Remembering you fallen into my arms
Crying for the death of your heart
You were stone white
So delicate
Lost in the cold
You were always so lost in the dark

Pictures of You - The Cure [1989]

Antonin was not a happy wizard. He had spent the last week, hauled up in Yaxley's study, working on a plan to kill Nagini. Intermittently, he would be called out on increasingly bizarre, and fruitless missions, from his Lord. It was a testament to the current, sad state of affairs, that plotting the downfall of a snake was the most 'normal' thing he had done in some time. Not that the planning had been straightforward. It had taken longer than expected but finally, they had a plan that they both believed had a good chance of not only working, but affording them the opportunity to avoid detection. The elation Antonin felt at the culmination of their personal strategy sessions had dissipated as soon as he had been called to his Lord's side, the evening before. Antonin had given the conventional display of respect, more feigned now than ever, and had been ordered to patrol in Hogsmeade the next day.

The Dark Lord had heard from Snape that there had been an increasing number of incidents at the school, and was convinced that Potter would appear there soon, Antonin had readily accepted and left. Once upon a time, he had been able to debate, albeit respectfully, planned actions his Lord gave to him, that time had long since passed. Antonin didn't believe the trio were likely to make an appearance in Hogsmeade, whatever they wanted from the school they had already gotten it from Snape, they were probably off breaking into some other impenetrable fortress.

Antonin sighed and rubbed his face. Two and a half weeks. He must remember to ask Hermione further details on what they were doing; he was beginning to suspect it might have been affecting his Lord's mental state. When he had gotten out of Azkaban, the second time, the Dark Lord's paranoia was at an all-time high, and it had only gotten worse over the last year.

Antonin's violent thoughts slightly calmed when he thought of Hermione, two and half weeks would feel like a lifetime, but it would be worth it. He would finally take her somewhere safe. Though he expected her to be angry with him, he was almost looking forward to it. He wondered if they would be able to continue the rest of their lives without her ever realising he enjoyed, and was aroused by, her displays of temper.

She would get over it, he told himself, Hermione was a logical witch, over time she would understand his motivations, and why he had decided he had to act

When Antonin arrived outside the Three Broomsticks, as commanded, he was greeted by the very unwelcome sight of the Brothers Lestrange. Relations between himself and the two men had been frosty at best, but up until now any interaction had been somewhat limited. Antonin was not looking forward to the prospect of spending an entire day in just their company, with no others present to diffuse the possible tension.

He and Rodolphus had not spoken at any length since their tense altercation the night of the Hogwarts mission, and he had barely seen Rabastan. Antonin wanted to question them, with an almost rabid desperation, the more he saw Hermione, the more he felt, he needed to know if they were a threat to her. But he knew he couldn't. What possible reason could he have? What justifications for his questions could he give? He had pushed it as far as he could, without raising their suspicions, if they found out about his interest before he knew their intentions, the consequences for him, and his witch, could be devastating.

So Antonin kept quiet, and they went about their unnecessary mission with as little communication as possible.

Hours passed, and Antonin was getting tired of trying to nudge Rabastan into snapping for some entertainment. He had noticed that for some reason, the usually volatile younger man was much calmer than he had seen him for some time. Antonin wasn't sure if that was something he needed to be worried about or not. As they were continuing their fifth successive loop of Hogsmeade, walking down a quiet alley, Rodolphus came to an abrupt stop, pulling a blackened piece of parchment from his pocket.

"Rab, Bella wants us back at the Manor, she needs assistance with something," he said dispassionately, his eyes scanning to the bottom of the note, and he sighed, "and she doesn't trust Lucius."

Rabastan rolled his eyes dramatically before nodding, Antonin interrupted him before he could speak. "I'm coming, whatever it is, it must be more pressing than standing around here doing nothing."

Rodolphus agreed, looking twice as tired as Antonin felt. He wondered, and not for the first, time what it must be like for the man to not only be summoned by the Dark Lord but also receive them from his wife.

