"It's all right, Colin." She leans in closer to him so that only they can hear. "I've still got the wand," she whispers. "Tell the people in the cell with you. We're doing this tomorrow night! It's happening!"
His face brightens dramatically, his eyes flashing like his infamous camera.
"Tomorrow?" he whispers. "Tomorrow!" For once, it seems the boy can say nothing else and Hermione has to shush him as the Elves look at them in suspicion.
"Keep it down! It won't be tomorrow if you blab about it. Now, nothing is different," she tells him, straightening herself like normal. "Everything is normal."
He nods, catching on and smoothing his face.
Hermione picks up the platter of food and clears her throat. "Tomorrow," she reminds herself. "Tomorrow this will be over."
Chapter Eight
Everything goes the same as it had yesterday until Hermione goes to clear the plates from dessert. Yesterday, the table had been empty by the time she came back from the kitchen, but this time, Bellatrix, Greyback, and two other Snatchers are still at the table.
They sit there silently, watching her over their noses as she picks up the plates. Her breathing picks up and the hairs on the back of her neck stand. Something is wrong. She can feel it in their stares.
"Something has gone missing," Bellatrix suddenly says and Hermione almost drops the plates she's carrying.
She waits for her to say more, but she doesn't.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Hermione says, keeping her voice even and cool despite the trembling of her hands and the sweat forming on her brow.
"Yes," Bellatrix says. There is the sound of wood scraping as a chair is being pushed back. She can feel Bellatrix coming closer to her. She can hear the clicking of her heels on the floor. "So am I."
She swallows hard. The plates in her hand clatter as she shakes and they feel slippery in her fingers.
"It was something of Greyback's," Bellatrix continues. Hermione squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. "It went missing around dinner last night. You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?"
She takes a deep breath. The wand under her shirt burns. "No." Her voice is like sandpaper.
"Where is it?" Bellatrix hisses in her ear.
"I don't know." Her eyes grow moist.
"Where is IT!"
"I don't know!" she sobs out and it's a lot louder than she meant.
"Take off your shoes. Turn out your pockets."
Hermione sets the plates on the edge of the table, bends over, and unties the laces of her shoes. She takes them off her feet and turns them upside down so Bellatrix can see there is nothing in them. Then she stands up, pushes her hands into her pockets, and pulls them out with the fabric in her fists.
"Now your socks," Bellatrix says. Hermione looks at her, frowning. "Do it! NOW!"
She pulls the stockings from her feet and shiver as her toes touch the cold floor.
"Now your trousers."
She looks up in shock. "What?"
"Take off your fucking jeans." Bellatrix pronounces each word carefully for her.
Her face heats up and her fists clench. "No."
Bellatrix's eyes flash. "How many times do I have to tell you? I know you took Greyback's wand. It wasn't in your cell which means it's somewhere on you. Now take off your fucking trousers!"
She shakes her head and puts her chin up. She won't. She refuses to humiliate herself.
Bellatrix seems to be shaking with rage. She pulls out her wand and Hermione braces herself for a wave of pain. Instead, though, she feels something else. It feels light, and good. Like this is a dream. Her eyes become unfocused and she finds herself too lazy to focus them back. Her hand starts to move toward the button and zip of her jeans on its own. The blood drains from her face as she realizes what's happening. But she can't stop her hand. It's moving of its own accord, unbuttoning and unzipping her jeans.
She starts to cry in humiliation. Her hand won't stop, she can't even open her mouth to protest. She pulls them off her legs and Bellatrix takes the jeans away, searching them before lifting the Imperio. She can move again, but is powerless to do more than stand shivering in her underpants. She has half the mind to whip out the wand right then and curse Bellatrix right in the face, but, as she thinks of this, her eyes move to the Snatchers, who are watching, and see that their wands are right under their fingers on the table.
Bellatrix throws the trousers to the side, disgusted with them. "Only one last place it could be," she seems to sing.
Hermione wraps her arms tightly around her torso, but Bellatrix lifts her wand once again and her arms drop obediently to her side against her will. Her fingers are forced to pick up the hem of her shirt and it's roughly tugged off her.
She's sobbing now. Standing there in only her undergarments and shivering from the cold and embarrassment, she knows they can all see the wand; its handle tucked under the side of her bra.
Greyback chuckles audibly and stands. He walks toward her, grinning devilishly, baring his pointed, yellowing teeth. Hermione thinks the spell has been lifted from her, but she doesn't dare move as he comes right in front of her.
She winces at the feel of his claw-like fingernails on her exposed side as he grips his wand and pulls it from her.
