Shattered Surrender
by sick-atxxheart
Chapter Fourteen

The nightmares finally showed up. Sirius was frankly surprised that it took so long. It was at least one day, maybe two, maybe even three since he had gotten out of Azkaban – Sirius was having trouble remembering much of everything. He preferred to forget. Two days without nightmares had been an immense blessing in itself, and Sirius only wished it could last.

Azkaban had been his worst adventure, the one that had gone so drastically wrong. Sirius wasn't quite sure exactly how much of his sanity he had retained; he was just glad that he could almost always keep track of the time, he could remember those around him, and he knew who he was. Those things were, for now, enough.

Sirius shuddered in his sleep, his mind flashing once again through the images that had haunted him for years. James' face, begging him, asking him why he had betrayed them, Why he had let Harry go to Azkaban- and Sirius pleaded, saying that he had been so close, just down the hall, but he hadn't known- and he hadn't betrayed them, he hadn't-

James never believed him.

Unconsciously in his sleep, Sirius couldn't contain his cries. All these years had been built around nightmares- he had lived off of them, drank of them, breathed them, all unwillingly. And now, even after he was out of the horror that was Azkaban, they were still in his life.

Sirius was still screaming when Bella entered the room. She took one glance at him and sneered inwardly, a reaction left over from her previous self, the one before she had been thrown into Azkaban and had met Harry. This new self was different, a person she didn't quite understand. This new self was almost kind. Not quite, but as close as Bella would ever get.

She had given up on sleep after trying for only an hour. She knew what the problem was- she was afraid of sleeping, for the same reason that Sirius was now being tormented by dreams. She was afraid of her nightmares. She was afraid of remembering her past.

Bella let the sneer fall from her face and she sighed. It wasn't fair to let Sirius suffer. As much as she hated her cousin, as much as she had wanted him dead and been glad that his name had been burned off the family tree, she was glad to see him now. He understood. He had lived through what she had. Knowing that was enough to get over her hatred, at least for now.

"Sirius?" Bella whispered, moving over to her cousin and gently shaking his shoulder, eventually moving to rougher shakes when he didn't respond. His face was pained, and she could hear him whispering apologies to the darkness through his dream. Bella wondered if he was still dreaming about betrayal.

It took entirely too long, in Bella's opinion, for Sirius to finally wake. When he did, his eyes were dazed and his face was sad. She noticed exactly how much he had aged during his time in Azkaban, and Bella wondered if people thought the same way about her. That depressed her- Bella had never been one to avoid getting dirty, but she certainly had had her beauty and was quite proud of it. The idea that her beauty, her startlingly dark, enchanting looks, could be gone was painful to her.

Sirius sat up in bed. "I had hoped they would stop," he sighed, running his scarred hand over his face and looking at her expectantly.

Bella nodded. "Me too." They both knew that it would be too good to be true if the nightmares had just stopped. They had both suffered too much to suddenly be released with nothing other than the memory of pain.

The silence between them was filled with things left unsaid, unaddressed tension, and leftover hatred, and it was coated with the sheer feeling of exhaustion that swept over both of them.

Eventually Sirius looked up at her. "Are you alright?" He asked, his question hesitant. Bella stared back at him, unsure of how to answer. Was she alright?

The truth was, Bella didn't know. And she knew that Sirius felt the same way.

Neither of them wanted to admit the fact that they might have left their minds back at Azkaban.

Hermione woke in a strange, dark room, with menacingly shadowed walls and no windows. There were screams echoing around her, and Hermione tried to figure out where the screams were coming from. With a start, she realized she had been the one screaming. Her dreams had been haunting: she remembered being tortured, and she remembered being afraid. It didn't make sense that she would now be in an actual bed, seemingly safe.

The last few days had been a complete blur of both fear and pain, and Hermione wished she could forget them. No matter how hard she tried, however, she couldn't. All she wanted was to collapse and fall asleep forever. If only the nightmares wouldn't make her fear even sleeping.

