Chapter 20
The food Dobby had brought Harry in such a hurry had only lasted him four days. For the past two, he had resisted purchasing any, fearful that someone might recognize him and send him back to Hogwarts. Returning and sitting idle would be too painful. Though his nights sleeping behind Flourish and Blotts were riddled with doubt, he knew that he had to find his friend. Harry started his search by visiting each Death Eater's house independently, hiding under his father's invisibility cloak and listening in on whispered conversation. But nothing sounded relevant or even important, and many houses were completely vacant. After the fourth day, he resorted to skulking around Knockturn alley instead. On the sixth day, he had even gotten close enough to Lucius Malfoy to brush against his arm and make the man shiver involuntarily.
But the search came to no fruition. On the seventh day, Harry nicked his habitual copy of the Daily Prophet from a street vendor and read that the Ministry had found Hermione. No further details were included "to protect the girl's privacy," but even the hint that she was hurt, alive, perfectly alright or horribly injured – the possibilities welled up in Harry like bile up his throat. Cursing how he'd wasted his time, he jumped on his Firebolt and sped back to school, the hood of his invisibility cloak falling loose.
"Was that Harry Potter?" asked an incredulous witch. The only person around who heard her was a figure hooded in green with a long chin and pock-marked face.
"Who?" the other bystander snapped.
"That boy there, he flew away just now –,"
But Harry had pulled the hood around his head again, and was nowhere to be seen.
Bellatrix Lestrange touched her fingers to her face to check the glamour charm that disfigured it, then walked carefully back the way she'd came.
---
"Lucius!" the dark-haired woman yelled. She pushed her way past the furniture, crossing the Malfoy's parlour until she was almost nose-to-nose with her brother in law. "Why did you let the girl go?" Her eyes blazed. "You fool! Harry Potter was in Knockturn Alley this morning, presumably looking for her, and you've gone and given her back to him! Why go to all the trouble if not to keep her as bait?"
She backed away, giving a high-pitched laugh. "Oh, the Dark Lord will like this nice piece of information!" She glared at him. "But will Narcissa?"
Lucius sat quietly in his armchair, sunk comfortably into the wine-red plush which matched the elixir that filled the long-stemmed chalice occupying his right hand.
"Narcissa is visiting overseas," he replied languidly. "And everything else is none of your business. My actions concerned . . . personal affairs."
"Even so, Lucius! When the Dark Lord finds that you had the ability to lure the boy away from Dumbledore's care and failed to use it -! He will not be happy with either of us, not you, nor me, who am supposed to be helping you do just that! Why even tell me you had her, if not to use her to an advantage?"
"Sit down, Bellatrix."
The woman scoffed and walked across the room to pour herself a drink. Lucius swirled the liquid in his cup and took a sip before speaking again. "The Mudblood is not the bait. I am."
"What?" Bellatrix snapped her head around, a mocking look plastered to her face.
"I concluded my plans for her, but that doesn't mean our Lord won't get what he wants too." He cocked his head to one side. "When Potter realizes what I've done to his friend, he will come to us."
Bellatrix raised one eyebrow skeptically, but refrained from speaking.
---
Hermione regained consciousness just as a Mediwitch had set her out on a bed at St. Mungos. Her filthy, bloodstained body scarred the white sheets, and as she opened her eyes, she felt like a blister on the pristine room.
"Darling, you're safe now," whispered the Mediwitch. She peered gently at Hermione through orange-rimmed pince-nez and her head was surrounded by a sparse fluff of grey hair. The wrinkles of her face and her dumpy frame reminded Hermione of her Muggle Grandmother, though she still felt somewhat panicked. As she tried to slow her frantic breathing, the elderly woman spoke again. "I'd like to clean you up dear, is that all right?"
The younger woman opened her mouth to concede, but closed it again. "I – I'd rather do it myself, please."
The Mediwitch nodded, replacing the wet cloth she had been holding beside a large bowl full of steaming water. She got up to leave.
"Wait."
The Mediwitch turned around, adjusting her glasses. Hermione sat up slowly on the bed. "Do you – do you need any, um," she swallowed, feeling tears coming to her eyes. "Samples? For tests? I mean, in the Muggle world, when this – this happens -,"
"Don't worry, dear," the Mediwitch replied, smiling softly. "That's all taken care of. All you have to do is think about you right now." Her smile fluttered and suddenly faded. "But you should know, "she said softly, "You lost the baby." Hermione nodded as if she already been in possession of that information and motioned for the Witch to leave. The woman exhaled and with that she left the room, locking the door quietly behind her.
Hermione sighed, shuddering. The past week had been too much for anyone to logically handle. Pulling up her knees, she rested her forehead on them and abandoned herself to tears. When those were spent, she willed herself to get up. In the opposite corner of the room was a gleaming walnut wardrobe. She stepped over to it, stumbling once. Her heels were raw and scabbed from being scraped against the asphalt during her last struggle. Her feet burned as she put her weight on them, but she made it. Pulling her clothes stiffly over her head, she undressed, keeping her eyes closed. Naked, she shuddered and opened the wardrobe door. Inside was a full-length mirror, reflecting every trophy of her aching body in the harsh light of the hospital room.
