Shades of Grey

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Escape Plan

"The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him."

- G.K. Chesterton

"How long have we been here, Granger?" were the first words to fall from Draco Malfoy's lips. No inquiry as to how she was, or how she'd managed to escape from wherever the hell Rodolphus and Bellatrix had locked her up at, or what her plan was for getting them both out alive and well. Just…how long they'd been there. Hermione knew it wasn't his finest moment, to be sure, but the question was one that had been nagging her for hours now as well. Time seemed to melt away down here in the dungeons—unable to tell day from night, Hermione had simply allowed her body to lapse into an ever-constant state of night. And even when she'd been locked away in a room high above the cellars of the Lestrange estate, telling day from night had been next to impossible.

So instead of giving her partner the answer he'd been hoping for, Hermione could only sigh and give a slight shrug of her shoulders. If there had been enough light to make out the full frame of his figure, she would've seen his shoulders safe in defeat and the hope fade out of his eyes.

"Your guess is as good as mine," She managed softly, digging around in one of her pockets. She retrieved the bobby pin she'd located earlier before quickly going to work at trying to remove one of his handcuffs.

"What are you doing?" He asked suddenly, and Hermione supposed the question came out a bit harsher than he'd intended.

"What does it look like I'm doing, Malfoy?" She quipped, clearly exasperated. "I'm trying to free you from these blasted things." The young Witch grunted, twisting her hand and yanking on his arm, struggling to free him from the metal shackles that were enclosed around his wrists.

"Surely you don't think you're going to get the job done with a scrap of metal, Granger," He drawled, shifting on the concrete floor. They'd only been together for five minutes and he was already attempting to bait her into an argument of some sort. Typical. "Greyback stuffed me down here; the handcuffs have got to be charmed…or something of the sort."

"For your information, Malfoy, I have reason to believe these handcuffs aren't enchanted," Hermione explained, sniffing and angling the thin piece of metal differently. "And secondly, this isn't just some scrap of metal…it's a bobby pin—I've got to work with what I have lying around, after all."

"What makes you so sure?" Draco countered; he was entirely skeptical of everything she had to say. As per usual. "About the handcuffs, I mean."

"A House Elf informed me of as much before freeing me," She explained simply, as though there was little else to say on the matter. And in truth, there wasn't; Kinney hadn't been able to give away too much before being forced to report back to the Lestrange patriarch for her next assignment. Hermione's chest ached at the thought of the abuse the poor House Elf must have gone through; the abuse she would go through if Rodolphus or Bellatrix were to ever discover that their…ugh…their slave had been helping Harry Potter's prized "Mudblood."

"A House Elf freed you?" Draco blurted out, and although Hermione couldn't judge his facial expression well in the dark, she was willing to bet his eyebrows were sky high and his lips were fighting off the instinctive urge to twist themselves into a satisfied smirk.

He only served to prove her point, really, when he scoffed and replied with: "Why am I not surprised?"

"You need to be a little less focused on your lack of astonishment, Malfoy, and a great deal more concentrated on the task at hand," Hermione chided just as she opened the first handcuff. Pleased that she'd been able to do a fairly adequate job of freeing him, she set to work unlocking the remaining handcuff. This one seemed to come off easier than the first did, and within ten minutes, Draco was freed. She could feel him shifting as he rubbed at his undoubtedly chaffing wrists in the dark, allowing him a moment or two to adjust before reaching out and enclosing her small fingers around his hand.

"Come on, then! We've got to hurry!"

"You still haven't informed me just what it is we plan on doing," Draco hissed, scrambling to his feet and following Hermione's lead (or so she hoped; it was impossible to tell down here, given how dark it was).

"I told you…escaping," Hermione breathed, nearly tripping over herself as she made her way up the concrete steps. Draco was right behind her, clearly confused and frustrated that Granger chose now of all bloody moments to be vague as hell. Ordinarily, Hermione took a great amount of time to go to extensive lengths in order to ensure that their plan was clear, concise, and properly executed. Given the small frame of time they currently had, though, she'd been forced to forgo organization in favor of their ultimate survival. Surely Malfoy would understand that.

Then again…

"I'm going to need a little more than that, Granger," Draco managed through gritted teeth, rolling his eyes and nearly stumbling over a slanted step on his ascent. Hermione felt his hands brush against him when he did that, and as a direct result, she nearly lost her footing in the process. A grunt-like noise toppled forth from her lips, and she reached out, scrabbling at the walls around her in the dark as they made their way up the steep set of stairs that would lead to the Lestrange estate's main floor.

