Hermione's movements were quick, efficient. Three spells burst from the tip of her wand in a rapid succession: two stunners and a vicious slicing hex. They sped towards Dolohov, lighting the room with their deadly light, and he dodged every single one. He did so in a deceptively lazy manner; like a predator, he prowled in, stepping lightly on the toes of his feet.
Hermione changed tactics immediately. Duels were straining, and many were decided by a wizard's stamina. Only fools burned themselves out in the first few minutes, and fools made for poor duelers.
Therefore, the witch turned, matching his movements, making sure to maintain her distance and keep her body between the dark wizard and Draco, who had yet to show signs of life.
If he was still alive, that is.
Dolohov must have realized her intentions. "Don't bother protectin' 'im," his drawl echoed from across the room. "I won't touch the boy. Not yet, anyway." He chuckled. "Still got an hour left, that one. After that… Well, I'm sure you've figured it out. Always were bright, even for a mudblood."
Hermione pursed her lips, glancing back at Draco instead of responding. A dark idea scuttled through her mind. Draco was infected, but the spell had yet to reach its final form. It hadn't bonded with The Other in Dolohov. Therefore, Dolohov needed Draco alive…
"Can't do it, can you?" The Death Eater hissed, as if he was able to sniff out the direction her thoughts had turned to. "And yet it has crossed your mind. One Avada, and you could delay the inevitable. Kill the boy, and set the spell back! But you're weak. Always were. Scum! Decimata!"
His voice pitched, and Hermione almost missed the first spell. She ducked at the last moment, hearing it whizz over her head, singeing her hair. Two more were flying towards her.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" The first year incantation served her well: the couch she levitated in front of herself was blasted apart into a hundred pieces, but Hermione remained unharmed. She used the moment to change her position, flanking Dolohov on the right and yelling "Bombarda!", which only harmlessly splashed across a half-domed shield.
"Reducto!" the wizard snarled in return, and Hermione dove to the ground, avoiding the destructive spell. Time seemed to speed up from that moment. Bolts of deadly lightning flashed about the room, as Hermione wove around the debris, ducking and dodging Dolohov's magic. Her own spells were rarer; the wizard was outperforming her at least two-to-one. Ragged breaths tore through her throat; her lungs burned with the need for oxygen. She fired off a blood-boiling hex, turned right, and felt the growing heat of an incoming attack. Her foot snagged on something – the blasted monkey – and she stumbled, knowing only a second remained before her insides would be turned to mush.
"Protego!" Hermione screamed at the last second. A shield shimmered into existence. Hermione poured her magic into the defensive charm, braced for impact, and…
Dolohov's spell hit her shield with the force of a sledgehammer. Hermione's eyes popped, an unwilling cry escaping her lips. Never – not even during the war – had she faced such insurmountable magic. Her knees buckled under the strain of sustaining her barrier; sweat streamed down her temples. Just as her hand began to shake and darkness creep into the edges of her vision, the pressure lessened and she was able to drop the shield with a sharp gasp.
Hermione panted, scanning the room, but no more spells were incoming.
"Persistent, aren't you?" she heard. Dolohov had moved over to the windows, and the moonlight framed his face into a landscape of oily blackness. Hermione edged away, using the the time to catch her breath. It appeared that Dolohov was arrogant enough not to capitalize on her moment of weakness. Instead, he stood casually, twirling his wand and displaying no signs of fatigue.
Hermione's state was worse. Strands of hair, slick with sweat, clung to her skin. She breathed deeply, feeling an ache in her muscles. A bruise was forming just under her knee – the result of a desperate dodge. She could not take another direct hit like that. In brute magical strength, Dolohov's current power could have rivaled Dumbledore's, she suspected.
She saw the Death Eater smirk. He looked content, like a cat that'd caught a mouse and was amusing itself with the little creature's struggles. "Always have to fight," he continued. "That's what caused all of this, you know. The dead muggles, the curse, all the people I've tortured and killed – how does it feel to know that it is all your fault?"
"Yeah," Hermione retorted, willing to keep the Death Eater talking, "blame the mudbloods, haven't heard that before."