The door burst open in the dark, and Hermione cried out and moved quickly to the furthest corner of the bed. She didn't recognize the woman in the doorway, but for some reason she wasn't afraid of her. None of this makes sense, Hermione thought to herself. Her analytical mind searched for a reason, for an explanation that would fit, but there was none.

"Hermione?" The woman said quietly, barely startling the shadows that decorated the room. She seemed to blend perfectly into the darkness. "Are you okay? I heard screaming..."

"U-um, b-bad dream," Hermione whispered. The woman's voice sounded friendly enough, but she was still scared. "I-I'm sorry-"

The woman simply nodded off the apology and took a seat on the small chair on the other side of the room. The room was silent until Hermione worked up the courage to speak. "I'm sorry, but w-who are you?"

"I'm Bella," the woman said. "Do you know where you are?" Hermione shook her head quickly, and Bella continued. "You're somewhere safe, first of all. Do you remember anything that happened yesterday? About how you came to be here?"

Hermione was silent for a long minute, and Bella tried to give her a hint. "A man with blue eyes?"

Even in the dark, Bella could see Hermione's eyes spark with recognition of what she had said. She watched the little girl shudder, and she winced. Bella wasn't sure if her reaction had been out of distaste or out of sympathy- she seemed to be losing all control of her emotions lately. It seemed to be her night for apprehending nightmares, anyway.

Silence reigned for a few seconds more, before Hermione tentatively said, "Is- is he here?"

Bella shook her head quickly. "He's locked up, Hermione. He won't hurt you anymore, I promise."

Severus walked purposely down the hall, his trademark black robes swirling behind him. It was astonishingly early, but he had always been a morning person. Severus had already checked on Harry and Sirius, and was off to make sure Bella and Hermione were fine. It was strange for him to feel so protective and caring about four people he didn't really know to any great extent. But what had gone on last night had seemed to draw them all closer, pitted them all against a common goal.

Severus opened the door quietly and was faced with a sight that shocked him. Hermione was still sleeping, but that wasn't the shocking part. What was astounding was the fact that Bella was asleep in a chair that had been placed next to the girl's bed, as if she had been comforting her. The change in Bella was quite frankly astounding to Severus; he didn't understand exactly what had made her so motherly, or caring, or even lifelike. Everything about her was different now, and it was just perplexing in a way that made Severus' head hurt.

Swallowing a sigh, Severus woke Bella quickly. "What happened?" he inquired shortly, nodding to Hermione and taking in Bella's disheveled and exhausted look.

"She had a nightmare," Bella responded quietly. "Screaming."

Severus nodded grimly. "Well, aren't we a fascinating group." The sarcasm in his voice was heavy, and his disgust was also made clear.

Severus mindlessly checked Hermione's forehead for any fever and asked Bella a few questions about her nightmares. Inwardly, his mind was racing, wondering exactly how five people who suffered from nightmares could survive in the same house. He didn't know if Voldemort had nightmares, and certainly wasn't about to ask.

The reasons for Sirius' and Bella's nightmares were obvious, as was Harry's- Azkaban had left them reeling, and appropriately so. Hermione was still in shock from the events of the previous day. And Sirius had a past that haunted him and a future that hadn't looked particularly promising up until the previous few days. It was certainly an interesting dynamic, having a group with so many different types of people with the same types of stories.

Severus informed Bella that breakfast was ready, and was waiting for them on the table. The servants had already made it for them, and she had better wake Hermione up unless she wanted to eat a cold breakfast.

Turning on his heel, Severus strode out of the room to make sure Harry was awake. He had never truly expected to have the role of caretaker, but now that it had been thrust upon him, he found he didn't really mind it.

Voldemort woke in his pitch-black room, the black hangings that covered the walls, window, and door concealing any light and making the perfect sleeping atmosphere. As soon as he woke, Voldemort remembered what had happened the day before, and couldn't resist sitting in bed for a few moments and gloating about his success. He had captured Dumbledore. What he had dreamed of doing for years had now finally been accomplished, and the joy and accomplishment he felt was even better than what he had expected.

