Looking so long for the words to be true
But always just breaking apart
My pictures of you
Pictures of You - The Cure [1989]
Hermione watched from her awkward sitting position, propped up against the headboard, as Antonin retreated from the brightly lit bathroom. She willed her mind to calm; Luna must have sensed her discomfort, as she stepped forward, enveloping her in a gentle embrace, ever mindful of where Hermione's body was still aching. Hermione had deeply missed the often silent comfort of her friend, more than she could ever say. As wretched as she felt, as scrambled as her wits were, she took strength from Luna's calm demeanour. Hermione had learnt long ago to trust the younger girl's instincts, and if Luna said they were safe, they were, or at least, as safe as they could ever be right now.
Hermione's mind positively swam with questions, broken up intermittently by flashes of events of at the manor. Jagged little interludes that cut into her mind like Bellatrix's blade against her skin. She forced herself, as much as she was able, to concentrate on the present. She didn't have time to fall apart now, they were at war, and though she didn't have all the answers yet, she knew if she was here Antonin must have put himself at considerable risk for her, again. How could she ever repay him for his constant care? How did they go on fighting on opposite sides now?
At length, the girls soft embrace broke apart, and Luna padded in and out of the room, filling the bath with water, then, without warning, she levitated Hermione towards the tiled room, making her gasp in surprise.
Once inside the bathroom, Hermione willed her eyes to adjust to the intense lighting as Luna steadied her. "I have to see to aim, but you can put a towel around yourself if you would feel more comfortable," she said in her normal, reassuring, serene tone, that Hermione had missed so much.
She appreciated Luna's deference to her nature; Hermione had never been one for exposing flesh, not like the other girls in her dorm, or Luna for that matter. Hermione was convinced that the Ravenclaw would have no issue with forgoing clothes in front of anyone. However, in this instance, Hermione realised the futility of such a request. "No… it's fine," she conceded, "I'm assuming you have already had to... see, while you were looking after me," she breathed out, raising her chin a little. "And I think I'm going to need to talk to you, about some of my injuries," she finished quietly, hating that she wasn't sure what she would be facing.
She felt her body sink into the warm water, her muscles relaxing until suddenly, her whole body tensed, as a horrifying thought screamed at her.
"He never saw," Luna called over her shoulder, as she fiddled with some potions on the side, tipping bits of different uncorked bottles into the tub, and Hermione sighed in relief. It seemed a silly thing to be concerned about, but she had been afforded so few dignities in the last few months.
"How bad is it?" she questioned softly, having not yet risked looking down.
"Most of it has cleaned up," Luna answered, her voice strangely detached and clinical. "You are going to need a few more days rest for your nerves to calm down. The Cruciatus Curse has lasting effects when you are held under it for a long time. Thankfully, for want of a better word, Yaxley and Antonin seemed to know quite a lot about that particular Curse."
Knowing her protectors had suffered torture, probably regularly, made Hermione feel sick, but she couldn't help the small bead of possible comfort that formed within her. If they had similar experiences they would be able to understand; they might be able to help her find how to move forward.
Hermione gripped Luna's hand as the blonde walked past the bath, "I'm so glad you are safe," she murmured, tears forming in her eyes.
"Me too," Luna reassured, squeezing her fingers.
Reluctantly, and still holding Luna's hand, Hermione peered down at her body, her flesh only slightly obscured by a light layer of bubbles. It had been some time since she had seen herself naked, it wasn't something she had done with any regularity before, but cleaning and charging while on the run, with two boys, had made any appraisal a perfunctory business. Hermione inspected her thin, bony form in a detached way, cataloguing the cuts and abrasions that she now had. She had never been one to enjoy the way she looked, but she couldn't help the gasp that left her when she tried to take in all of her injuries.
"The blade she used was cursed Hermione," Luna whispered. "Some of the cuts she inflicted using magic, but some... they won't ever go." She pulled Hermione's hair from her shoulders and clipped it behind her head.
Hermione nodded blankly and forced herself to look back down. There were several large slice marks along her torso, one considerably large one against the line of her collarbone, and then, like a bucket of ice cold water, a memory came back, clearer than she would have ever wanted it to be.
The mental fog, the pain, the focused drives of the knife, the loss of dignity, the pain… Localising… on her forearm.
Taking a fortifying breath, Hermione glanced down and cautiously turned her arm over. Even through the opaque water, she could see the distorted shapes of lettering over the pale flesh. Working against protesting limbs, Hermione pulled her arm out of the bath and felt herself seize up as she regarded the letters, MUDBLOOD, carved into her arm.
"It will remain red for a while; it takes longer to seal than other scars. I believe it will heal, but it won't fade Hermione," Luna's voice drifted over, and Hermione tried to catch the softly spoken words from the air, to process them.
Eventually, she tore her gaze away from the jagged, disgusting characters to face her. Luna moved forward and pulled Hermione's head into her stomach, circling her fingers around the wrist of the arm she held aloft, the action reminding Hermione of another time her skin had been branded, and Luna had been there.
Luna would always be there.
She laid a kiss on Hermione's wet head, "It's just a word Hermione, spoken by people that don't understand who you are, or what you are capable of."
Hermione swallowed against the rawness of her throat, but despite her silence, Luna continued, "How many people have survived that witch? Not many intact. You're better than her Hermione."
She nodded, she appreciated the sentiments, but she felt... Empty. Why did it have to be that word?
After she was soaked and gently scrubbed, Luna levitated Hermione back out of the water, helping her to dry and get into some clean pyjamas, something that seemed to fit a lot closer to her skin that the shirt she had been wearing, had that been Antonin's?
Hermione's throat chafed, and her eyelids were heavy, she didn't feel that capable of walking, but she was determined not to be levitated again. After everything that had happened, she wanted to remain in control of her body. Her legs trembled and she felt a bit like Bambi when she put too much weight on them, Luna wordlessly wrapped her arms around her waist, and Hermione put as much weight as she dared on her small friend.
As they began to move towards the bedroom Antonin appeared in the doorway, taking one look at them struggling he was at her side in seconds, picking her up as if she weighed no more than one of the overstuffed pillows, and placing her back on the bed delicately.
