As soon as Harry had stepped foot into the Common Room that evening, he could sense something was amiss. He dismissed it of course, kissing Hermione goodnight and heading up to his room to finish up some homework before bed. In the middle of writing a rather long essay for potions, he stopped abruptly when he heard a crash come from a few rooms down. He immediately ran through the bathroom, to the door that connected his and Hermione's rooms and tried to push it open, only to find it locked. He jiggled the brass handle a bit, and then banged his side into the door. Hermione must have heard his attempts to open the locked door, because he heard her scream his name with such force that it almost brought him to tears to hear such anguish, pain, and pure horror come from a single voice.
"HARRY!"
He ran back into his room, picked up his wand from his bedside table, and ran back to the door and tried to unlock it with magic as his assistant. "Alohamora!" He yelled at the door. But neither the spell, nor the ferocity in his voice worked . . . the door remained locked. But instead of unlocking the door, the spell seemed to be absorbed by the door itself, causing the door to emit a pale blue light.
Before he could think of another spell to use against the stubborn, and obviously spell-ridden, door, the door brightened its color to a startling sliver-white and a dart of flame—which Harry presumed was his spell—shot out of it and hit Harry square in the chest, causing him to fall backwards onto the tile floor.
Now feeling lightheaded, Harry ran out of the bathroom and away from the door into the hallway. He stopped at Hermione's door and could more clearly hear Hermione's screams. "HARRY!"
"Shut up, you filthy mudblood!" yelled another voice.
Harry automatically concluded that that was the voice of the attacker who was causing Hermione so much terror and pain. So with a heart full of anger and loathing, he shot another, but stronger, Alohamora at the door. This door was the same as the other, unfortunately, and absorbed his spell in a heartbeat. Following his attempted spell, he shouted, "HERMIONE!". But just like its counterpart, the door shot the spell right back at Harry, knocking him once again onto the ground.
When he had the strength to get up, however, there were no screams . . . or voices at all coming from beyond Hermione's door. So when he turned the handle to the locked door, it automatically unlocked and let him through.
The sight was one Harry wished to forget. There were shards of glass everywhere, along with a few spots of blood that were clearly evident on the crème carpet. Bundles of parchment were also present on the floor, clearly being used as a defense weapon against the other. Inkbottles were shattered upon her desk; feathers spilled out of the pillows; sheets were wrinkled and tossed about. It looked similar to a war zone rather than a bedroom.
Harry looked around the room, clearly searching somewhere for Hermione . . . or a whisper of her presence. But he found none. Hermione was gone, and it was his entire fault. He walked over to an armchair in a corner of the room, sat down, and silently cried. Cried for his stupid ness, for his incapability to rescue Hermione, and for his worry of where she could be.
For hours, it seemed, he sat there. Just crying, and occasionally picking up his head in hope of seeing Hermione's smiling face telling him this was all a joke . . . a dream, perhaps. But nothing of the sort happened. It was just he, alone in her room, sobbing into his already drenched hands.
Suddenly, the sadness his body was feeling subdued, and was replaced with anger and a thirst for revenge. He wanted to kill the person who did this to Hermione . . . who caused her so much pain and horror that she had to resort to calling his name instead of defending herself. But, he could not do it alone . . . he would need help. So he quickly jumped out of the chair he was occupying and dashed out of the Common Room in a sprint.
Where should he go? To the Gryffindor Tower? No . . . Ron wouldn't fancy being awoken at this time of night, even if it was for a spot of revenge. To Tonks's office? No . . . she would make it into something not to worry about, and pass it off as an unlikely dream because of the hour. But she is an Auror; she has probably dealt with these types of situations before, Harry thought. With that in mind, Harry ran to the direction of her office, with only the light of his faint Lumos to lead the way.
Ignoring the complaints of dreary portraits trying to get some sleep and the stitch in his side for all of the sprinting he was doing about the castle, he reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Clutching his now aching side, he walked the route to her office. Up the stone steps he reminded himself to get in better shape if he didn't want to feel this pain again.
