— CHAPTER THIRTEEN —
On Death's Door
Hermione Apparated home and was met by Crookshanks, who immediately tried to jump onto her shoulder.
"Not now, Crookshanks," she said.
The cat looked at her inscrutably, sniffed at her hand and hissed. Hermione silently cursed his part-Kneazle origins, which accounted for his unusual intelligence and ability to detect 'untrustworthy' people.
He must have sensed the residue of Dark magic left on her from the use of the Killing Curse.
Hermione turned away from her cat's unreadable yellow eyes. The last thing she needed to worry about right now was whether a cat condemned her for being a murderer.
She quickly poured the contents of a vial of an all-purpose antidote, which she always kept at hand, into a glass of water and drank it.
For an Auror, poisoning was an almost normal occurrence, and this was not the first time Hermione found herself the victim of some harmful potion. No wonder Mad-Eye Moody only drank from his flask. There were days when Hermione seriously considered taking the paranoid ex-Auror's example.
The antidote she took was potent and effective against eighty per cent of known poisons. But this time, Hermione sensed no effect. If anything, the symptoms seemed to intensify with every minute. She felt as though she was freezing, and the pain in her stomach was starting to become unbearable. Drops of cold sweat were tricked down her forehead, and her vision blurred. She felt like she was about to lose consciousness.
She struggled to think clearly. If it was that serious, she had better go to St Mungo's hospital. Merlin only knew what that damn witch had put in her goblet.
Stumbling, Hermione pulled some robes from the closet and put them on, leaving her dress on a chair.
As though in a dream, she paused to scribble a few words on a clipboard on the nearby table... An action that would save her life.
She knew she could not Apparate in this state; she risked splinching herself. It was a wonder she had managed to Apparate home correctly. She did not want to take the risk again.
Hermione stepped out into the cold, though she didn't really feel it; she was already freezing from the inside. It was impossible to feel colder than she already did. She took out her wand and waved it in front of her.
The purple Knight Bus appeared out of nowhere and skidded to a halt directly before her.
"Not feeling well – to St Mungo's," she told the rambunctious wizard in a purple uniform, who had leapt down onto the pavement and started the usual welcoming speech.
The conductor took one look at her pale, sweaty face and understood instantly.
"'Ere, get on," he said quickly, helping Hermione up the steps and into the base level deck, past wizards and witches in nightdresses who were dozing on brass beds. A few who were awake stared, recognising the famous Auror.
On the third floor of St Mungo's hospital, Hermione was questioned about how she was feeling and had to undergo a magical examination. She described her condition as well as she could, though she could not even think clearly in this state. She was administered a few antidotes, but when not one of them had the slightest effect, the Healers started to look worried.
A mediwitch led her through a corridor and into another ward. Hermione's unfocused gaze fell upon a plaque on the door, and she had the time to read the inscription before she was ushered inside the 'Dangerous' Norma Macrae Ward: Noxious Poisoning Cases. There was a card under it, on which was written in an untidy scrawl: Healer-in-Charge: Hyades Scott. Trainee Healer: Walter Forbes.
Hermione had an ominous feeling when she entered the small, poorly lit ward. Noxious Poisoning Cases. Noxious. As in synonym of lethal. Deadly. So this was it; there was no hope left. She was going to die.
She did not notice much of her surroundings, only that the room was dark and uninviting.
Hermione turned to the wizard in lime-green robes. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, forcing herself to appear confident in spite of how she was feeling. "Am I to conclude there is no hope left?"
The Healer looked uneasy. "What makes you think that?"
"The fact that I've been transferred to the Noxious Poisoning ward. And you seem too solemn." Hermione sighed. "Healer Scott, please be honest. Am I going to die?" she said bluntly.
"No, no, it's nothing like that," the Healer said hurriedly. "That was one nasty substance you ingested, but I'm sure we'll find an antidote in time."
From the evasive tone, Hermione got the impression the Healer knew there was no antidote to it, and was trying to make her last moments a bit more comfortable – if that was possible with the pain she was feeling.
Hermione frowned. "Don't lie to me, Mr Scott. I'm not going to scream in denial if you tell me the truth."
The truth she had already guessed. The triumphant gleam in Narcissa Malfoy's icy blue eyes had spoken for itself.
