Nestled comfortably amongst the dunes of the beach, Shell Cottage sat still, the gentle sway of its surrounding sea lavender the only sign of life. It was early morning, and all its inhabitants were asleep, all relatively relaxed (as relaxed as is possible in times of war, naturally). All inhabitants, of course, but one.
One brunette girl tossed fitfully in her sleep, suddenly disturbed after days of immobility. White sheets constricted the movement of her legs. Hermione Granger sat up with a gasp, breathing uncontrollably. She ripped the blankets off of her body, jumping to her feet in a fighting stance before her brain caught up with her.
She blinked, heart rate slowing. She didn't recognize the room she was in, but unless Malfoy Manor had undergone an intense renovation, she doubted she was still within the walls of the grandiose house. Padding across the room, a brief search revealed her wand was not in the vicinity. That was concerning.
She examined herself in a mirror fastened to the wall. Although pale, she seemed to be in decent condition. She swept irritatedly at the state of her hair, forming a frizzy halo around her head. Her cuts had been healed, save her bandaged forearm.
Quickly, she unrolled the gauze, gasping at what she saw. One hateful word was carved into her skin, each letter an ugly aberration against her arm. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back, biting her lip. Her finger reached out to drift across the scar, carefully tracing the curves of each mark. Mudblood. That's what she was.
She clenched her fist, nails cutting into the softness of her palm. Never again would she let herself be put in a position of weakness like that. With resolved determination, she moved towards the door, intent on figuring out where she was. While she was clearly not in the Manor anymore, it was impossible to say she was safe. Her wand had not been returned to her.
As her hand reached out for the door knob, she stilled, suddenly backing away. Frowning, she turned back towards the room. On the windowsill lay several small shells, and she quickly grabbed one, tossing it at the door. Constant vigilance, she thought wryly to herself. It bounced off pitifully, making a small clattering noise on the wooden floors.
Now decently confident the door was not jinxed, she slipped out of the room, doing her best to avoid creaking floorboards. She was at the end of a hallway, across from a door that stood slightly ajar. She remained still for a brief second, before gently moving to push the door further open. A distinct blond head of hair lay on the lone bed.
She squeaked, darting out of the room. Her heart pounded in her chest, moving uncomfortably into her throat. Draco Malfoy was in the room across from hers. Had they moved her from Malfoy Manor? The last thing she remembered was Bellatrix's crazed eyes looking down at her as she decorated her forearm. Where were Harry and Ron? Had they managed to escape?
She needed to get out. Then, she could figure out some way to contact Harry and Ron. First, though, she needed a wand. It stood to reason Malfoy had one at his bedside. If she could only creep in, grab the wand, she could try to apparate out. If she continued down the hallway, there was no guarantee of who she would find. With the presence of Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy was probably not far off, and perhaps even Bellatrix…
She shuddered. Malfoy it was then. She peered into the room, ensuring the blond was still sleeping. With a shake of her head, she tiptoed into the room, eyes searching frantically for his wand. The room was barren, adorned with only a few pieces of furniture. Heart beating wildly, she checked the desk only to find its drawers empty. The windowsill was similarly vacant.
Her eyes turned to Malfoy's prone form. She groaned internally. There was something sticking out from under the corner of Malfoy's pillow. She hadn't pegged Malfoy to be someone who slept with his wand under his pillow, yet she supposed war changed everyone. His hand partially covered the wand, so that she could only see a sliver. She crept up to his body, slowly, slowly lifting up the pillow…
He groaned. She froze, eyes locked onto his face. His eyes fluttered open, and he frowned.
"Granger?" It was as if time slowed. Moving instinctively, she flung herself on top of him, grabbed a second pillow, and shoved it forcefully against his face. His arms flailed wildly, but she held firm, pushing all her strength into maintaining her grip on the pillow. With a heave, she was thrown backwards as Malfoy regained his strength. Her back hit the wall painfully.
"What the fuck, Granger?" He yelled, but she ignored him, throwing herself at him with a yell. She knocked him off the bed, diving wildly for his wand. Hermione reached a desperate hand under his pillow, grabbed onto the wand, and victoriously pulled out… a book.
She blinked. In her fist she inexplicably clutched a copy of The Hobbit by J.R. Tolkien. Suddenly, Malfoy's cold hand reached to encircle her arm, and she felt herself being pulled from the room. She fought recklessly, clawing at anything she could reach with her one free hand. Malfoy yanked down the hallway, his unrelenting grip tight on her body. Was he taking her to the Death Eaters? To Bellatrix? She pounded his back, but her arm was still weak, and pain instead shot up to her shoulder.
"POTTER!" He roared. Her eyes widened. Was Harry here too? Just as she was about to renew her attacks on Malfoy, he suddenly let go, throwing her unceremoniously against a couch. She fell back with an oof. His silver eyes pierced hers with a glare.
