"So what was it you told Ron that you didn't tell me?" Harry asked. It was late again, and neither of them could sleep. They didn't really have a plan, and it bothered them.
"I told him your scar was a Horcrux."
"He didn't take it well."
"He was mad I didn't have a way to get it out of you."
"And then he came and asked me about my plans for tracking down the Horcruxes. I told him I didn't even know where the rest of them were."
"That helps explain why he reacted," Hermione said, nodding. "He knew where one was."
"He thought we had more of a plan."
"You and I have an advantage, too—you and I don't have to worry that our families will be punished for our actions."
"My parents are dead, and nobody knows you're married."
"Right." She sighed, getting up to pace. "That's what worries me most about Ron being gone. Okay, not most, but it's at the top of the list. If he's caught, they'll have proof that his parents were involved, falsifying the spattergroit, covering it up. If he's caught, his whole family goes down, too."
"He'll be careful. He knows what's going on. Maybe he even went back to the Burrow?"
"I don't—"
The wards twinged and she palmed her wand, moving to the doorway and pulling aside the tent flap.
"What is it?"
"Somebody's probing the wards."
"More Snatchers?"
They'd seen two bands of them since they'd settled in the Forest of Dean. They were mostly groups of stupid wizards, out to make the bounty on runaway Muggle-borns and blood traitors.
"It's just one person. A wizard, I think."
"Who?"
"No idea. Young. They don't know much about wards, but they did detect them. Either they were looking for something specific, or they had some other way to see past the Notice-Me-Not."
"You think it's somebody from school? Dean Thomas is Muggle-born; he wouldn't have been able to go back. Or Ernie Macmillan."
"But how would he know to look for us here?"
"Can he see us if we go out?"
"No. The wards are holding."
"Let's go see who it is, then."
"They'll still be able to hear you. The wards only keep people outside from seeing in."
"I'll be quiet, then."
Every sound he made seemed amplified. She'd put a Silencing Charm on his shoes, but his steps still crunched in the layers of snow and dead leaves on the ground. Her own breathing seemed to echo around the clearing.
"It's Ron!" Harry whispered at the same time that she got a good look at the wizard on the other side of the wards.
He was tall, redheaded, pale. He wore a faded wool jumper with an 'R' on it under an open winter coat. Blue jeans, trainers. He was stubbly and scruffy and sick-looking, but most of all he was wet. He was dripping. His clothes seemed to be dry, but he himself was soaked to the bone, and shivering in the winter cold from it.
Ron prodded at the wards clumsily, his wand arm shaking from the cold or from nerves. He held a sword in the other hand, gripping the hilt and pointing the tip at the ground.
Before she could protest—or do any sort of check to verify that it really was Ron—Harry reached through the wards and grabbed him, pulling him through. Ron grinned, teeth chattering.
"Hey."
"Hey?" Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "You've been gone for weeks and the first thing you say is 'hey?'"
Ron shrugged, looking uncertain, glancing from one of them to the other. Hermione flicked her wand at him and was gratified that he didn't even flinch. She dried him off, and then hugged him.
"I'm glad you're okay," she said, squeezing him tight, then remembered the sword and stepped back.
"I'm sorry," Ron said in a thick voice. "I'm sorry I left. I know I was a—a—"
"Shut up, Ron," Hermione said.
Simultaneously, Harry said, "Arse." He had his arms crossed, his face set in a frown.
"I know. I'm sorry."
"You could've been dead. We could've been dead."
"I knew you weren't dead," Ron said, rolling his eyes. Hermione took the sword from him and urged them into the tent. "Harry's all over the Prophet, all over the radio, they're looking for you everywhere, all these rumors and mental stories. I knew I'd hear straight off if you were dead, you don't know what it's been like—"
"What it's been like?"
"I wanted to come back the minute I'd Disapparated."
"We stayed at that house for hours, Ron," Hermione said gently.
"I walked straight into a gang of Snatchers They're everywhere. I was on my own and I look like I might be school age; they got really excited, thought I was Muggle-born in hiding. I had to talk fast to get out of being dragged to the Ministry."