Through the feverish haze in her mind, Hermione only caught part of Healer Scott's reluctant answer to her question. The few words were enough to confirm her suspicions.
"Sorry ... deadly poison ... nothing to do."
Hermione let her head fall back on the bed, feeling as though all her remaining energy had suddenly abandoned her.
"We can contact your family," the Healer said gently.
She raised her head. "I have no magical family. My parents are Muggles. You can't contact them. They aren't connected to the Floo network, and by the time an owl would reach them..." I'll be dead.
She didn't think they would want to come anyway, after how she had behaved towards them the last time she had seen them.
"Your friends, then. We'll contact your friends and co-workers so that they can keep you company."
She knew Harry would mourn her, unaware of how little she deserved it. She had seen understanding in his eyes before she had erased his memory. But she also remembered the hate on his face, hours ago, when he had seen what she had become and what she was prepared to do, not knowing it was her behind the mask.
Maybe Ron would even come back to his senses at seeing her so close to death... but she didn't deserve their grief. It would only make her feel guilty. She had caused them enough pain. She had ruined their Christmas celebrations by participating in the Death Eater attack.
"I'd rather you didn't, Mr Scott. I'd rather they don't have to see me like this."
She saw the Healer's understanding nod, and it strengthened her resolve. No, she didn't want to spend her last moments with Harry and Ron.
"Please don't notify my employer, the Ministry of Magic, until after I'm... dead."
Healer Scott looked shocked. "But... why?"
"Please, take this as my last request. I don't want my colleagues crowded around my bed. I'd rather not be disturbed right now," she managed.
"If you are sure," the Healer said reluctantly. "You can call for me if you change your mind."
The lights dimmed and the Healer left the room.
Hermione was not aware of time passing as she stared into space or into the dark depths of her mind consumed by fever.
So this was it... this was the end.
In the clarity of mind that comes with waiting for death, knowing it is inevitable, Hermione reviewed a lifetime's decisions. She recalled the surprise and excitement she had felt when she had received her Hogwarts letter; the hope of having finally found a world where she belonged.
She remembered the troll advancing on her with its club raised; Harry and Ron surging out of nowhere to defend her... The Basilisk's glowing eyes reflected in Penelope Clearwater's pocket mirror...
She remembered finding herself facing who she thought was a dangerous murderer, in the Shrieking Shack... A hundred Dementors advancing on her and Harry... Fighting twelve Death Eaters at the Department of Mysteries...
All those times, she had been a step away from death. She had resigned herself to it, so many times, only to be saved at the last second, when she had accepted her fate.
Then an entirely different set of memories came back to her, another phase of her life.
The mysterious thrill she had felt the first time she had looked into the eyes of the man who would be everything to her... the relief, the sense of rightness when he had claimed her at last...
Being attacked by Dementors on a mission, being unable to gather a single happy thought to summon a Patronus, as Ron lay unconscious next to her, before finally calling upon the one memory she should have considered anything but happy...
The readiness with which she had accepted to join the very group of people she had always fought against, because it was the wish of the man she loved.
She remembered Voldemort's cruel gaze as he used Legilimency on her to verify her loyalties, and the terrible moment when she had thought it was all over... She recalled throwing a Crucio at Professor Snape; she remembered casting the Killing Curse on a human being for the first time, and the rush of sickening wonder at her success.
She found herself reliving the fear she had felt when she had stared up at the Dark Mark in the sky for the first time, and the hesitant pride when she saw the same symbol burned into her skin... the feeling of having been finally found worthy.
She recalled taunting her friends; she heard Ron snarl, Wouldn't put it past you, and the hateful look on Harry's face as she revealed to him who and what she was; she heard him shout, I HATE YOU! How she had laughed in her former best friend's face when he said he never thought she would 'sink so low' ... you mean so high, she had thought, her face expressing nothing but mockery...
She remembered looking at herself in the mirror only to see brown eyes staring back at her through slits in a black mask ... the betrayed looks her parents had given her for joining the Dark Forces and the horror in her mother's eyes as she deliberately flaunted the immorality of her actions...
And she couldn't truly feel regret.
She couldn't regret turning to the Dark side, because it had been the only way to stay with Lucius. He would not have wanted her if she had refused the offer. She knew him well enough now to know he would have taken it as a personal offence, a betrayal, if she had said no to what in his view was a great honour he had obtained for her from the Dark Lord.