"The mudbloods?" Dolohov looked at her strangely. "I'm not blaming your filthy species. The fault lies squarely on your shoulders, Ms. Granger. You, and only you, are the cause for the Dark Lord's magic within me."
"Delusions always have been a staple of your group's consciousness."
"Delusions? Why would you think–" Dolohov began with confusion, and then his face lit up. "You don't know! You never figured it out!"
Hermione didn't pay his words much heed. Fanatics would always find ways to justify their actions. Instead, she fingered her wand, mapping out the room to find anything she could use to her advantage. There was a sturdy cabinet nearby, lying on its side. Dolohov seemed entirely unconcerned, laughing as if he'd just been party to a great joke.
"To not know," he wheezed, "your own past. Oh, this is great. Oh, mudblood. Brightest witch of her age – dumb as a brick. Don't worry, though: I'll explain everything…right before I gut you like a fish! Crucio!"
Hermione caught the shift in his stance and dove down just in time. The unforgivable flew over her shoulder as she scrambled back, avoiding several more. "Stupefy!" she yelled, Bellatrix's old wand thrumming in her hand, eager for blood. Dolohov batted the stunner away, but Hermione was already on her feet, running towards the cover of the toppled cabinet. "Oh no, you don't!" she heard, and then recognized the high-pitched whine of an incoming spell. She dove to the ground, registering the cabinet being blasted apart into fragments. They battered the walls, shattering one of the windows to let in a furious winter wind.
Hermione rolled over to her back, wincing as she felt a sharp sting in her shoulder, where several long splinters had imbedded themselves. The clothes around them quickly grew dark, soaking in blood. Ignoring the pain, she raised her wand and lashed out with a spear of fire. Snarling, Dolohov summoned a gust of air to blow it away, and missed the second one – right behind the first. It hit him straight in the chest, tearing the wizard off his feet and smacking him against the wall. Dolohov howled furiously, dousing the flames and conjuring a black mist that concealed him from Hermione's eyes.
The girl, wand trained on the spot where Dolohov had just been, carefully rose. She checked the wound in her shoulder, mouthing a quick coagulating spell that stemmed the blood flow. The mist was growing, meanwhile. Its thorny tendrils reached out, ensnaring more and more of the room, covering it in darkness.
"You'll pay for that, you cunt," echoed from within its depths. "Have you figured it out yet? Who I am to you? Have you, mudblood?!" The voice had taken on a harsh, industrial sound that grated the eardrums. She ignored it, whispering the words of an obscure incantation; one she'd discovered in old, forgotten tome which held more dust than parchment.
"Fidelis." Hermione exhaled. "Fortis." She closed her eyes, covering them with her other hand. "SOLARIS!"
A miniature sun bloomed above the two combatants. Dolohov shrieked, his magic melting away under the blinding light. Hermione could see it even through her eyelids and hand. She stumbled backwards, pointedly aware that her own vision was impacted. Dolohov was shouting out a counterspell, and she sent several hexes in the direction of his voice, forcing him to defend against her attacks. Nevertheless, he counterspell took effect, and the sun blinked out.
Hermione opened her eyes, blinking rapidly as her pupils adjusted to the gloom. Dolohov's mist had been completely burned out, and the wizard stood thirty feet away, the front of his robes in tatters. Several drops of his blood fell to the floor.
"Filth," he dropped and then spat out a curse.
Hermione managed to get away, but Dolohov didn't relent, chasing the witch's nimble form with spell after spell. Vividly recalling how much her single Protego had cost her, Hermione didn't dare block them straight on. Instead, she focused on evasion and conjurations, deftly summoning and transfiguring objects to aid in her defence. Bolts of lighting were countered with makeshift lightning rods; freezing charms repelled by heat. She parried a cutting hex and sent back several confringos by conjuring a mirror. The Death Eater just grunted and pressed the assault.
Hermione continued to defend, acutely aware of the heaviness growing in her limbs. Dolohov was like a machine, bombarding her with a steady stream of magic. The few offensive spells she cast were effortlessly deflected.