He knocked repeatedly on her door until a very drowsy-looking Tonks pulled open the door and stared at him with a dreamy expression on her face. When she realized who was at her door, she immediately straightened her posture (to the point where she had to lean on the doorway for support) and opened her eyes. "Watcher, Harry . . . what're you doing here at this hour?"
"Its Hermione . . . she's been kidnapped!" He told her anxiously, waiting for her response.
At the sound of kidnapped after the mention of Hermione's name, she immediately became wide-awake and a look of horror crossed her features. "She's be what . . . kidnapped?"
"Yes, just now in the Heads Common Room." Harry informed her.
"We better get McGonagall, then." Tonks said, grabbing a hold of Harry's wrist and tugging him to sprint with her to the Headmistresses office.
With an inward groan at the thought of sprinting again, he followed—or was rather pulled by—Tonks to the stone Gargoyles that enclosed the Head's Office. Since it appeared Tonks was in better shape than Harry, she gave the password to the Gargoyles and stepped onto the moving staircase, not a trace of loss of breath in her voice; all the while Harry, panting heavily and cursing inwardly, on her tail.
When they reached the door that lead into McGonagall's office, Tonks let go of Harry's wrist, much to Harry's relief (he was starting to feel the formation of a bruise), and knocked feverously on the wooded barricade.
After a few seconds of repeated knocking, a very tired looking McGonagall opened the door and revealed herself in all of her bed head glory. At the sight of a teacher interrupting her sleep, McGonagall immediately straightened up her posture as Tonks had done for Harry (she, also was using the doorframe as a support system).
"How may I help you at this late hour, Professor?" She asked, drowsiness etched into her every syllable.
"We have a student that has been captured." Tonks replied with a sense of forced calmness.
McGonagall visibly awoke from her stupor immediately, "A student? Who?"
"Hermione Granger, ma'am."
"Miss Granger?" the Headmistress asked. When she saw Tonks nod, she took that as a queue to speak once more. "We should alert Mister Potter and—"
"Already present." Tonks interrupted, standing aside to reveal Harry rubbing his bruised wrist.
When Harry felt eyes on him, he looked up to see McGonagall and Tonks looking at him. He looked at both of them and stopped his attempted soothing motion on his wrist. Tonks was the one who broke the silence; "Harry here came to me not to long ago telling me of Hermione's disappearance himself."
"Is this true, Mister Potter?" McGonagall asked him.
"Yeah, it is Professor." Harry replied with a nod.
"Do you know anything of Miss Granger's disappearance?" McGonagall inquired.
"Yeah . . . I was the one to try and stop it, but—"
"Perhaps we should continue this conversation inside, so as not to attract unwanted attention?" Tonks interrupted.
"Yes, yes, alright." McGonagall said, opening her door further to let the pair of them inside. Wandlessly, McGonagall summoned two armchairs and motioned for the to sit down opposite her desk. They obliged as she took her seat in her own chair and flicked her wand, brightening the dim candles in the room. This action caused many of the half-asleep or asleep portraits to moan and groan in protest, but they paid them no mind as they started up the conversation that was previously being commenced in the doorway.
"As you were saying, Mister Potter . . . you tried to stop the attempt at Miss Granger's being captured . . ." McGonagall said, leading Harry to continue is explanation.
"Yeah. When I heard a crash come from her room, I immediately ran to the door that adjoined our rooms in the bathroom. My attempts to open it were futile, as it was locked, so I tried my luck with the other door . . . but that one had the same results." Harry explained, "All the while Hermione was screaming for help . . . a terrifying . . . horrible scream . . ." All thoughts of revenge aside when he thought of the way he voice sounded not ten minutes ago. His head bent low, "It is all my fault she was captured . . . I wasn't fast enough to open the damn doors."
As tears started to well up in his eyes, Tonks took her turn at speaking, "Harry, this is not—I repeat—not your fault whatsoever. It is the slime bag that devised this . . . this . . . plan."
"Speaking of 'slime bags'" McGonagall added, looking as if she could not find a better term of Hermione's captor, "Did you hear or see anyone else in her room?"