Joining the Death Eaters had inevitably led to her subsequent terrible actions: arranging the deaths of her colleagues, torturing and killing Muggles, all in the short span of three months. If she hadn't done these things, Lucius would have been disappointed; he would have stopped desiring her, and maybe even killed her. One did not just break up with a Dark wizard. She had done it all for him, defiling her soul and her conscience and all that had made her who she was, all in exchange for being worthy of him.
Not even imminent death could make her wish she hadn't fallen in love with him and acted upon it.
But there was one thing Hermione regretted dearly, and she would have given anything to change it. The one thing that was the reason she was here right now, in the St Mungo's ward for those dying of poison. She had been naive. She should have expected this all along, and prepared for it. If only she could go back, she would not repeat the same mistake. If only she had the chance, she would destroy the person who was responsible for this.
When she had looked into Narcissa Malfoy's face in Diagon Alley... if only she had known she was facing her would-be murderer.
Hermione regretted not taking the chance to kill the woman on the first possible occasion. She considered herself a true Death Eater now, not only a spy, so why, oh, why hadn't she acted on the motto of the Dark Order? Obstacles exist to be eliminated. Why hadn't she eliminated this obstacle before it had the chance to eliminate her?
She had been careless. How many times had she accused Harry of being reckless, when she herself acted just as irresponsibly? It had taken this for her to finally realise it. Would she have to learn from her own mistakes, which were, in this case, fatal?
Only when she was about to die did she finally admit to herself that she had been stupid. Difficult to admit you are wrong, when your name is Hermione Granger.
She had learned the lesson. But would she ever have the opportunity to put it into practice? No, it was too late. She would never have the chance to rectify her errors. She did not have the time. She would die first.
She would die a traitor, without her family and friends... the family and friends she had betrayed. She would die alone, having turned her back on her own blood, having deserted her only friends to help their enemies. Here she was, alone and abandoned; abandoned even by the one for whom she had done it all.
At least she had been happy, for a brief period of time. She had experienced genuine happiness; she knew what it was like to love someone and to be appreciated by him in return... it was more than she had ever hoped for. To know true love...
Love.
Love that would lead her to death's door.
Suddenly, Bellatrix Lestrange's face flashed in her mind, with the ever-present glint of ferocity, of fervent faith in her heavily lidded eyes. She didn't give up so easily, Hermione thought abruptly. Bellatrix had spent thirteen years in Azkaban, Dementors draining any positive emotion she could feel, and yet... and yet she had waited, her faith never wavering, confident and sure that the Dark Lord would return, as impossible as it must have seemed when everyone thought he was dead. Bellatrix had refused to accept her tragic destiny. Bellatrix had believed. It was not mere hope; no, it had been certainty.
Bellatrix had drawn strength from that faith; she had faced the worst horrors of her own mind, every minute of day and night, for thirteen years, getting strength from the belief that the Dark Lord would return and take her away from that terrible place. Bellatrix had coped with the horror and pain of the present thanks to the hope – no, the knowledge – of a better future, a future where she would be reunited with the man she loved and lived for, because it was inevitable. Her faith, so strong it had been that not even Dementors could take it away. And Bellatrix's faith hadn't been mistaken. Bellatrix had been right.
Bellatrix, with whom she had felt an almost instant kinship, an instantaneous understanding. Bellatrix, who was in some ways strangely like her.
Why do you doubt? Why do you give up already?
Bellatrix. Her new friend, her counterpart, her equal in everything but rank. Bellatrix, who had always been the Dark Lord's most loyal servant, who had joined him out of love and whose selfless loyalty was unrivalled. Bellatrix, whose devotion to Lord Voldemort could be compared to...
Hermione's devotion to his second-in-command.
Do you really think he will let you die?
She hoped not.
Hope? Mere hope? Is that all the faith you have in him?
If she could move, Hermione would have jumped off the bed. Was it? Did she trust him so little, after all this time... after everything?
How could she think Lucius wouldn't find a way to save her? Did she think it was beyond his power?
Before Hermione knew it, something ignited in her brown eyes. It was the same glint of vehemence that was ever-present in the eyes of the only other woman to be part of the Dark Order.
