Draco goes quiet, letting her scheme. She squeezes her eyes shut and builds up charts in her mind. She wishes desperately for a scrap of parchment, but her mind will have to do. Diagrams and pictures are organized, scenes are played, and a plan starts to birth. She isn't going to have to wait for Harry and Ron to come save them. She's going to get them out herself.
Chapter Six
Hermione hasn't slept at all when they come to get her. Two tall Death Eaters in long dark robes enter the cell and one fastens a chain around her ankles, just long enough for her to walk in, but not run. He takes off the cuff around her wrist and she can see it's red and bloody from where it had chafed. She also gets a good look at the cuts on her arm that are oozing and swollen and throbbing.
The Death Eater pulls her to her feet, training a wand at her back and says, "Walk."
"What about him?" she asks, looking at Draco who hasn't been moved.
"He doesn't concern you. Walk." The Death Eater stabs his wand into her back.
"Draco?" She looks at him in concern as she's pushed out of the cell.
"It's okay," he says. "Just go."
"I said, walk!"
She walks. Blood rushes to her legs and they tingle as she shuffles out to the stairs.
White light pierces her eyes when she reaches the top of the stairs and tears blur her vision. The Death Eater leads her blindly to the right and pushes her up another set of stairs, wooden ones that creek under her shoes.
They enter a hallway. It's warm from the sunbeams shining in through the beautiful stain-glass windows, making shadows of rainbows on the hardwood floor. If Hermione had been there for other reasons than what she was there for now, she would have smiled at its beauty and lay down in the rainbow on the floor. She doesn't smile though. The cuffs chafing around her ankles painfully remind her why she is here, but she is still glad for the difference from the cold dungeon that gives rest to her chills.
The hallway ends at two large oak doors with curly golden handles. The Death Eater pulls open the doors and pushes her through to an amazing ballroom. The walls are high and decorated, the ceiling is dazzling with many diamond chandeliers, two balconies for orchestras sit high in the wall. The floor stretches forever in long, dark strips of wood. Hermione stands in awe at its size and beauty until a bucket full of soap and brushes is splashed into her arms, soaking the front of her with warm water.
"Scrub the floor," the Death Eater says. His voice echoes in the vast room. "Then you may drink if it's done well enough."
He leaves the room and closes the door behind him with a snap. Hermione feels tiny in the gigantic room. The walls seem to loom over her and the floor seems to taunt her by stretching out as far as it can. She walks to the far left corner, her shoes clicking on the vast floor, chain rattling behind her, and sets down the bucket and herself next to it.
She picks up the brush and stares at the blurring bristles, tears welling in her eyes. She pushes them away and sets the brush on its teeth. Biting her cracked lip, she cups some water in her hand and brings it to her nose. It reeks of chemicals and cleaners. No good to drink, though her throat begs for it. She brings it instead to the cut on her arm and gently washes away the crusted blood and infection that has leaked from the flapping skin. It stings like a wasp, but she grits her teeth against it and brings up another handful to rinse it off. When she's done, she finds a dry spot on her shirt and pats it tenderly dry.
She sits for a moment and just stares at the vastness of the floor, gauging how long it will take her to clean. She wonders what would happen if she just sat there forever, or got up and tried to run away. She shakes her head. It wouldn't work. Her limbs shake from lack of water and she knows the only way to get that is drinking from this bucket or cleaning the floor and being allowed something to drink.
Without warning, she bursts into body-shaking sobs, the weight of her situation crushing suddenly down on her. She feels like nothing more than the Mudblood she has been so branded as and it ices her to the core. For a few horrifying moments, she can do nothing but choke and heave and sob uncontrollably. Her fingers won't grasp the brush handle, her legs won't move to sit at a better angle, and her jaw won't stop bouncing.
Finally, she's able to breath, though it's shallow and riddled with gasps and chokes.
Placing her shaking fingers around the brush handle, she scrubs and scrubs until her fingers have molded around the handle, her shoulder aches, and her head feels heavy with chemicals.
