Author's Note: Well, here's another chapter! It's longer than the last, I know some of you guys were upset by the length but it had to stop there. But hey, I updated quicker? Anyways, please enjoy!
The Missing Piece Chapter Twenty Seven
Day: 59
She rose from unconsciousness slowly, the way one floats back to the surface of the water after swimming in the deep. Her senses kicked into gear one by one. Hermione began to smell something peculiar and moist. She could smell iron, something salty and humid, and another smell which smelled like fish, rain, and muggle household cleaners. She then began to feel several sharp pains in her legs, arms, stomach, and wrists. She felt something binding her around her wrists and ankles—something abrasive—and when she began to move, the skin around the bindings burned with irritation, and rawness. Fatigue enveloped her like a blanket, and Hermione had trouble figuring out why. She could hear drops falling to the ground in a timely manner, almost rhythmic, behind her. These drops fell and echoed many times. Her tongue moved, and came to pass over what Hermione perceived as a cloth of sorts, in her mouth. The rag had a rancid taste so grotesque that even after her tongue came as far away from it as possible, the taste still lingered on her tongue for a good amount of time. Her eyebrows scrunched together, and her eyelids felt weary and heavy, but she willed her eyes to open despite her wish to fall back into the dark.
Her vision was blurry at first. All Hermione could make out was grey, splattered with blotches of green on what she guessed was the floor, walls and ceiling. After a couple of minutes her eyes came into focus, and shock and fear settled into her chest. She was in some sort of dungeon. There were dimly lit torches in every corner of the dungeon so that it was not completely dark, but nearly. There were was a stone set of stairs leading up. Where they led, she did not know. She became aware of her cheeks, which felt sticky from tears. Her curls stuck matted to her forehead and neck in an unpleasant way. She remembered coming here, being thrown to the floor, and kicked in the abdomen by two death eaters so hard that it lifted her up several feet from impact. She remembered them picking her up and throwing her in the chair, and binding her with a rough force. Then they left her there. No food, no water. She sat there forgotten.
Day: 60
She heard measured sounds coming down the steps quite slowly. Hermione's eyes widened immediately, looking to the staircase on her right, trying to strain her head to be able to see. A flair of hope rose in her: Was it Draco? Harry? The ministry? That flair of hope vanished as quickly as it came, crushed by reason. She didn't even think they knew where she was. Besides, if it were them, they would have come running and screaming.
"We're awake now are we, mudblood?"
It was a Death Eater. The same one who managed the operation back at Lucy's home, the day she got sent here. Crowley, she thought he was called. It was the first time Hermione could take a closer look at the scum. He was fairly tall, dressed in black robes. His hair was brown and short, he looked to be about his late thirties, early forties. His eyes were black with nothing but hatred for her, and she hoped her eyes reflected the same to him.
He took a few steps to the chair in which Hermione sat, and observed her as if she were some new species of repulsive insect threatening the lives of millions. Hermione would have spat on him right then and there if her mouth weren't gagged with a rag that tasted like dung. Instead, she contented herself by glaring at him, hoping that her looks could inflict pain upon him.
"A little angry, aren't we?" He asked, lifting a hand and removing a sticky curl that crossed her forehead, and tucking it behind her ear. Hermione attempted to back away but she failed because she could only go so far as the chair would allow. "That's okay. I understand." Crowley said after a while. "I'm here to offer you a chance, to make your life better. Sound good?"
Silence.
Crowley obviously wasn't satisfied with her lack of response, because moments later the rag was off of her mouth. Hermione gasped and took in several deep breaths, ignoring the disgusting muggy atmosphere, and reveling in her new freedom. She swirled her tongue around her mouth, enjoying the lack of "rag dung" even though it tasted vaguely of it. Hermione suddenly became very aware of Crowley's extremely judgmental facial expression, and felt her face quickly change to one of hatred and pure loathing. She took advantage of her new freedom to gather as much saliva as she could and spit in the despicable man's face.
Crowley, appalled, staggered a few steps back out of pure shock. From one split second to the next, his features changed from surprise, to rage. He took out his wand and cleaned the spit from his black robes, and in what appeared to be a blink of an eye, Crowley was inches from Hermione's face.