"This isn't the way it was meant to be," Hermione spoke aloud, and her voice unknowingly took on the harsh, assured tone Bellatrix Lestrange had used in her darkest moments. "I refuse to accept it. I won't die."
Until the last minute she lived, until the last breath she took, she would believe. Even if it was in vain. But it wouldn't be, she was sure. She was confident, as confident as Bellatrix had been of her Master's return.
"I'll wait," Hermione whispered into the darkness.
Meanwhile, at Malfoy manor...
"Narcissa, come back here this instant – come back here, I say!" Lucius shouted after his wife, fury on his face.
The blonde witch purposely ignored him. Sneering disdainfully, she turned her back to her husband and leisurely climbed the staircase that led to her private apartments. She shut the door behind her.
Seeing that she did not obey him, he rushed after her with a thunderous clatter and threw the door open with such force that it bounced back off the wall.
"What's the matter, Lucius?" Narcissa sounded mildly annoyed.
He swept into the room where she sat in an armchair, surrounded by lavender-coloured upholstery. The flowery scent of her perfume hung in the air.
He shut the door behind him. "So!" he said, approaching his wife threateningly, "What's this I hear about you poisoning one of our guests?"
Narcissa paled slightly, though her thin eyebrows knit together in puzzlement. "What are you talking about?"
"Do not play games with me, Narcissa," Lucius said warningly. "You know exactly what I speak of."
Several emotions – mainly hatred and resentment – flickered across his wife's face before she managed to get her expression back under control and into a calm, disdainful look. "But why do you care? Surely the Mudblood was of no great importance," she said coolly.
"The Mudblood, as you say, is the Dark Lord's most valuable informant. What in Merlin's name did you think you were doing? Are you insane?"
Narcissa sneered. "Oh, come on, Lucius, you don't really expect me to believe that is the reason you are so angry, do you? I am not so stupid."
Lucius froze. He should have expected that his wife would eventually get a clue as to what was going on. "It does not matter why I am angry. I simply want to know what you did," he demanded.
"There is nothing you can do to save the filthy girl. You will never find an antidote because you don't know which poison I used!" she said triumphantly.
"Won't I?" he hissed. "I will, for you shall tell me."
"No, I shall not," said Narcissa.
His eyes narrowed. "Did you say no? You dare to defy me, woman?"
She stared defiantly at him.
He slapped her across the face.
"Have you forgotten that you are my wife, and as such, honour-bound to obey me? Have you forgotten the glorious ancient traditions that set us apart from the disgraceful likes of the Weasleys?"
"You broke your side of the marriage vow," Narcissa replied, bristling. "You cannot expect me to heed mine. You betrayed me. You have no right to demand anything from me when you left me for a Mudblood Auror!" She stared at him, her eyes almost popping out with outrage. "Why did you choose an Auror, Lucius? Does the risk of waking up in Azkaban make it more exciting?" she said harshly, reminding him of her sister. "Is that it, Lucius? Were you so bored with me that you had to seek that sort of adventure?"
His eyes glittered. "Who I choose to honour with my company is my business and mine alone, as I never swore fidelity to you. I only vowed to protect you and provide for you, which I have done to the best of my abilities in spite of your lack of enthusiasm about fulfilling your conjugal duties. You have never lacked in anything under this roof. So as you can see, the oath you accuse me of breaking, I did not break, while you, Narcissa, never did honour yours."
She gaped. "I have always been faithful to you –" she started to protest, to deny the horrid, and true, accusation, but he didn't give her the chance.
"Do you even recall the ceremony that took place in the chamber beneath this one two decades ago? Do you recall the words you spoke when you knelt before me that evening?"
"You know I don't understand French, Lucius!" she said furiously. "You didn't bother telling me what the words meant before I spoke them, and how was I to know that your family had such an awful, outdated concept of what marriage should be? You must realise it's completely behind the times even in our world!"
Lucius could not hide his astonishment at these words. He had never suspected that his wife had such ridiculous Muggle notions.
"Narcissa, my family is the most ancient magical line on this island, the line that has held the most power. Surely you are aware of this? You were a Black, not the spawn of commoners, although I do find it astounding that the Blacks did not see fit to teach their daughters the language of the nobility."
"Don't you dare insult the House of Black!" screeched Narcissa.