Harry picked up his head, revealing the silent tears that had been freefalling down his cheeks. Tonks looked at him with a mix of pity and sadness at his state of emotion. Not going unnoticed, Harry wiped the tears from his face and answered McGonagall's question, "Yeah, there was . . . I heard a man's voice telling Hermione to be quiet after she called my name a second time . . . I couldn't tell who it was, though."
"Obviously, there are many Death Eaters about now that You-Know-Who is back in power. It could have been any one of those nasty mother f—"
"Anyhow," McGonagall interrupted, "The real question is . . . how they got into the school grounds undetected."
"Yeah, that is a good question . . ." Tonks said, stroking her chin absentmindedly in thought.
Harry, too, thought over this for a long while until a sudden thought entered his mind, "The spy." He said.
"The sp—what?" McGonagall said.
"The spy that Tonks told me, Hermione, and Ron about that day after Defense." Harry explained, while looking at Tonks for back up.
Tonks, taking the hint, spoke, "Yeah, I told you three about that the first day after lessons . . . I can't believe we forgot about them."
"They could have snuck some Death Eater's into Hogwarts . . . or have done it themselves." Harry said.
"This is preposterous! A student capturing another student?" McGonagall said.
"It could happen . . . if the spy was Malfoy . . . he hates Hermione . . . or anyone muggleborn, in fact." Harry voiced.
"Now, lets not go to accusations when you don't have the evidence to prove it, Mister Potter." McGonagall scorned.
"Wait a second, Minnie," —McGonagall rolled her eyes in disgust at the nickname— "I think Harry here might be onto something . . . you say that Malfoy hates muggleborns?" Tonks directed her question at Harry.
"Yeah." He answered.
"Do you know anybody else who does?"
"Most of Slytherin house . . . that narrows it down." Harry answered, throwing in some sarcasm.
"Hmm. . ." Tonks said, stroking her chin again.
"This is unnecessary . . .Mister Potter, you may return to you quarters for the remainder of the night . . . I this us professors have it from here." McGonagall said from her position behind her desk.
"But, Professor—"
"That's enough Mister Potter. We shall discuss this matter when the daylight is shining through the windows . . . not in the middle of the night!"
"Minnie—" This time it was Tonks who was trying to persuade the Headmistress otherwise.
"None of this nonsense. I promise we shall resume this conversation another time. For the time being I want the both of you to return to your quarters. That is an order."
Tonks and Harry bowed their heads in defeat and walked silently out of the classroom, an eager Headmistress on their tail. Before Harry could get onto the staircase that could return him to the floor below, he felt an arm on his shoulder.
"I am truly sorry about Miss Granger, Mister Potter. I assure you that I will do everything in my power to return her to us safe and sound." McGonagall gave Harry a small smile and retreated back into her office, shutting the oak door after her.
"Thanks." Harry muttered to the door, before stepping on the spiral staircase, and returning to his now empty dormitory.
Hermione awoke to a dark, cool room, the accustomed heat and welcoming of her own room absent. At first she was confused as to why she was not in her dormitory . . . then it hit her like a stone to the head. She had been then been re-reading her favorite novel when she heard something outside. She cursed herself to being drawn by the peculiar noise, for that is what caused her to fall backwards and be slashed several times by the shattering glass of her window.
She remembered the dark, shadowy figure in all of its dark and unwelcome glory. The mask covered his face, so she could not see the intruder's features clearly. It was when he started to move towards her limp body on the floor that she began to panic. Quickly, she got up and started picking up the shards of glass that were covering the floor and threw them at him. All attempts at injuring the masked figure were futile, as he just laughed coldly and shooed them away with his hand.
Desperate, she went to her desk and threw paper at him as well . . . but realized that was a bust, as they were not very helpful. That is when she heard someone at the other side of the door to the bathroom. Harry.
"HARRY!" she screamed desperately, as if screaming was going to bring him to her. She soon realized that the door would not budge, probably the work of the man in front of her, still smirking through his mask.
She looked around the room for another way to distract or disarm the man, but did not succeed, as the Death Eater pushed her onto the bed and started to strangle her. Gasping for breath, and feeling the wave of lightheadedness that came before unconsciousness, she pushed the heavy body off of her and made to the other door in her room.