"Listen to me now, young lady." Crowley began, looking at Hermione dead in the eye with a voice so low and threatening it was murderous. "I'm here to make life simple for you. I took that bloody rag off to make you feel better. And this is how you thank me?" He said, his voice growing steadily louder and faster. "This is how you thank me? I demand SOME RESPECT."
Hermione sat as far back in the chair as she could while still placing a face of dignity on her features. Deep down, however, the man scared her, but she would not let it show. She watched him, never taking her eyes of his, in a deathly staring contest. Crowley was so angry his breaths were deep and quick, as if he just finished a hard sprint. Hermione just stayed motionless, hoping to make him angrier with her indifferent expression.
"Now, you're probably dying to get some answers, and I'll happily give them to you if you listen. Agreed?"
Hermione remained silent.
"Okay, agreed then." Crowley added after an unsatisfactory response from Hermione. "You know why you're here. You see, we need to reinstate our power after so many years of neglect. We used to be happy, powerful people, who never did any harm. Then came you, the… muggles, intermingling with us and claiming rights and well, we got angry. It's our world, and you took it away. How would you feel? Well you know the story, then came the Dark Lord, and well we were so nearly there but your precious friends were there to save the day and make sure we were rightfully oppressed… well after his unfortunate death, we decided that we need to finish his job. Or else, the poor man died in vain, am I right? Basically long story short, because I know I'm boring you, we're going to get back into power and relive the lives that were meant for us. And we need that potion to do it. There's just one problem: we don't know how to make it. But you, my sweet, do. And you're going to tell me."
"I don't know anything! Who are you? Why am I here?" Hermione said in a convincingly desperate tone.
"I'm not falling for your tricks, sweetie. I know you got your memory back. You see, we've been keeping track. We had a hunch your Lucy friend might have had a hand in your little situation there… we knew she was from the order, it was fairly obvious. So, we tracked her. And that led to you. So we waited until you got your memory back. Wasn't that nice of us? We're patient people. And we even came in for a surprise when you got it back! But I digress. Here's the deal sweetie: You're going to tell me how to make the potion. You're going to make it. And in return, we won't hurt your friends. Sound good?"
"I—I don't know what you're talking about—please, please let me go! I don't know anything!" Hermione continued, her voice containing just the perfect amount of fear and confusion.
"Allow me to rephrase." Crowley replied, unmoved and unconvinced by her charade. "See, I'm not your usual Death Eater. I do things… a little differently. It's quite effective. See, despite you muggles being the absolute dirt that you are, I have to hand it to you, you all have a knack for coming up with the absolute worst and most painful ways of killing each other. So, understand that the cruciatus curse is the very least of your problems, my dear." Crowley then took Hermione's hand in his, observing it for a while, and then grabbed the index finger. Hermione made sure not to flinch, even though every fiber of her being wanted to squirm her way out of his slimy grip. "You see, you have… ten chances. Ten chances to tell me."
Crowley raised his dark eyebrows to her in amusement. A bolt of fear raced through her vains. She would stay strong. She would not talk.
"How do you make the potion?"
Silence.
Slowly, Crowley took hold of the index finger and gently pushed it back, applying force when the finger was as far back as it would go. Hermione couldn't hide the fear in her eyes, nor the hyperventilating. She wished she had the rag back so she could at least bite into it but she just gritted her teeth and focused on not screaming. Focused on Draco. He could always take the pain away. She felt and heard a loud pop, and her eyes widened to see her finger touching the back of her hand, something that was not normal and scared her to see. A split second later, came the blinding pain. It stabbed through her worse than anything she had felt, and she instinctively squirmed and tried to take back her hand but it was firmly in his grasp. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks. The white hot pain continued to burn and throb through every nerve in her hand and arm. She wanted to scream. She found herself wondering how long she could stand before she gave up.
"Didn't enjoy that did we? Here, I'll give you a second chance out of the goodness of my heart. Tell me. Go on."
"Go to hell." Hermione spat, making sure to spit on his face in the process. "I'm never telling you any—AAHH!"
