A/N: Trigger warning! This is the graveyard/ritual scene, and the abuse that Jasmine experiences is worse than what Harry went through. There is magical torture, physical abuse, threats of rape, and a bit more. This is easily the darkest chapter of the fic so far, and it won't be the last chapter with dark scenes or events. Voldemort isn't a nice guy, after all.
Recommendation: This chapter's recommended fic is "Waiting" by EJ Daniels. While once again tending to Harry's injuries, Hermione has a revelation about the two of them and resolves to stop waiting. H/Hr.
Chapter 48 - I Will Survive
Tuesday, March 16, 1995, Night.
When Jasmine Potter awoke, it happened very slowly and stopped short of full consciousness. She could tell that she was lying on a hard stone floor, though for some reason she also thought she was floating. It felt... good? Maybe it was good. It was hard to tell.
It was dark, so it might have been night. There was definitely a pounding in her head that seemed to keep her brain all fuzzy, and she wasn't able to concentrate on anything except the hard stone and darkness. The floating just seemed to... float in and out.
Somewhere in the distance there were... sounds? Voices? She couldn't tell. She had no idea where she was. She hadn't a clue how she got there. She wasn't even sure what her last memory was. She had a feeling that perhaps she should be afraid, but she couldn't figure out why.
Just when she began to wonder who she was, she lost consciousness again.
Jasmine faded in and out several times during the next day. Is it day? she wondered at one point. It's probably day. There's light, and the light is different every time I wake up. So, yeah, day. Probably.
Something growled and she tensed in fear, but then she realized it was her stomach. So I'm... hungry? I guess? Yes, definitely hungry. That might mean that I've been here a while, though I don't know when I ate last. Or where I ate last.
She tried to stretch and found that she couldn't move a muscle.
Next she tried to say something, just to see if she could indeed hear anything, but she couldn't make any sounds at all. Silenced and immobile, she started to panic a little. She might not have known what was going on, but she was pretty sure this was bad.
Every time she tried to focus, her mind grew fuzzy and she faded out of consciousness. With each successive awakening, however, she seemed to regain a little more of her mental functioning and began to piece together what might have happened to her.
She figured out that she had last been at Hogwarts. She wasn't sure what that meant at first, but she eventually remembered that it was a school in a castle. She guessed that she had been a student or something. That was all she could remember before waking up... here. Wherever "here" is, she thought morosely. It's not comfortable, except for the floaty feeling, and I still can't move or talk; so whatever's happening to me, it can't be good.
Panic started to rise in her again, but she forced it back down, afraid that it would prevent her from continuing to think straight. Sounds kept coming back, but they were muffled and distant. I'm pretty sure I'm alive, at least, and if I'm alive, then there has to be hope. I hope. Heh. Hermione would know what to….
Wait... Hermione? Who is that? she asked herself, growing frantic. I know that name! She's... she's….
Unfortunately, the adrenaline from getting frantic brought the floaty feelings and fuzziness back with a vengeance, and all her coherent thinking immediately slipped away. All she was left with was the sound "Hermione"; but when she drifted into unconsciousness again, she had a smile on her lips for the first time.
Wednesday, March 17, 1995, Night.
The next time Jasmine work up, she wasn't alone. She could hear sounds all around her, and she could feel the vibrations of movement. Hands grabbed her by her arms and roughly pulled her to her feet. She was in no shape to stand on her own, so they held her upright, fingers digging painfully into her arms.
She blinked rapidly, trying to focus on what was happening around her. This was the first time in... well, she had no idea how much time she'd spent there, but this was her first opportunity to get information. A large, dark figure appeared before her and used a gloved hand to lift her chin. Her neck craned upward to look at where a face was supposed to be, but all she could see was the deep shadows created by a black hood.
"Awake already, are we?" came a cruel voice from the depths of the hood. That voice sounds familiar, she thought with a frown. I know it. I'm sure I do. But from where?
The hand holding up her chin turned and grabbed her face around her mouth, squeezing hard. "Now that won't do. No, that won't do at all."
The hand left her face, and the figure seemed to move backwards away from her. "Hold her tight," the cruel voice commanded. Just as she thought she was starting to remember where she knew the voice from, there was an explosion of pain in her head and everything went black.
When Jasmine woke again, she was upright. Well, this is different, was her first thought. Hey, I'm able to think. Kinda. She still felt a bit fuzzy, but it wasn't nearly as bad and even seemed to be receding. Recent memories flooded her brain; as hazy and convoluted as they were, she could pull enough sense out of them to realize that she had been kidnapped — and by people who wanted to hurt her. Badly.
The aching in her jaw reminded her that they had already hurt her, and things weren't likely to get any better. With that thought, she tried moving her jaw a little, but the tenderness soon put a stop to her efforts. Instead, she ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth, discovering three places that were jagged and exquisitely sensitive. So that's what that coppery taste in my mouth is, she concluded. Broken teeth and probably some cuts in my mouth. Bleeding all over, I'll bet.
Her first instinct was to start yanking on her bonds, but she ruthlessly shoved that aside. Don't panic — think! she told herself. Consciously willing herself to take slow, even breaths, she took stock and found that in addition to being upright, her arms were outstretched and tied to something... something hard and cold. She guessed it might be stone, but she didn't want to open her eyes to check. She wanted to wait on that for as long as possible.