"What did you say to them?"
"Told them I was Stan Shunpike. First person I could think of."
"And they believed that?"
"They weren't the brightest. One of them was definitely part troll, the smell of him..."
Hermione made tea. She left the sword on a chair by the camp stove and fixed them each a cup of tea. It was the last of the tea, actually.
"Anyway, they had a row about whether I was Stan or not. It was a bit pathetic to be honest, but there were still five of them and only one of me, and they'd taken my wand. Then two of them got into a fight and while the others were distracted I managed to hit the one holding me in the stomach, grabbed his wand, Disarmed the bloke holding mine, and Disapparated. I didn't do it so well, Splinched myself again." He held up his right hand; it was missing two fingernails. That was easy enough to fix. Hermione held his wrist firmly and kept him still when he flinched as his fingernails regrew. "Ow. Ow. Er. I came out miles from where you are when I Splinched. By the time I got back to the house where we'd been… you'd gone."
"How did you find us?" Hermione asked. "Just now."
"The Deluminator. It doesn't just turn the lights off," Ron said. "I don't know how it works or why it happened then and not any other time, because I've been wanting to come back ever since I left."
\\
It was March when Harry broke the Taboo. One minute they were listening to the radio—Ron had introduced them to Potterwatch—and the next the wards were down. This time, they didn't have the advantage of a house. It was just the tent.
It was dark. The lights had gone out when the wards fell.
Oh, shit.
She Summoned Harry and Ron's knapsacks and hoped they hadn't left anything important out. She shoved it all into her satchel, then folded the satchel down to wallet size and stuck it into her back pocket, unobtrusive. Hopefully they wouldn't take it.
She shot a Stiniging Hex at Harry's face, and he toppled over backwards. His fall distracted Ron, who had his wand half out of his pocket when the Snatchers swarmed through the flap. She Stunned one before the guy behind him disarmed her. She punched the closest one in the face, feeling his nose snap against her knuckles.
"Bitch," somebody snarled close behind her. Somebody bigger than her grabbed her around the chest, pinning her arms. She kicked, struggled, tried to connect her heel to his soft parts. She got close once, but then he dropped her.
"Get up, vermin."
They had Harry, jerking him roughly up and out the flap. His hands were prodding at his face tenderly, hardly paying attention to the wizards dragging him out. Ron had a wizard by the hair, but the wizard was the one with the wand.
Hermione ran after Harry, launching herself at the nearest Snatcher. She was unarmed—no wand, no knife, no cheese wire—but the first one she got solved that for her. He had a tiny little throwing knife in his hand, trying to use it like a larger blade. She hit him upside the head with combined fists and took the knife as he fell, then threw it at the Snatcher holding Harry's wand. The wizard Disapparated before it hit him, and it buried itself to the hilt in the tree behind him instead.
"Get off! Get off!" Ron shouted. The one he'd had by the hair now had him by the hair.
Hermione tried to Stun the one who was dragging Ron, but she couldn't do it wandlessly.
The spell hit her from behind, just above her left knee. For a moment, she felt it burn up her thigh, and then shoot up her spine.
She went down hard. It hurt like hell, made her vision blur over for a moment. She tried to get up, but she couldn't get her leg under her.
The big one hauled her up, pinned her arms, and brought her around to face the biggest one.
"I know who you are," the biggest one said. He was a new arrival, showing up with the Snatcher who'd Disapparated when she'd thrown the knife. "You're the dragon. Granger, innit?"
She didn't reply. One of them had Harry, limp and swollen, sagging against his captor. Another had Ron, a brilliant purple bruise growing across his cheekbone.
"Delicious," the one who'd spoken said, stepping in too close and dragging the back of his fingers down the side of her face. "What a treat.. I do enjoy the softness of the skin…"
Hermione glared at him, finally placing his face. Fenrir Greyback, the wereworlf. He wore the robes of a Death Eater in exchange for his hired savagery, but he wasn't Marked. It made him meaner.