"You need some rest," he gruffed.
"All I've done is lay in bed," Hermione protested, despite fighting down a yawn. She had gotten so used to ignoring the needs her body screamed at her for the last few months; it no longer seemed reasonable to sleep just because she was tired.
"Well, you need more," Antonin grossed, climbing onto the bed next to her, pulling her against his side. Luna came back into the room after sorting out a few more potions, handing them to Hermione and climbing onto the end of the bed. Hermione dutifully drank them down without question, and before she could move Antonin took the glass from her grasp, placing it on the side. Hermione wanted to get up, she wouldn't get better if they kept doing everything for her, but her fuzzy head made her pause.
"How are you feeling?" Luna ventured.
"Sore," Hermione answered instinctively, it was the only definite feeling she had, everything else was just a swirl of emotions.
The doorway darkened, and Yaxley sauntered in, his imposing form moving to stand at the foot of the bed.
Hermione was grateful to whatever potion, in the pile she had been given, that relieved her throat as she forced herself to speak. "Thank you for having me in your home," she said, as graciously as she could manage. No matter what situation she found herself in, she was still her mother's daughter. Yaxley waved off her acknowledgement, but she saw his eyes linger on Antonin's arm, where it was wrapped around hers, and she felt his emotion. He wasn't exactly disapproving, but she suspected he was less certain about her being there than he was letting on.
"What happened Hermione?" Luna asked, and she sucked in a breath, she supposed they would have to do this at some point, it was best to get it over with, especially as she had just taken a dose of pain potion. Hermione moved as much as she could, to tuck herself further into Antonin's side, one for the comfort, he felt so much better than anything had for weeks but also, she was more than a little aware that this was unlikely to be well received by him.
"We had been arguing outside the tent; tensions had been pretty high, Harry had been in a temper for days, furious since our last meeting… He was yelling." Her mind went back to when it had begun, a time that seemed like a lifetime before, despite only days having passed.
Hermione felt her head start to ache and she raised her heavy limbs to rub her temples. "Take your time," Antonin softly encouraged, dropping his arm from its place around her shoulders to apply gentle pressure to her back, small circles spreading warmth and comfort down her spine.
Hermione shook her head, unable to clearly remember the argument. "I can't recall everything, in any case, he said the Taboo," She felt Antonin breathe in sharply behind her, and turned to him, "It wasn't his fault." Judging by the look in Antonin's eyes he didn't fully agree with her assessment. "Before we knew it the Snatchers were there, we ran and ran, but eventually, they caught up to us."
"Who?" Yaxley interjected shortly, Hermione noticed he had moved to the corner of the room, sitting in a chair and regarding the rest of them on the bed.
"Scabior," she replied after a beat, "He took me first. We were leading so I couldn't see what was happening behind. Then… then Greyback," she fought past the memories of the wolf's words, and unrelenting roving hands to continue. "When we got to the manor Bella had to prize me from him. He… he was not happy."
Hermione couldn't fight the tears leaving her eyes, she didn't want to think about the next part, Luna shuffled knowingly, grasping her hands and shushing her before filing in what she could from her own perspective. "The boys came down to the dungeons, where I was, why did she separate you?"
Hermione swallowed, "They found the Sword of Gryffindor, she was… she was rabid, incoherent with rage."
"Why did you have that?" Antonin asked perplexed, when Hermione looked up at him, he sighed, understanding creeping into his expression. "That was what Snape sent?"
"Yes," Hermione replied with a nod, "Bellatrix sent the boys down to the cells, and that's when she started with the Crucios and then the… and then the knife, I don't remember much after that," Hermione finished, feeling completely depleted by the few words she had managed.
"I could hear you screaming," Luna muttered, almost absentmindedly. Hermione averted her eyes, seeing the pain on her friend's face was nearly as bad as feeling it herself, looking back down at the bedspread her gaze flicked over Luna's hands, until she noticed, little cuts and abrasions covering her delicate fingers. "Luna?" she questioned.
"You wailed for so long and I... I thought it was the worst sound I would ever hear, and then you stopped, and that silence was… well, it was bad," she said, her voice thick. "Sometimes you can forget rational thought, I must have tried to get to you, and the stone wall wasn't as yielding as I may have liked," she laughed, the sound hollow and brittle, and raised her sleeve to wipe her face.
"Then Dobby appeared, he took Ollivander, Dean and Griphook to safety. Harry wanted me to go too, but I needed to see you first. When I got up there, I got to you, and everything is a bit of a blur after that," Luna stopped speaking and moved to curl herself up until she was laying across Hermione's lap.
"I was out with Rodolphus and Rabastan, when Bella sent a note to call them back to the manor, I joined. I got there just before Luna appeared, Harry and Ron got away, Narcissa and Lucius were hit by a falling chandelier the house elf loosened, and Draco removed his mother from the room," Antonin said in an unfamiliar a monotone.
The room fell into silence, "And then what happened?" Hermione asked curiously, "How did we get away?" The quiet felt oppressive; she was terrified of whatever wasn't being said.
Yaxley's eyes met her from across the room, "Rodolphus killed his wife."
"She's… she's dead?" Every emotion possible pushed through Hermione's mind in the space of two seconds.
"Yes," Antonin's hoarse voice answered from beside her.
"But why? Why would he do it?"
She felt him shift, "They have a link to you, Hermione. We have been aware of their being something since leaving Azkaban, for some reason they seem minded to protect you." She looked up into Antonin's face gaining nothing from his blank expression; she was convinced he knew more than he was saying. "They won't tell me anything," he elaborated. "They say they want to see you."
Hermione wasn't sure how much more she could handle, she had her friend back, the boys were somehow safe, but Merlin knew where they had gone now the tent wasn't an option, Luna had rescued her beaded bag, so they didn't even have any supplies. She was in a Death Eater's bed, in another Death Eater's house, while they discussed another two of the inner circle having connections to her.
"Now?" she asked weakly.
"No," Antonin stated firmly, "but it will have to be tomorrow."
Hermione nodded minutely, processing that he sounded as unhappy as she felt at the prospect. After all, it didn't sound like she had much choice.