After what seems like hours, the floor is done and sparkling, the knees of her jeans are soaked through, her back creeks, and her fingers are shrivelled. Her legs shake as she stands, unused to holding her weight. She's back at the large doors with the swirly handles, curls plastered to her face with sweat and dirty water. The floor is wet but clean and she realizes that she is alone and unguarded.
The doors are unlocked and don't so much as squeak when she opens them. The hallway is empty and she steps carefully into it. There is no one around, no place they could be hiding or watching, still her heart hammers and her neck heats like she's being watched. The chain makes the most noise as it is dragged, still it's enough to keep her spinning in circles, afraid something is going to sneak up behind her.
She passes the stairs she came up without stopping. This is her chance to scope out the manor, to complete the plan she was forming her her mind. There are another set of doors at the opposite end of the hallway. The handles are golden and curvy like the ones on the doors to the ballroom. She pulls on them, but the door won't budge. There are two windows at the top of the door shaped like suns halfway above the horizon line and she stands on her toes to peer out them.
She thinks she must be looking out the front of the house. There is a porch and three steps before a stone walkway that curves and twists just enough. The path leads to a giant and extravagant golden gate, a large letter M embossed on the front. The gateway is surrounded by a tall hedge that boarders the front yard and runs past her vision on both sides. A fountain, reminding her much of the Fountain of Fair Fortune in The Tales of Beedle the Bard, stands proud but dry as a bone to the left, surrounded by a ring of what Hermione assumes will be flowers when the weather is right. She takes note of the yard, studying its every inch, considering its every possibility to her plan.
There is the sound of footsteps behind her, making her jerk around, her heart beating wildly in her chest. The same Death Eater from before clambers up the steps. He looks at her, at first in confusion and then in anger.
"What are you doing? Have you finished scrubbing the floor?" he bites.
"Yes," she says rather proudly, refusing to cower before him. "Where is my drink?"
"You are so confident you deserve one?" He walks to the other end of the hall, peering in at the ballroom floor that her fingers are cramped from. "Fine," he snarls, turning back to her and quickly moving to grab her arm.
When Hermione leaves the cell and the tell-tale rattle of the door finishes echoing throughout the dungeon, Draco snaps.
"Let me go," he tells the Death Eater that has been left with him. His voice is calm but dripping with malice and he knows he can't keep it that way for long. He's been holding back for Hermione's sake, so she won't panic. She's a strong girl, he knows that, but he could see her starting to break. He is already broken. He broke a long time ago and now that she's out of the room he's nothing but a time-bomb.
"You had your chance to be let go along time ago," said the icy voice of the Death Eater. Draco recognizes him. He's been at meetings with him before. He just can't place his name. "You wasted it."
Draco tugs on the chain around his wrist, ignoring the way it bites his skin. "Do it now or I will personally see to it that you rot in Azkaban for the rest of your life." He knows he is no position to make threats, but he is so angry he can taste it like vomit in the back of his throat.
The Death Eater chuckles and walks closer to him. He squats down in front of Draco. His breath is sour, but Draco refuses to cower away. "You think you are getting out of here?" he whispers. "You are going to die in here, Malfoy. You are going to starve and slowly wither away to nothing chained to this wall. All because you fell in love with a filthy Mudblood."
"I swear, if you do anything to her, for every scratch you put on her body, for every curse you use, I will fucking tear you to pieces," Draco whispers back with as much ice as he can.
"Don't worry," the Death Eater says, standing up. "She'll outlive you. She'll watch you shrivel and die and rot across this cell. We can use her." He walks to the door. "I hope she's worth it."
Draco shrieks at him as he leaves. Too angry for words, yelling is all he can think of to do. He screams for what seems like hours, yelling obscenities and curses when he finds words. When his voice cracks and his throat is raw he leans back and slides down the wall with tears streaming down his face. He whispers now. Begs to be let go though no one can hear him. And then he stops caring about how he'll get out. He doesn't care if he rots here like the Death Eater said. He just wants her out.
"Please," he whispers. "Just let her go."
No one hears him but a colony of rats living in the upper pipes. And they don't care.