"Let's see who we've got," Greyback said, turning away after a final leer. "I'll be needing butterbeer to wash that one down. What happened to you, ugly?"
Hermione felt an absurd urge to laugh.
"I said," repeated Greyback, punching Harry in the gut. "What happened to you?"
"Stung," Harry muttered. "Been stung."
"Yeah, looks like it," one of the Snatchers agreed.
"What's your name?"
"Dudley."
"And your first name."
"I—Vernon. Vernon Dudley."
His uncle and cousin.
"Check the list, Scabior," said Greyback. The one who'd Disapparated pulled out a bit of parchment as Greyback turned to Hermione, grinning foully.
There was more leering, more jeering. A couple of them slapped at her a bit, reminding her of names Dumbledore had given her a lifetime or two ago. It was finally Greyback that knocked her out.
\\
She woke wrapped in the conjured ropes of an Incarcerous. One of the Snatchers was directing her along beside a tall hedge. The others—and it was more than just Harry and Ron; she was fairly certain that was Dean Thomas there—shuffled along at wand-point. Harry was still swollen.
"How do we get in? They're locked, Greyback, I can't—blimey!"
"State your purpose." The gate had twisted into a frightening face, speaking with a clanging, echoing voice. It was an impressive bit of magic.
"We've got Potter! We've captured Harry Potter!"
Hermione noted that one of the nameless Snatchers was holding the Sword of Gryffindor and wished that her eyes would focus properly.
The gates swung open.
"Come on!"
They went up the drive. There were albino peacocks strutting around the tops of the hedges, and it made her want to laugh. What a useless thing. Unless, of course, they had been spelled like the gates. Maybe they were some menacing thing she'd never heard of, disguised as peacocks. She shivered.
Harry was stumbling more than he should be and wondered if she'd damaged him badly with the spell. But no, he shouldn't be so out of it. It was a simple Stinging Hex. Unpleasant, but simple. Had they hit him, too? Was he concussed? Confunded?
"What is this?" asked a woman's cold voice.
"We're here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"
"Who are you?"
"You know me!" There was resentment in the werewolf's voice." Fenrir Greyback! We've caught Harry Potter!"
Harry was dragged forward out of Hermione's line of sight.
"I know 'e's swollen, ma'am, but it's 'im!" said Scabior. "If you look a bit closer, you'll see 'is' scar. There's no doubt it's 'im, and we've got 'is wand as well! 'Ere, ma'am—"
Hermione took back any and all of that shallow gladness she'd felt that Scabior had not died by her knife.
Narcissa Malfoy came into view, scrutinizing first Harry and then her. She cast half a glance at the other prisoners.
"Bring them in."
The inside of the Manor was much like Hogwarts. A gloomy, oppressive Hogwarts.
"Follow me." She led the way across the hall. "My son, Draco, is home for his Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter, he will know."
The drawing room was lovely. Compared to the hall of morose portraits, it was dazzling. A huge room, a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, dark plum-colored paper on the walls, more portraits in gilded frames. Lucius and Draco Malfoy rose from high-backed chairs across the room by the fire. The fireplace was ornate marble, beautiful.
"What is this?" Lucius Malfoy drawled. He was tall and thin, but gray around the edges where he had once been gold.
"They say they've got Potter," Narcissa said. "Draco, come here."
Hermione kept her chin up as Draco came nearer. He was staring at her, at the ropes around her. She met his eyes and discovered that he'd had training in Occlumency. Without her wand and a direct attempt, she could glean nothing from his mind.
The prisoners were corralled, Harry brought forward beneath that crystal chandelier.
"Well, boy?" Greyback asked.
"Well, Draco?" Lucius asked, and Draco tore his eyes from Hermione to look at Harry. "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"
Hermione felt like laughing. Harry looked awful. He hadn't looked much like himself before she'd hit him with the hex—his hair was long and shaggy, and he hadn't shaved in days.
"I can't—I can't be sure," said Draco. He carefully stood away from Greyback, as if he was afraid of catching fleas or something. And he didn't seem to want to look at Harry.
