Chapter Seventeen

Bloody Book

A house in the woods... Zabini... Nott... Death Eaters... The house destroyed... Death... Was there death?

Hermione gasped and sat upright, knives diving through her veins and muscles. She gasped and clutched the mattress below her. Wildly she examined the room, but it was too dark to see anything.

"Scared?"

She inhaled sharply, her head instinctively turning to the right corner of the room. She saw nothing, but she recognized the voice to be Goyle's. She slid herself back, pressing herself to the headboard.

"You are scared," he chuckled.

She clutched her chest, feeling her thin shirt and the rips near the neckline. "Where's Nott?"

"Worried about your boyfriend, eh?"

"More worried about you if anything happens to him." She didn't know where she got her strength, but the thought of him hurt sent a fire through her. In that moment she knew that she would kill for him.

"You were always a brave girl, Granger."

She felt her jeans, feeling the dried blood on her leg below the hem of her shorts. Someone took her robe... Her wand... The book!

"Where's the book?"

"Potter and Weasley put up quite a fight to get you out of there, the wards were easy to break, all they had to do was get through ours. Too bad ours was better."

"Where's the book?!"

"Confiscated into my hands. All of your wands too. Zabini is tied up at the moment. Nott is undergoing questioning. His pick in loyalties are pathetic. We are patiently waiting now for your friends to come and join us. How long do you suppose they'll be?"

"So you haven't..."

"Used to the book? No, I have to say I've been too busy watching you sleep. You are quite... Sexy, the way you twist and turn. I am very turned on."

Her stomach lurched, the promise of upheaval of whatever she ate last. It had been at least a day since she ate properly. The dizziness rebuked her for it.

"Tell me, how long until your friends come?"

Would they come? Harry and Ron, did they still love her? Even after all they had been through, she couldn't say that their love went to the bounds to forgive her for her past, and all the trouble she was now causing them. If they didn't try to rescue her again, she couldn't blame them, but it was her fault if Nott died.

It was up to her. She wouldn't lose Nott. Not him... There was no getting away from it in the face of death. She loved him. Truly she did. Not because he was close to Draco, not because they both mourned, not because he was like him, because he wasn't. Nott was colder but no less kinder. In some way, it was clear, that the person Draco wanted her to be with, was him. They were meant for each other, another path she hadn't seen, hidden beneath her pain and worry. So what did it matter anymore? She had to use his given name. She was on the verge of losing everything, and she had already lost so much. She was sorry that it had taken her as long as it did to think his name with clarity, and not just because she was in grief. On the contrary in the moment, she was fully aware of everything.

"I'll answer any questions you want," she bargained, "if you let me see Theo."

"I have the Horcrux book. The only reason you're alive is because you make a nice piece of bait for the hero of the Wizarding world and his ginger sidekick. You're not alive because of your knowledge. I bet you never read the book, did you? It's nice, hand-written, clear, concise instructions. It will be a prized treasure among my ruling. I've worked hard for it.

It was not too hard to steal this from you. It was inconvenient. Getting your records from the Ministry, breaking into your parents house, reading through your diary, finding your mudblood friend, Tony. It's sad, as close as you two were, you didn't know that he died. He's nicely preserved in that grave of his."

Her stomach lurched again. Tony was dead, and worse Goyle dug him up to steal hairs. He disturbed the peace of her childhood friend. "You're a sick bastard," she spat at him.

"But you made it so easy, Granger. Poor Potter, worried over you he went to the Ministry. One of my loyals overheard him and Weasley speaking. Potter is smart to think he'd go over to Zabini's. It took a bit of magic but no time at all to find you. Zabini's magic has been poor since the the war. It wasn't only his hearing that was effected. He got what he deserved, and now, the rest of you will too."

Overcome by a need to get to him, to get to the book, and most of all to kill him she moved one leg off the bed.

"I can see you. I think you ought to be grateful that I didn't bind you to the bed. Keep still and I won't."

Reluctantly she moved back into her position. Though she couldn't see and her eyes were not adjusting she kept them open. "Why didn't you?"

"I have the upper-hand here. I don't need to tie you."

He was right, she was trapped. There was nothing she could do. She wracked her brain anyway, but came up with nothing. Five minutes passed, thirty, sixty, and then two hours. She slumped over onto the multiple pillows feeling useless. She strained to hear screaming but heard nothing. Comforting herself with the thought that he didn't put a silencing spell on the door she rested assured that Theo was okay. It was foolish but she had nothing else left to hold on to.

To keep her mind off of what would happen in a matter of time, she thought of the book. What would have destroyed it? What hadn't they seen? Goyle called it a prized treasure. Of course, among elite, prejudice pure-bloods, it would be. Among Death Eaters. Superiority, power, and blood were main factors in them. What were some of the tricks Voldemort used?

When Harry traveled with Dumbledore to fetch the fake locket out of the cave, Harry said it would only open for blood. Blood... What if Voldemort heard the idea from someone else? What if it was from Draco's uncle? It wouldn't bee just any blood though, the cave was a death trap, the book was treasured. Voldemort thought it a shame when pure blood was spilled.

Pure blood on the book... Could it be that easy? Was it just the tired runnings of her mind hoping to come to a solution before her death? There was only one way to find out, but it was impossible, there was no way she could fight Goyle without her wand.

She thought of what he said. "You are quite... Sexy."

If she could summon Ginny's ability to lie, then maybe...

"Goyle?"

"What is it?"

"Why would you do this? I had so much respect for you."