Discussing the events leading up to her torture had been taxing, not just emotionally but physically, and not long after Yaxley had left to go back to the Ministry, Hermione had fallen back into a deep sleep. Hours later Luna woke her and with some gentle prodding Hermione managed to convince her friend to allow her to attempt some exercise. After a quiet negotiation, they agreed on trying some slow steps around the room, while Luna kept one hand on her waist 'just in case'. As awkward and uncomfortable as it was, Hermione was happy to be doing something again. Antonin joined them while they were on their second rotation, and she was glad to see him, though he was clearly less happy to find her out of bed. After some clipped attempts at getting her to rest, he sat, defeated, and slightly sulky in a chair.
As the girls passed around the third time Antonin darted out his arm to capture Hermione around the waist, and in her weakened state she didn't put up much protest. He pulled her onto his lap with ease, resting his chin above her hair. Not really wanting to waste her limited energy fighting with him, Hermione relaxed into the warm sensation that flooded her while in his intimate embrace. She huffed a little at his determination to get his way, but couldn't form the words to chastise him; Antonin had looked as ill as she felt when she first came to, Hermione could only imagine what the last few days had been like for him. Holding back, standing passive, was no more in Antonin's personality than it was her own, had the situation been reversed she knew she would have been unbearable. As Antonin pressed her body harder against him, shutting his eyes, Luna announced she was going to get some lunch, and made herself scarce.
Hermione could feel him fidget beneath her, his hands coming up to smooth pathways down her arms, his head resting on her shoulder. He was clearly stewing on something, so she wasn't wholly surprised when he broke the peaceful moment. "Did they touch you?" he asked into her hair, his arms raising to band around her torso.
Hermione stilled, not just at the memories the question unleashed but at the anguish in his voice. She lifted her face to his, till they were so close their noses were almost touching, she was reluctant to tell him, his embrace may have been gentle, but in his eyes, she could see the rage he was containing. Hermione didn't want to be responsible for him going on some ill thought out revenge mission.
But Hermione had forgotten how it felt to be under the power of his quiet dominance, as he locked eyes with her she remembered what she had felt, while pinned against the dusty walls at Grimmauld Place.
"Did they touch you, Hermione? Greyback and Scabior?" Antonin pressed lightly, nuzzling his nose against hers.
"Yes," she whispered.
His arms tightened, and he gritted his teeth, "Did they hurt you?" he asked, his voice sounding like a stretched band, reedy, quavering, and ready to break at any moment. But Hermione wasn't afraid of him, just for him. She trailed her bruised fingers over his arm.
"Not like that… It was just… touching."
Antonin's hands raised to her face, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "There is no such thing as just."
Hermione felt herself move forward, until he tensed underneath her, hissing a muttered curse, as he momentarily clutched his arm. Antonin stood abruptly and carried her to the bed, kissing her on the forehead as he deposited her amongst the soft covers. She made to protest, but he cut her off.
"I have to go, but I will be back later, you will be safe here." Then he left without another word.
When a knock at the door sounded Hermione couldn't be sure if she had been staring at the ceiling since Antonin had left, or whether she had been asleep. The knock sounded again, a harsher rap, against the door frame this time, and Yaxley walked into the bedroom weighted down with bags, bags for clothing stores, Muggle clothing stores.
"What?" Hermione blurted, confused beyond measure.
"As I am assuming you are not shocked to see me, I expect you mean these," he responded impassively, motioning to the bags. "Clothes Miss Granger, we were sure you would want to wear something other than nightwear, at some point," he drawled.
"But they're Muggle clothes," she gestured to the bags that he had deposited in the far corner.
"Yes I am aware, I had to go get them. It would have looked very suspicious had we walked into Diagon Alley, seeking clothing for a young witch. Plus, Antonin was very insistent about something called 'jeans'," Yaxley drew out the word as if he wasn't sure of the pronunciation.
Hermione burst into peals of laughter at the complete bemusement on his face and tone, and he turned to face her frowning. "Sorry it's just-" she forced the words out as she recovered from her outburst, "the thought of you shopping for women's clothes, in Muggle London, seems so… bizarre."
"Well, while you are laughing it up, remember that I brought all of your clothes and that, pleasantly for me, included underwear. I get the impression my taste is somewhat racier than yours." Hermione paled, and Yaxley beamed at her wagging his eyebrows.
The burst of humour fled almost as quickly as it had arrived, and Hermione felt compelled to speak, while she had the chance. "Thank you for bringing me here."
Yaxley sagged, sitting down at the end of the bed. "It's fine, if you think back we've been asking to come for a while now," he said with a little chastisement leaking into his tone. Hermione sat herself up as he continued. "You should have come with us last time, when Antonin asked," he admonished.
"I know," she replied.
He looked surprised by her easy admission, and he shifted slightly. "Go easy on Antonin; he's driving himself mad, seeing you like that, wasn't easy on him… Easy on any of us." Hermione regarded Yaxley's dark and serious expression; it was no surprise that the man was amongst the most feared of the Death Eaters, she imagined if he were truly angry with you, he could be terrifying. His form was imposing, the set of his face, even in rest, was intimating. Strong brow, hard eyes, high cheekbones, but for right now his countenance spoke of wary concern rather that impending rage.
Hermione had long speculated over the amount of affection both men held for each other, but now she was sure, they really were brothers. "I know you don't like to be coddled, but you've got two people in this house dancing attendance on you, and you're going to let them satisfy their need to look after you," Reuben stated.
Hermione nodded, knowing he was right, she had barely been able to hold a cup without one of them jumping forward to help her. And while it irritated her, beyond reason, she understood that they needed it, so her pride would have to take a backseat.
"Still whinge about it," Yaxley continued, crossing his arms over his chest, "otherwise they might think there's something wrong with your brain... but let them."
"I'll try," she promised.
He smiled guardedly at her before the expression fell to a more grim line. "He's not going to let go, Granger," she faced him confused. "Whatever your plan, if by some miracle we all get through this, he's going to be expecting something from you."