"But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!"
Hermione noted with a pang that Lucius Malfoy was desperate. He was in disgrace, he had lost his prestige. Severus had said that the Malfoys had found some strange, desperate family loyalty in recent months. He'd lost every and all means of protecting and providing for his family in the last few years; his only hope was to please the Dark Lord and hope that he'd be rewarded in the event of victory.
"Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv—"
"Now, we won't be forgetting who actually caught him, I hoped, Mr. Malfoy," Greyback said menacingly. Hermione smirked at Greyback, hoping to make him mad, hoping for a scene. Any significant disturbance could be turned into an escape.
"Of course not, of course not!" Lucius snapped, impatient. He stepped past Greyback, closer to Harry. "What did you do to him?" He turned to look over his shoulder at Greyback, facing away from her. Draco's eyes snapped to her the moment his father couldn't see. "How did he get into this state?"
"That wasn't us."
"Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me," Lucius said. Hermione smirked again. A Stinging Hex, not a Stinging Jinx; the difference was subtle and not actually significant.
"There's something there," Lucius said, turning back to Harry. He was looking at his forehead, his scar stretched out of proportion by the hex. "It could be the scar, stretched tight… Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?"
Draco stepped closer, tearing his eyes away from Hermione. She had the odd feeling that he was trying to communicated, but he'd never learned Legilimency.
"I don't know," Draco said again. He walked back toward the fireplace and his mother.
"We had better be certain, Lucius," Narcissa said, voice cold and clear. "Completely sure that it is Potter, before we summon the Dark Lord… They say this is his—" She held up Harry's new wand. "—but it does not resemble Ollivander's description… If we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing… Remember what he did to Rowle?"
"What about the Mudblood, then?" Greyback asked, growled. He twitched his wand and she was jerked forward, in the full light of the huge chandelier.
"Wait," Narcissa said, stepping closer. "Yes—yes, she was in Madam Malkin's with Potter! I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"
"I… maybe… She looks older."
"She had this on her neck," Greyback said, pulling the Time Turner out of his pocket. Its rings were still fused together from its last use. "Time Turner, looks like."
"Yes, it is," Lucius said, taking it and looking it over with interest. "Broken, though."
"Used it up, I'll bet," Greyback said. Hermione shot him a look.
That's not how it works, asshole.
"You were allowed that for one year," Lucius said, looking at her thoughtfully, if also haughtily. "You stole it."
She scowled at him, but didn't bother saying anything.
"She's the Granger bitch, though," Greyback said, shoving the Time Turner back in his pocket, obviously tired of thinking about it. "The dragon."
Draco was staring. Harry looked nervous. Narcissa's face was blank.
"What is this? What's happened, Cissy?"
Bellatrix Lestrange walked slowly around the prisoners, and stopped on Harry's right, staring at Hermione through heavily-lidded eyes. Hermione wondered if the older witch was high. She looked drugged.
"But surely," Bellatrix said quietly, "this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger? The dragon."
"Yes, yes, it's Granger!" cried Lucius. "And beside her, we think, Potter! Potter and his friends, caught at last!"
"Potter?" shrieked Bellatrix, turning to look at Harry. "Are you sure? Well, then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!"
Bellatrix dragged back her left sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark. The same as Severus's, but different, somehow, because she still wanted it to be there. Loved it.
"I was about to call him!" Lucius interrupted, going so far as to grab Bellatrix's wrist to prevent her from touching the Mark. "I shall summon him, Bella. Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority—"
"Your authority!" she sneered, trying to slip his grip and failing. "You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! How dare you! Take your hands off me!"
"This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy—"
"Begging your pardon, Mr. Malfoy," Greyback interrupted, "but it's us that caught Potter, and it's us that'll be claiming the gold—"
"Gold!" Bellatrix laughed, wrenching at her arm now, other hand groping for her wand. "Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honor of his—of—"
Bellatrix went still. Lucius dropped her wrist, seeming relieved she'd given in to his wishes, and began to roll back his own sleeve.
