December 24th
Rodolphus didn't come back to the cellar or whatever damned room she was tucked away in for a very long time. When her stomach could no longer stand being empty, Hermione forced herself to eat the food that was still waiting on the tray. For all she knew, it was the last time anyone would come back to feed her. Maybe she'd pushed him too hard. Clearly the man wasn't stable. She should've been gentler in her approach. Trying to wind him up to the point of being overly emotional rarely did her any good.
Her mouth still throbbed where he'd struck her twice. She was thankful that at least he hadn't hit her hard enough to break any of her teeth. That was an experience she didn't care to experience again. Once the memory charms were removed from her mind carefully by Babajide Akingbade months earlier, she was able to remember all of the times that Rodolphus had lost his temper over the years and physically hurt her in some manner. Most of the incidents had been worse than just a simple backhand across her mouth. He'd been clever in his manipulation of her mind, forcing her to believe that the one who was actually hurting her was her husband. The man was a genius with memory charms. If he'd only been able to channel his talents into something useful and worthwhile maybe all of their lives would've been different.
There was something very telling about a man who would use physical violence against a woman. Especially one that was so much smaller. Somehow Hermione couldn't imagine that Bellatrix would ever allow the violence in her own home. At least not unless there was some sort of adult game being played behind the closed doors of their bedroom. Hermione didn't want to travel down that sick line of thinking. Rodolphus was the sort of man who could hold his temper for a very long time without exploding. Possessed of an extraordinarily long fuse, when the end was finally reached, it was explosive. She'd been unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of his ire more times than most. Perhaps his frustration with her was because at every turn she disappointed him simply by not being the woman he wished she was. How was anyone supposed to succeed in that sort of environment?
No one bothered to bring her an additional blanket. It was entirely possible that he was angry enough that he wouldn't care if she died down there. Every person had their breaking point. Maybe Rodolphus finally found his. Without her beaded bag, she felt naked and exposed. Hermione wrapped the stolen cloak and the thin blanket as tightly around her body as she could in an effort to conserve as much of her body heat as possible. The temperatures dropped at some point in her stay. If she discovered that there was snow on the ground outside, she wouldn't have been surprised.
With no way to tell time, she didn't even know what day it was. Had Christmas come and gone? The thought of spending her Christmas shivering in the cold darkness made her laugh. It certainly wouldn't be the worst Christmas she'd ever had if that was the case. The one she spent with Harry on the horcrux hunt had been pretty dismal. There had been some terrible ones in the worst years of her marriage too. And how could she ever forget the Christmas she almost murdered Aubin? As thankful as she was for Alexandre's help in passing along the message from Antonin, part of her still hated him for preventing her from killing his baby brother. How different would the world be if she'd eradicated that sorry son of a bitch before he could kill Hannah? Or any of the other horrible acts he'd committed?
Of course, she had to remind herself that just because it wasn't the worst Christmas she'd ever had yet, that didn't mean there wasn't still time for anything else to happen. The longer Rodolphus stayed away, the more nervous she grew. What was he doing? Was he preparing for some disturbing ritual? Or was he gathering up his allies for a bit of bloodsport? She really couldn't tell.
From the moment Rodolphus left her prison, she'd thought of little else but their conversation. How could she? It had been bizarre and upsetting. Was he telling the truth? She believed him about the part where he tried unsuccessfully to mold her into some facsimile of his late wife. There had been enough evidence of that over the years between his spells in her mind and the training he gave her that she didn't even realize had been training at the time. But the memory spells and the charms that he planted in her head made her believe that he was trying to make her into some sort of mindless super solider, not his dead wife. She thought that he was attempting to turn her into a weapon.
What did he mean by stating he could still try to bring Bellatrix back? That required the use of extremely Dark magic, similar to what the Dark Lord used to give him back a body. Except much, much worse. Hermione didn't want to believe that it was possible that Rodolphus was trying to resurrect Bellatrix, but he certainly was crazy enough to try it. How would that even work? The logistics of such an abomination of nature threatened to do her head in.
Was Rodolphus trying to be the real-life Dr. Frankenstein? Maybe he was planning on building his dead wife a brand-new body from bits and pieces of others. He claimed that Hermione had many of the same features. Was it even possible to cut multiple bodies up to make the perfect vessel? And even if it was, how would he make it Bellatrix? Could he call her back from beyond the Veil? Or was he just essentially trying to create an inferius that looked a bit like his wife?