The manor is like a labyrinth. She tries to memorize the many turns and stairs and doors, but it's all too much. Eventually, the air gets cooler again and she thinks they have made it back underground. The Death Eater leads her through a set of doors and suddenly she's overcome with the smell of food. It nearly makes her faint. She hasn't eaten in so long and her stomach seems to realize that now as they walk into a metallic kitchen. There are about five House Elves stirring, frying, and baking. The two that came to her cell earlier aren't there.
"There will be guests tonight. You'll be serving. Lestrange requested you." the Death Eater tells her.
"What about my drink?" she asks, her already dry throat clenching.
"You'll get food and drink tonight," he says simply and leaves the room before she can protest.
She turns to face the Elves that don't seem to notice her at all. She is about to stop one and ask it if it knows what she's to do when something in the back of the kitchen catches her eye. It's a person, not an Elf, and they look rather familiar, it's hard to tell though because their clothes are torn, their face is dirty, and their body is at an unnatural weight. The person-a boy only a little younger than her-is walking her way with a tray in hand. When he gets close enough she recognizes him through the smudges. Despite his appearance and situation, she finds the oddest thing about him is the lack of a camera in his hand.
He starts to hand her the platter with five sparkling wine glasses on it, but stops. "You're Hermione Granger," he says, a look of disbelief passing his eyes.
She chokes and her dry lips crack with a smile as she nods. "Colin Creevey."
"You're Hermione Granger," he says again as though he can't stop. "Hermione Granger. Harry Potter's friend. You've been captured? Harry has too? This is bad. They'll kill him. Then they'll kill me. No. It's good. If Harry's here he'll get us out."
"Harry's not here," she tells him quietly and the look of faint excitement passes from his eyes. "It's just me."
"Oh," he says, looking down. Hermione looks down too and sees that he isn't wearing any shoes. His toes are torn and caked black and his ankles are also chained.
"Colin?" she asks. He looks at her. "How long have you been here?"
He thinks for a moment. "Three months? I'm not sure. It was just after Christmas when they took me. I was at Hogwarts, see, and I… the Carrows… they had my brother and I tried to stop it… I…" he broke off. "I'm only not dead because I'm better at understanding the codes they use on that radio broadcast Potterwatch than the Death Eaters." A look of horror comes over his face, making him pale dramatically. "Oh no! Hermione! I didn't! I'm so sorry! I told them about the magic in that muggle town, Little Winging! That was you, wasn't it? I'm so sorry! This is all my fault!"
Hermione shook her head softly. "It wasn't us," she lies.
"Oh, good."
"Colin, is there anyone else here with you?"
He nods slightly. "One other person from Hogwarts, one German and two American muggle-borns who were vacationing in England for Christmas, and a couple half-bloods. The Death Eaters have already killed three of us. I'm surprised they haven't killed more."
Hermione's eyes widen. She can't believe she's been so ignorant. Of course there's more people. This makes her re-think her whole plan. She can't leave them. She can't just take Draco and herself and go.
"Where are they? Where are you being held?" she asks him.
"I can't say where exactly. It's dark and dungeon-like, farther underground."
Another dungeon? Hermione frowns. What kind of people have one dungeon, let alone two in their own house? The sick and twisted kind, she thinks and she remembers that Draco is heir to those sick and twisted people. Her face actually grows warm with anger at him and she has to forcibly remind herself that, though he may be heir, he isn't those people.
Somewhere, a bell rings and the room seems to grow warmer with urgency. Colin's eyes widen and he hands her the tray.
"They're here," he says.
"Who are?"
"The guest you're supposed to serve. I'm surprised they let you. The most contact we've had with the Death Eaters is being told which room to clean next and being put back into the cell."
"Apparently I was requested," Hermione gulped, her stomach clenched uncomfortably. "Why don't they let people serve them?"
"I don't know exactly. I think it's because they talk about things they don't want us to hear. So try to listen to them, aye, Hermione? Tell me what they say?"
"Okay. Do I go now?"
"Yeah, you better hurry."
"Where do I go?"
"Up the stairs and to the left."
She nods, her heart beating faster. Suddenly, she feels like crying again, but she chokes it down. No way will she cry in front of them. Bellatrix has to see that she hasn't weakened her.
She opens the door with the tray of glasses in her hand and heads up the stairs quickly, but not so quick as to spill the wine.