"STOP!" Bellatrix cried, now grabbing his arm. "Do not touch it. We shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!"
Lucius froze, his index finger inches from his own Mark. Bellatrix let him go and strode over to one of the Snatchers whose name Hermione didn't know.
"What is that?" Bellatrix asked.
"Sword," grunted the Snatcher. He held it up a bit so she could see it, though he had both hands wrapped around the scabbard possessively.
"Give it to me."
"It's not yorn, missus, it's mine. I reckon I found it."
Hermione didn't even see Bellatrix draw her wand. There was a bang and a flash of red light. A violent Stupefy. The other Snatchers roared, jumping to their comrade's defense. Scabior drew his wand.
"What d'you think you're playing at, woman!"
Nonverbally, Bellatrix Stunned the others. Unfortunately, she didn't Stun Greyback. Hermione was still bound.
"Where did you get this sword?" Bellatrix screeched, turning on Greyback. His wand wavered at her vitriol, and Hermione felt the ropes binding her wavering as well.
"How dare you?" he snarled in return. Bellatrix flicked her wand, and Greyback was on his knees, struggling against whatever spell had been cast. Hermione dropped to the floor and stood still, holding the ropes in place as they tried to slip down.
"Where did you get this sword?" Bellatrix repeated, her voice low and cold now. She waved the hilt of it in his face. "Snape sent it to my vault in Gringott's!"
"It was in their tent!" Greyback gasped. "Release me, I say!"
She did, jabbing her wand at him. He lurched to his feet, glaring. He didn't seem to notice that his spell had failed any more than the others did; Hermione remained still.
"Draco, move this scum outside," Bellatrix said, indicating the unconscious Snatchers. "If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me."
"Don't you dare speak to Draco like—" Narcissa began furiously, but Bellatrix screamed, high and mad, then spoke.
"Be quiet! The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!"
Bellatrix gripped the sword tightly, examining the hilt.
"If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed," she muttered, looking at Harry. "The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself… But if he finds out… I must… I must know…"
Hermione had the horrible feeling that she was rationalizing something. And if it was something Bellatrix Lestrange needed to rationalize to herself, it was truly awful.
"The prisoners must be placed in the cellar while I think what to do," Bellatrix said to her sister.
"This is my house, Bella, you don't give orders in my—"
"Do it! You have no idea of the danger we are in!" Bella shrieked. A thin stream of fire flicked out of her wand, scorching the carpet, and everybody in the room knew that it hadn't been intentional. The woman was completely unhinged.
"Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback," Narcissa said after a moment.
"Wait," said Bellatrix. "All except… except for the Mudblood."
Ron shouted protests, but Hermione was relieved. She knew Occlumency, and she'd been tortured before. She could keep their secrets while they could not.
"If she dies under questioning, I'll take you next," Bellatrix promised him, sounding maddeningly reassuring. "Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them—yet."
The others disappeared out a side door. She could hear Greyback taunting them, but couldn't make out what he said.
That left her alone with Bellatrix, Lucius and Narcissa. Draco had taken the Snatchers away.
Before they could start anything, Hermione pressed her advantage and threw the ropes off of herself. She kept a loop in her hands and jerked it around Bellatrix's neck the moment she was close enough to do so.
For almost half a minute, Hermione thought she'd be successful. Lucius and Narcissa were slow to respond, and when they did they were too careful not to hit her prisoner. Bellatrix, for her part, struggled and kicked but forgot that she was the one with a wand in her hand. It wasn't until one of the Malfoys landed a Stinging Jinx on her ribs that she lost her grip on the rope and rolled away. She could feel the skin over her ribs swelling up, hurting, and tried to ignore it.
Bellatrix stumbled back, ripped the rope free, gasped. Hermione punched her twice quickly, once in the gut then once in the temple, and she went down. The crack of her body hitting the wood floor echoed in the large room. Hermione darted toward the fire, toward the Malfoys. One of them cast a Tripping Jinx and she went down, but turned it into a roll and was quickly at them again. It was strange they weren't more eager to attack her properly, but she had a feeling she'd surprised them.