"Fine," Hermione spat, frustrated beyond all belief as she whipped around to face Draco in the dark stairwell. "I have it under good authority that Bellatrix chooses this time of night to sleep while her husband keeps watch on their guards and the prisoners; though, given how busy Rodolphus has been this evening, I doubt he'll be as attentive as he should be. Either way, he typically chooses to do his business in the north end of the house, so…we'll be escaping through the south."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Draco hissed when Hermione turned around; they were nearly at the top of the stairs now, and with each heavy step, Hermione felt her thighs quiver and threaten to give way beneath her. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but she…Merlin, she was nervous. Anxiety crept up her spine and overwhelmed her; it ignited in her abdomen and spread through her like a wildfire. It was in the shaky way she whispered things to her comrade, and in the way her hands—clammy and sticky—slipped against the wall she was struggling so valiantly to cling to. It was in the way she snapped at Draco and found herself unable to explain herself properly.

It was in absolutely everything she did, and Hermione's fear was so tangible that she felt naked and exposed blanketed underneath it.

"Luck, Malfoy," She answered finally, running a shaky hand through her hair. "We use luck."

It was the easiest answer she could've given, really, even though it did next to nothing to calm either one of their frazzled nerves. They were at the top of the staircase now, and Hermione took a moment to lean forward and press her ear against the wooden door. She waited for any telltale signs of life stirring around on the other side of the dungeon's entrance, but could hear no murmurs, footsteps, or any indication of breathing going on outside.

With a great deal more bravery than she felt, Hermione quietly turned the brass knob on the door, wincing at its initial creaking as she pushed it open. And then, just as she'd suspected…nothing. No one was standing there, waiting with a wand at the ready to shoot them down. And although they were still deep within the heart of the manor, Hermione felt her heart sink to her stomach with relief. They still had so far to go, but…one less worry was shoved out of her mind, replaced with a bit more of that Gryffindor courage her House had been so noted for.

"So…that must mean that Rodolphus had me locked in the north area of the estate," Draco murmured under his breath, and Hermione paused for a moment before nodding to agree with him. She didn't think it wise to talk now, given that any one of Bellatrix and Rodolphus' followers could be lurking behind a hidden corridor or waiting in the shadows, but she didn't open her mouth to voice that to her partner; instead, she lifted a hand and pressed her index finger to her lips. Malfoy glared at her before shutting his lips, and it was when Hermione was trying to wrap her mind around the general direction they were meant to be heading in that Draco tapped her shoulder and pointed to the wall behind her. Hermione whipped around, clearly expecting some sort of monster to be perched and waiting to attack them, but instead found…a hanging display lined with various daggers. All ranging in different lengths, sharpness, and blade thickness, it soon became clear to Hermione that this was some sort of…of shrine to the different weapons Bellatrix had used throughout her life.

If she'd had more time to properly inspect the glass display, she might've found it in her to be disgusted. As it was, though, only one thought rose to Hermione's mind: weapons. They were, quite understandably, ill-equipped for any trouble they might've run into. With no wands and no tools on them that could be used as weaponry, these daggers were their safest bet.

Hermione just hoped that Bellatrix hadn't been wise enough to magically charm them to the case they were resting in.

Thinking quick, Hermione glanced down at an end table located just beneath the wall of daggers, and quickly boosted herself up on her. With her knees resting against the surface of the table, she stretched her torso and reached for the first two daggers her fingers could manage to grasp. It took a bit of maneuvering and Draco grabbing hold of her waist to make sure she got them without falling and causing a great deal of noise, but finally, Hermione had them in her hands and was shakily sliding down and off the table. Wordlessly, she handed one to Draco, who inspected his weapon before gripping the cool handle in one hand and keeping the knife pressed tightly against one of his sides. Hermione mimicked his actions, though the dagger felt foreign in her grasp; she'd never had to handle a knife before—not like this, anyway—and the pressure that came with wielding such a weapon caused her forehead to break out into a thin layer of sweat.

So…the anxiety was still there, then.

Still, Hermione made sure to stay absolutely silent as she and Draco crept through the manor. There was no telling what lurked around every corner or behind each and every closed door they snuck past…and truth be told, Hermione didn't want to know the sort of horrors that laid within the Lestrange Estate. The mere thought of what Bellatrix and her husband kept locked away was enough to have the young Muggle-born shuddering in horror.

There was a certain sort of anxiety that came with creeping through the house of two well-known Death Eaters; with every step she took, Hermione was paranoid that each creak of the floorboards beneath her would send Greyback or Bellatrix flying towards them, wands at the ready and aimed to kill.

But…it was a risk she'd have to take; it was better to face death head on, she believed, than to cower in front of the enemy and wait patiently for execution.

She wondered, idly, if Malfoy felt the same way.

Hermione figured that working their way to the house's main parlor would be their greatest opportunity for escape; she'd noticed a door just down the hallway past it that led outside, and if Bellatrix truly was asleep and Rodolphus was pacing back and forth on the opposite end of the house, then surely she and Malfoy would be safe. Or, well…as safe as possible, given where they were currently stranded at.