Finally willing his body to move, Voldemort rose and began pacing, considering throwing open the curtain to look outside. It would be a fake image, of course; his private quarters were in the dungeons. He preferred to be away from everything, from the outside world, and being beneath the ground had always been a type of escape for him.

The question that was probing his mind was exactly what he should do with Dumbledore, who was being detained in his cell by the highest wards that Voldemort could think of. His first reaction was to say that he wanted the old man tortured, and given a slow and hopefully painful death, one that he truly wished he could administer himself. But his second instinct- the one that he seemed to be relying on more lately- was telling him that torturing Dumbledore when he had shown Harry and Hermione that such violence was inappropriate would make him a hypocrite.

Voldemort never really cared about labels, or names that were placed upon him by lesser beings. The monikers You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had always amused him greatly, knowing that the little witches and wizards of the world were afraid of him, afraid to even speak his name. Knowing that fact had always brought him a sort of sick pleasure.

But being a hypocrite- Voldemort wasn't exactly sure how he felt about that. He didn't doubt- in fact, he knew- that he had gone back on his word before, and lied, and cheated, and done the exact opposite of what he had said he would. But now-

Voldemort cursed himself for choosing to take part in the ceremony and be Harry's mentor. It had changed him more than he liked, more than he wanted. He seemed to have a conscience now! Was it because he had someone to care for, someone he had to be a role model for? It made no sense to Voldemort, and he let out a string of expletives as he realized exactly what he had been thinking. He had been feeling bad about lying, and cheating, and doing whatever he needed to do to get to the top. And now! Was he going to let Dumbledore go, simply because he had unfortunately developed a conscience? The man knew too much. It wasn't even an option.

Voldemort nodded absentmindedly to himself, pleased with his decision to not do what he had never planned to do. Even to consider it had been foolish, that much was for sure.

Voldemort sighed to himself. He was surely losing it. Everything was happening at such a rapid pace that even his highly analytical, if mildly unreasonable mind couldn't handle it. The addition of Harry and the girl- what was her name?- along with Sirius' and Bella's return made everything all the more important, and it made each decision Voldemort made so much more important.

Finally giving up on thinking, Voldemort changed into his robes and opened the door to exit his chambers rather violently, knowing that Peter would be waiting outside the doorway, hoping to be able to assist his Master. Voldemort was pleased when the slamming door successfully hit Peter in the head, sending him scattering back a few feet. The man, if he could even be called that, was a waste of magic.

Voldemort ate sullenly by himself, absentmindedly reading The Daily Prophet. There was a small blurb on the Muggle girl still being missing, but he paid it no mind. The Muggle police wouldn't find her here, even with the amount of confidence they had in themselves.

When he was done, Voldemort considered for a moment what to do next and eventually decided he needed to consult the three people who were currently the most important. Brushing the mark on his arm lightly, Voldemort hoped that the other Death Eaters would realize the call wasn't strong enough for them to come running to his side; it was only intended for the three who were on this side of headquarters. It wouldn't do to have any of his idiotic men stumbling in on a conversation that was not meant for their ears.

It took longer for them to arrive than the Dark Lord would have liked, but he attempted to still his patience by remembering that there were two small children who most likely didn't want to be left alone. Voldemort was still seated when Sirius, Bella, and Severus all lined up before him. Surprisingly, their masks were not on, and Voldemort wondered at their insolence.

They all bowed slightly, their faces down, but Voldemort could still see how exhausted they all were.

He startled them all with his statement. "I am looking," he said, letting his voice lapse into a lazy drawl, "for suggestions on exactly how we should handle a certain Albus Dumbledore."

All three were silent for a few moments, before Bella spoke. "I guess we're voting against torturing and maiming, then? My Lord?"

Voldemort could see the corners of Sirius' mouth swing up into a smirk, and then quickly disappear. "I'm looking for a slightly more creative punishment."

