Disclaimer: The Harry Potter characters and story belong to JK Rowling.
Rating M: yes, of course! but for later ;)
Author's note: I think it's that Hogwarts Legacy euphoria and HBO series announcements that revive in me the joy of the writing, 12 years after my first fic. So I hope to have gained a bit of maturity since then. I also wish to dedicate it to our late Alan Rickman who is and will remain for me Severus Snape. Always.
The idea has been floating around in my head for several days now. I wrote a chapter in addition to this one and let's say, 3 or 4 writings in mind. So I don't know if it will be a happy ending or not. But I can tell you without spoilers, that from chapter 3 we return to Hogwarts, the year of the Goblet of Fire. So do not hesitate to encourage me in reviews! Your opinions matter, feed the author's soul...
I also apologize for the mistakes, this is the first time I write in english. Usually I write in french. So for french readers, this story is sumultenously published in french.
I didn't get corrected by a beta, I reread myself fairly quickly, too excited for the publication :p
Alright, happy reading!
Hermione's vision was starting to blur. The pain afflicted by Bellatrix Lestrange's wand grew more and more unbearable. And the 'Crucios' that she now heard from afar were more and more frequent. The burn on her forearm, caused by the improvised tattoo of the death eater had become derisory. Every muscle in her body ached. She felt every muscle fiber tearing, rebuilding and tearing again and again.
She wondered how Harry and Ron were. Were they dead? Had Voldemort arrived at Malfoy Manor? His arrival was only a matter of time.
She tried to comfort herself by telling herself that if he had arrived, Lestrange wouldn't be in this room with her. So maybe Harry and Ron were still alive. That there was an infinitesimal hope that they would pull through by some miracle. Hope was all he had left anyway.
Not that she's getting out of it, but that her two friends are getting out of there. Winning the war hinged on Harry's survival, not her own. She was just waiting for Lestrange to be done with her. Paradoxically, she resisted with all her being so as not to faint under the torture of the accursed Death Eater. She didn't like the idea of her unconscious body being left alone with this kind of mental derangement. She also resisted the urge to moan out of pride.
Another Crucio.
Her body squirmed but she remained silent, her eyes wide open, staring at an imaginary point in front of her. No question of getting into the Bellatrix game. She won't give her that pleasure.
What mistake did they make? What mistake did she make to get them caught?
However, she had taken all her precautions. Clearly not all of them, otherwise they wouldn't be here at Malfoy Manor.
Thinking helped her to detach herself from this bruised body that was hers.
She couldn't blame Mr. Lovegood. The man's reaction was completely understandable. A father is ready to do anything to save his child. Fortunately, they had time to escape. But how, did the scavengers locate them. Were they marked by Mr. Lovegood? No, impossible, he's not that vile.
And she would have felt a form of magic if that was the case. Moreover, several hours passed between their visit to Mr. Lovegood and their capture.
'Curcio,' she heard.
Her bones and joints hurt her. All her nerve endings hurt her. She felt her hair growing heavy. Every hair stung her then tugged at her skull. She felt her guts twist and tear. Her vision blurred for the umpteenth time.
She resumed her thoughts. So they weren't marked. A form of trace then?
That day, had she put on the usual protective spells? Her memory was fading. A few minutes ago she was sure of it but not anymore. Maybe she forgot one. Had she inadvertently caused the loss of her two best friends? Will an oversight on his part cause the loss of the war and consequently of the magical world? The idea made her sick.
'Cur...'
She tensed and her body braced itself for a wave of pain.
A wave that did not come.
What is going on ?
She tried to move but she couldn't. She was immobilized. She looked around for Bellatrix Lestrange, or anyone else.
She saw no one. No human presence. Lestrange had left the room and Hermione was alone.
But why ? Was it to come back even more sadistic? Was it to send someone else?
Hermione heard sounds in the distance, perhaps in the next room. She concentrated to hear better.
By merlin,
By godric,
By all the mages, it was Harry's voice. He looked fit and determined. She could hear too
Lestrange, Bellatrix. She was furious. But also Draco, or maybe it was Lucius. The conversation seemed lively.
Harry was fine and Bellatrix was away from her. Relief mixed with pain and fatigue.
It was getting harder and harder to keep her eyes open. Maybe if she closed them for a few seconds, she would regain her strength. Just a few seconds...
She mentally slapped herself, 'not now, Hermione, pull yourself together' she told herself. What was left of her rationality told her that there was no question of her falling asleep now. She was too weak, she risked a coma.
But her eyelids were too heavy. The effort became superhuman. She saw a black curtain fall over her vision. She was sleeping, or losing consciousness, she didn't know.
In a last effort, she heard the discussion come alive and a small, frail and small hand grabbed her.
Then a whirlwind suck it up. A feeling very similar to Apparating.
She was too weak, the void welcomed her, peaceful, dark and silent.
The first thing Hermione felt when she woke up was pain. General pain all over her body.
Her skull, her muscles, her bones. All. The pain was a habit now. She tried to open her eyes but it was impossible. It was costing her too much energy. So she tried to concentrate. It was vital to know where she was. The place exuded a peaceful energy, her instincts told her she was safe.