In the dining room there is a long dark table with high-backed chairs, five of which are occupied. An emerald fire blazes at the far side of the room, giving the whole room a sickly green glow. She walks to the table, keeping her head down and her feet quiet.
As she nears, the chatter from the Death Eaters dies down. Her breathing quickens and her face flushes as she feels every eye in the room pointed her way.
She tries to ignore it, taking a glass from the tray and setting it in front of the nearest Death Eater.
"Look who it is!" says a delighted voice. Hermione doesn't even have to look up to know who spoke. She ignores her, moving to the next person and setting a cup in front of them, but Bellatrix won't let her off that easily. "How are you feeling? Sleeping well?" she mocks.
Hermione glances at her on the verge of tears. Bellatrix is smiling widely and Hermione prays she won't make her answer.
Next to Bellatrix is Fenrir Greyback. Across from them is a Death Eater she doesn't recognize and the Snatcher, Scabior. The person seated towards the head of the table, though, makes her almost drop the tray. She bites her tongue to keep from saying anything to Lucius Malfoy. He has a deep cut up his face and looks much paler than she remembers him being.
"Not going to answer?" Bellatrix pouts. "Tell me then, how is my dear, dear nephew?"
Hermione feels Lucius tense at Bellatrix's question as she sets a glass in front of him.
"Grimmig tells me he's rather pale and grouchy," Bellatrix continues, the smile on her face growing wider. "He should really eat better."
This earns her a laugh from the Death Eater and Scabior on the other side of the table. Greyback chuckles and grins. Lucius clears his throat and takes a swig of the dark wine.
Hermione swallows hard. She sets down the last glass and dashes from the room before Bellatrix can ask her any more.
Back in the kitchen, Colin looks at her with pity, clearly understanding. He hands her another tray, this time it's full of plates of salad. Hermione forces herself to breathe. Her throat is so dry she doesn't think she can stand it.
"Colin?" she asks. "There isn't any way I could get something to drink, is there?"
He looks around nervously at the Elves who still seem to be paying them no mind. "Take this out and I'll see what I can do."
She nods and heads back to the dining room, feeling like vomiting though she's not sure there is anything in her stomach to throw-up.
It isn't any better this time. Bellatrix continues to mock her as she passes out the plates and even berates Draco in front of his father, though Hermione is sure it's aimed to upset her more than Lucius.
When she goes back to the kitchen, Collin is preparing the next tray with plates of the main course.
"Here," he says, sliding her a glass of water.
She lunges for it and swallows it in one go. Her throat cools and she can swallow easily again.
Colin watches her. "They haven't given you anything to drink yet?"
She shakes her head.
"Do you want more?"
She nods and he fills it in the sink. Again, the glass is empty within seconds.
The bell rings again, signalling to bring out the main course. She does this as quickly as she can. This time, Bellatrix ignores her, seeming to grow bored with her jokes and Hermione couldn't be more thankful for this.
It seems to take forever, but the main course is finished and the bell rings for Hermione to take out one last dish: dessert.
By now, the Death Eaters and Snatchers have gotten used to her and they don't so much as glance at her as she brings out the plates. Still, she wants to make it quick.
She picks up the dirty plates quickly and sets down the new ones. However, when she gets to Greyback, she slows. His wand is laying on the table, toward the edge, completely unprotected. She stares at it as she slowly picks up his plate and sets down the new one. Then she glances around the table. No one is watching her. Their faces are either in their new dish or on Scabior who is telling a lively story about a raid he participated in. She doesn't have time to think. If she hesitates the perfect moment will be gone.
Her hand darts out, grabbing the wand. She tucks it quickly into her waist and glances about the table once more. No one saw.
She picks up Bellatrix's plate quickly and scurries away, the wand tucked dangerously into her waistband.
She's almost at the door when Bellatrix tells her, "Wait!"
Her blood turns to ice. She can no longer breathe.
"Come back here, you imbicile!" Bellatrix shrieks.
Hermione obliges, shuffling back, bracing herself for the curse she is sure to receive.
"Where is mine?" Bellatrix asks her.