"You are no longer part of that family. You haven't been for over twenty years, Narcissa," he reminded. "Has it been so long that you have forgotten about the blood that now flows through your veins?"
"I never asked for it," said Narcissa. "Not at that price. If you had told me what it meant –"
"Would you have broken our engagement if I had? Would you have preferred to become a traitor to your blood rather than swear obedience to me?"
"Yes," she hissed, "I would have. Oh, but I bet she would love to give you that oath..."
The corner of his mouth rose twitched. "Yes, I believe she would indeed. As it is, she never swore it yet she abides by it better than you do, Narcissa. Now tell me what you put in her drink!"
There was a hint of fear in Narcissa's blue eyes, but the set of her jaw was resolute. "No."
His grey eyes became slits of fury. "YOU REFUSE TO OBEY ME, NARCISSA? I AM THE DARK LORD'S SECOND, ALL THE DEATH EATERS HEED MY COMMAND, YET MY OWN WIFE DARES TO DEFY ME?" he roared, pulling out his wand. "I'll teach you to treat your husband with respect! Crucio!"
In the second before the curse hit her, Narcissa looked utterly shocked. Then she collapsed with a scream.
After a few moments, Lucius lifted the curse.
Narcissa got to her feet shakily, staring at him in disbelief.
"What has she done to you?" she said, gasping for breath. "Look what you've become, Lucius! Using that curse on your own family! I thought being a Death Eater meant torturing Muggles!"
"Family?" he repeated the word mockingly. "You never were worthy of the Malfoy name. I wonder why I failed to see this earlier."
Narcissa's blue eyes widened. "What lies has that girl told you? Crafty witch, to pollute your mind this way!"
"Hermione merely opened my eyes to what I should have seen all along! You have always attempted to take charge; you strive to control me. And I was foolish enough not to put you back in your place."
"Control you? I never..." Narcissa trailed off, her eyes wide in fake innocence. "All I did was for your benefit and that of this family. I only tried to be of assistance to you."
"Yet to be a hindrance was all you accomplished. Need I remind you that it was your decision to send Draco to Hogwarts, where he became too preoccupied by his childish rivalry with Harry Potter to learn anything of use? I listened to your flawed advice, resulting in my heir becoming what he is today: a spoiled, good-for-nothing brat whose only concern is to waste substantial amounts of gold on the most puerile pursuits. It would not be so if he had gone to Durmstrang, for he would never have met Potter and all the riff-raff of Hogwarts, nor would he have grown up under the guidance of a Head of House who turned out to be nothing but a traitor."
His wife looked like she was about to retort, but he did not give her the chance. "That's just one example of the occasions where I listened to you, with highly vexing consequences," he continued. "Do not tell me you never deliberately attempted to influence me into acting according to your wishes."
"Don't tell me she doesn't!" shouted Narcissa. "I remember what that reporter – Skeeter, was it? – wrote about her. That girl is a devious wench who has nothing but ambition on her mind, and if she was two-timing both Harry Potter and Viktor Krum at fourteenbyears of age..." she broke off, looking disgusted.
"Do you truly believe everything you hear, Narcissa?" said Lucius. "Then I assure you, Skeeter was entirely incorrect. In actual fact, Hermione is quite the opposite of you. She never argues with me, never criticises, never questions. She does not contest my authority as you always have. She would be the ideal consort, the exemplary Malfoy wife... but of course," he sneered, "you currently occupy that position, though you are doing a rather mediocre job at it."
"Are you saying she is worthier than I? She, a Mudblood!" Narcissa sounded very offended.
"Worthier than you, she certainly is. Not that she aspires to your position... not at all... I daresay she is quite content with her current standing."
"I find that hard to believe, knowing you. You are a cruel man, Lucius. Youregard a woman as no more than some sort of of servant! In all our time together, you never made me feel anything but pain!" Her voice grew very high-pitched.
"You should have known better than to attempt to take control," he said coldly. "Had you ever obeyed like a proper noble wife, you would have been rewarded."
"No witch in her right mind would put up with your domineering tendencies. Not even she, I am sure."
"Oh, really?" he scoffed. "I believe my – ah – 'domineering tendencies' are what keeps her from defying me … she craves a man's control in her life, and she realises what an honour it is that I deign to touch her. She never denies me. Her only wish is to please me and she does … like you never did. Although I can recall a time when you were as eager to put up with these tendencies as she is …"
"She is a stupid Mudblood who has no self-respect."