Bellatrix tuts as Greyback examines his wand. "Naughty, naughty Mudblood," she says, coming a bit closer like Greyback had. "How foolish of you. Didn't you think we'd notice? What was your plan? Were you going to take the Blood-Traitor and run away? Or maybe you were just going to save yourself? That's what I would do. Especially after I found out he'd already left without me."
Hermione frowns at Bellatrix through her tears who lets her words sink in for a moment. When Hermione's face flashes with some understanding Bellatrix continues. "That's right. He's gone. I bet you thought he loved you. I guess even Blood-Traitors realize Mudbloods are no good eventually."
A sob escapes from her lips. He didn't. He didn't leave her. Bellatrix is lying. She's lying. He'll come back for her. He has a plan. He'll come save her. He will.
Bellatrix takes a deep breath like she's bored and turns to Greyback. "Go ahead," she tells him. "She stole your wand. Do what you want."
Greyback raises his wand, practically salivating at the thought of torturing her. He points it at Hermione and she winces, bracing herself for the pain she's come to know too well. He waits a moment, which is torture in itself. Then he strikes and the pain rips through her again and again and again until she can no longer stand. But he doesn't stop. He tortures her until the darkness she prays for forces her eyelids shut and she can no longer feel the pain.
It's dark, but somehow she can tell she's in a different cell. The ground it a bit different and when the chain rattles against the wall the echoes it makes come back quicker.
She shakes like a leaf. Her clothes haven't been returned to her so she sits half naked on the freezing floor. Not to mention that all her muscles ache horribly from contorting and trying to avoid to curses and her head throbs.
She raises and hand to her head in an attempt to stop the throbbing. Her skin is like fire beneath her fingers despite how cold she feels. She lowers her hand, wrapping her arms back around her torso.
Briefly, she begins to consider why they would put her in a different cell when she remembers what Bellatrix told her, "That's right. He's gone. I bet you thought he loved you. I guess even Blood-Traitors realize Mudbloods are no good eventually."
"Draco?" she calls out softly.
She waits a minute for her voice to quit ringing in her ears. He doesn't answer. Not even a shuffle to indicate he's there.
Moisture gathers in her eyes so she shuts them because she doesn't need them open anyway.
"Draco?" she calls a bit louder.
Still no answer. Tears force themselves out from her eyelashes.
"Draco!" her voice echoes around the whole dungeon, but no one is there to answer her. "Draco!" She pulls desperately on the chain until her wrist is sure to be bleeding. "Please don't leave me! Please, Draco!" Her voice is faltering until she's back down to a whisper. "Please. Please. Please."
Suddenly her throat tightens and her mouth fills with saliva. She gropes for the bucket the Elves gave her to use as a toilet. Just as her fingers find it she retches, acid forcing its way out over her.
When it's become nothing more than dry heaves and then none at all, she sits with her head against the wall and the bucket between her legs. She's crying and swabbing her mouth with her tongue, trying to get then rancid taste out.
She shakes her head. She won't believe he's gone. Bellatrix is a scheming, manipulative, liar. Of course he hasn't left her. He wouldn't do that. He needs her as much as she needs him. He didn't leave. They moved him. He's just in the other dungeon, or locked in a different room. Anything. He wouldn't leave.
"I know you're there," she tells the air. "I know you wouldn't leave. You're too good."
Hermione can't sleep for a number of reasons. She's cold. Her whole body shivers and she no longer even has a shirt to wrap her arms in. She's humiliated. In only her underclothes, she grows red with embarrassment whenever she recalls what happened earlier. And she prays that no one will come down and see her like this. She's hungry. It feels like an eternity since she's eaten, and it's all either passed through her or been thrown up. She's horribly sick. Her whole body aches and she's incredibly exhausted.
But what keeps her awake the most is how angry she feels. She's practically shaking with anger. Damn Draco! Why would he leave her? If he were still here he would have found someway to let her know by now. But he hasn't. Because he's not.
She grinds her fist into the ground because she doesn't know what else to do.
Tears roll. She's angry, but she misses him. And she's scared. She doesn't know what will happen to her. Why don't they just kill her already? She doesn't want to die alone. She wants Harry and Ron. She wants her mother and father.
A new wave of anger washes over her. She's tired of being here, chained to the wall like an animal and treated like dirt. If Draco could get himself out then so can she. Her first plan may have failed, but she vows to get herself out. And soon. And if that fails she'll try again. And again. She won't stop trying until she's dead or out of this hell-hole. Or both.