Hermione doesn't know what to do. Was that actually Bellatrix's wand? If she'd known it was Bellatrix's she might not have taken it, knowing she'd notice right away. She decides to play dumb.
"Your what?" Her voice is smooth though she shakes uncontrollably.
"My what?" Bellatrix laughs. "My dessert, you fool!" Hermione almost sighs in relief. She'd forgotten to leave Bellatrix her plate. "And they says she's the brightest witch of her age," Bellatrix tells the group as they look on in bemusement. "Just goes to show how intelligent all Mudbloods really are." The group laughs and Hermione blushes again, walking swiftly from the room.
She gets back to the kitchen and she's breathing heavy.
"What's the matter?" Colin asks her. "Did they do something? Did they say something? They said something, didn't they? Was it about Harry? He's coming to save us? I knew it!"
"No, Colin," Hermione snaps, though she can't help the smile on her lips at her amazing success. "Harry isn't coming for us. You know, Harry isn't the super hero you think he is. He didn't just steal Fenrir Greyback's wand from right off the table," she whispers the last part and flashes him the wand that is uncomfortably poking into her side.
His eyes go as wide as saucers. "You… you… I don't believe it! What are you going to do? Are you going to disapparate? No, you can't disapparate from inside here, you have to be beyond the hedge. Are you going to fight? I don't think you can take them all, no offence, you're really good, I'm sure, it's just there are a lot of them…"
"I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm going to hide it until I know for sure. I'll keep it under my shirt unless I can find some place better. I need to know what the manor looks like at night."
"Well, I've never been out at night, but Anna, that American girl, says she was out once because they wanted to keep… never mind," he trails off, looking as though the thought makes him sick.
"It's okay," Hermione tells him, keeping her eyes trained on the Elves, making sure they aren't paying too much attention to them. "I've got Draco Malfoy."
Colin's eyes go wide again. "Oh, Hermione, he won't help you. I've seen him around, but he mostly just hides in his room and refuses to talk to anyone. I tried."
Hermione looks down at her shoes and bruised ankles. "He's actually not in his room any more."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, when I was first brought here, Bellatrix wanted information from me. Draco stopped her and now they're keeping him in the dungeons. The same cell I'm in."
"Oh." He is quiet for a moment, for once, at a loss for words. "Hermione, what if they catch you with the wand?" he whispers.
She shakes her head fiercely. "I won't let them."
Colin smiles. It is awkward like he isn't used to it. "Come on," he says. "We have to scrub the table and counters before they'll let us have anything to eat." He hands her a rag and she goes to wipe the table, the wand jabbing her side with each step.
When she is finished, she returns to the kitchen and helps Colin finish with the counters. The House Elves are gone, cleaning some other part of the manor, she thinks. The Death Eater that had brought her here returns and grabs her by the arm, pulling her out just as the Elf, Moule, walks in, presumably to get Colin.
The whole walk back to the dungeon she can feel the wand slipping in her waistband and she prays it won't fall. The Death Eater holds her dangerously close and she is sure he can feel the wand through her pants.
Walking back into the darkness, Hermione suddenly realizes how tired she is. She can't believe only a day has passed when it felt like months since she's last left the cell.
The Death Eater forces her to the ground. She winces as the wand digs into her thigh, afraid it is going to snap. He removes the cuffs from her feet and replaces the one around her wrist. Then he snaps and the other House Elf, Tinky, appears with a jug of water and a plate of what looks like leftovers from the meal she's just served.
They leave and total darkness washes over her.
"Draco?" she whispers.
"Hermione? Are you okay?"
"Yes," she says. "Actually, better."
She waits a moment, listening carefully to make sure they are alone again in the cell. Then, she slowly slides the wand from inside her jeans and holds it in front of her.
"Lumos," she whispers and a ball of light appears. She holds the wand high so the light can travel farther. Draco's eyes are huge and his mouth it gaping. Tears come to her eyes, but this time, of joy. "Tell me about the manor layout," she laughs. "I'm going to get us out!"
TBC Next Sunday...
A/N: Hello my lovelies! I don't have much to say so I'll keep this short. Thanks for reading, following, and favouriting!
Do me a favour: leave a review!