"She is everything a Mudblood ought to be, and you should have no doubt, Narcissa, that I would never have allowed her near me if she wasn't."
Narcissa looked disgusted, but it seemed that she could not stop herself from asking the question to which she did not want to know the answer. "How many times have you slept with her, then?" she inquired with the morbid curiosity of a practised gossiper.
"Why, Narcissa, one would almost think you are jealous," he drawled. He grasped his wife's chin and pulled her head up, forcing her to look into his eyes, which were glinting with cruel amusement. "Too many times to count," he said maliciously.
Narcissa cringed and backed away. "How could you do this to me, Lucius? How could you, when I was faithful to you all these years?"
"Fortunately for you, or I would not have hesitated to remove you from the way – dishonour or not – as you are but an inconvenience."
Narcissa flinched and a hateful look appeared in her eyes. "Crafty woman, that Mudblood. She has seduced you so adeptly..."
"Her, seduce me?" He let out a condescending laugh. "I would say it is quite the other way around. She is an Auror, as you know, yet she has never attempted to talk me into changing sides. To the contrary, she joined the Dark Lord on my insistence."
"I never thought you would stoop as low as to actually care about a Mudblood," spat Narcissa. "I overestimated you."
"Dear, dear, Hermione was right – you Blacks truly are intractable," said Lucius. "How many times need I tell you that your opinion is of no importance to me? The days when I let you influence me are over, Narcissa. Now tell – me – which – poison – you – used!"
"No," she said, her voice shaking.
He slapped her again, with such force that she lost her balance and fell, hitting her head on the corner of a table. She crumpled to the floor, where she lay bleeding from the head, but still conscious. Her face was twisted with pain, yet she glared up at him obstinately. "I won't tell. Never," she muttered, waves of pain shooting through her head as she moved her jaw to speak.
Lucius smiled coldly. "Very good, very good... have it your way. Imperio!"
And Narcissa felt her mind empty of all thoughts. The anger, the pain, the hatred all vanished... Tell me which poison you put in Hermione's drink ... tell me now... just say it...
"Pharaonic Serpent's venom mixed with cyanide."
The words burst from Narcissa's mouth involuntarily, and the dream-like state was lifted abruptly. The horrendous pain in her head returned, as did the ache left by the Cruciatus Curse, along with the realisation that her suffering had been for nothing.
And the realisation that she meant nothing to her husband anymore, if he had no qualms against using the Unforgivable Curses on her, including the one to override her free will, her decision, as though it was nothing. She curled up on the floor, tears running down her cheeks.
"I should have known," Lucius said softly. "How predictable of you to use the slowest and most painful method of death you could find. It tends to slip my mind that you are Bellatrix's sister... just as you repeatedly disregard the fact that I am the Dark Lord's highest-ranking follower."
For the first time, Lucius could see fear in his wife's eyes. Fear that should have been there all along. He had avoided using his position as the Dark Lord's second to obtain deference from his wife and son before – but no longer. He fully intended to make use of his power from now on, including inside his home.
He smiled triumphantly at the woman he had once (foolishly) regarded as an equal. "Not to worry, Narcissa... I will ensure that you do not disregard it ever again, and if you do, I will not fail to remind you as frequently as necessary. But as tempted as I am to simply leave you here to bleed to death..."
"You wouldn't," she said weakly, panic mingling with the pain in her eyes. "I am your wife!"
"Unfortunately. If it wasn't dishonour in our society to kill one's family, I would leave you to die as you deserve."
With one last disgusted look at his wife, Lucius left the room.
"Coddy!"
The house-elf appeared in the doorframe, took one look at Narcissa's bleeding form and gasped, looking up fearfully at his irate master.
"Clean up this... mess," Lucius commanded, gesturing at his sobbing wife on the floor. "Give her a Healing Draught and make sure she does not leave her rooms until my return."
"Yes, Master," said the house-elf, hurrying to tend to the unfortunate lady of the manor.
Lucius walked down the stairs and into a corridor, emerging in the drawing room, which still bore festive decorations. He stood by the wall where the tapestry representing the Malfoy coat of arms hung.
He placed his hand on the crest on the wall. "As Head of the House of Malfoy, I demand entrance to the secret chamber."