The Cruciatus Curse tore through her and she screamed, falling to the floor again. Her muscles spasmed; she writhed on the priceless rug.
After a moment, it was done. Hermione rolled on her back to breathe, looking up at the crystal chandelier. She'd made it almost all the way across the room; she was directly beneath it again.
"Where did you get the sword, Mudblood?" Bellatrix asked. There was a cut on her cheekbone where Hermione had hit her, knuckles and skull brutalizing the skin between. The trickle of blood didn't seem to bother her, though. "How did you get into my vault?"
Hermione remained silent.
You're very concerned about us being in your vault. That's interesting.
"Fine, then," Bellatrix said, flicking her wand. Hermione felt herself go absolutely still, as if she'd have been able to move anyway. "I'll find out a different way. Legilimens."
It was immediately obvious that Hermione was the more skilled at mind magic. She rolled the Legilimency back on Bellatrix, forcing her into a box in her own mind, forcing her back to the mental space of Azkaban.
The Body Bind fell away and Hermione gasped for breath. Bellatrix had fallen to the side, nose bleeding, eyes wide and panicked, whimpering. It would have been more gratifying if Hermione hadn't felt so sick, so shaky and weak. The leg that had taken the curse earlier was bent beneath her and refused ot straighten; her muscles twitched and spasmed as the effects of the Cruciatus Curse faded. She managed to roll away from the witch, but then spoiled her own escape by vomiting.
Bellatrix was recovered by the time Hermione was.
Fuck.
"I'm going to ask you again!" Bellatrix shrieked, casting Petrificus totalus again. Hermione stared up at the chandelier, noting the pretty way the light refracted in the crystals. "Where did you get this sword? How?"
Hermione didn't answer. Bellatrix cast Crucio again. She was still under the Body Bind so she couldn't writhe, couldn't scream properly through her clamped-shut jaw. She thought she might explode.
"You are a lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!"
Crucio.
Hermione could feel herself drifting away, which was a new development. The strength of the Cruciatus Curse from Bellatrix was astounding. Her handler at the Muggle Fights had liked to wake her up with the Cruciatus, wand tip touched to her skin. Immediate, intense, excruciating. But she'd been able to writhe away, and he'd let her be after that, laughing. Bellatrix was using the spell for longer stretches than she'd ever experienced it before, and the hatred fueling the spell was immense.
For the first time, Hermione worried she might actually be killed.
The Body Bind broke and Hermione screamed again, wretched. Her children's faces were swimming in her mind; the thought that she might never see them again was more horrible than the pain of the curse.
"What else did you take?" Bellatrix asked. She was physically on top of her now, holding her down. Hermione didn't have the strength to fight back. She lay limp beneath the other witch, staring up at the mad, beautiful face thrown into sharp relief by the bright chandelier above. "What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!"
Hermione wondered where the knife had come from. It was silver, not hers. Usually it was her own knife that was turned against her, which was something she really ought to have thought of before. Maybe it wasn't such a good thing to carry it.
Hermione might have passed out for a little while. When the world came into focus again, Bellatrix was doing something awful to the inside of her left arm; she couldn't move her head to look, but she could feel a cold blade slicing along her skin.
Please, God, don't let it be a cursed blade. That's all I need right now.
And with that absurd thought, Hermione began struggling again. Bellatrix hit her in the temple, and Hermione subsided, stunned.
"You are going to tell me what else you took," Bellatrix said, finishing whatever she'd been doing to Hermione's arm and sitting back. Hermione half expected her to lick the blade, but she didn't. Instead, she cleaned it off on Hermione's shirt, then shoved her hard in the chest and leapt off. "What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"
Hermione screamed.
"How did you get into my vault? Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?"
What goblin?
"It's a copy," Hermione said, finally finding words. She couldn't handle any more. She could feel the walls of her Occlumency buckeling, brittle edges forming as she tried to use them to keep the pain out.