She burst into a scream mid-sentence as Crowley broke her middle finger in the same manner as the first. The pain from the first still had not subsided so the pain seemed to double. She squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth. She needed to stay strong. Draco would want me to stay strong, she thought.
Hermione opened her eyes hardly daring to look down at her right hand, which consisted of two fingers which were bent at an inhuman angle. Her hyperventilation was getting out of control. There was a ring in her ears accompanied by maniacal laughter which could have only come from Crowley. Her head spun and she felt dizzy, but she shook her head and ordered herself to focus. If she lacked focus there was a possibility she could talk.
"Third time's the charm?"
Day: 62
Everyone always thought of her as brave. The girl who took initiative, who figured things out, who was fearless, who stood up for her beliefs. Sure, it was all easy to spot from the outside, but no one knew her thought processes. No one knew exactly just how scared she was, or just how many times she thought of giving up throughout her life. Everyone just saw the end result; the last choice.
Hermione sat there, barely conscious in her chair, with a hole in her stomach from the hunger, and ten throbbing, broken fingers which hurt every second of the day because they were trying to heal in the incorrect place. The only two things she had left was hope, hope for a way out, for her friends to find her or give her a sign, and a small sliver of pride, which originated from the fact that she had suffered through ten broken fingers and still kept her mouth closed.
"Ready to tell us how to make the potion now, sweetie?" Crowley said in a voice that was sweetly laced with maliciousness. He stood across from her, toying with a knife, which was a silent warning of what would happen to her if she stayed silent.
"Never." She replied, not having any more strength to say a complete sentence. Her voice was raspy and hoarse, and it pained her immensely to speak.
Crowley let out an exasperated sigh, obviously becoming tired of Hermione's outward bravery, but proceeded indifferently toward her.
Realizing what he was going to do, Hermione's eyes widened struggling to escape the blade of Crowley's knife. Fear-stricken, Hermione screamed, but was cut off by the cold blade of the knife touching her face in a threatening way. She stayed completely still, not making a sound.
"I feel like we are going to share our deepest secrets very soon, don't you, mudblood?" Crowley mused with a smile on his face. This ignited a spark of anger deep inside Hermione. She was not going to give him the pleasure.
"N-No." She growled fiercely, no longer scared of the knife against her cheek. Her body felt like it could no longer take any more, but her soul felt otherwise. Her soul ushered to bring it on.
And Crowley did not hesitate.
Day: 63
She had blacked out from the pain. When she rose from unconsciousness, she found her eyelids glued together, and hard to open due to the mixture of tears and blood. She managed, however. And when she did it was another surprise. Her poor body looked to be barely alive, tortured. She had kept her secret, however. And for that she allowed a moment of small pride.
Crowley had definitely made his point on her, however. He had cut, and peeled skin in so many places that Hermione was no longer white, but red. The skin was infecting in some places, in others it was so thickly matted with blood that it looked black. She attempted to move the tiniest bit, but she soon realized she should not, because of the burning sensation on her skin when she did so.
Another wave came over her, and Hermione felt her eyes grow heavy. The last thing she saw was two people come down the stairs, carrying a large brown bag, before she slipped into unconsciousness.
Day: 64
She woke up with her eyes out of focus, staring into the humid, grey stones that formed the far wall. Except now, she noticed there was a bit of yellow in the room. She squeezed her eyes shut and reopened them, finding her eyes in better focus.
Her heart crashed and rose at the same time.
Draco was here.
It was selfish of her to be happy to see him, especially under the present circumstances. If he was here, it wasn't because he was on a rescue mission. The first thing that crossed her mind was that she wouldn't let Crowley lay a hand on him.
He sat, limp in his chair, looking like a fallen angel. His hair line swept his eyebrows in such a way that made him look so innocent and in need of protection. His hands and feet were tied to a chair similarly to how Hermione's was. A brown bag lay on the floor to the right of the chair.
"Draco" Hermione whispered, gathering all her strength to utter two syllables.
He did not respond.
"Draco!" Hermione uttered harshly, her throat raspy.
"Draco!" Her throat hurt immensely, but he was going to reply, if that was the last thing she ever did.