The wall glowed green. To the left of the tapestry, a narrow staircase materialised, leading into an opening in the floor.
Lucius stepped into the dark room where greenish gas lamps flared to life instantly, revealing the chamber that housed the largest collection of poisons and Dark artefacts in the wizarding world.
He glanced around the chamber that was illuminated by torches on the walls and greenish lamps hanging from the ceiling. Down here, he felt in his element. The room pulsed with Dark magic, calling for him to use it. It was in his blood. The various Dark artefacts, books and scrolls called to him, encouraging him to use the powers his family had relied on for many generations.
He could not stop thinking about the reason he was here. He had had a hard time preventing himself from murdering his wife. It would have been so easy, just two words ... two words were all it would take. Two words and it would be over, she would be out of the way ... but he knew he could not do that. Family honour was very important in pure-blood society, and he did not wish to disgrace the Malfoy name. If he were to kill Narcissa, he would lose the respect of his fellow Death Eaters... not a wise idea.
He could not get rid of Narcissa, but he would do the next best thing: act as though she did not exist. After all, it wasn't as though she could do anything about it.
Inevitably, his thoughts were drawn back to the woman whose life was in danger at this very moment. Shortly after their parting, he had Apparated to her house to check on her, only to find it deserted and, by all signs, left in haste. He had found a few nearly illegible words scrawled on a clipboard on her bedside table, and as he read them, he had felt a pang of dread. Poisoned. St Mungo's.
Who could have poisoned Hermione at the party? From what he had seen, she had been sitting at Bellatrix's table, but there was no reason the woman would have done such a thing. Bellatrix would never do something the Dark Lord would disapprove of.
He had Apparated back to the manor, only to be met by a snivelling Coddy. The house-elf had confessed hysterically that Narcissa had paid a rather lengthy visit to the secret chamber last night, apparently researching inconspicuous poisons, and had carried through an elaborate plan to kill "the young miss" by mixing her drink with "some very bad stuff". Furious, Lucius had gone to confront Narcissa while the house-elf was dutifully punishing himself.
Recently, Lucius had found his thoughts constantly occupied by the woman who gave herself to him with such unreserved surrender and absolute trust. The woman who had given him everything. For him, she had left her whole life behind. For him, she had turned against everyone and everything she knew...
He remembered what had attracted him to her the first time he had looked at her … when he had looked into the proud yet warmly kind brown eyes, before they had narrowed in defiance, he had felt, inexplicably, that this was a woman who could treat him the way he truly desired and deserved.
He had seen the loyalty and selflessness with which she had fought for Harry Potter, and he had wanted that loyalty to be directed at him and him alone. He had wanted to touch her, to possess her, to command her. He had wished for these brown eyes to look up at him not in defiance or hate or fear, but in surrender and devotion.
And he had succeeded. Somewhere along the way, she fell to his charms, earlier than he expected, long before he knew it. Now she no longer looked that way at anyone but him.
He knew from Draco's whining that Hermione had been haughty and independent, insolent enough to look down her nose at her pure-blooded classmates at Hogwarts, which made it even more satisfying to have such power over her. She may have been the best at school; she may have become a powerful Auror and a Dark witch, but she was clever enough to realise how far above her he was.
And it felt good to have an Auror in such a position. Because even now, even after having turned to Darkness, still she was one of the Aurors, these creatures no Death Eater who had experienced a taste of Azkaban could refrain from fearing.
In return, he wanted to give her pleasure as he possessed her; he wanted her to enjoy it. He wanted her to care about him.
He had succeeded. And he had gone further. He had turned her against everyone she had cared about; he had made her betray Potter, Weasley and her own parents. He had converted her, a witch of Muggle blood, to the Dark Lord's cause. She had been his ticket back into the Dark Lord's favour. He had redeemed himself in the Dark Lord's eyes by bringing someone as useful as her, an Auror who was close to Potter, into the ranks.
But now that he owned her mind, body and soul, he felt the urge to protect her. He worried about her. Somewhere along the way, he had grown to care about her. He had become attached to her, addicted even. He had become accustomed to waking in the morning with her body pressed against him, her head resting on his shoulder in trustful abandon...
He found it exhilarating to be with her. Her body was a source of immense pleasure for him. Narcissa had been withholding much from him, and when he found it with someone else, she tried to steal that from him, too. He would never forgive her for it.
