Author Notes:
This chapter is again rather graphic with violence, so read at your own peril. But you will finally see what creature Hermione has become.
(And believe me, it wasn't so easy to figure that one out... How she became like this will be revealed over the course of the story, don't worry.)
Besides that, many thanks to Lauren and MrBenzendrine89 to proof read it, your inputs are greatly valued! :)
And a heartfelt thank you to anyone who reads this story and leaves a comment. Every single one is very much appreciated, even if I don't respond to all of them.
Enjoy!
Chapter 4: How did you get used to it?
"And now, let me present the favourite for tonight's main fight: The Vicious Harpy!"
Hermione was overwhelmed by the deafening sound of cheering that met her when she was let into the fight pit; she had already changed into her Creature form minutes ago, making sure she was agile enough to move, as a few patches of her skin were still scarred from the burns she had received in the last fight. And her feathers had not yet fully regrown, giving her the look of a half-plucked goose. "Let this be over soon," she whispered, taking one last deep breath, and entered the spotlight of the pit, ready to fight for her life once more.
Her opponent was already waiting for her in the pit, a huge black werewolf trotting from one side to the other and back, the yellow eyes fixed on her.
"Oh my gods!" Hermione let out in shock, gasping even. They got to be joking; her opponent looked like Sirius in his animagus form. It felt like a really bad déjà-vu as if she was back in those days when Sirius could only leave Grimmauld Place in this form. She took another deep breath to keep the memory of Sirius' death out of her mind, and how badly Harry had coped with it.
"Last chance to place your bets, the fight will start momentarily!"
Again, Hermione looked up to the audience, but she couldn't make anything besides the faint form of the railings and the obscured forms of the people attending the fights—no faces or anything that would have given her any clue as to where she was. Not that she had any way to contact her friends on her own, but she still wanted to collect as much information as she could without raising suspicion in the hope that her friends would find her soon. Looking back down, fixing her opponent, she decided that tonight she can't risk hesitating once more, as a werewolf is a more vicious Creature than an empusa, despite the latter's flames.
"Rien ne va plus, ladies and gentlemen! The betting pool is closed..."
With an angry screech, Hermione let the bird in her take control for the fight, which overwhelmed her mind with its own thirst for violence and blood. Gods, she hated having her mind flooded like that, hated giving up control like this, but she had to in order to survive.
And then, with the sound of a horn, the fight started. The werewolf didn't wait long with the first attack, instead, it jumped straight at her, gnarling and baring its teeth.
Hermione, surprised at the move, first tried to avoid the collision with stepping sideways, but the werewolf followed her. She immediately kicked back, the talons on her feet leaving deep marks on the side of the werewolf, which landed in the wall. She followed it, not wanting to give it the chance to get up and attack her again like this. It turned into a brawl on the floor, with the werewolf repeatedly going for Hermione's neck, and her driving her talons into anything she could hit, as well as aiming for the werewolf's eyes to gouge them.
The werewolf roared in pain when she drove her talons into its lower belly, hitting an organ; in response, the werewolf went wild for a moment, scratching her everywhere.
Hermione let out a high-pitched screech when the werewolf managed to cut her deeply on her thigh, the pain numbed her brain for a second, while the blood sprayed everywhere. Severely enraged by the injury, she pushed the werewolf off her, and got up, screeching once more from the pain in her thigh.
The werewolf was back on its legs as well, ready for another attack. It was bleeding already from several injuries, but especially from the wound on its lower belly, and it was breathing heavily. However, the injuries didn't stop it from jumping at Hermione once more.
This time, Hermione was prepared, and instead pushed the werewolf into the next wall, going immediately after it. Cheered on by the audience, and the blood pounding in her head, she pinned it down, letting out a satisfied screech. The werewolf underneath struggled to get free, but she had it fixed between her legs. Slowly leaning down, she started to push the talons on her fingers into her opponent's eyes, wanting to hear the werewolf scream and see the blood come out of it.
The werewolf tried to get her off with its hind legs, leaving deep marks on her back, but it was useless, as Hermione continued to gouge its eyes.
Oh yes, the Harpy in her had complete control, and it wanted more, revelling in the bloody mess, so Hermione fixed the werewolf's jaw with the rest of her hands, the talons poking into its throat. Blood.
Growling deeply, and probably with the strength of despair, the werewolf managed to push her to the side and off. Rubbing its eyes, it turned around and got on its legs, trying to localise Hermione.
Hermione used the moment to take a breath and reassess the situation—she was badly hurt, the wound on her thigh was still bleeding, and she probably had more cuts on her back and in her wings. In addition, she started to feel nauseous from the adrenaline rushing through her system. She wanted this nightmare to be over already, so she launched herself once more at the werewolf, kicking it so hard that she could hear bones crack.