She relaxed slightly. Very slightly. Was it the smell of the sea that made her calm down a bit?
Was she in the shell cottage? It was the only place she knew by the sea.
Did Harry and Ron manage to escape Malfoy Manor and save her? Too many questions. It was unbearable.
She had to open her eyes. The effort to do so was monstrous. She was dazzled by the light.
She closed them immediately. She mentally braced herself for the light, then opened them again.
She blinked several times to finally get used to the sunlight. She looked around her.
She was in a room she didn't know. A fairly simple room. There was a small chest of drawers opposite her, under the window. And next to the bed, there was a bedside table. Her wand was conspicuously absent and Hermione was pained. Where was she? She heard no noise. As if the house where she was was completely empty. This reduced the possibility that she was in the shell cottage. Otherwise there would have been sounds of life and voices of her friends, Harry, Ron, Luna, Bill and his wife Fleur.
Her worries took over. Where are Harry and Ron? Was she separated from them? And more importantly, had her wand stayed in Malfoy Manor? Most likely.
Her unspoken magic wasn't quite there yet. Hermione felt weak and fragile even more than she really was.
She has no way to protect herself in case something goes wrong. Without her wand she felt naked. She was vulnerable.
She tried to move. Her body was stiff but she managed to get out of bed. She groped for the chest of drawers and nearly fell. She narrowly caught herself with the piece of furniture in question, tipping over what appears to be a radio placed on it. She opened the various drawers in search of her wand or any other wand but found only clothes and towels.
Was she a prisoner?
Impossible. This place was anything but a cell.
But where was she?
She looked around the room and came across a mirror hanging from the wall. She approached it with difficulty.
She found that the various wounds on her face and chest were healed. She perceived only slight scars. Under her eyes, she saw dark circles but her cheeks were colored a light pink, a sign of a warm sleep.
She noticed that her clothes were changed. She was currently wearing straight black pants, a black t-shirt and a loose sweater over it that fell over her shoulder. She rolled up her sleeve and noticed that the 'Mudblood' had also healed but was much more visible than her other scars. She lightly ran a hand over it. It didn't hurt her. As if the wound was several years old.
Now Hermione could walk almost normally. Her dizziness had greatly diminished. She left the room, barefoot.
She was on the first floor of a house, which indeed seemed empty. On the landing was another bedroom, larger and more furnished, and a classic bathroom. Very muggle furnishing, decor and ambiance.
She went downstairs.
'Hello, is anyone there?' she tried when she reached the last step. Nobody answered her.
To her right was an open door that led to a muggle-equipped kitchen. In front of her, the entrance door and to her left, a small living room. A sofa and two armchairs were arranged in front of a large window that overlooked the sea.
There was also a library and a fireplace.
Hermione had to rationalize and study fields of contingencies. So she was in a muggle house. 'In Ireland' she thought as she looked out the window. She recognized the expanse of the black rocky cliffs of Northern Ireland. She headed for the library. At first glance, the books seem muggle. Classics for the most part, but quickly she noticed that there were also wizarding manuscripts. So she wasn't at a Muggle's. The books covered different disciplines, ancient magic, magic of the elements, potions, defenses against evil forces, history of magic…and were all very advanced.
'Nothing about Transfiguration,' she whispered.
She went into the kitchen and tested the faucets. The water flowed after a few seconds. The storage units were almost empty. Two or three saucepans, a few glasses and a few plates. This house is uninhabited.
Going upstairs, to what seems to be 'her bedroom', she summarized the different elements: she was therefore in Northern Ireland. In an uninhabited house of either a Muggle-born wizard, either half-blood, or pure-blood but very Muggle-inclined. 'Let's rule out the last possibility for the moment.' she thought.
A Muggle-born or half-blood wizard with a very advanced level of knowledge, according to the books. She knew well a wizard who would meet these criteria. But it is surely not him, because he would not have treated him like this. He wouldn't have saved her.
Her throat constricted as he remembered this man, his betrayal and his incomprehensible turnaround. She trusted him more than herself, but he turned out to be a traitor. Traitor and murderer.
She quickly brushed it off her head. Her memory was too painful to relive now and she needed to focus.
But her thoughts were at an impasse, she had no idea who her savior was. She walked mechanically to the first floor to reach her makeshift room.
Hermione told herself that in reality, there was no point in knowing the priority of this house, the priority was rather to find a way to find her friends. They needed her. The next few days are crucial. But she was cut off from her thoughts by a noise from downstairs. Someone had entered.
Hermione immediately froze and thought quickly. She realized that the loneliness in this house made her let her guard down. Maybe she had set off some kind of alarm while wandering around.
Footsteps were heard, the intruder was climbing the stairs. He had a calm and assertive step. He wasn't running, but he wasn't exploring either. He walked towards her, confident.
Who was this person? Hermione's heart was racing. She could hear it drumming in her chest, simultaneously with the approaching footsteps.
Did she have enough magical reserves to generate an unspoken protego?
As the doorknob turned, she moved into a defensive stance, ready to tempt this Protego, however weak it might be, it only would allow her to reflect whatever spell was cast upon her. She would then run away.
The door opened and a man appeared.
Ready for chapter 2? Tell me in comments...