"POTTER! GET DOWN HERE!"
Footsteps thundered down the stairs, and she dove off the couch, sprinting towards the door.
"Oh no you don't," growled Malfoy, and he moved to intercept her. She spun around, moving back towards the door they had come through, when it slammed open. Charging through the door was Harry, wand raised.
"Harry!" She shrieked. She flung herself at him, arms circling around his neck. He clutched hold of her, yet she ripped herself out of his grip, spinning round to face Malfoy again. He was standing there with his arms crossed, glaring angrily at Harry.
"What happened?" Harry asked.
"You should be asking her!" He exclaimed, gesturing at her. "I was sleeping peacefully when suddenly I was being suffocated by a pillow!"
"A pillow?" Harry asked, eyebrows raised.
"The bint climbed on top of me and started pummeling me!"
Hermione followed the exchange with wide eyes. Why was Harry unsurprised to see Malfoy? Unless…
"Harry! What did I say to you after we ran into Fluffy the first time?" She asked. He furrowed his eyebrows.
"Uh… after Fluffy?" He grinned suddenly. "Oh, something about going to bed before we were killed, or worse, expelled."
She deflated. It was definitely Harry. At that moment, Ron burst into the room.
"What's happening?"
"Ask her!" Malfoy sputtered indignantly. Ron turned in her direction, his face breaking out in a wide smile.
"Hermione! You're awake!" He dashed across the room, suffocating her in a hug. She pushed him away, needing answers.
"Can somebody explain to me what is going on?" Harry and Ron looked at each other.
"Hermione," Ron said, gently. "We're at Shell Cottage, a safe house for the Order. We've been here three days. You've been unconscious. Bellatrix really did a number on you."
She sank onto the couch in disbelief. Three days? If she had been asleep that long, it was worse than she thought. She knew what the Cruciatus could do to people, that it could push someone past the point of sanity. She was lucky to be lucid. Her attention turned to Malfoy.
"What is he doing here?" She asked. Malfoy huffed.
"I saved you, Granger. Not that you deserve it."
"Shut your trap, Malfoy!" Yelled Ron.
"He did," said Harry, at the same time. She looked at him sharply.
"Saved me?" She prompted. Harry shrugged.
"Not just you, us. Still don't know why the git did it, but he did." Hermione turned her gaze on Malfoy, who was still standing there bitterly, a soft pink splayed across his cheeks.
"And this is how I'm repaid? With an unprompted attack?" He spat. Hermione huffed.
"Well what else would you expect me to do? The last I remember, I was being tortured by your aunt! Excuse me if I don't react well on seeing you."
"It's not as if you're happy to be here, Malfoy," Interjected Ron.
"We don't always do things we're happy about, Weasel," shot back Malfoy. Ron's face began to turn red, poised to begin arguing, but Harry smoothly interrupted.
"Why don't we get Hermione back to bed and get Fleur to check on her? I'm sure she would appreciate the rest."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Harry shot her a warning glance and she snapped it shut, resolved to wait.
Several hours later, Hermione sat alone in her room, head reeling from everything she had learned. Harry and Ron had just left her side, albeit reluctantly, after a promise from her that she would rest.
The combination of the Cruciatus curse, which put immense stress on not only the body but the mind, coupled with a concussion she had sustained at some point during her torture had not reacted well. It made sense, the more she thought about it. Fundamentally, the two things affect the mind in the same way. She thought of Neville's parents, who had lost their minds at the hands of the Death Eaters. No scans could show the damage on their brains, as it wasn't physical. In the same way, she didn't think concussions appeared on muggle CT scans. Neither ailment had a concrete solution, either. Though perhaps if Neville's parents were treated as concussion patients, and put under magically induced rest, at least some of the damage could be undone…
She shook her head. It was a thought for another day. She did wonder, however, if previous exposure to the Cruciatus made one more susceptible to be driven to insanity later on. She twirled a curl loosely. That could be problematic.
She did not plan to encounter Bellatrix again, but one never knew. They had narrowly escaped this time, in large part due to Malfoy's intervention. She furrowed her brow. Now that was interesting.
When they had arrived at the Manor, she had known there was something off in his countenance. He had looked panicked, but slowly, it had washed away, and he had lied for them. Draco Malfoy, lying to his parents, to protect them. She shook her head. It was astounding.
And afterwards, he had gotten the others out, opening the way out of Malfoy Manor for them. And he had left with them, revealing his betrayal to his parents, undoubtedly losing any amnesty he had from Voldemort's forces. And yet she knew how he felt about muggles — that they were beneath him, had called her Mudblood on numerous occasions.
She once again traced the scar on her forearm, which she had refused to let Fleur bandage. They were linked now, she supposed, maimed by the same blade. Perhaps her blood had even been on the knife when Bellatrix had hurled the weapon at her nephew. An ugly laugh forced its way up her throat. She hoped she'd muddied his blood.