"If the light win, you will have to go back to prison you know that don't you?" Hermione questioned, unsure of his reaction. "You keep talking about not going back, but that's not an option, you must know that?" she implored.
"I know… We know… We just can't talk about that yet," Yaxley said, his eyes fixed on his hands in front of him.
"What then..."
He stood regarding her almost coldly, "What if the light win and the inconvenient Death Eater alliance you've made gets swept away to the North Sea, people can talk away their behaviour at war, how your lot preach on about the greater good. What if your friends don't like some of the decisions you have made? It would be easy to explain it as a means to an end for you, wouldn't it? You might not think I'm very intimidating from a prison cell, but believe me if properly motivated I-"
"I won't forget him," Hermione interrupted, in as bold a tone as she could brave, staring up at the much taller man from what was essentially her sick bed. He fell silent, "You don't know all about me yet. I'm sure you've had intelligence on me, either from Draco, who hates me, or Professor Snape, who I suspect probably tried to give as little information as possible, but I don't give up on people.
I met Harry when I was eleven, when we were both thrown into a world we didn't understand. He was malnourished, mistreated and kind of mean to me at the start, but he saved me from a troll in my first year, and I have never forgotten it. In return, I have saved his life, followed him into whatever ridiculous scheme he has hit upon, and this year walked with him into what has felt, at times, like the end of days.
You have no idea of the things I have done for the people I care for, and while I do not expect you to trust me, I will tell you that despite all of the reasons why none of this makes any sense, what I feel for Antonin is… It's more. Sometimes I'm scared of what I will do for him.
When you go to prison... Because you will, we will win this, I won't forget, and I will fight for him."
Yaxley's expression was blank, but the coldness that had been present in his eyes was gone. He stared at her for a long while, though whether assessing the validity of her words or something else entirely Hermione couldn't tell. "See that you do," he uttered finally, before moving towards the door.
"For both of you," Hermione whispered, resolved. She had feelings for Antonin that were as complex as they were plentiful, but she could not deny how much the man in front of her had done to ensure her protection. Yaxley may have done it purely for Antonin, but that didn't matter, he'd still done it, at great personal risk to himself. While she was sure he didn't fully trust her, he must have held her in some regard to have not just swept her away 'by accident'. Hermione wasn't blind to who these wizards were; he'd had enough opportunity to have gotten rid of her over the last few years, if he had really wanted to. He wouldn't have even needed to act himself, just not intervened like he had. She knew he was certainly capable of it.
Hermione hadn't intended him to hear her quietly muttered words, but he had. Yaxley's progress stopped and he pivoted to stare at her for a long time, looking on the verge of speaking before the moment was interrupted by a house elf popping up to force more potions down her, their eye contact broken, Hermione focused on the little elf, and when she looked back up he was gone.
Finding herself alone for the first time since waking up, Hermione's mind began to slip into the by now familiar, rushing thoughts that signalled an oncoming panic attack. Without the presence of others to shut out the spiralling anxiety, her mind chewed over the worst of the questions hovering in the corners of her consciousness. Bellatrix was dead, Rodolphus Lestrange had killed her, he wanted to speak to her. Whatever was coming was big enough to worry Antonin, he had been trying to hide his emotions, but she could sense his reluctance.
Hermione was so tired. She couldn't remember a time when she didn't feel almost crippling fatigue. Her brain felt like warm cotton wool, thinking too hard was like wading through treacle. Just as she could feel herself succumbing to the chaos, Luna walked in, derailing the imminent and calming her racing thoughts and panting breaths. Though if Luna noticed, she didn't say anything.
Left to their own devices her friend helped her change into fresh pyjamas and they climbed into bed together. "I'm so glad you're safe," Hermione repeated, for approximately the hundredth time. The relief she had felt in seeing Luna when she opened her eyes, had been indescribable. However, as much as she would have liked to bask in comfort indefinitely, she knew they had to start facing what had happened while they were apart.
"I saw your father," Hermione admitted, it seemed like as good a place to start as any. She had pointedly avoided discussing it in front of the men of the house, she doubted their appraisal of the situation would have been the same as hers.
Luna nodded solemnly. "I know… Harry told me, thank you for what you did for him." She looked up her eyes wide, "Hermione, he wouldn't have wanted to do that," Luna said, linking her fingers through Hermione's.
"He was desperate Luna," Hermione replied, squeezing her friend's hand in reassurance, she could never blame Xeno for his actions. "How did they even get you in the first place?"
"I got off the Hogwarts Express in London for the Christmas Break, and Runcorn was there. I'm not sure where I recognised him from, but I knew. A couple of the others fought, but I didn't see much point. I strolled up and asked him where we were going; he looked slightly perplexed by that."
Hermione felt herself smile, imagining the odious man's face as Luna handed herself over to him without protest "What about Rabastan?" she asked, attempting for a nonchalant voice, and admittedly failing utterly. Antonin had managed to fill her in on some of his observations, but Hermione wanted to get a full picture, and an account not coloured by Antonin's evident preoccupation with both brothers ulterior motives.
Luna looked thoughtful before a small smile moved across her face. "Antonin first," she challenged.
Hermione sighed, supposing that she deserved that. "Yaxley caught us after we broke into the Ministry," Luna raised her eyebrows and Hermione let out a tiny bubble of laughter. It was hardly the average catch up after all. "I'll explain later," she reassured. "I thought it was all over, thought he was going to call well, you know, but he didn't. He called Antonin. In some unbelievable twist, they offered help, and they came through. I don't know how to explain it, but I trust him, and I feel, I don't know, I feel a lot for him."
Luna faced her, and Hermione felt the familiar large blue eyes looking as if they could see more than what was present on the surface. "It must be a nice feeling, to have someone look after you for once?"
"I suppose," she responded vacantly. In truth Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about it yet, she was trying to live up to what she had promised Yaxley, and let others help, but it would never come naturally to her.
"Anyway your turn," she deflected.
Luna sighed, in a parody of Hermione's earlier reaction, and rolled onto her side. "He showed up one day, to the cells, and he brought me food. He was quiet, thoughtful, but then, after he left, the treatment started getting better, no more jeers and taunts, and he kept visiting, kept bringing food." Hermione nodded to show she was listening, "Then he asked me questions about my life, and he seemed so interested, he didn't appear to think I was mad or loopy," she said, waving a finger about her temple and Hermione squeezed her hand tighter.