Unfortunately, their suggestions were quite uncreative, at least in Voldemort's eyes. They suggested everything from just a direct killing to putting him under the Imperius spell and taking over the Ministry. Voldemort toyed with the idea of breaking the Ministry from within for awhile, but eventually decided that it wouldn't do any good to do so with someone as powerful and influential as Albus Dumbledore- especially since he appeared on the surface to be so dedicated to the Light. Someone would definitely notice a change in his actions and viewpoints. Additionally, Voldemort had always fantasized slightly about just overthrowing the Ministry by sheer force. A foolish dream, perhaps, but a vision nonetheless.

It was Sirius' final suggestion that caught Voldemort's attention. "Why don't you just put him in Azkaban?" His speech lacked the reverence that Voldemort expected from all of his minions, but the suggestion was a good one and Voldemort decided to be charitable. Besides, he had already given these three so much leniency that a little more couldn't hurt.

Putting Dumbledore in Azkaban. What an interesting idea- fascinating, in fact. Although Voldemort himself had never experienced Azkaban, he knew from the experiences of others that it was punishment in itself. Bella and Sirius were testaments to that fact, along with Harry. Perhaps it would be appropriate to give Dumbledore exactly what he had himself been doling out. Voldemort had always appreciated a subtle dose of irony.

Voldemort finally nodded, noting that the three in front of him were waiting with their breaths held in either fear or anticipation. Apparently, he had taken longer to decide than he had thought.

"That seems appropriate," he said, smirking at the vision of Dumbledore rotting in Azkaban until he died. "Now, all we must do is figure out exactly how to convince the world he deserves to be there."

In the end, it turned out to be a harder decision than Voldemort had anticipated. There were so many different options- from making Dumbledore look like a well-known criminal and sending him to jail to staging an elaborate skit that would make the world believe Dumbledore was guilty. There were so many facts to consider, and so many different ways that each decision could take a wrong turn.

Eventually, Voldemort decided to set Dumbledore up in a skit, under the Imperius curse, that would make him a criminal under the law. If everyone was unwilling to send him to jail, Voldemort would also curse the two Aurors to do what he bid; they could then ensure that Dumbledore would be sent to Azkaban. It was not a foolproof plan, but Voldemort was confident it would work.

The only thing left to do once he had decided on his plan was to figure out exactly what the skit would be. Wizarding law was so unclear that anything from waving your wand incorrectly to killing an innocent person was a crime.

Surprisingly, it was Bella's idea to use Hermione as the prop, guaranteed that she wouldn't get hurt. Voldemort agreed immediately that it was the best idea.

Now the only thing left to do was convince Hermione to help.

Hermione lie wide awake on her bed, the room only slightly brightened by the light coming in from the hallway. She was confused. Bella had been nice, as had the other man who appeared to be taking care of her. She couldn't quite remember his name, but she knew it had an "s" and a "v" in it, and it sounded old-fashioned.

For the life of her, Hermione couldn't figure out where she was. There weren't any windows in her room, and she remembered what had happened the day before clearly. It terrified her, and made her not trust the place.

She had waited what seemed to be forever for someone to return to get her. The man had run out of her room in a hurry with a promise to return soon, but he hadn't, and neither had Bella. Hermione was growing impatient, and even with as scared as she was, her curiosity overcame her fear.

Hermione slipped out of her bed silently, her feet not making any noise on the floor. She was dressed in a plain T-shirt and black sweatpants, neither of which were hers and all of which fit strangely. The room was small, and Hermione was grateful when she discovered that the door didn't squeak.

Slipping out of the room, Hermione padded down the dim hallway, carefully checking the doors as she went along. Most of them were locked, until she found one four doors down on the left side that was unlocked; there was even light coming from under the door. There was obviously someone inside.

Hermione attempted to still her fear of who was behind the door. She kenw she had to find out, for her curiosity wouldn't let it be any other way; but she couldn't help wondering if the mean blue-eyed man was there. Bella had promised he wouldn't hurt her anymore, but she hadn't said anything about what would happen if Hermione went looking for trouble.

Taking a deep breath and attempting to swallow her fear, Hermione knocked once and then pushed the door open.

She was greeted with the sight of a young, thin boy with messy black hair, who was staring back at her with greener-than-green eyes.

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