It would be unlikely that Greyback or anyone else would be lurking around and waiting for them…right?

Merlin, she certainly hoped so.

Regardless of whether or not they'd be safe by the time they reached the parlor's exit was irrelevant at the present; the trek through the house was long, tedious, and absolutely hair-raising. Hermione's heart was pounding erratically within her chest, thumping loudly against her rib cage and filling her ears with the sound of her blood pumping through her veins.

She didn't know how long they'd been trapped inside of the Lestrange Estate for, just that it felt as though she'd been locked away for a century. She wondered where Harry was, silently begging and pleading for him to show up with the back-up they'd surely need to make it back home safe…and alive. But she knew all too well that there was no way for Harry to get to her; not unless he and the rest of the Order had somehow magically figured out where Bellatrix was hiding them. The charmed coin had come in handy for alerting everyone else in the Order of the Phoenix that they'd been in danger, but…but that had been about as far as the coin's magic went.

Hope seemed bleak, they were just about out of options, and there was no guarantee that Hermione's hastily-prepared plan would work. But…it was the best option they had. It was the only option they had.

And Hermione was taking it, regardless of the risks involved.

She was incredibly weary and exhausted, due to the combined lack of sleep and oppressive treatment she'd endured since she and Malfoy had been captured…when? When was it? Two days ago? Three? Hermione hardly knew at this point; her days mixed with her nights…her mornings with her afternoons. She'd completely lost track of time in the abyss of the Lestrange Manor—couldn't make heads or tails of what time of day they'd been brought in, and what time of day it was right now. All she really knew was how long it felt; like she'd been trapped in here for weeks. Months. Even years. Could it have really been under a week since she and Malfoy had been forcibly dragged here? Had her torture really been that short?

Godric, it felt anything but.

So busy contemplating the length of time they'd spent in this vast prison, Hermione nearly missed Draco insistently nudging her side. Blinking, her eyes shifted forward and…settled on the parlor. The empty, quiet parlor. It…her plan had worked, then; her suspicions had been correct! They were free; they were in the clear! Practically panting with excitement, Hermione burst forward, a sloppy grin spreading across her lips and cracking her face nearly in half; her cheeks hurt from the intensity of the expression and her fingers ached from where they remained clenched around the display dagger she'd claimed possession of mere moments before. Hermione's excitement was full to bursting…which was why stumbling into the parlor and finding Bellatrix Lestrange, lurking in the shadows of the room and holding a small House Elf by the scruff of her collar, was such a letdown.

"No…" Hermione breathed brokenly, skidding to a halt. Draco, close behind her, placed a hand protectively on her back, his fingers stiff and rigid with tension. Wide-eyed, Hermione took the opportunity presented to them to fully assess their current…situation. As Bellatrix stepped into the light, holding Kinney by the threads of her raggedy outfit, Hermione noticed that she was flanked by Greyback and Thorfinn Rowle. Rodolphus didn't appear to be directly in sight, which further supported Hermione's claims that he was patrolling the other end of the Manor, too exhausted from a night of interrogation to be as alert as his wife clearly was.

It was only when Draco let out a strangled sort of sound that Hermione noticed the bigger picture. Their three enemies weren't alone…they'd brought back-up.

Standing just behind Bellatrix and donning thick cloaks that hid their features were nearly a dozen hooded figures, waiting in silence for a command from their leader. And like that, all of Hermione's hopes and confidence deflated like a balloon. She thought—no, she knew—that Bellatrix would have no qualms about killing them now. She might not have the Hallows in their entirety, but…Draco and Hermione proved to be too much of a flight risk now; too dangerous to try and hold onto.

And Draco, realizing this all at the same time as Hermione, glanced worriedly at her. Their gazes stayed locked for the briefest of moments, and then both turned to face Bellatrix. Hermione, feeling anything but courageous and confident, squared her shoulders and glared at Bellatrix with no small amount of hatred. The dagger she held tight in her grip felt like a feeble and foolish decision now, in the face of so many Witches and Wizards who were surely fully armed, but…she would manage. Somehow, Hermione would manage with the means that were most readily available to her.

One way or another, that is.

"Thought you could slip out, now did you?" Bellatrix asked, a devilish smirk cracking across her lips. Her eyes were dark and shining with mischief, and with practiced movements she stepped forward, tossing Kinney to the floor. Kinney, bruised and beaten, scrambled into a sitting position, looking at Hermione with wide and sorrowful eyes. And in that moment, the young Gryffindor felt her heart ache for the House Elf…the small creature who had, more than likely, been forced into revealing the truth. Against her better judgment, against her instincts, against her own good will, she'd been forced to betray Hermione.

And for as much as she would have liked to blame someone in that instant for her misgivings, Hermione couldn't bear to lay any of the responsibility on the trembling, bedraggled creature cowering before her.

