run and hide.
"Our favorite mudblood looks filthy today! Are we ready to talk?"
They were mocking her, condescending. Cruel. This must be the person who had mutilated her arm.
"I'll never talk," Hermione replied defiantly.
"Crucio!"
Her body twisted, recoiled, spasmed, flailed, and locked. Someone was screaming so loudly her ears burst. Hermione vaguely knew the scream was her own, but her mind was too clouded in pain she couldn't focus. It was the most excruciating thing she had ever experienced. Every part of her body, every single appendage, every inch, and every orifice ruptured. Sharp, stabbing, and exploding. Hermione was burning alive. She was being skinned in the hot sun. Nails were being shoved in every pore. A boulder was crushing her. All of her being assaulted with severe mutilation. It was never ending. The pain had been terrorizing her for millennia. Hermione felt as if her mind was cracking in a million pieces.
Just as quickly as it came, the pain vanished. She was haunted by the dull memory of the agony bouncing in her brain. Hermione's body collapsed on the stone, the worst fatigue smothering her. Her breath came in hard, loud pants. Cold sweat soaked her shivering skin.
"Where is Harry Potter!"
Hermione's ears cringed at the sharp demand.
"I'll never tell you," Hermione croaked out.
This time she didn't hear the devastating curse. Instead she just felt pain. It was the same as before. Her body succumbed to the power. Yet it was worse. It was as if the pain was magnified, building off of the residual of the previous assault. Like hot peppers building fire in your mouth as you eat more.
When it stopped, Hermione felt as though her body had been sent to the eternal punishments of Hell.
"Where is he!"
Hermione couldn't speak. Her lips couldn't form the words. Her mind couldn't compose a coherent thought.
"Where!"
Earsplitting screams pierced the cavern, bouncing off the stone like an amphitheater. Screaming. Pain. PAIN. HURTS. PAIN.
The woman couldn't register the types of abuse her body endured. All she could understand was the overwhelming, all-consuming terror her body was experiencing.
Her croaked sobs of relief and agony escaped her as the curse ended.
"Tell me!"
She couldn't handle another assault. Even if Hermione couldn't comprehend a solid thought, she knew her body would split in half if she suffered again. But even if Hermione gave in and told the woman where Harry was, there was one problem.
A pleading voice cracked in the cavern.
"I don't know!"
"Liar!"
Torture consumed every fiber of her being. Hermione could somehow feel the cracking and snap of something inside her skull.
.o.o.o.
She was floating. A warmth brought comfort to her body. A gentle moisture glided along her stinging skin. Relief flooded Hermione's system as she was lulled awake from a deep slumber. It was warm and gentle. The woman leaned into the comfort, her head floating in a dark abyss. Her body felt like the heaviest stone buried deep within the earth. Her fingers and toes tingled with needles. Hermione felt a strange sensation inside her skull. It was not like the usual headaches she'd experienced. The sensation was as if she could feel a bruise on her brain itself.
The moisture being rubbed on her skin was a gentle soothing to her aching body. The soft cloth rubbed along her face, down her cheeks, around her neck, and down her shoulders. The cleansing liquid sent the pain away with a gentle push. As if shooing someone out a door.
Hermione felt an arm supporting her head as her upper back rested against a firm yet comfortable surface. The woman slightly leaned into the arms of her healer.
Arms.
Hermione fell out of the person's lap and flopped onto the cold floor. She couldn't fully control her muscles. Her commands were followed with low accuracy. She couldn't crawl away or push herself up. Her arms were jelly and her body weighed down by an incredible force.
"It's okay," a quiet voice spoke, "I'm not going to hurt you."
The man. It had to be the man from before. His voice was familiar yet strange. As if she had heard it before yet it had changed. Once again, she couldn't place a name on the recognition.
Her head snapped to the side and her eyes fruitlessly locked onto him. Despite her head dizzy with the fast motion, her brain comprehended the sensation in slow motion.
"Who are you?"
Her whisper was barely audible.
She heard the sharp intake of breath. They were shocked. Hermione could interpret the gasp without needing to see a facial expression.
"Do you know who you are?"
The absent voice spoke to the air, "Hermione Granger."
She could hear his breath of relief.
"Do you know what's going on?"
"You kidnapped me."
Silence.
"More than that."
His prodding was annoying. But Hermione could understand it. Obviously the man was trying to determine how much her memory was suffering. Maybe he would give her some answers to what the pot holes in her mind were.
"There is a war going on."
"Yes."
Silence.
"When did you kidnap me?"
The man shuffled. Hermione wished she could adjust her body to shield herself and sit away from him, but she was too weak. It was difficult enough to keep her head facing his general direction, despite resting on the stone floor.
"What do you remember?"
It was a dangerous question. It could be a trap. But so far, the man had been nice to her, courteous even. Despite her discomfort, Hermione recognized that he had been trying to heal her from the pain. She silently longed for him to rub the cloth covered with lotion on her body once more. Could she trust him? Hermione felt she didn't have a choice. He was her only solace in this prison.
"We were…" She couldn't mention Harry. It was too risky. "I was in the forest. Camping. Then I woke up here."