She looked at her form in the mirror, bruised . . . the cut above her eye, the purple blotches on her neck. The blood between her legs. Before she could see any more, she slammed the wardrobe closed, and half-crawled, half-staggered back to the bed.
---
Professor Dumbledore made no comment when Harry entered his office that morning. He only ordered him to eat a plate of sandwiches (which were conveniently already sitting on his desk) before the old Wizard went to find Ron.
"I want to talk to you two before we go to see Miss. Granger," Dumbledore explained to the boys when he returned. "She has endured . . . has survived -." His voice broke off.
"Professor, she is o.k. though isn't she?" asked Harry.
"She will live, Harry. If she is determined."
"Professor?"
"Though you showed extreme loyalty and bravery in going to look for her, I am sincerely; sincerely glad you did not find her."
"Professor, just tell us, we need to know!" Harry reddened with impatience as Ron stared intently at the tapestry hanging behind Dumbledore's desk. The seconds ticked away, but time pressed forward and finally the man allowed his lips to open like Pandora's box, spilling forth the seeds of horror.
"She has been raped."
"No. No, no . . ." Harry shook his head ferociously. "No!" He slammed his fists down in front of Dumbledore. "Who, Professor?" The anger in his voice could not hide how it quavered. Harry looked like he was about to throw up, Ron did. Dumbledore cleaned the floor of his office with a sweep of his wand, but let the tears gathering in his eyes drip freely down his face.
Harry slumped down on the floor, battling the feelings consuming him like a cremation fire. Despair. Loathing. Desperation. Fear. Sadness. Regret.
"Who?" echoed Ron, finally speaking from behind his friend.
"You should know, yet – I am hesitant to say. I know you are mature young men, but you are also young men in which blood runs high. I will tell you because you deserve to know, because I hope you will be mature enough to handle the information," he paused, looking from one student to the other, "I do not want either of you to abuse what I am about to say."
Harry gave a slow nod of acknowledgement, fully intending to disobey his mentor.
"I will tell you because you must know; though I believe it will do more harm than good."
"Well get on with it!" snapped Harry fiercely, ugly rage apparent in his expression. It took a second for the tension to dissipate. "I'm sorry Professor," he amended, looking away.
"Lucius Malfoy, Harry," Dumbledore said softly.
There was no response from either boy. Ron felt a dark dread deep inside his guts, but Harry saw only red, red, red rage filling him like a torrent of hate.
---
The three of them reached St. Mungos just as Hermione had finished the steaming chicken soup brought to her by the kindly Mediwitch. Ron ran up and embraced his friend, Harry approached more hesitantly, clasping her hand within his.
"Hermione," he said simply. Fear and hope shone in his face.
"Hi," she replied, looking questioningly at the older wizard. "Professor –,"
"No need to say anything, Miss. Granger," the man replied gently. "We are just happy that you are safe now."
"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said.
"There is one thing, if I may ask, Miss. Granger."
"Yes, Professor?"
Dumbledore turned to Harry and Ron. "Perhaps you two could wait in the hall . . ?"
"It's alright Professor, Anything I can tell you, I can tell them."
"As you wish Miss. Granger." He pressed his lips together, considering words, balancing them on his tongue. "Did Sirius know about the child?"
Ron's jaw dropped. He backed against the wall as if trying to escape the room. Harry looked incredulously from Hermione to Dumbledore. "Wha- What?" he whispered.
Hermione looked nervously at both her friends. "No, Professor." She shook her head. "Why should I have told him?"
"You wished him not to know?"
"No, I mean – yes. I mean, Professor, that I didn't tell anyone except the father, I didn't think anyone needed to know . . ."
Dumbledore's hand was shaking. He leaned in, looking curiously at his student. "Who did you believe to be the father?"
"Professor – I mean, Severus, of course."
Harry watched the dialogue intently, Ron with apprehension. The back of his neck had started to sweat profusely.
"Hermione," Dumbledore said carefully, "The Mediwitches tested the – the child, and it was Sirius Black's, no one elses'."
"That's impossible, Professor," Hermione argued, shaking her head. "The – the one time we were together I definitely cast the contraception spell . . ." her voice trailed off, she was blushing.
"Were you seeing Severus over the summer?"
"No."
"Then it is impossible that the child was his." Dumbledore's voice was confident. "The child had developed to six weeks. We have barely been back at school for a month."
"No . . ." Hermione shook her head. "That doesn't make any sense . . ."
Ron looked up at Hermione sitting up in the white bed, bruised and hurt and confused. When he finally spoke up it was barely a whisper, but all eyes turned to him. "It – it does make sense, though," he said.