Narcissa had never been obedient to his will. But Hermione … the expression in her eyes often suggested that she would do anything he said. She was a powerful witch in her own right, and that made her surrender even more pleasurable. It was a power that no Muggle's suffering could rival, sweeter than Imperio, more powerful than the dizzying rush of Avada Kedavra.
He had thought he would grow bored of her, that his fierce desire for her would wane. Instead, he had become attached to her in a more... permanent way. And the desire hadn't waned in the slightest. A mistress was, normally, a temporary attachment, but she... he wanted to keep her by his side for eternity. He would let nothing and no one take her away from him, not death and definitely not Narcissa.
Somewhere along the way, he had grown to care about her. They were remarkably compatible, he had realised... she enjoyed everything he did. He took pleasure in controlling her, and it was clear that she wanted to be controlled by him.
And now, Hermione – his Hermione – was in danger of death. No immediate danger, thankfully, but still – to imagine what she had to be going through...
There was no antidote to the specific poisons Narcissa had used. His wife had been careful, he had to concede – she had cleverly chosen to combine two of the few poisons that had irreparable effects. How she had done it without his knowledge, he still had no idea. But in her simple-minded hatred, she could not contend herself with merely killing her enemy. She had to make her rival suffer first.
And that had been her mistake. These two particular substances, when combined, would provide a certain death, but no earlier than 48 hours after being ingested. Which gave him ample time to find a cure, if there was one, but since there wasn't, he would use raw Dark magic to nullify the poison's effects.
He sifted through the Dark Arts texts. There was no antidote to that poison; only a powerful Dark potion could reverse its effects. Now all he had to do was find the appropriate potion among the hundreds listed in the books and scrolls on the shelves. If only Hermione were here, she could have helped him find it.
When he came across a particular scroll hours later, he smiled in satisfaction. This would do. The ingredients required to brew this potion were... available. Made from the contents of the poison itself, combined with the blood of the person who had administered the poison to the victim, and a special infusion made from the blood of a snake, it was the Darkest of magic. It was magic he had been born to wield.
A small cauldron forged of pure platinum sat on a table. With a flick of his wand, the cauldron was filled with water.
This ritual was simple; it was a rudimentary piece of Dark magic, concocted from powerful, yet in this case simple to obtain, ingredients.
Lucius prodded the bottom of the cauldron with his wand, lighting a low temperature magical fire beneath it. In a short time, the water was boiling; its surface bubbled and set off steam. One more minute, and the water was setting off fiery particles that sparkled like diamonds.
He raised his wand high over the cauldron, aimed at nothing in particular, and spoke in a strong, commanding tone. "Elements of the poison, bestowers of pain and death, you will rescind your effects."
He took a phial labelled Pharaonic Serpent's venom, and let three drops fall into the bubbling water. There was a hissing noise; the surface split, sparks flying in all directions, and the water turned an opaque, fathomless black colour.
He poured the same amount from another phial labelled Cyanide into the cauldron. There was a splinter in the surface again, accompanied by more sparks, but the potion remained as black as a raven's feathers.
He then pulled out a vial from the pocket of his robes. This vial was filled with fresh, bright red blood. He had gathered it from the floor in Narcissa's room, where she had conveniently cracked her skull. It was unfortunate that such an accident was not enough to kill a magical being.
He spoke the next part of the invocation. "Blood of the murderer, unwillingly given, you will revive your victim."
He emptied the vial's contents into the cauldron. The potion instantly turned red.
"Blood of the serpent, donated in ignorance, you will gift your life force to the one who ingests you."
He uncorked a bottle filled with a thick, crimson liquid, and poured about half of it into the simmering red potion.
A cloud of sapphire-blue fumes rose from the cauldron with a hiss. It uncoiled, snake-like, and flew up towards the ceiling. When it cleared, the liquid in the cauldron had turned a vivid, toxic-looking blue.
Lucius poured most of the potion into a glass vial until it was full, sealed it, then cleared the rest away with a flick of his wand. He replaced the cauldron and ingredients back in their storage place before exiting the chamber. Now he had to find a way to enter unnoticed into Hermione's room at St Mungo's Hospital. It would not do to be captured by Aurors at this point when her life depended on him.