Luna turned onto her back to stare at the ceiling. "He's... troubled, but I … do you think I could help him?" Luna asked earnestly.
Preaching to the choir, Hermione thought to herself. "I think if you wanted to, you could do anything," Hermione pronounced solemnly, and Luna smiled at her. "Do you know why he wants?" she continued hesitantly, "Why they want to see me?"
"No," Luna responded, but whatever it is… it's important."
"You trust him?" Hermione asked.
"Yes," Luna resolutely confirmed, without the slightest waver. Her surety gave Hermione some comfort, she didn't want to push, but she was nervous about what was to come.
"Why?" Hermione pressed, without accusation in her tone, after all, she couldn't have explained her own trust and feelings for the men under the same roof. Luna shrugged, Hermione took that to indicate this was an 'I know because I'm Luna moment'. It would have to do, for now, Luna had never given her a reason not to trust her.
"You need to sleep," Luna urged, reaching to turn off the light.
"My head is spiralling," Hermione muttered, immediately comforted by the sudden darkness, when you weren't in it alone it could be tremendously reassuring.
"Well, it will do that," Luna mumbled.
"My arm," Hermione whispered, feeling more able to raise it now that the emotions playing across her face were obscured, though she could hear the tears in her tone.
"I know," Luna soothed, "It doesn't define who you are Hermione, you survived torture."
"But I am everything he fought to suppress, and now it's branded on my arm." Hermione hated herself for caring what Antonin thought, but she had been terrified since she had seen it. What would he think? Would it remind him of what she was? Make him snap out of whatever crazed obsession that had motivated him to show an interest?
"People change," Luna said dreamily, and Hermione scoffed. "You didn't see him," Luna continued more firmly. "If it had been him in front of Bella and not Rodolphus there wouldn't have been enough of her left to leave a brand on… Now shush I'll tell you a bedtime story."
Both the girls laughed, and Hermione cuddled down into the blankets, the warmth so soothing after the chill of the manor. If she suppressed the memories of the last two years, they could almost be two normal girls having a sleepover, talking about boys, worrying about exams and making each other laugh.
"Shut your eyes," Luna requested, and Hermione instantly did as commanded. "There was once a fairy, locked in a dark dungeon."
"Not a fairy princess?" Hermione interjected with a smirk.
"No… he calls me fairy or pixie or… well, it seems right. I never really wanted to be a princess anyway," Luna explained thoughtfully.
"Me neither," Hermione agreed with a smile.
"Anyway the fairy is in the dungeon, and it's cold there, she is kept in a cell on her own… there isn't much food, and there are dark wizards everywhere. The fairy is… the fairy is scared," Hermione shuffled forward until she could wrap an arm around her friend's shoulders, offering what silent support she could. "Then one day another wizard came, and he was... well, not good but maybe-"
"At the darker end of grey?" Hermione suggested.
"Yes, that sounds about right," Luna laughed in agreement. "He came to that dark and lonely place, and he brought the fairy food, clothes, and got her a bit cleaned up. He sat with her, watching her as if she were the most interesting thing in the world. When he looked at her, the fairy wondered if he could read her soul, he made her skin prickle, but not with fear, not like the others did. No, it was as if his very skin emitted light that only she could see, and only she could see because it was meant for her.
After a while, the fairy thought she could see his soul. He showed it in flashes that let her in, and little by little she could map the complete tattered darkness that was him in her own mind; unscrambling the parchment on which his likeness was etched, ironing out the creases.
The fairy told him stories about her life, and he told her about his family, what was left of it. One day the fairy said she missed being able to see the stars, and told the wizard all about her mother, who had taught her all the stories of the night sky. About how her father had pieced those stories together after she had gone, with the help of the fairy, both having memorised familiar fragments, re-sowing them in a slightly lumpy way, they would never sit totally right without her, but they did their best like they did with everything else.
The fairy told the wizard that whenever she had been sad as a child, being sent home by the other children because she didn't understand something, her father would take her out to the garden to lay in the dewy grass. While curled up under the moonlight he would begin telling her the same story he did every time she missed her mum. About how the fairy had been named by him. He said that when they had married her mother had given him the whole world, and he didn't know how life could get better, and then her mother had smiled wryly at him, and gave him the moon and stars as well.
The grey wizard had looked sad when the fairy told her story and did not come back to see her for a week; she began to think he was never coming back. The fairy grew afraid that something had happened to him, something that might mean she was no longer safe, until finally, he appeared again. He brought food and sat by the bars as usual and then he left without another word.
After he had gone, when the fairy looked down there was a book on the floor, it was a simple, plain looking book, nothing remarkable about it at first glance, and she opened it. Holding it within her grasp, she thought the pages were blank but when she reached forward to touch a page ink spread through the parchment, from where her finger rested, until the entire page was saturated in black. Not understanding the fairy held the book closer, not removing her finger until a soft twinkling appeared, and every page she touched reflected a different part of the night sky.
It was beautiful and real, so very real. The fairy had only ever experienced such kindness once before, in her whole life, back when she was cold and so alone, and another fairy gave her some shoes."
Hermione wiped her face and coughed to clear her throat a couple of times, trying to regain her composure. "Luna, after the war... It's going to be bad," she tried, she was worried about herself, and Luna too, but she had been honest in her conversation with Yaxley, she wasn't going to give them up.
"I know," Luna said decidedly, and it calmed Hermione's nerves a little.
"Is it going to be worth it?" she questioned into the darkness.
"I think so… I won't settle for anything less than this now; it's too late and you know it's the same for you."
Hermione nodded, Luna was right, anything, anyone else wouldn't feel right now. Both girls were lost for a moment to their own thoughts until Hermione chastised herself for her melancholy, she couldn't worry about the end of the war yet. There was so much more coming first.
"Goodnight Luna," she said as her eyes grew heavy.
"Goodnight Hermione."