Howling from the additional pain, the werewolf was unable to get up again. It was defeated, but not yet dead. Gasping for air, the werewolf transformed back into its human form—a rare, but not unknown ability—only to reveal a feral, but broken looking woman, covered in blood and open wounds. She started to gurgle inaudible words, interrupted with coughs.
Still on an adrenaline high, Hermione tried to regain the control over her mind, against a resisting Harpy. But it was still her body—and her mind—and the fight was over now. Breathing in deeply, she kneeled down beside the woman, even took her hand to indicate that she was here.
The woman let out an anxious yelp upon the touch and shivered. She tried to say something, but the words got lost in the coughs and the language, as she didn't speak English.
For Hermione, it was a flashback to the end of the fight with the empusa, who had begged her to end his life fast. "I'm sorry, so sorry," she whispered, and swallowed hard. The audience started to chant for the kill, which made her feel even more nauseous, almost to the point of throwing up. How could they force her to kill this helpless woman?
"Please," the woman gurgled, blood drops running down from her lips. "Kill."
How had she learned those words? Pressing her lips into a thin, white line, Hermione nodded. And then she closed her eyes, just as she had done with the empusa, not wanting to see the moment she killed her opponent. Yet, it was again the worst feeling to drive her talons into the throat of the woman, to hear that last gasp before the woman let out her last breath.
"They weren't too happy with you throwing up in the pit before blacking out..."
Hermione groaned, her eyes still closed. She realised that she was lying on her mattress in her cell, her body aching everywhere. However, it was her thigh that burned the most, and she could feel a bandage wrapped around it. Slowly, and her eyes still closed, she let her fingers wander over it—it was very crudely done, and it hurt like hell to move the leg.
"And you were bleeding all over them, according to their swearing," the male voice in the neighbouring cell continued dryly; he must have noticed that she had regained consciousness.
"Leave me alone," Hermione retorted weakly and tried to turn towards the edge of the mattress. "Gods, that hurts!"
"Yes, they had to stitch you back together, you know?"
Hermione responded with a glare towards the wall that separated their cells. Again, she wasn't in the mood to talk—she was too numb from both the physical and the emotional pain. Gods, she had killed another person! She flexed her fingers in response to the memory of driving them into the throat of that woman; she hated it. There was nothing glorious about killing another innocent being, absolutely nothing. Thinking about it, Hermione felt nausea rise up in her throat once more, threatening to choke her. She swallowed hard several times, concentrating on her breathing. It took her several minutes to fight the urge to throw up back down so that she could finally try and get on her feet.
"You're not crying again, aren't you?"
"No," she replied shortly. Clenching her jaws, she managed to get on her feet. Gods, she saw black for a short moment from the pain in her leg. She pressed her hand on the bandage, in the hope that it would help avoiding losing the stitches while trying to walk over to the table where the guards—or whoever it was—had placed the pot with the Healing Potion for her other injuries.
"I told you that you'd get used to it..."
"I'm not." She sat down on the chair next to the table, and began to apply the Healing Potion on every wound she could reach; again, it stung in the first moment, but then started soothing the skin. "How did you get used to it?" she asked when she was finished, more to distract herself from her thoughts for a moment than out of curiosity.
"It's easier if you don't see them as humans, you know? See them as your next victim, not someone you need to save."
"They are not my victims!"
"Don't get yourself riled up, little bird."
Hermione didn't respond to that, but instead tried to get up again to wander back to the bed. "Fuck!" A sharp pain shot through her stitched leg, but she refused to sit back down on the chair. Biting her lips, she made her way back step by step, groaning each time she had to put pressure on her injured leg. Thank the gods that it was a really short distance, and crossed in a few moments. Exhaling, she let herself fall back on the bed.
"You know, you made me curious," the cell neighbour continued to Hermione's chagrin.
"What?" she growled, turning her back to the wall separating them.
"How did you end up here? I mean, you obviously weren't born like this–"
"I don't want to talk about those things."
"Have you ever talked about it to anyone? You sure had friends–"
"What about I don't want to talk about it do you not understand?" Hermione growled, her voice screeching even.
"I see. You lost someone over it."
Hermione didn't respond to that; she didn't want to be reminded about the break-up with Draco. It still hurt, still broke her heart every time she thought about it. And the few times she had seen him in those eight years—at events they both attended as guests because of work or friends they still shared—she ran off because she couldn't bear the guilt. All because she hadn't been careful enough on a business trip abroad for a single moment! She heaved a sigh, trying to loosen the knot in her chest.
"They don't know?" the cell neighbour asked, his voice sounding more earnest for the first time.
"No," she croaked, shaking her head.
"Why?"
