Chapter Twenty-Two: Fear Me
Draco dragged her through the ugly halls, jerking roughly on her arms when she stumbled.
"I can walk fine on my own!" she snarled. He glanced at her but said nothing, his grip on her tightening so that she blinked back tears.
Lucius had gone ahead of them to inform the Dark Lord of their arrival. They had apparated to the Lestrange house; a grand old place that must have once been the pride of the country side in which it resided.
Surely the darkness that bloomed inside it must have sucked it dry of its former beauty, Hermione thought absently as she looked around before Draco had all but pulled her arm off leading her into the house.
The house was full of dead plants. Dust piled in every corner and some walls held scorch marks and the like, leading Hermione to wonder how those had come to be. She hoped she would not have to face Bellatrix again-though she had only met her once during the battle at the Ministry, that had been enough for her to know the woman was lethal and absolutely insane. Her house reflected this aspect of her and it did nothing to ease Hermione's nerves as they neared their destination.
They reached a tall, heavy looking door and Draco reached for the doorknob. Hermione tensed, and sensing this, he turned to face her head on.
There was concern in his eyes as he searched her face.
"Don't do anything stupid," he said in a low voice. "Just do what he tells you, okay?"
She said nothing.
Frustrated, he took her face in his hands. "Listen to me, Hermione. I want you coming out of this place in one piece, do you understand?"
She looked him square in the eyes but kept her lips sealed.
"I mean it," he said angrily. "Disobey us and you will regret it."
She ignored him and stepped out of his reach towards the door. He let out an angry sigh before turning back and opening the door, pulling her along. This time she did not protest, she walked along quickly with her head held high.
She had expected a larger room. This one was dark-it held no windows and was poorly lit by some torches along the walls. The room was barren of furniture save for a few chairs and a table, the floor they walked on was the cleanest in the whole house; she could see her reflection as they made their way to the farthest end where a tall figure stood facing the wall.
Her heels clacked on the floor with each step and she longed to kick them off. How odd-her dressed to the nines in her first official meeting with Voldemort.
They came to a stop several paces away from the figure. Draco's hand fell from her arm and immediately she could feel the blood rush down to the rest of her arm, stinging madly.
"My Lord," he said, bowing. "You summoned for us."
"I summoned for the girl, Draco, but it is just as well that you are here," came the high, snakelike voice, his s's resounding around the cold room. Hermione fought the impulse to cringe.
He turned then, and Hermione locked her knees fiercely, fighting to stand straight as they buckled upon the shock of seeing his face-or what remained of it. Grey, with sickly looking veins spreading around his skull, his head seemed to gleam in the harsh light of the room, making his deformed red eyes shine like fresh blood. He had no nose, only two vertical slits for nostrils that resembled those of a snake's and a cruel slash for a mouth that widened to reveal sharp, feral looking teeth as he spoke.
"I must congratulate you, boy. You've found yourself a suitable trophy."
"Thank you, my Lord."
"You married her, I see."
"Yes, my Lord."
Hermione was a little satisfied to hear how Voldemort talked to Draco as if he were a child. Even if it was only this instance it felt good to know that though he was powerful, he still had to answer to and put up with someone worse.
"And have you enjoyed your gift?"
"Extremely, my Lord. Thank you."
Through her terror, Hermione wanted to point out that Voldemort had not had anything to do with her kidnapping, other than having allowed it.
"Such an angry spirit," Voldemort said as he looked at Hermione. "Look how she fights to keep calm.
Voldemort's eyes gleamed and he took some steps forward. His tattered black robes swished around him, revealing his bare, craggy feet. He began to walk in a circle around her, his long, grotesquely bony fingers held his wand lightly before his chest. Hermione kept herself completely still, not daring to look anywhere but straight ahead as he advanced towards her, his hideous eyes assessing her from every angle. She felt his gaze like the hot tip of a blade trailing over her skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. Several times he came close enough so that she felt his rancid breath wash over her and her flesh crawled but still she stayed frozen.
A shockingly cold, rough skinned hand lighted on her shoulders and travelled to her neck, brushing her skin with his sharp fingernails, making her suppress a shiver.
"At last we meet, Mudblood," he hissed, coming to a stop before her. "I've heard much about you."
Hermione didn't reply, forcing her eyes not to waver from the spot she had chosen on the wall.
"Look at me when I speak to you," he hissed. Malfoy tensed beside her, and she remembered his threats, but did not listen.
"Such a strong witch you've chosen, young Draco," continued the living monstrosity standing before them, "she must not be easy to control."
"I assure you, my Lord, soon she will bend to my will."
Hermione clenched her jaw at Malfoy's words, her tensed body quivering with rage. Her attention was brought back to the reptilian resembling man before her as he raised his hand to the hollow of her throat, taking her pulse. Hermione grimaced at his touch, knowing he could feel her racing heartbeat under his finger.
"I can almost hear your little heart pumping fear through you, witch," he said, grinning nastily. "You stand before me with your chin high and your eyes cold and yet your heart runs wild under my finger. You're just a silly little girl trying-and failing-to be brave. You are a kitten playing at a lioness." He flicked his hand and she exhaled sharply as his nail tore at her skin, leaving a small, weeping red gash. "Do not attempt to lie to me."