They apparated back to the Malfoy estate, and Antonin groaned as they began the long walk down the drive for the millionth time. Halfway down the path, they came across an extremely agitated Fenrir Greyback. Antonin had never had much time for the wolf, while he would never claim to be a good man, he had never ripped the throat out of a child, with his teeth. Some might not make the distinction between himself and the mutt, but he would. Greyback had always found a twisted sense of humour from the Death Eater's distaste for his methods.

When Antonin had been younger, freshly marked and fighting vehemently for a cause he believed in, wholeheartedly, he had been furious at the inclusion of the werewolves, if not in their ranks, at least in their association. He had felt that the link would weaken the wizarding world's understanding of their argument, it confirmed, to those that said that 'Riddle's men' were a bunch of monsters and sadists, that they were right. Antonin had believed it would hurt their political campaign, that was before he knew that they didn't intend to lobby for power, they were going to rip it from the cold dead hands of those that already had it.

The wolf looked even more unhinged than was normal, and was pacing back and forth, pulling at his long hair, his face twisted cruelly into a series of silent snarls. When he spotted them, his head snapped up, and he stalked towards them. "Who called you?" he growled, "She said she was mine!"

"What are you talking about mutt?" Rabastan answered exasperatedly.

"Whatever is going on here, I'm taking her do you understand me? You lot can take the boys to your Lord, and do whatever with them for all I care; I have no interest in the Chosen One. She. Is. Mine," he snarled.

Antonin felt an emotion he had not registered fully for decades, terror. The feeling washed over him, removing all other thought, bringing his body to attention as if a bucket of water had been thrown over his head.

She… and boys?

She couldn't be here.

No

No

NO!

Antonin stepped back from the wolf, who by now was almost foaming at the mouth, and hurriedly pulled a piece of parchment out of his pocket, hovering his wand over it for a few seconds before it vanished. He needed Yaxley here now. Regardless of the others still standing around arguing, Antonin took off running at full tilt down the stupidly long drive, cursing its ostentatiousness the whole way, like he needed another reason to want to punch Lucius in the throat. By the time Antonin had made it to the door, a panting Rabastan had caught up with him. Rodolphus had apparently stayed behind to calm the rabid wolf.

He didn't stop to speak to Rabastan; he couldn't care less why he was as keen to get in as he was. Antonin threw the door open and stormed into the dingy manor, heading directly for the reception room, where he knew the Snatchers brought anyone of note. He swung open the interior door, with almost enough force to take it off its hinges, and entered into a waking nightmare.

Hermione was lying on the ground, her body looking even more diminished than it had been at their last meeting, when he had held her against a tree and worshipped her beautiful face, her beautiful face that was now marred by blood, her blood. Her eyes were wide open but unseeing, her nose, mouth and cheeks covered in dark crimson liquid, some of it spilt into her hair, that surrounded her like a dirty halo.

Bellatrix was straddled over her, her thick robes obscuring most of Hermione's tiny body, the raven black of the fabric looking impossibly severe against the little witch's too pale skin. Hermione's top had been removed, all that remained covering her thin torso was a well-worn bra, that was now definitely not the colour it had started life. Her flesh was littered with scores of cuts of varying depths and lengths. Then he saw it, carved into her forearm, Mudblood.

Hermione wasn't moving, not even twitching. She had no reaction to Bella on top of her, she was… lifeless.

Antonin would have expected to feel rage, blinding mania, a fury so strong that it would have driven him to kill Bella, her audience of pretty blond, unmoving Malfoys, and anyone else that had the misfortune of being within a ten-mile radius. But his blood did not boil, and his vision did not turn red. Antonin felt hollow, like his insides had been dug out with an ice cream scoop, he wanted to drop to his knees, he wanted to un-see this.

He felt despair. Total, bone crushing, desperation.

Sometime in the aeons that he had lost staring at her, Rodolphus walked into the room, and Bella raised her head. "Hello husband mine," she singsonged, "look what I did today."

She lifted Hermione's arm, and Antonin saw it there again, clearer this time 'Mudblood' carved... fucking carved, into her fucking arm.

"She didn't like the Crucio, no she didn't," Bella continued in her maddeningly infantile voice.