"Why would you care?" she retorted. "I had my reasons."
"Sure. It wasn't that you were selfish, right?"
"Stop it!" To emphasise her words, Hermione hit the wall separating them with a Stinging Hex, one of the spells she had mastered without a wand. "I don't want to talk about it. Not with you, not with anyone!"
Unfortunately, that outburst didn't go unnoticed, and a guard in the vicinity that had heard the bang came over to check the situation. "No magic, you filthy bird!" he uttered threateningly when he arrived in front of Hermione's cell; she didn't grace him with a reaction—they were brainless bullies in her opinion, and it was her neighbour's fault, anyway.
"Leave her alone, you moron!" the cell neighbour interfered. "She is just upset."
"Shut up you toothless crone-"
"Let me out and we will see who's toothless! Leave her alone!"
Hermione curled herself up on her bed, listening to the short unfair argument between the guard and her cell neighbour, ending with her neighbour being hit with their Curse as well, albeit only to shut him up. She knew that her punishment was still up, there was no escaping it. So, she inhaled in expectation of the Curse to hit her any moment. It was their ultimate punishment for everything, and the guards loved dishing it out. The Curse had a similar effect to the Cruciatus—yet she knew it wasn't the Unforgivable, as no one who had ever suffered it ever forgot what it felt like. No one. And this wasn't the first time either that she was being treated with their Curse—they had tried to provoke her enough to let her Creature come out after they had brought her here, but she wouldn't give them the satisfaction. No, they could coax her, hit her—with hands or their Curse—all they wanted, she wasn't going to let it out. And she still wondered how they knew in the first place.
"No magic, that is the rule..."
Hermione was hit by that excruciating spell, running through her body like a shot of electricity; her limbs were shaking from her muscles clenching hard, and her brain felt like it was on fire while she started to feel as if she was suffocating. Yet, she didn't want to give the guard the satisfaction of hearing her scream; she rather bit her tongue until she could taste blood. It only stopped when she was about to pass out from the pain, leaving her all feeling sore and gasping for air.
"No magic, is that understood, you filthy bird?" the guard repeated, a malicious satisfaction ringing in his voice.
Still gasping for air, Hermione nodded once. That was all he would get from her as a reaction, and then she heard him walk away again to her relief. Her muscles were still all taut and it took her great effort to stretch her legs again. "Aaahh, fuck!" The wound on her thigh had opened and the bandage was all drenched in blood. Gritting her teeth, and trying to ignore the stabbing pain, she pressed on it, hoping it would stop the bleeding somewhat.
"You okay?" the cell neighbour asked, his voice sounding rather coarse, but sincerely concerned.
"I've experienced worse," she replied, through her still gritted teeth. "But the wound is open again."
"Shit... They won't stitch you together a second time." She could hear him sigh. "But, you know... You know, your type of Creature has some limited healing abilities... I'm not so sure, but since you seem to be a Harpy–"
"I don't want to let it out."
"What do you have to lose?"
"I hate it." Hermione groaned in pain when she tried to move her leg, the sharp sting overwhelmed her mind for a split second. But—to her chagrin—it made her realise that her neighbour was right. If she didn't want to bleed out, she had to use her Creatures healing abilities; those abilities were rather limited with Harpies, but they were able to heal smaller wounds like cuts and scratches faster, and cause bigger ones to at least close. She just didn't want to give over control to her Creature outside of the fight pit, but the still bleeding wound on her thigh seemed to make it necessary. Breathing in, she closed her eyes and lowered her mental barriers to let the Creature out for the healing.
"Did it work?" he asked a while later, still sounding sincerely concerned.
Having barely regained control over her body once more, Hermione let her hand carefully stroke over her thigh; the wound was still sensitive to the barest touch, but at least it seemed closed, though she feared that a scar would remain afterwards. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm fine. It would be nice if you left me alone now, however. I can't deal with anything else today."
"All right. Let me know if you do want someone to talk to."
She could hear him let out a small disappointed sigh, and it made her smile faintly—he sounded as if he did care somewhat about her, and it made her feel slightly less alone in this moment. Now finally left alone, her thoughts returned to her last fight and the image of that scared woman gasping for air in the pit, pleading to kill her. "I'm sorry," she whispered voicelessly. "I hope you're in a better place now." Yes, that thought had a somewhat comforting touch to it, that both her opponents she had been forced to kill for her own survival were in a better place now. "And I hope you can forgive me," she added just as voicelessly. Wiping a single stubborn tear from her cheek, she then decided that she wouldn't just wait for her friends to find her, but that she would find her own way out of this hell, and gather as much information about it as she could. If they thought they could break her—a war survivor—they were wrong. She would get out of here, and she would be alive!
TBC