Clearly, Rodolphus was losing his mind. Likely he had been for many years. He experienced entirely too much isolation. That wasn't good for anyone. For four years he'd lived almost solely as a dog with just a few humans he trusted enough to speak to. But it was likely that he'd been suffering much longer than that.
"One man went into Azkaban and another came out."
She'd heard her husband repeat the same statement countless times. While it was probably true for everyone who spent any time in the infamous prison, Antonin made a special distinction for Rodolphus. Her husband and the other wizard were never open about what caused the rift between them. Hermione resolved to demand answers from Antonin if she ever saw him again. Obviously it hadn't been bad enough that the two men couldn't stand to be in the same room together. Antonin even trusted Rodolphus enough to help restore his in-laws' memories. Both men were confusing.
The sound of the door to her prison opening should have been a welcome sound, but it wasn't. Somehow she didn't get the impression that the person who was about to enter would be one that she had any desire to see again. Rescue missions were common in stories and movies, not reality. Hermione didn't have the energy to endure another nonsense conversation with the lunatic. Just the thought made her long to pull her blanket over her head to hide. Even the possibility of more food to fill her empty belly didn't make the thought any easier. Besides, he might drug her food again. She would rather starve to death than have to go through potions withdrawals again. They only got worse each time. The next time she feared she would die.
A groan exited her mouth when she heard the heavy footsteps walking towards her camp bed. Whatever experience she was about to have, she didn't imagine it would be good. Completely involuntary, the noise she made only served to make the new inhabitant of her prison laugh. Realizing immediately that it wasn't Rodolphus at all, Hermione opened her eyes to see Draco come into view. Though she was surprised to see the wizard, she was still annoyed and worried about what the next few minutes would bring. Draco was not a friend. She couldn't allow herself to forget that fact for a single moment. Not again.
"I expected you'd be at least a little more excited to see me."
In that moment she almost would've preferred it to have been Rodolphus instead. She didn't bother to hide the rolling of her eyes. He should be made aware that she wasn't in the mood for his antics.
"What do you want, Malfoy?"
"Oh, are we back to 'Malfoy'? And after all of those times I heard you scream out Draco."
He wasn't going to leave her alone in peace. Reminders of the times they'd spent together in various beds and on random sofas disturbed her more than she cared to admit even to herself. She sat up on the rickety camp bed, ready in case the disgusting wizard had some nefarious purpose in mind for his visit. How he knew where to find her would be an interesting mystery to solve, but she didn't think that he would tell her the truth even if she asked nicely.
"This is a truly dreadful place and forgive me for saying so, but you look awful, Hermione. Has my uncle been treating you poorly?"
Not caring that she was glaring at him, Draco sat down on the camp bed next to her and leaned his back against the wall. She was surprised that he was willing to sit on something so dusty, but then again his twenty years as a tracker meant he'd been forced to endure less-than-luxurious accommodations on many occasions. Hermione sighed, every cell in her body exhausted. More than just the inadequate sleep and the incessant shivering that wouldn't stop, she was weary to her bones. She could feel the end coming. Somehow the end of the year seemed like a significant time to her for reasons she didn't fully understand. What was the ridiculous statement that so many made each January 1st as the year changed? New year, new me. The thought made her laugh. No one ever really changed.
But with the end coming, she was finding the nasty business of living each moment much harder than before. It was tempting to want time to pass quickly enough that she didn't have to wait long, but she feared what the end was going to be. She could handle it just fine if she lost her life. It was something she'd been expecting to happen for years. Part of her believed it was something of a miracle that she'd managed to survive as long in the Dark Lord's world as she had. People were always quick to state that someone experiencing a rough patch in their life should take it 'day by day'. What if that was too hard? Hermione struggled to make it moment by moment some days. Each breath was becoming more difficult.
She shook her head in an attempt to dislodge her ever-increasingly depressing thoughts. Evidently she'd been alone for far too long in the dark. It was embarrassing the depths she'd sunk to. The desire to be seen by Draco as something other than the beaten, terrified, pathetic creature she felt herself to be only moments before he opened the door become her sole desire. He would use any amount of weakness against her. Not only that, but he was apt to share every word they spoke, every expression she made with his uncle when they were through. She refused to let either wizard believe they'd somehow broken her.
"What do you want, Malfoy?"
Draco held up her beaded bag and the spare, untraceable wand she used when she was cloaking her magic months earlier.
"To rescue you, of course."