Bella mentioning the Curse she had used pushed Antonin out of his detachment, enough to feel that a reaction was imminent, the mania was coming now, and he was glad of it. Anger would block out the pain. He wouldn't use magic, not in the face of this, he was going to rip Bella apart, he was going to squeeze the life out of her, using his bare hands. Antonin wanted to feel the fluttering of her pulse slow, until she was almost gone, then revive her and do it again and again, until she begged and pleaded for a mercy that would not come.

"She stopped screaming a while ago, though… She's not much fun anymore," Bella continued, drawing her bottom lip into a pout.

The crazy bitch sat forward and moved the knife over Hermione's stomach, his little witch didn't move, not even a flinch.

"Is she dead?"

Antonin started at the words, thinking for a moment that they had fallen unconsciously from his lips, belatedly he realised it was Rabastan who had stepped forward, from his place to the left of him. Bella tilted her head to the side, her tangled, monstrous mane of hair, springing in all directions before her face crumpled in childlike confusion. She chewed over the question as if Hermione already being dead had never occurred to her. Her face dropped down again as she looked back at his witch, and poked her in the shoulder with the hilt of her blade roughly.

"Are you dead little Mudblood?"

Bella shrugged when she received no response, Antonin was no longer sure how he was standing upright, looking at her little body was the worst pain he had ever experienced but he couldn't tear his face away. He had been too late. He knew she wasn't safe, and he had ignored his instincts, and she had paid for it, paid dearly. How long had she been here? How long had she been made to suffer? How did they find them?

She had been all alone.

Silence fell in the room until Lucius sighed exasperatedly, staring at his sister in law as if Bella was using the wrong cutlery at a dinner party, instead of mutilating the light of Antonin's life on the reception room floor.

"I expect she's asked you here because she wants to take the credit for this," he began icily, "this is my house Lestrange, and I've got Potter and Weasley in the dungeons, my dungeons downstairs. When we call him, I will be taking the distinction that is owed," he demanded in clipped tones.

Antonin took his eyes off Hermione for the first time since he had entered the cursed room to look at Rodolphus, the man made no response to suggest he had even heard Lucius was speaking to him, his eyes pointedly fixed on Hermione, unblinking, emotionless, but not cold just... vacant. Antonin looked to Rabastan who was next to him, his eyes were also locked on the prone girl, but his face wasn't nearly so impassive, it shone with a white heat, his fists clenching and unclenching with abandon.

The stifling quiet that had settled broke when the door to the room opened again, and Reuben walked in. The man obviously had no idea what he was wandering into, though he had come prepared; he walked straight, shoulders back and wand already in hand. Yaxley's eyes searched the room for him, and whatever he saw on Antonin's face caused him to pause his steps immediately, and his eyes resumed their search, eventually falling on Hermione's still form, in the middle of the stock still Death Eaters. Yaxley's eyes momentarily widened before he continued pacing towards Antonin, as if nothing had happened, stopping just behind him. Then, hidden from the view of the others present, he laid his hand between Antonin's shoulder blades in a silent show of support.

Antonin inhaled shakily, he needed to detach himself, he could mourn later, and for forever it felt like, there were two of them now. It was two against six, but with the emotions rolling through him he would probably clear a path through half their bodies before the others even had time to pray for death. He hadn't been in time to save her; he wouldn't let the wolf desecrate her body. She deserved more than that.

The tension in the room was palpable, Antonin was aware that a good part of it was down to tensions he didn't know or care about. He began to inch towards Hermione's body, while the rest were distracted by Bella's insane ramblings

"Oh, Lucius just call him already... I think I'm almost done," she said, sitting back on her haunches as if appraising a watercolour she was composing. "Anyway I promised Greyback he could have her after, the Dark Lord won't care what happened to her, it's Potter he wants."

Antonin carried on taking steady steps till he was standing on the other side of the motionless Lestranges. Bella's brow furrowed into a frown as she crouched over his little witch.

"He said he wanted her pretty, but I don't suppose it matters now, unresponsive as she is." She gripped Hermione's wrist, pulling her arm up before letting it go, to prove her point. Antonin watched as Hermione's too slim, too pale limb clattered to the floor, landing at an awkward angle. His little sunshine did not react.