She pounded on it, screaming in agony, as she couldn't open this door as Harry couldn't open the other. She gasped in surprise as she felt two, cold arms wrap around her and a wand being poked in her neck. "HARRY!" she screamed as she saw the other door being forced open.
"Shut up, mudblood!" The Death Eater had said as he muttered a curse on her and blackness overcame her limp, helpless body. She let out one final cry of "Harry" before slipping into unconsciousness.
The room she now occupied was covered in black bricks, from the floor to the ceiling. The only light coming from a small opening at the ceiling where a small window was placed, and a few torches erupting an orange fire. There was a bed, which Hermione was sitting on, that was dark oak and covered with a lumpy mattress and a thin, scratchy blanket. A single toilet was in the corner, barley visible through the shadows, the only place that seemed semi-private.
Her observation came to an abrupt halt when she saw the handle of the door on the other side of the room jiggle. A dark figure came inside, not her captor, but a woman she recognized as Bellatrix Leastrange. Hermione looked into the face of smirking Bellatrix as she walked up to Hermione, her heels making the only noise present in the nearly vacant room.
"Ah, the mudblood whore . . ." she said, looking down at Hermione's pitiful state. "Do you take well of you accommodations? I picked them out myself."
Hermione didn't respond, giving Bellatrix unwanted permission to continue, "I only wish your dearly beloved was here to see your state, it would drive him absolutely mad to see you cooped up. His little whore all locked up in a cell. Baby Potter would be hysterical. His little whore—"
"Shut up." Were Hermione's first words to her, and were barley audible, as though a mouse had said them.
"And why on Earth would I give you the pleasure of complete and utter silence? You're a mudblood whore. Mudblood whore's don't deserve serenity."
"Stop calling me a whore." Hermione said, looking up at Bellatirx through saddened eyes.
"Why? That's what you are, aren't you? A mudblood whore who should be dead." Bellatix said, with a disgusted expression.
"Then why aren't I?" Hermione asked, "You seem to want me to be."
"Aren't what? Dead? Well . . . what kind of leverage would that be to have a dead damsel in distress for Potter to come rescuer?"
"So, you mean—"
"You are the ticket the Dark Lord has been waiting to appear. As soon Malfoy said you and Potter were an item . . . he took that golden opportunity and let it play to our strengths." Bellatrix explained coolly.
"Malfoy?"
"Yes . . . the young one has proved himself useful over the past few months . . . what is it? December? Yes . . . what a delightful early Christmas present it was."
Hermione was baffled. How on earth did Malfoy know about her and Harry? He didn't come into the carriage until after they had straightened up . . . did he have x-ray goggles, or some sort of devise that helped him see through the curtains of the carriage?
"Pondering eh?" Bellatrix interrupted, "And they told me you were smart . . . a smart mudblood whore who didn't bother to use protection." Bellatrix said, keeping up her smirk.
Hermione was startled, what protection? She could very well stand her own ground; she didn't need protection. On too many accounts did people offer her protection; particularly Harry and Ron. Outraged at Bellatrix's statement of anti-feminist proportions, she asked, "Excuse me?"
"Smart my arse . . . you, mudblood, as you now know, are the ticket to the Dark Lord's reign of the wizarding word as we know it. You and your little half-breed."
"Half-breed?"
"We are going to have to get new sources of information around here." Bellatrix said, with a roll of her eyes, referring to the dismal source of information. "You, carry the secret to our success, in that filthy, mud-ridden stomach of yours lies something that the Dark Lord will need to destroy Harry Potter once and for all . . ."
Hermione looked at her with a sense of confusion and awe. What the hell was she talking about? Could they know about Altus Limbido Amor? If they did, they might use it to their advantage and torture her so that Harry could feel the same pain and anguish she was feeling. But didn't Bellatrix say something about Harry coming here to save her? How could they do that when—
"His heir."
"What?!" Hermione yelled, brought abruptly out of her train of thought, "Are you saying that I'm . . . I'm . . ."
"Oh, bleeding hell, do I have to spell it out for you? You are carrying Harry Potter's one and only . . ." she paused, enjoying the look of surprise and anxiousness written over Hermione's feature's.
"Child."