He guffawed. "Respect for me? You looked down upon me. Everything that will happen to you tonight will be what you had coming. Always being the perfect know-it-all. A right bitch."

"I'm sorry. I know I didn't behave well, but... I like you. I didn't know how to show it." The lies rolled off her tongue, easy as silk. She was apparently better under pressure; she had lied well before when she was being tortured by Bellatrix.

"Draco loved you. Yes, I know about that, it was the only reason he'd leave his possessions to you. A mudblood."

"But it was you I wanted. If you're going to kill me, fine!" She leaked passion into her voice, let it drip from her lips. She kept Theo in her minds eye, of what would happen to him if she couldn't pull off her plan. "It's better to die by your wand than any other. Just give me this one time. I want to feel you. Please."

She listened to the scraping of the chair, the heavy footsteps. She tensed and closed her eyes for the first time since she woke. She waited, and she felt his hand on her arm. She could have vomited, letting a man who infiltrated everything in her life to get the power Voldemort was forced to relinquish. He killed Draco.

"You are hot."

She turned to the voice, something sticking into her leg. She brushed her hand over her hip to her thigh. She reached up and kissed Goyle quickly, hiding her smile.

He pressed and pulled. He bit down. Hard. She tasted salt, copper, and sweat. She smelled it too, the awful sweetness of it, but she kept kissing him. She had to get him distracted.

He pushed her on to her back, falling on her. She was nearly winded, wheezing for breath, but he didn't notice that his body was too heavy to be on hers. He slipped his slimy tongue in. Her head swam with the sickness of it. She pictured Theo and Draco, Harry and Ron, everyone that she was fighting for. It was her turn to save the world.

When he moaned, Hermione grazed her hand over his waist to her own. She held his head to hers as she took out the sliver glass from her pocket. She had kept it with her at all times, the only piece that was left of her gift to Draco, the one with the words "trust your instincts" etched on it. She aimed blindly over his back, and then plunged it in, past the flesh and muscle, blood spurting over her fingers.

The scream was horrifyingly loud in her ear, and with great effort she shoved him off, rolling him onto his back, digging the glass further into him. She hovered over him, feeling over his bulky body for the book and their wands. She only found one wand in his pocket.

"Lumos," she casted, the light flooding his agonized features. She relished it. "I have never wanted to kill anyone as much as I want to kill you," she hushed over his whimpers. "But I won't. You don't deserve the easy way out."

She dismounted him and left what she distinguished was a camp bed. She went to the other side of the small room and saw the shadow of a seat where a rectangle object was sitting. She didn't have a choice, she had to pick it up, but she did with her left hand, the wand in her right.

The second the leather touched her skin, it burned. It was worse than setting her hand on a hot cooker. Her skin was being burned away faster than any non-magical heat could have done. She was blinded by the pain, but she kept moving.

She climbed onto the bed and flipped Goyle back over. Not bothering with gentleness she took out the glass, feeling it move along the tendons, the noise of sucking blood.

"How does it feel," she jeered uncharacteristically; angrily. "How does it feel to end what you wanted to begin?" She held the book to his bloody back, it trembling on contact, as if it was alive.

There was screaming that didn't belong to Goyle. It was ethereal, filling her ear drums. Black smoke curled up, stinging her nose with its dead rodent odor. She leaned all of her weight on it, hoping to speed the process. It wasn't long though, until the book collapsed into dust, the screaming ceasing. Goyle gasped, yelling. She didn't realize that he was making any noise.

One last time, she bent her lips to his ear, and asked, "how does it feel?" She didn't wait for his answer, she ran out of the room into the light, her marred hand to her chest. She hardly felt the sticky wetness stream down her arm, dripping off her elbows.

For you, Draco.

Hermione stumbled into what appeared to be a lounge. It was difficult to tell, the furniture in shreds, light exploding. Theo dueled two men, their feet moving expertly through bits of cardboard, and white fluff that was once a stuffed couch. There were two more doors, one to her right and another to her left.

She clutched the wand, and as she looked down, she realized that she was holding Draco's wand.

"I give my wand, knowing that she'll find a better use."

She jumped in beside Theo, and began waving hexes and curses at their enemy. Their hoods were down, but she didn't recognize them. They were scarred too badly, their faces contorted.

"Where's Goyle," Theo yelled.

"He's nursing a wound and the loss of his precious book," she responded, cursing her man through a door, falling into blackness. She twirled Draco's wand between her fingers, like he used to do. It felt good, revenge truly was sweet.

"Way to go, Granger!" He grinned, fighting harder than ever, his opponent into the far wall. A gray and white painting fell on his head, knocking him out cold. Theo panted but the smile on his lips said that he was pleased.

"Where's the others," she asked, gasping herself, her left hand protectively staying at her chest, her shirt soaked with the flowing blood.

"Zabini didn't take kindly to his house being destroyed," he snickered. "You can be sure that Potter and Weasley will hear about it. Saw them out of the window, they're still trying to get the wards down."

She nodded. "Draco would have been proud."

"Granger, your hand."

She glimpsed at it, seeing white poking from her thumb. Bone. "It's nothing. It'll heal. Go help get the wards down."

He ran to the door, but stopped short. "Thank you. He would've been proud of you too - not surprised, but proud."

"How sweet," said a sarcastic voice from the door that she had come through. Goyle rested against the door frame, his skin pallid and gray.

Theo spun, raising his wand, but Goyle had already sent a spell. The last she saw was a green flash. It echoed in her dead eyes.