"Sectumsempra!" she gasped out at an opportune interval. The spell jetted out of her wand in a flash and collided with one of Dolohov's hexes in the middle of the room. The two spells zinged and blasted off in different directions: Hermione's went down, ripping through the floor to the room below, while Dolohov's spell flew upwards and hit the chandelier.
The ornamental light fixture exploded. A halo of glass ballooned outwards from its form, raining down with deadly shards. For a brief moment, it obscured the chandelier itself, which had been torn off its cord and was now barreling towards the ground...
...Right at Draco. Hermione gasped.
In that second, both Death Eater and Phoenix member forgot their quarrel and became unified in their desire to save the blond. They lashed out with magic, aiming to alter the chandelier's trajectory. They were almost successful.
Simultaneously, their spells struck the chandelier's arms, sending it into a tumbling spin, which made most of its mass miss the paralyzed Slytherin. It knicked him right at the edge, however, and Draco's body crumpled to the floor. Hermione, observing a pool of red beginning to form under his fallen form, cried out.
"You bitch!" Dolohov raged. "You filthy–"
The brunette swiveled back to face her opponent. Her fingers were trembling, face caked with sweat, and blood had crusted over the skin of her shoulder. Every movement caused pain to radiate from that spot. Hermione briefly closed her eyes and came to a rapid decision.
She wasn't winning this fight. Not like this. If she continued her tactic of avoidance – running and dodging and firing off a few paltry spells – Dolohov, inevitably, would whittle her down. He looked angry and deadly, but not tired. Once she'd exhausted herself completely, he'd penetrate her defences, and she would die. It was as simple as that.
So Hermione reached down to the very heart of her magic, summoning all of her power as a witch and calling out to the one element that held her affections above all others. Fire.
Most Gryffindors hold an affinity for flame. It is their element – brash and bold and often leaping forward inconsiderate of the consequences. Gryffindors will burn themselves up, die fighting, but never flee out of the lack for courage. Fire serves them well, just like other elements for the other houses. Hufflepuffs have come to be satisfied with the stability of earth, Ravenclaws seek the aloofness of air, and Slytherin personalities strive to match the shifting fluidity of water. But fire… fire is the Gryffindor domain, and Hermione had felt its tethered connection forged years ago, when she, but a first year witch, had rescued her friends from the clutches of a damp and wicked plant with just a handful of bluebell flames.
She called to the fire, using up all of her magic for one final, deadly attack.
The fire responded.
It took the image of three monstrous hydra heads that burst from the end of her wand. Dolohov reared back, his weapon a flurry of movement. The fire ignored his struggles; surging forth, it surrounded the dark wizard in a raging inferno and struck. Dolohov screamed.
Hermione had heard many sounds during the war, but this one she would retain forever. Notes of agony were accompanied by the sizzle of burning flesh. The room began to smell of cooking meat; Hermione gagged. Her hand dropped, her magic spent. She stood, listening to her enemy's dying shrieks.
She couldn't see him anymore in that blazing vortex, just the flames, burning with a purifying light. A fitting end for Voldemort's evil creation. Hermione took a shuddering breath, glanced down, and missed the change in the scene.
Like some demon from the pits of hell, Dolohov charged out of the flames. He roared, sprinting fast as a bull, and Hermione, in her surprised and exhausted state, was too slow to react. Futily, she began to raise her wand, and the Death Eater rammed into her. The two bodies crashed to the floor, Dolohov using his weight to pin the witch down. He looked terrible. His skin, charred black, hissed from heat. Patches of it were peeling off, revealing a pinking, slimy mess underneath "You bitch!" he snarled, foaming at the mouth. His bloodshot eyes raved with madness.
Hermione thrashed on her ground, trying to dislodge him. The wand was still in her grip, but Dolohov grabbed her hand and started to twist. Hermione cried out, bucking, kicking, clawing at his eyes. He didn't stop, continuing his action until the bones in her wrist snapped.
Hermione screamed and tried to bite him. The next thing she felt was a flare of pain as he backhanded her across the face, splitting her lip. "Filth!" he yelled, punctuating his words with blows that rained down one by one. "Stupid, moronic, mudblood cunt!"
The brunette, blood covering her face, sobbed. Dolohov growled, quickly rising to kick her in the ribs. Something crunched, pain lancing through the girl's chest. Dolohov delivered several more blows and then smashed his foot down on her broken wrist.