After a few seconds, the blonde stirred, his eyes squinting.
"It's me, Draco. Hermione. Please!"
His eyes slowly opened and met with hers. Hermione let out a sigh of relief. Well, now she knew he wasn't dead.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Were his first words to her. To her, his voice sounded like a blessing, so pure and absolutely wonderful. His voice seemed to heal each of her wounds.
"Draco, why? How did you—"
"It's all my fault, look at you, Hermione. I'm so sorry."
"I don't blame you at all. Please don't blame yourself." She said, a note of sadness in her voice.
"I'm going to kill every single one of those bastards, Hermione. Don't worry. I'm going to save you." Draco said, his voice with much conviction. "I'm going to get you out of here… where are we?"
"No idea. Draco, I—Draco." She was so relieved to see him, she wanted to say so many things yet say nothing at all. The only thing she could say was his name, which was more than enough for both of them at the moment.
"What did they do? What did they do to you, love?" Said a pained Draco, his voice cracking. There was so much sorrow in his voice, that it could have made anyone burst into tears at that moment. His eyes widened upon looking at her fingers.
Hermione's chest heaved up and down with just the mere thought. She hadn't looked back on the last couple of days, and she did not want to. She just shook her head. He understood.
Slow clapping came from the stairs, followed by Crowley, who stalked toward them with an attempt at a pout.
"I see the couple is reunited! How lovely. It's a present from me, to you, mudblood. Hope you enjoy." Crowley said, with a look of maliciousness.
Hermione merely stared him down with a look of pure hatred.
"Surely, if I can't get what I need, Draco-love here, will get it for me. Right, Draco?"
"Go to hell you filthy, slimy, dung eating cockroach. When I get out I'm going to rip you to shreds for this you—" Draco began in a spur of anger. Hermione had never seen him so murderous.
"That's enough. Now. Mudblood." Crowley said, turning toward Hermione. "I bet Draco's skin peels right off, like a banana. Let's test that theory, shall we?"
"No, don't you dare, no. No, NO PLEASE—" Hermione began, eyeing Crowley and Draco's wide eyes.
"Hermione, it's okay! Don't—Stop—I'll be okay." Draco assured her in a seemingly calm voice, though Hermione could easily see he was just as terrified.
Crowley smiled, everything working out for him as planned. He pulled out his knife and approached Draco with uncontained satisfaction. Hermione couldn't bare it. She couldn't see him get hurt. Crowley could break her fingers and cut her alive, but not Draco.
"Stop! Stop Stop! Please Stop! Okay! I'll—"
Crowley paused.
"You'll what?" Crowley replied.
"Hermione, don't you dare. Not for me, no. Stop, Don't tell him!" Draco protested desperately, his eyes wide and crazed.
Hermione ignored him. She felt sure of what she was going to do. It was going to work out.
"I will tell you how to make the potion."
"That's my girl! There we go! See? And it only took Draco-poo here, to do it."
"Under one condition." Hermione said, her heart beating wildly.
"Conditions? There are none here, no no." Crowley said, amused. He paused. "But you have me intrigued as to what you could possibly say."
"Let Draco go, and heal me." Hermione said simply.
Crowley deliberated for a minute. Hermione could see the options he was considering by the way his eyes would move to the left, and right.
"Fine. You have a deal."
"Hermione, what are you doing—you can't!" Draco shouted desperately, looking at Hermione as if she were insane, as if she needed some sense knocked into her.
"I'm sorry, Draco." Was all she could say. Things were going to be fine, she had a plan. It would all work out.
"I'll send someone to fix you, and you can get started." Crowley said, turning his back to both Draco and Hermione and heading for the stairs.
"Wait! What about Draco!?" She called after him with a note of desperation.
"Draco will be released when you have made the potion, and we are sure it works." Were Crowley's final words.
Hermione's heart rose to her throat. There went her plan.
No matter, she thought to herself, it will all work out.
A/N: Well, I hope you all enjoyed it so far! I will try and update as quickly if not quicker! I am pretty busy right now so please understand that. It would be lovely for all of you to leave a review and let me know your thoughts so far! Every single review puts a smile on my face, I promise!