"What?"
"The sword." Her tongue felt thick in her mouth; the words tasted like slugs. "We've never been inside your vault. It isn't the real sword. It's just a copy."
"A copy? Oh, a likely story!"
"But we can find out easily!" Lucius interrupted from somewhere above Hermione's head, over by the fire. She wondered how many times he'd watched his sister-in-law torture somebody in his drawing room. "Draco, fetch the goblin; he can tell us whether the sword is real or not."
Bellatrix set after Hermione's arm again while Draco ran off to fetch the goblin. She was slicing letters or runes or something into the flesh, carving them deeper now. Hermione moaned, trying not to scream.
Bellatrix carved deeper, knife hitting bone. Hermione screamed.
Hermione curled on her side, cradling her arm, and realized she'd rolled over into a pool of her own sick. Her skin crawled and she almost vomited again, but she didn't have the energy.
Bellatrix was questioning the goblin, Griphook, now. She'd handed the sword over but had him at wand-point.
"Well? Is it the true sword?" Bellatrix was practically standing on top of Hermione. If she could just work up the muster, all she had to do was roll sharply to the left and she could knock the witch down, maybe steal her wand.
"No," said Griphook after a long moment in which Hermione utterly failed to roll over. "It is a fake."
"Are you sure?" Bellatrix panted. "Quite sure?"
"Yes," said the goblin.
"Good," Bellatrix said, flicking her wand. A deep cut appeared on Griphook's face. Hermione found herself reciting ways to heal such a cut in her head. The goblin flinched back, surprised, and fell, yelling. Bellatrix kicked him out of her way. "And now, we call the Dark Lord!"
Without further ado, she pushed back her sleeve and touched the Dark Mark.
Hermione rolled onto her back, farther away from Bellatrix. She noted that the Malfoys were gathered near the fireplace, staring. They didn't seem to care that they hadn't been the ones to call their Lord anymore. Greyback was near the door to the cellar, arms folded across his chest, looking mean.
"And I think," Bellatrix said, almost flirtatious, "we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her."
"NO!"
Harry and Ron burst into the drawing room, shooting past Greyback before he realized where the shout had come from. Bellatrix swung her wand around to point at Harry instead of Hermione.
"Expelliarmus!" Dean Thomas roared, appearing in the doorway behind Ron and pointing an unfamiliar wand at Bellatrix. Harry caught Bellatrix's wand.
Everybody was shouting, cursing. Spells flew, crackling through the air. Hermione made it up to her hands and knees, then retched and had to stay still for a moment.
Something cold hit the back of her neck and she almost fell flat again, but then she realized the cold thing was a hand. She was wrenched to her feet by the neck of her robes. She felt back against a body as narrow as her own, though this one was much more stable than hers at the moment. The cold tip of the silver knife pressed to her throat.
"STOP OR SHE DIES!"
Harry and the others froze, panting. She sagged back, trying to make it more difficult for Bellatrix to hang onto her. Also, she couldn't really support her own weight at the moment. Her eyes kept sliding in and out of focus, and she couldn't make her eyelids open properly.
"Drop your wands," Bellatrix whispered. "Drop them, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is." A long pause. "I said, drop them!"
The blade pressed into her throat, and Hermione felt the warm trickle of blood down the side of her neck.
"All right!" Harry shouted, and wands clattered to the floor.
"Good," Bellatrix leered. "Draco, pick them up. The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!"
Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. We can't fail now. This is a stupid, awful way to fail. Fuck.
Her train of thought wasn't particularly useful, at the moment.
"Now, Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight."
Hermione felt a different kind of sick than she'd felt earlier. Tortured was one thing. Raped and/or eaten was another.
Behind her Bellatrix gasped, and Hermione's eyes finally flew open properly. Adrenalin burst through her, but it didn't do any good. She fell to the side when Bellatrix pushed her away. She could only watch, dumbly, as the chandelier fell from the ceiling and crashed in a mess of crystals and chains.
It hurt.
Then it was blackness.