He studied her blood on the tip of his finger before licking it with his red tongue. Hermione found herself slightly surprised to see that it wasn't forked.
As if he had heard her thoughts the Dark Lord smiled, and gesturing towards the door he said, "Go visit your aunt, Draco. I wish to speak to the girl alone."
Draco stiffened, but nodded and with a curt bow and one last worried look at Hermione, left the room. At his exit Hermione felt her control begin to slip. She had not anticipated this happening. She had thought Malfoy would be with her the entire time, and horrible as it sounded, she had felt safer when he was in the room with them. He was the one familiar thing in this nightmare, even if he was the one who had induced it.
The Dark Lord's red eyes roamed over her body, head to toe, and Hermione couldn't help the blood that rushed to her face. Her hands shook.
Be strong, be strong, be strong, she chanted in her mind.
She was too distracted to notice he was coming closer and closer until he was practically in her face. She startled but kept staring straight ahead, even when he grabbed her chin and tilted her face upwards to meet his hideous eyes.
"You do look quite ravishing," he said in an amused tone. Fighting the impulse to retch, Hermione looked down at the ground, her arms at her sides. She could not fight him, but she sure as hell wasn't going to play his little game.
"Tell me, little kitten," he purred, "Were you a virgin when Draco took you?"
She fought to contain the blush the bloomed on her cheeks to no avail, it stung her cheeks with its intensity and to her further mortification a tear rolled down her cheek. His grip on her chin slackened for a second, and before she knew what had happened he was in her mind and the events of that terrible night replayed in her head to her great distress.
Waking up disoriented. The mad dash through unfamiliar land. The capture. The rape. The morning after.
When it ended she found herself lying on the table, breathing heavily with a terrible pain in her head as the Dark Lord stood beside her.
"Y-You," she gasped, unable to finish. Bastard, her mind shouted.
"She speaks!" he hissed, grinning. "And here I was thinking young Draco had torn out your tongue."
She held her head in her hands, silently willing the horrible pain to go away.
"Such a fragile thing," he said, watching her. "Almost broken after a bit of fucking."
She cringed at his words and quickly eased herself off the table and away from him, kicking her shoes off in the process. He blocked her path to the door easily, the look of indifference on his face replaced by anger.
"We're not done until I say we're done," he declared. With a wave of his wand Hermione felt herself flying backwards and landed hard back onto the table, her wrists and ankles bound magically to it.
"No!" she shouted, struggling against the restraints.
"You know what I'm after," he said softly, holding his wand to her throat. "Tell me where Potter is."
Hermione spat in his face, watching in satisfaction as he wiped it off angrily.
"Crucio!"
She couldn't even scream. Her body jerked and writhed horribly on the table, her head thrown back against the hard wood as she struggled to breathe and empty her lungs at the same time. It felt like acid had been injected into her bloodstream, like her nerves were on fire. Her eyes rolled back into her head and dimly her brain registered a loud crack as her leg broke, bringing forth even more pain. Her body was on fire and at the same time it felt like a million nails were being drilled into her entire bodyhereyesburnedwithtearsan dherthroatfeltasthoughshehad swallowedrazorbladesandherhe adwasgoingtoexplode
And then it was over.
It took her several seconds to remember how to breathe again- her body floundered on the table like a fish out of water before she began to suck in horribly loud, ragged breaths. She was sure she had cracked several of her ribs and her broken leg was currently numb, which couldn't be a good sign but she didn't care so long as the pain was gone momentarily. She could feel a migraine begin to form in her head, that horrible sensation that one feels before was prevalent in her mind.
A hand wrapped around her neck and she locked eyes with him. His eyes practically glowed with excitement and before she could stop herself she turned her head and vomited on the space beside her. She heard his tch of disgust and before the smell reached her he had magicked it away before touching the tip of his wand to her sweaty forehead.
"Have you had enough, little kitten?" he asked in a sickeningly sweet voice. "Are you ready to tell me now? If not, I assure you that was only a sampler of my power."
"Take your wand and stick it up your arse, you shite," she snapped, and not a second later was she writhing under the force of the curse he bestowed on her. This time blood leaked out of her nose and he had delved into her head again for good measure, showing her once more the images of that night. He began to sift through her other memories too, and with enormous effort she managed to push him back out even though she was beginning to black out.
He stumbled backwards with the force of her resistance, eyes wide with shock and the curse ended just as swiftly, leaving her lying in a puddle of her own blood. He cleaned the mess impatiently, muttering an Ennervate just after her eyes had fluttered shut so that she awoke instantly, whimpering in the pain that still wracked her body.
She felt him prod into her mind again, just in time to throw up her defense, which wasn't strong enough to hold him back for long, but enough to hide the information he was after. Upon the third try he broke through her weakened mind easily but she held on as he tore through her memories, failing to find what craved. He came back with an angry roar that made her ears pop and the very table she was on tremble but she kept herself sane on the thought that she had not failed Harry and Ron.