Hermione passed out.
It must have been only a few seconds, however, because her next moment of awareness consisted of a searing pain in her scalp. Dolohov had grabbed her by the hair and was dragging her across the floor. Hermione whimpered, blinking away the tears that had formed. Half her body felt numb, and it was hard to breathe. She stared up at the cobwebs crowning the ceiling, trying to spit out the blood in her mouth.
"I couldn't let you die," her enemy was muttering. "Oh no, not yet, not like that. Not until you see…" he broke off, dropping the girl like she was dead weight. A flash of white, near the edges of her vision, caught her attention. Turning her head, she saw Draco, lying by her side. The fallen chandelier had struck his temple, and the wound pulsed with blood.
"Are you satisfied?" the dark wizard above snarled, his feet crunching on fallen glass. "At everything you've done?! Look at him! Look at him! He's dying, and it's all thanks to you."
"Not me," she whimpered in response. "I didn't…Draco..." Her left hand inched to side, begging his touch.
"You didn't?" Dolohov leaned down, spitting at her face. "Do you still not understand? All this story…this virus…this infection inside of me and him – it all began with you!"
Hermione closed her eyes, praying for Draco to wake, for someone, anyone to come and save them. "The Department of…Mysteries?" she choked out, trying to play for time as a heavy dullness began to seep into her joints. That was the last time she'd had any sort of meaningful encounter with the dark wizard during the war, wasn't it? When he'd cursed her in fifth year?
"The Ministry?" Dolohov tutted. "I'm not talking about the Ministry. I'm talking about our other encounter. Surely, you haven't forgotten? It began in that store…can you recall? That small muggle store with its stacks of produce and pyramids of canned peaches. Do you still like peaches, little girl?"
Hermione froze.
No. It couldn't be. Not him.
"The Dark Lord gave me a mission, you see," Dolohov continued, pleased with the horror his words evoked. "To catch this friend of Harry Potter's. She was supposed to be quite brilliant, or so they said; a real asset to the cause. Well, I found this girl, brought her here, in fact." Dolohov waved grandly at the room. "Well, not here, you don't take trash into the house, after all. No, I apparated her to one of our cellars, an old one, unused, moldy from time…do you remember?"
A breath hitched in Hermione's throat. Her wide eyes traveled down Dolohov's burned form, coming to rest on the back of his right hand. And there, underneath the recent damage, was the scar. The same scar she remembered from so long ago – a crescent moon. That scar which was the only distinguishing feature she had retained of that man.
The man from the cellar. The one with the silver mask.
Antonin Dolohov. "You," she whispered. "It was you."
Her lips twisted at the unbearable cruelty, an anguished wail soaring to the rafters. It was not fair. He couldn't win! He shouldn't be able to stand there and gloat, not after all the evil he'd done! NO!
Dolohov laughed. "We had our fun, didn't we? You were dry at first, but I think you started to like it by the end. You weren't a girl then – not anymore…just a wet cunt. Could have been the blood, though. And then…AND THEN YOU RAN AWAY!"
His voice rose to a roar, hateful and enraged. He leaned in close again, his face only inches away from Hermione's. "You ran away, and the Dark Lord punished me, infected me with this curse! IT WAS ALL BECAUSE OF YOU, MUDBLOOD! All my trials, everything I've endured! But now…now you're not getting away." His hand reached into the burned shreds of his robes and pulled out a jagged knife. "I promised I'd gut you, didn't I?" He taunted, his eyes never once leaving hers, "and I'll hold true to my word. Goodbye, mudblood."
Hermione, broken and beaten, stared out at the pointed edge of the knife. She'd failed them all. Harry, Ron, Ginny…and all the people that would soon die. But, most of all, she'd failed…
"Draco," the girl exhaled in one final breath…and then the knife came crashing down.
Uh-oh. Good time for a pause, I think =Ъ
Also, I have been blown away at the responses to the last few chapters. Wow! You guys are amazing, and I love hearing your thoughts!
A special shout out to TinySlippers who guessed at Dolohov's role in the story!