"Thought being the operative word here," Draco muttered under his breath, jolting Hermione back to life. The phrase had been a ghost of a whisper—just barely audible enough for her to hear—and she stiffened immediately, gazing back at her partner with no small amount of bemusement. How was he able to feign such calmness right now? To act as though he was bothered very little by the situation they found themselves in? His facial features betrayed nothing, but the sensation of his hand against the small of her back, so stiff and cool, gave away the inner turmoil Hermione was certain was mirrored in her own stance and features.

She might not have understood a great deal about Draco Malfoy, but in that moment, Hermione was perfectly aware that…they were one in the same. His fear and hers, both so tangible and real, dominated them in that moment; there was nothing that divided them. Their anxiety and distress only served to bring them together, and Hermione thought—if only for a fraction of a moment—that if she were to die tonight…then at least it would be with someone she considered her equal.

Draco Malfoy…her equal. Merlin, if she'd told herself that ten months ago, Hermione might've laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. But now, with her gaze cast in Malfoy's direction and her mind wandering towards him, she embraced the thought.

We are equals…and we'll leave the world together that way.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen…" Bellatrix began again, making small, disappointed clucking noises. Hermione faced the Witch standing before her, watching for any sign of movement from any of her lackeys. The hooded figures had yet to move at all, making Hermione all the more uneasy about whatever plans they had for her and Malfoy. She fidgeted from one foot to the other, making sure to stand her ground, as Bellatrix took two more steps towards them. "I suppose you think I'd spare you, Draco? For the sake of your mother, or the Mark on your arm? The Mark you've never deemed yourself worthy of carrying?" She hesitated for a moment, her dark eyes narrowing into vicious slits. "You were wrong."

Hermione, terrified yet determined, staggered backwards and, in one quick motion, reached out and tugged Draco closer towards her. Their fingers laced together in an act of defiance, and Hermione pulled Draco close to her frame, her heart beating out a staccato and her palms growing moist and clammy with sweat. She was a trembling, anxious ball of nerves, and managed to feebly lift the dagger she held in her hand. When Bellatrix glanced down at the weapon and laughed—a shrieking, high-pitched squeal of a noise—Hermione felt her temper flare. Rowle and Fenrir joined in, and the room was filled with a cacophonous chorus of brittle laughter that shook Hermione to her very core.

"What's this? The Mudblood plans on fighting me?!" She spit out, clearly amused by Hermione's determination. With a wave of her hand, Bellatrix finally addressed the hooded figures lurking in the shadows behind her. "Seize the prisoners. We'll attack the Ministry and the Order by sunrise."

Reflexively, Hermione pulled Draco closer, more or less struggling to shield his body with her own (to which he was quietly protesting), as the shadowy figures lurking behind Bellatrix stepped forward, raised their wands, and let down their hoods. But where Hermione was expecting to see people like Yaxley and even Rodolphus, she instead found herself looking into the weather-beaten, familiar faces of her loved ones.

She spotted Dean over in one corner, pressed closely against Seamus…then there was Hannah and Ernie, clasping each other's hands tightly, much as Hermione was doing to Draco. She saw Luna lingering in the back, her bright blonde hair illuminated against the stark black of her cloak, and flanked by Neville and Ginny. And then, finally, her eyes fell on the two faces she'd missed so much over the past few months…the lips and eyes and colorful expressions that had become so achingly familiar they were embedded into the recesses of her very mind. There, standing front and center, were Harry and Ron…her Harry and Ron, standing defiant and tall as they brandished their weapons and aimed at the closest available target. In that moment, Hermione's relief and astonishment was so tangible that she nearly cried out and rushed over to fall at their feet; her mournful gaze was met with sorrowful ones of their own, and in that moment, Hermione knew…these were her boys, and they'd come to help her.

Just as they had the night the troll had nearly clobbered her to death. Just as they had every time she'd been attacked by Snape—or even Malfoy—growing up. Just as they'd always done. Just as they always would.

A beat of silence passed through the group as shock and anger overwhelmed Bellatrix's features, and before she could finish uttering her command of "Seize them!", someone was stepping forward and speaking for the entire group. But it wasn't Harry. It wasn't even Ron.

It was Neville.

"Like Hell you will."

a/N: Hey hey, everyone! First of all, I'd like to apologize for the amount of time it took me to publish this chapter. The fact of the matter is, tons of crazy, hectic things have been happening in my life since my last update, and I haven't really felt much up to fanfiction writing ever since. But I'm back and in full swing, and I'm happy to finally bring you this chapter of Shades of Grey! As you know, we only have a few chapters left, and the next one might be one of my favorite to write! I don't know; I've yet to determine! Anyway, I really appreciate everyone who's shown an interest in this story; favorites, author/story follows, and comments on this-and any-of my stories have meant the absolute world to me. Reviews are better than sex, as they say, so you know what to do. ;)