Would he Crucio her again? She hoped not. She was no Healer, but she knew enough that if he gave her one more round she wouldn't make it back out. Either insanity or death would meet her at the end of his wand. She chanced a glance at him and knew he was thinking the same thing.
"It would be my utmost pleasure to use the Cruciatus on you again," he said, "but I don't think your husband would appreciate that, would he?"
With an eerie tenderness he brushed a tendril of hair from her forehead, noticing how she flinched away from the contact. "Are you willing to talk now? Or do I still have work to do?"
"I am not afraid of you," she said through ground teeth.
He laughed then, a high, maniacal sound that pierced her ears.
"You will regret saying that. After this," he said, pointing his wand at her dress which disintegrated, shortly followed by her undergarments, "you will be."
Tick, tick, tick, tick
Draco tapped his foot impatiently, his fingers drumming rapidly on the surface of the armchair he sat on. His nerves were on edge, his body ached, his eyes darted from one point of the room to another quickly. The ticking of the clock on the wall beside him seemed to mock him.
Tick, tick, tick, tick
It had been an hour now. He had looked for Aunt Bella but she was nowhere to be found. There was no one else inside the dingy old house, it seemed. A trembling house elf had brought him some tea but it sat cold in its saucer. He had sat there with the cup to his lips for five minutes before he set it back down with a click, not having taken one sip. He had heard screams- choked, agonized screams that left him breathless and fighting the impulse to run in there and drag her away, back to his Manor where she would be safe. But doing so would have made him a traitor. He was the one who had offered the girl for interrogation in the first place long ago and to take her away now would make him and his parents open targets, as well as her.
So he sat there, stewing in worry for his wife. He got up and paced around the room, occasionally taking a deep breath to regain control of himself. The clock seemed to grow louder with each passing minute.
Tick, tick, tick, tick
Her screams started again, and he tensed. They were worse now.
Draco closed his eyes and exhaled shakily.
Another hour passed before he was finally summoned by the elf to come to the drawing room where the Dark Lord waited for him.
He very badly wanted to run there. Walking was simply not fast enough for him at that moment. Though he always went at a fast stride it was not enough, he was good at running and he knew his long legs would not fail him but he forced himself to walk.
He pushed past the doors and strode into the room, but not before making sure his face was devoid of all emotion.
"My Lord?"
The Lord in question stood with his back to the door. To his side was the table on which Hermione's crumpled form lay. His stomach plunged to his feet and for a moment he believed her to be dead until he caught sight of the slow rise and fall of her chest, indicating she was very much alive. He actually went weak with relief.
"Did she-?"
"No."
Draco nodded. He hadn't expected her to.
The Dark Lord waved his hand and she stood, sliding off the table. She picked her shoes off the floor, gathering them in her arms and then wiped the blood from underneath her nose. There were spots of blood on her dress and bruises scattered around her arms and legs. Her face was a mess of blood and dried tears, and he found his anger rising, though a voice in the back of his mind hissed how hypocritical he was.
He was the one who got her into this in the first place. He had basically signed her up and tied a big fat ribbon on her neck and then left her at this monster's doorstep like a gift basket. He was broken out of his self-deprecating thoughts as she walked rigidly towards him with glazed eyes, tottering on each step for a brief second before catching her balance and continuing on her way. It was disconcerting to see, like someone walking on ice with high heels on. At last, she reached him, and looped her arm through his, swaying on her feet. Caught off guard by this, Draco almost didn't hear the Dark Lord say, "I'll send for her again sometime soon."
The moment they arrived back at his Manor the Dark Lord's Imperius ended and she collapsed on the floor as though the bones from her legs had been removed.
"Hermione? Hermione!" he knelt down beside her frantically, checking to see if she had any serious injuries. Aside from the heavy bruising she seemed fine, but that didn't explain why she couldn't walk and why she was currently trying to scratch her own skin off. He placed his hand on her arm and she panicked, heaving herself away from him with all the strength she had left so that he ended up on all fours looking stricken.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" she screamed, tears streaming down her bloodied face. The realization of what the Dark Lord had done to her crashed into him, knocking the breath out of him. Of course, he had known there was a possibility it was going to happen but he had selfishly deluded himself into thinking it wouldn't happen. And there it was, the evidence before his eyes. He watched dumbly as she continued scratching at her arms and legs; he could see the red high on her thighs. There was so much red.
He picked himself up and lifted her up into his arms, ignoring her pained whimpers and pleas to be left alone. Her voice was raspy and hoarse, she had no screams left. He entered the house quickly and calling for Bogg to run a bath, set straight for their bedroom. Her clothing was discarded and burned immediately-he had been surprised she had not protested until he looked down at her and realized she had passed out. He had placed her into the tub as gently as he could, not caring that he was getting soaked in the process, and proceeded to wash her as thoroughly and as gently as he could. She remained unconscious through the ordeal, for which he was glad. The blood slid away with the soap and he surveyed the damage with blurred eyes before healing it.
Once he was done she was lifted out and dried, dressed into a comfortable pyjama set and set straight to the bed. Stripping off his sodden clothes, he joined her, holding her battered body gently and pressing kisses into her damp hair, repeatedly muttering "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