Harry rolls over in his cot to stare at the golden cup sitting on the table. It radiates something bad and almost makes his head hurt if he looks at it too long. It is a blur how he and Ron had stolen the cup and gotten out of Gringotts. He'd been so full of adrenalin and quick decisions it was hard to keep track. If they'd had Hermione it might have gone a bit smoother.
He groans and looks away from the cup. Thinking about Hermione hurts a lot more. Something in his stomach squirms every time he thinks about how they left her or what could be happening to her now.
Ron had been furious when they first disapparated away. He'd demanded that they go back, right then, to save her. They couldn't, of course. Eventually he calmed down with only a few outbursts here and there. But it depressed them both.
What they need is a plan. Harry racks his brain, but no matter what he comes up with isn't good enough. They don't know where she even is. For all he knows, she's been moved from the Malfoy Manor completely. And who is with her? Malfoy had let them out, stopped Bellatrix Lestrange from torturing her, even threw Harry his wand.
Harry toyed with it now, feeling more guilty.
But Malfoy hadn't made it out. Did that mean he was with Hermione? Harry shakes his head. Draco had betrayed Voldemort. Harry knows what happens to disloyal servants. Malfoy is dead.
He cringes at the thought. He never liked Malfoy, but he doesn't want him dead. They'd gone to school together for six years. Sure, they'd fought like cats and dogs, but they were just kids.
Ron's voice disturbs his thoughts. "Harry!" he calls from outside the tent. They're on an island, secluded and surrounded by water.
Normally Harry would ignore him, pretending he hadn't heard. Neither of them felt much like talking the last couple of weeks. But there is something in Ron's voice this time that makes Harry sit up.
"Harry!" he calls again. He sounds urgent.
"What is it?" Harry yells as he walks toward the front of the tent. It's not the one they used to have. That one is still at the Malfoy Manor. This one is smaller, borrowed from Bill Weasley.
"You'd better come out here!" Ron says.
Harry ducks out the flap of the tent to see Ron standing a few feet away and looking at something.
"Look," Ron says, pointing to a dark brown owl sitting on a bolder in front of him.
What's peculiar isn't the owl. It's what's in its beak: a letter. Or more, a rolled up piece of scrap paper.
"Whose owl is that?" Harry asks Ron.
"I don't know," Ron says. "Should we… the letter?"
Harry holds up his hand for Ron to stay as he walks carefully toward the owl. "How long has he been here?"
"I don't know. I was walking around the wards, re-enforcing the protection charm; I'm nowhere near as good as Herm-… Anyway. I came back around and it was just sitting there."
The owl's big yellow eyes watch Harry as he carefully approaches. It doesn't screech or ruffle or move in the slightest.
Harry carefully takes the roll of parchment from its beak. Nothing happens. It doesn't zap him or melt his skin. Nothing.
The owl takes off, starting Harry and Ron both.
Harry holds up the paper for Ron to see. It's still rolled up, looking harmless.
"Do we open it?" Ron asks, coming closer.
Harry shrugs. "I guess."
He unrolls it and smooths it out. It isn't a letter at all, not really. It's lines. Lines and boxes. Long ones, short ones, ones in pairs. Big squares, small rectangles, groups of them all together. Three of the boxes have numbers in them. Two boxes in a group of little rectangles on the left have the number 1 handwritten on them. The other labelled box is in a group of rectangles on the left. It has the number 7. The rest are blank.
"What is it?" Ron asks.
"I don't know," Harry says, looking at the paper, trying the find a pattern or a recollection in the symbols.
"Who's it from?"
Harry turns it over, but the other side is blank. It's not signed. He looks at Ron and raises his eyebrows.
"That doesn't make any sense!" Ron exclaims. He's getting frustrated again. "It's rubbish, Harry. Throw it away." He steps into the tent.
Harry looks it over again. It feels too important to throw away. Who would send them an owl with scribbles on parchment if it wasn't important?
It looks like a maze, Harry thinks, or the layout of a building. He runs his finger along the paper, in between the lines, connecting the three numbers together. 1, 1, 7. 117? 711? 171? 711? What do they mean? He tries to remember when or why the three numbers would be important to him or Ron. Nothing. He comes up with nothing.
Maybe Ron's right. Maybe it is rubbish. Maybe the owl got lost and delivered it to the wrong person. Or maybe it hadn't. Maybe the owl had delivered it to exactly the right people. They only have to figure out what it means.
A/N: Hello, Dears! I remembered to get this up on time this time! Yay! Please leave a review! If you have any questions don't hesitate to ask and I'll do my best to answer them!