Hermione was gently shaken awake, rolling over, eyes blearily with sleep, to find a rumpled and worn out looking Antonin hovering over her. Light was cascading through the open windows, and she groaned as she tried to move, everything hurt. As soon as her brain engaged the feeling of dread for the meeting ahead pooled in her stomach.
"Where did you sleep?" she asked.
"Next door," Antonin replied gruffly, before yawning animatedly. "I came home in the early hours to find two young witches in my bed, though, sadly, I was much too tired to do anything about it," he said with a tired smirk.
Hermione smiled despite herself. Somehow the day didn't seem half as foreboding once she knew he would be there with her. Though there was little time for conversation, he had clearly let her sleep in as long as possible. Once she had cleaned up, with Luna's assistance, Antonin carried her down the stairs in spite of her insisting she would be fine to walk. Hermione didn't have the energy to protest too strongly, which kind of proved his point, not that she would have let him know that.
"They will be here in under an hour solnyshko; you wouldn't get down one flight of these stairs in that time," Antonin needled and kissed her nose when she frowned. Hermione filed away the need to practise facial expressions that were going to work on him as successfully as her usual glares worked on the boys. She noticed Yaxley at the bottom of the stairs, make a twirling motion with his little finger at Antonin who frowned at him, shoving him in the shoulder as he went passed. She supposed, even though Antonin never seemed to listen, she was carried like a princess into the reception room, maybe he was slightly wrapped around her finger.
The four of them settled themselves in the room, not exactly comfortably despite the soft furnishings. This wasn't an informal drinks party after all. Antonin sat next to her on a small sofa, Luna to the other side in a comfortable chair, that drowned her, and Yaxley stood off in the corner, ever the watchful century. That left two seats in front of them, for their 'guests'. Hermione didn't miss that they looked distinctly uncomfortable in comparison to the chairs that they were arranged in. She doubted it was in any accidental. Something Hermione was picking up on, when it came to dealing with the two men, everything was done with a great deal of conscious thought. Where to stand, what to say, everything mapped out, all variables considered. In some ways, it was a relief. Hermione had always been a 'heart on her sleeve' kind of person. She read situations at face value, gave honest answers, mostly, and hoped for the best. Without their guidance and foresight she could very well have been eaten alive, so to speak.
After an interminable amount of time Hermione heard noises in the corridor, and then, all too quickly, the two expected men walked in. Both of the visitor's eyes immediately fell on her, though Rabastan's quickly darted to the blonde next to her. Once they had arranged themselves in the provided seats, Hermione sat up straighter, expecting either a hostile exchange, or some kind of excruciating pureblood etiquette that they would have had to sit through before they would get to the point.
Neither happened.
No one spoke for the longest time. Instead, Hermione regarded the men as they regarded her. The newly widowed Rodolphus Lestrange had taken the seat directly in front of her, folding his six-foot, broad shouldered frame into the chair with the kind of grace and fluidity that she had come to expect of all purebloods. Her eyes travelled over him shamelessly, cataloguing him in a way she had never been close enough even to attempt before. He had dark blonde hair that he left long, the tips touching the back of his collar, and a full beard that was neatly trimmed. His soft brown eyes were surprisingly warm yet somehow unsure. His robes were neither outlandishly regal nor overly smart. Though they were undoubtedly expensive and excessively well-made, they looked comfortable; the colours too muted to be considered in any way flamboyant.
His brother was something of a contrast. Rabastan had nothing of his brother's stillness or imposing form. After initially taking his seat he fidgeted restlessly for long minutes until he got up again, standing behind the chair, his stance wide. He was a little shorter than his sibling, his frame leaner, with short dark hair, and his features, that up to that point Hermione had only seen set into an arrogant smirk, were wary and alert.
Where Rodolphus was static, Rabastan practically vibrated with energy. As the silence continued she could feel Antonin's hand flex next to her, she didn't want this to descend into an argument, or worse duelling, she wanted... no needed, answers.
Uncaring for pureblood protocol, or how it would affect whatever power play was being carried out by the men in the room Hermione spoke. "Thank you for helping me," she said, at last, silently congratulating herself on the steady voice she had managed. All heads turned to look at her, but her eyes were fixed on the older brother. "At the manor," she clarified and yet he made no response. Hermione twisted her hands in front of herself restlessly, "I thought…"
"Yes," Rodolphus interjected, finally, "I… my apologies, I haven't heard you speak before, it was something of a surprise, one I should have anticipated, of course," he said self-deprecatingly. "I had wondered what you would sound like," his tone seemed slightly awed, which made no sense at all.
Ignoring his comment Hermione turned to face Rabastan. "At Hogwarts, you were trying to help?" His behaviour had puzzled her since that night, and if she was forced to have this meeting, she might as well get some answers of her own. Not just for her herself, but for her friend. She looked across to Luna who smiled gratefully at her. Hermione intended to try to be as understanding about her friend's choice, as Luna had been on her own.
Rabastan looked relieved, and the twisting of his fingers against the chair back paused. "Yes."
Impatient as ever Hermione pushed, "Why?"
The brothers shared a look, a mere moment that felt like an eternity. When their gaze broke apart, Rodolphus looked back at her, his eyes intense. "We want to speak to Hermione alone" he demanded.
"Absolutely, no fucking way," Antonin spat hotly, and Hermione jumped slightly at his unexpected volume, though she felt grateful for his instantaneous refusal.
"Well, Yax can go at least," Rabastan countered petulantly.
"Thank you for once again forgetting that this is my house, baby Lestrange. You want me here, believe me, if you say something he doesn't like," he said, pointing at Antonin, "you'll want someone who can talk him down."
"I can handle Dolohov," Rabastan replied querulously, looking more like a moody teenager than a fearsome Death Eater.
"Once more with feeling Rab," Yaxley laughed out, apparently not bothered by the rising tempers in the room. Hermione looked towards him exasperated expression on her face, and he stuck his tongue out at her, I am surrounded by children.
"Rab, sit down," Rodolphus called softly and waited till his brother reluctantly complied, throwing himself into the chair, not taking his eyes off Reuben in the corner. "I'm not sure where to begin," he muttered.