"I don't think he'll mind if I widen her smile a little though will he?" Bella asked, her face splitting into a cruel smirk. She raised her knife to Hermione's face, but before he could lunge forward a loud pop resonated through the cold stone room. Potter, Weasley, Luna and a house elf landed in the middle of the bizarre scene, next to Bella.

Bella reacted immediately, jumping off Hermione and drawing her wand and pointing it menacingly at the interlopers. Antonin watched as Luna darted forward, undetected in the confusion, and grabbed at Hermione's unresponsive limbs, dragging her from the centre of the room, and out of the way of whatever crossfire would light the air.

Antonin moved over, as quickly as he could without drawing attention. He needed to get her body, and the tiny Ravenclaw out of here. Hermione would likely haunt him if he left Luna behind, his heart constricted at the thought of ghosts, maybe there was a way she would come back. Could ghosts return to say goodbye?

The chaos continued in the middle, the little elf dropped a massive chandelier from the ceiling, trapping Lucius and Narcissa underneath, having knocked them out on the way down. Draco rushed forward, freeing his mother from the light fixture, before levitating her from the room hastily without looking back.

Three down, three to go.

"Hermione," Ron screamed.

The little elf was pulling on both boys' arms desperately, as they simultaneously stared at Hermione and fought fire from the Lestranges.

"Harry!" Luna shouted, "You have to go now!"

Potter looked at Hermione's lifeless form then again at him 'please take her' he mouthed. Antonin nodded, and Potter's eyes glassed over.

"Now Dobby," he shouted, and the three of them disappeared. As the pop rang out across the room Antonin's progress was finally noticed, he had made it to Hermione and little Luna curled next to her. Both the Lestrange brothers raised their wands.

"Oh, let him take her," Bellatrix shouted. "She is irrelevant! We have bigger things to worry about now, we have to explain how we let Potter get through our fingers, and he's not going to care about a dead, worthless Mudblood."

The sudden flash of green was so powerful, so bright; it lit up the whole space, a macabre illumination that froze everyone in place.

Bella fell backwards, her entire form rigid, a look of almost comedic surprise etched on her face.

She was dead, very dead.

Rodolphus was standing, mouth set in a grim line, his wand hand still extended.

The room was totally silent.

Yaxley took his opportunity and joined Antonin on his side of the room, helping him form a barrier between the brothers, Hermione and Luna.

"Antonin?"

He started, turning he saw Luna looking up at him, her hand resting placatingly on his forearm. "We have to get her out of here, she's lost too much blood," she said pleadingly.

Antonin couldn't get his mind to work, couldn't get his mouth to speak, his tongue was too big, his thoughts too scattered.

"Antonin!" She shouted this time. "We. Need. To. Leave."

He looked up to find Reuben staring down at Hermione, disbelief written all over his face, his friend, as usual, snapped out of it first. "We are going to my townhouse, the elves can help, come on Antonin," Reuben commanded, dragging his arm and they prepared to apparate, forgetting about everything else but that she was alive.

Hermione was alive.

"Wait!" the desperate voice of Rodolphus echoed around the room.

All three figures crouched around his little, living, breathing sunshine looked up.

Rodolphus stared at Hermione. "She's alive?" he asked weakly, his voice not much above a whisper.

"She is," Luna answered, "but Mr Lestrange we need to leave now, she needs help," she said placating.

"Luna," Rabastan was looking directly at the Ravenclaw.

"I… Later," she said faintly.

The dark haired wizard held her gaze and then nodded.

Antonin looked back at Rodolphus, the man's face displayed more emotion than he thought he had ever seen from him, this wasn't the time. "Dolph!" he demanded harshly, and Rodolphus looked at him. "We have to go."

Rodolphus stepped forward, "We'll clear up here, but you will send for me Dolohov, do you understand?"

"Yes."

With his confirmation uttered Yaxley gripped his arm tighter, apparating them away.

As the manor disappeared from view Antonin's thoughts blurred like the location in front of them.

Did he understand?

Shit.

Merlin, he was pretty sure he finally did.