"Do you remember what has happened since you've been here?"
The question was intrusive and obvious. He knew what had been happening to her. He clearly had seen the effects of her injuries. But what was causing her incredible pain?
"...I've... been tortured," She began slowly, concentrating on the pot holes in her head, trying to find the road. "Multiple times… Different times… But... "
She felt the man tense with a strange sixth sense. Her head pulsed.
Her voice was much quieter than before, "I don't know how."
The tension resonated in the air with a thick trepidation. He didn't say anything. He didn't tell her what had been done to her. He wasn't going to, she knew. If the man wasn't going to restore her memory, maybe he would tell her what she recognized.
"Who are you?"
There was no reply.
Hermione spoke softly, her voice despairing, "I know you... I recognize your voice... But I don't know who you are. I can't remember."
"It's better that way."
Anger flashed through the woman.
"How could it be better."
"Trust me."
She didn't reply to that. She might be able to get some information from the man. He might give her food and water and try to heal her wounds. But she was still being held by this man, or someone that he was working with. It would be irrational to trust him.
"That woman. Who was she?"
He paused before replying, "She is the one who kidnapped you."
"Why are you helping me if you're working with her."
A despairing bitterness entered his voice, "I'm not working with her."
Then what was he doing?
Hermione didn't ask that question. It was unlikely he would tell her. So she pursued another question.
"I know her."
"Yes."
Silence. The silence was deafening. Hermione wished she had more noise in the cavern than the echo of her own mind.
"What is her name."
Pause.
"Bellatrix."
The name rang invisible bells in her head. A searing pain shot down the road, connecting all the potholes together in one long crack. Whoever she was, Bellatrix sent the worst red alarms in her psyche.
"What is she doing to me?"
Pain. The memory of severe pain. That was all Hermione was able to identify with the woman.
The silence passed once more. It seemed to be another question that the man would not be answering.
"You need to rest."
No shit. But Hermione didn't say this out loud. Instead, she layed in eternal silence next to the man until she heard the rustle of fabric, the squeak of metal bars closing, and the receding footsteps.
.o.o.o.
"Here."
The familiar sound of a plate and a glass sliding across stone echoed in the chamber. He was back. They hadn't spoken much since their first conversation, but he continued to bring her food and water. He was the only one who brought this. The woman had come back again as well. But Hermione never recalled what their interactions were. Where a memory of the visit should be was replaced with an overwhelming echo of extreme distress.
Hermione drank the water first. He never brought more than one glass. It tasted sweet and refreshing, kept at a room temperature that comforted her frigid body. The water was always soothing and heavenly. The sandwiches were always the same lunch meats and mayonnaise. He never brought anything else. The woman also sat more comfortable with her legs crossed or sitting on her legs when she ate. Despite the humiliation, the man hadn't harmed her and she knew he witnessed her nudity regardless of her attempts to shield herself. Hermione couldn't help feeling tired after eating. Her body was still dehydrated and starved, even if it wasn't as bad as before. After ingesting necessities, her body always fell gradually into a deep sleep to heal and use the nutrition. Hermione rarely heard the man's retreating steps before she fell asleep.
This time was no different. As she finished her food, and drank the sweet water, the woman felt her body grow heavier.
"If you're not helping her," Hermione forced herself to ask, "Why aren't you helping me?"
"I am helping you."
Hermione forced a yawn back down her throat.
"No. You're just making sure I stay alive."
The silence was back. She had grown used to it. Sometimes she hummed to fill the abyss that consumed her waking hours. It was no longer uncomfortable, simply a neutral fact.
"I can't let you leave."
"Because she'll hurt you too," Hermione finished the unsaid truth.
His whisper was somber, "Yes."
There was nothing to say. Nothing to ask. Exhaustion continued to sneak into her body and she laid down on the uneven floor. He wasn't working for Bellatrix, and he wasn't trying to rescue her. He kept her alive, gave her food, and occasionally rubbed a healing cream into her aching body. He likely wasn't required to heal her though. And he sat with her while she ate. The man could have easily dropped the food and left without a word.
Hermione was well aware of the scent that burned his nostrils. Despite her efforts to excrete in the large drain hole she had found in the corner of her cell, Hermione only found a shredded rag in the room. It was either use it as a pillow, or use it as toilet paper. Hermione chose the latter. Yet the rag had been well used and never changed. And her hand would get urine and dried feces on it simply from touching the rag. It must have been weeks since she had last bathed in a creak. Combined with the profuse sweat that left her body clammy many times when she woke, she must absolutely reek. Yet… he tolerated her smell and stayed close to her as she ate.
Hermione could understand why he wasn't helping her escape. He didn't want to suffer the same fate as she. Despite this knowledge, she couldn't help the rage that flooded her system.
"You're a coward," she mumbled out.
As her mind finally surrendered to sleep, Hermione thought she heard a soft, "I know."
.o.o.o.
A/N
Wow. I am really surprised by the attention this fic has gotten in such a short time. Thank you! Please leave me some comments and feedback! Any suggestions or constructive criticism are welcome!