"Try at the beginning," Hermione suggested, eager for him to get going before tempers frayed.
Rodolphus wrung his hands together in front of him, "Well, like most boys of my ilk I grew up in a quiet home," he said, talking to his knees. "I am the first born son of my house, and that meant rules, responsibilities and formal children's parties where we were expected to keep our clothes clean and ask each other how we were, etc. When I went to Hogwarts, I met a young girl, in my year, called Andromeda Black, or Meda as I called her."
Hermione stilled, what did this have to do with Tonk's mum?
"We became best friends; she was a lot more… open minded than your average pureblood young woman." All of the men in the room snorted, and Hermione looked around at them, but they weren't giving anything away. "Anyway," he continued sternly, "as was often the case at that time, in our third year a marriage contract was drawn up between us, well, between myself and the House of Black, which was how it was done then.
I didn't love Meda, not like that anyway, but we would have... I think we would have been happy. I was very lucky that my father had pushed for someone that he believed I had a preference for, so I made no complaint.
Then in the sixth year Meda went home and told her family she was marrying Ted Tonks, a Muggleborn Hufflepuff from our year, a 'plan'," he spat derisively, "that she went through with a year after graduation. She never told me beforehand. She had been pulling away from our friendship in that last year; I had assumed it was because of petty resentment over my going along with the contract, she was always a romantic at heart.
Unfortunately for me, her choice wasn't enough to invalidate the contract my father had put in place. The House of Black still had an unmarried daughter, and two years later I gave into the demands of my family, and hers, by marrying Bellatrix Black."
Hermione stared at him in befuddlement. "I'm sorry to interrupt you Mr Lestrange, but I don't understand what this has to do with me," she said.
She felt uneasy hearing all of this information, though it did not seem to surprise any of the others in the room, how could it? They must have been at Hogwarts at the time, and yet, the words were clearly costing Rodolphus something to reveal. These were not events he appeared to relish remembering. It felt like she was prying, not that she had asked for any of this. The build-up was adding to her growing sense of foreboding.
His eyes looked pained, staring at her as if begging for relief that Hermione had no idea how to give. "I never stopped caring about Meda," he continued. "Five years later I was still covertly visiting with her. I could never stay long, and I tended to avoid her husband, but I was able to help them out, got them settled and protected, as much as I could.
Then I took the mark, she and I… we got into an argument about it, words were exchanged that I am not proud of. She said that she didn't want to see me anymore. I didn't believe her at first, we had meant so much to each other, and I was the last link to her old life. But she warded me out of her house, even from the fields surrounding the property. If I approached her in the street she pretended I wasn't there, so after months of trying to reason with her, I stopped visiting. Though I didn't stop going to check on her; I just didn't alert her to my presence," he admitted.
"You were stalking her?" Hermione asked plainly.
Rodolphus' lips quirked slightly, "Maybe; she would probably have called it that."
He huffed in a breath and exchanged a glance with his brother before sitting up straight, and lifting his eyes to face her, the intensity of his gaze made Hermione's stomach flip.
"One day I watched her walk down the road from St Mungo's and followed her, she was always around there, her child was accident prone. I was halfway up the street before I realised that it wasn't Meda I was trailing, the girl was a little younger, her hair lighter, not so much barrel waves as bouncy curls. She came to a stop outside a cafe and joined a table of women, within seconds she was talking animatedly with her friends, and her arms were flailing around her, her eyes sparkling as she smiled."
Hermione regarded him, he looked so wistful, lost in a memory, these evidently happier than before, though still tinged with melancholy that emitted alarm bells in her mind.
"She was unlike anyone I had ever seen before, just so alive so… pure. So I orchestrated an accidental meeting with her." Hermione's' eyes narrowed though she couldn't help but think of the man next to her. These wizards were of a kind that would do whatever they deemed necessary to get what they wanted.
"We got to talking and somehow became friends, I was fairly insistent I think," he said with a hollow laugh. "Meda's friendship ending had left a big hole and I wanted to fill it, but it became something else."
Rodolphus flexed his fingers on the arms of the chair as if bracing himself. "Pretty quickly I found out she wasn't a witch at all, but a Muggle and her name was Jean Greenwood."
Hermione gasped, her chest constricting painfully, she couldn't breathe. How could this man, this monster, have known her mother? A man that hated the very existence of Muggles was gallivanting around London in the late seventies, having tea and exchanging pleasantries with one. She fought down the bile in her throat as she felt his intense stare, Antonin had placed a hand on her wrist, gripping her tightly, probably in some attempt to ground her, for the first time it offered no comfort. Hermione couldn't focus on the rest of the room, she was too busy trying to collect herself, but Rodolphus kept speaking.
"She was twenty-three at the time," he continued, and Hermione's head was swimming, she wasn't sure she could take anymore.
"She was engaged to a dentist called David Granger, sweet, dependable David Granger," his voice had taken on a sneering quality, his tone sounded bitter.
Hermione felt another blow in her chest at the mention of her father, she wanted to snap at his hostile tone, but the words wouldn't come.
"He was ten years her senior; she would tell me how he was warm and intelligent and everything she could wish for."
Hermione was screaming in her mind, an unintelligible stream of nonsense, anything to block out his persistent chatter.
Rodolphus coughed to clear his throat, "Overtime our… our feelings grew."
"Oh Merlin," Hermione whispered, and her head came forward to be cradled in her hands, she felt Luna move to sit on the side of her chair.
"I think we got a little swept away; I already hated my wife at that point, Jean was very close to getting married and had a small case of cold feet. It, well, it only happened once, and when I left. Rabastan cornered me; we had a huge fight. The Dark Lord was coming into power at that time; it wasn't safe for me to see her, if they had found her... I didn't think I was able to have children, by that point I had been married for five years with no heir."
The pressure on Hermione's chest increased tenfold. She must still be under torture, none of this was happening, she reasoned. She was still there at the manor, something Bellatrix was doing was addling her mind, maybe it was a spell, a hex she had been put under, something to make the pain in her mind as bad as the blade in her flesh.
"No, no, no, no," she uttered helplessly, fat teardrops cascading from her eyes, she grappled with the collar of her top feeling like it was constricting her throat.
"Hermione I-" he tried, and it was the final straw.
"NO!" she cut him off loudly, "You couldn't have known my mother, she loved, she still loves my dad… My dad, David. Granger." She spat at him, angrier than she had ever been in her life. She stood quickly to rush towards him, desperate to hit, kick, or scratch him, anything to make him understand a tenth of the pain she was feeling, mindless of the lack of ability she had in her damaged body at the time.
Hermione never made it to his chair. Antonin swept forward and pulled her into his chest, sitting back down with her in his lap, her face pressed against his shirt, his arms wrapping around her both to still, and comfort her. He whispered into her hair, "Solnyshko you will hurt yourself. You need to listen now; you need to hear everything," he said soothingly, rubbing a hand over her back.
Hermione shook her head against his torso; it was all she was capable of through sobs, indicating that she wanted them gone, and now. Antonin sucked in a breath, "Please, you listen, and if necessary I'll kill everyone after."
She huffed out a small mirthless laugh, though she wasn't entirely sure the words were meant in jest, and after a couple of minutes of willing her heart to come back out of her throat Hermione unfolded herself from against his chest and sat back down next to him, though he kept an arm pinned against her waist, pulling her into his side. Hermione didn't move away from him; she wasn't entirely sure she could even sit up by herself anymore.
Rodolphus looked at her and proffered some pieces of parchment; Hermione picked them up not meeting his eyes. "I carry these everywhere," he said, and just the sound of his voice made her wince.
Hermione blinked a few times, trying to clear the residual water. Her fingers were trembling as she turned over the parchment. The first was a picture of Rodolphus and Andromeda. Hermione had never seen a picture of Mrs Tonks young; she was incredibly beautiful, poised and graceful, but so much warmer than she might have expected. As she turned over the next picture she felt her world crash around her, more so even than his words had managed. The image was of her mother, the same picture she had taken from the house before leaving. It was her as a young woman, sat outside a cafe, but this copy was a wizarding photo, and her hair was blowing in the breeze just how Hermione had always imagined it would. She felt her cheeks dampen as she took in what it meant. With shaky hands she turned over the last picture, it was one of her, a school photo from the third year, taken from when she had got the best grades in the last hundred years, but where had he gotten it from?
"Hogwarts," Rodolphus said, answering her silent question, I went there to see Severus and walked passed that, which for some reason was in his office."
Not knowing what else to do Hermione reached forward to hand the papers back, he took them but moved his hand to grasp one of hers, Hermione jumped back from the touch instantly, like his flesh had burnt her. She tucked herself tighter against Antonin's side, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Yaxley move, stepping towards the seat she was on, his expression was unreadable, but his eyes regarded her softly.
"I heard about you when I left Azkaban, 'Harry Potter's best friend, Hermione Granger'. The name Granger and Hermione," he sighed, "Jean always went on and on about Shakespeare, then your age. How many coincidences could there be? So you asked why, and that's why. So much of what I have ever been taught, what my life has been, was shaped around lineage and family, in the end everything always comes down to blood… And you, Hermione, are mine."
"Ours," Rabastan said softly, his fingers stretched out as if he wanted to touch her.
"There isn't any proof," Hermione said weakly, it was a thin protest, but it was all she had.
"I know…. I'm certain," Rodolphus said defiantly.
"How?"
"I just do, I suspected at first, and I thought about it a lot, but then I saw you at the Department of Mysteries, I knew you… you are my daughter Hermione," his eyes had misted slightly, and his voice cracked.
Hermione couldn't react anymore; she had nothing left, her body had sagged against Antonin, a column of strength, she could barely see for tears falling from her face.
"There is a way of proving it," Luna spoke quietly. "Hermione?" Luna dropped in front of her, crouching before her seat. "You have to know," she implored softly. All Hermione wanted to do was leave, but she knew Luna was right, she had to know one way or the other. She nodded, unable to offer any words. Luna waved her wand in a subtle movement and muttered a spell before pointing at Rodolphus. The room was silent as the grave. Slowly a glittering golden orb, about the size of an orange, appeared from his chest moving forward into the centre of the room. As it moved it left a shining cord of the brightest green behind it, moments later the orb flashed with a clear light, and Hermione watched, mesmerised, as a cable stretched from somewhere within and began moving towards Rabastan. Then, with a sense of resignation, she surveyed the orb as a line of the same green cord lengthened towards her.
Her mind repeated an excerpt from the Standard Book of Spells Vol. 6; 'There is a spectrum of colours that represent familial bonds, for green to be shown the two linked persons must share 'direct blood'. Either a parent/ child, or sibling relationship'. Hermione cursed her memory.
She shut her eyes, feeling them well up with fresh tears, she wasn't sure what she was most upset about, there was too much for her to process at once. Her parents were Obliviated, living in the world not knowing who she was, she couldn't talk to her mother. Had she known she had gotten pregnant after her encounter, had her dad known?
Then she thought about the crude lettering on her arm and from somewhere cruel mocking laughter bubbled up and burst from her throat. "Harry Potter's dirty Mudblood isn't so filthy after all… fuck." Antonin tensed next to her, but Hermione was numb.
"Hermione, I loved your mother, more than I ever loved anyone. Not in the same way David did... I was too broken by then, but I did love her. When I first found out I wanted to ignore it, I wanted to keep you safe from the people around me and from myself."
Hermione was lost now, rubbing her hand urgently against her forearm until she gasped softly as she felt the delicate scabs give way, within seconds her sleeve was darkening with blood, she didn't raise her eyes, it didn't look any different now, no purer that it had an hour ago.
She heard Yaxley's voice cut across the room, "Right I think we're done."
There was a tangle of male voices cutting over each other, but Hermione couldn't make any of them out. Antonin stood next to her, and she looked up at him, without warning he lifted her and cradled her against his chest, making to leave the room. Hermione didn't offer a single protest this time, the stairs would have been impossible for her at that moment, and she wanted, more than anything, to disappear up them.
She heard Rodolphus call to them in curt tones, "I want a word Dolohov?"
Antonin didn't even pause. "And you will have it, later."