Unfortunately, she concluded that she couldn't keep waiting. She needed information, and to get it, she was going to have to open her eyes and let everyone know she was awake. I just hope it doesn't turn out as badly as it did the last time I woke up, she thought ruefully. My jaw still hurts from whatever hit me.
Very slowly, she opened her eyes and found that though it was dark out, she could tell she was in some sort of graveyard. It dawned on her that she was seeing it by moonlight, and indeed, she could see the moon, large and full, just beginning to rise over the trees. In the distance and off to the right, she caught a glimpse of the lights of a small town. The next thing she noticed was a cauldron, also incredibly large and rather full, with a dumpy man in a hooded robe working over it. I hope that's not for me, she thought.
Behind the man with the cauldron was what looked like a stone altar — which seemed really creepy and out of place in a graveyard — and on it was a small bundle that occasionally shifted a bit. On either side of this scene were two men wearing robes and masks. Immediately she recognized the clothing as Death Eater regalia, just like what she'd seen last summer when Death Eaters attacked the Quidditch World Cup. Oh, crap, she thought as panic started to bubble up once again, now I know I'm in trouble.
"She's awake, my Lord," one of the figures called out.
A voice came from around the altar, and in fact she would have sworn that it came from the tiny bundle on the altar. Suddenly, her scar flared in hot, searing pain, causing her to hiss and jerk her head back in surprise. "Your end draws close, Jasmine Potter — closer than you realize." It was a high-pitched, sibilant voice that would have been grating on her ears if she hadn't already been so distracted by the pain in her scar.
"Soon We will once again come into Our power and take Our rightful place at the head of the wizarding world. You, witch, will be shown your proper place at Our feet, and only when you are begging for your death will We grant you the fate which you escaped nearly fifteen years ago!"
Jasmine shivered, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end when she realized where she'd heard that voice before and who must be in that bundle. It was the same voice she'd heard in the dream she'd had last summer. Based on what it said then and what it was saying now, it could only be one person, trying to return to full life again. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and her breathing grew faster and shallower as she started to realize just how bad her situation was.
"But it is too soon for you to be awake. We have more preparations to make yet," came the voice again. "Deal with her."
The taller and thinner of the two figures standing at either side walked over to her. He stepped up close, too close. She could smell his breath as he leaned in. She tried to turn her head away, but he grabbed her chin in his gloved hand and forced her to face him. This must be the same guy who talked to me before, she thought. He grabbed me the same way then.
The man started to whisper in a low, menacing voice. "You have no idea what's going on here or what's going to happen tonight, but you'll find out soon enough, witch. I can promise you that you won't like any of it. I, however, intend to enjoy every minute of it."
His hand then dropped from her chin to her breast. He squeezed and twisted, hard, causing her to gasp in pain. "Oh, yes, I'm definitely going to enjoy every minute of it. I never got a chance to take your mudblood mother, but you look enough like her that I think I'll be able to manage. Then maybe you'll start to regret all of the trouble you've caused me over the years."
Through the pain, she finally realized why she had recognized the man's voice earlier: it was Lucius Malfoy. This was the same man who set a basilisk loose in a school full of children and then tried to kill her personally at the end of second year.
Another twist brought another hiss of pain as he continued, "My master has promised you to me once he is done with you. And when I'm done, I'll toss what's left, naked and bleeding, to the rest of the Dark Lord's servants. You'll be begging for death by then, but you won't receive that mercy until every one of us has had our fill of you. Then and only then will you be released from your pain and misery."
"But before that point," Malfoy said as his hand dropped away and she saw it move out of the corner of her eye, "I'll make sure you're watching as I start doing the same to your little mudblood friend. When you finally die, you'll die knowing that she'll be experiencing all the same things as you, and all because of you." It was then that his fist connected with the side of her jaw once more, delivering her into darkness.
The final time Jasmine woke in the graveyard, she didn't bother trying to feign unconsciousness. She couldn't, really, because of how much pain her jaw was in. It felt incredibly swollen, and she couldn't move it without there being horrible, grinding pain. Broken, she concluded. Who knew Malfoy had such a mean right hook?
Suddenly a cloaked figure was right in front of her. She recognized the Death Eater regalia, but he was built differently from Malfoy, and she concluded that he was the second figure from earlier. Over his shoulder, she could see that the full moon was high in the night sky now, which meant that she'd been unconscious for at least a couple of hours.
"Good, you're awake again," the second Death Eater said to her in a menacing but unfamiliar voice. She wanted to twist away, to escape whatever it was he was about to do, but the bonds holding her were too strong for her to even wiggle. "It also looks like the Confusing Concoction we gave you is wearing off as well. I hope you enjoyed the experience! You won't want to miss any of what's about to happen. It's what we've been working towards all year — it's why you were entered into the Triwizard Tournament, after all."
"Wha?" she tried to say, though the sound she made barely sounded human. As minimal as it was, it was still enough to send spikes of pain along her jaw, forcing tears out of her eyes.
"Oh, that's right, you don't know," he said in mock helpfulness and apparent pleasure at her distress. "I'm the one who entered you into the tournament so you'd end up here. Granted, this wasn't supposed to happen for another couple of months, but plans had to change, and so here you are now." The man giggled madly before continuing, "You should be honored that you're taking part in this. You're helping the greatest wizard in the history of the world ascend to power once again."
He started to move away, but then turned back and leaned in close, his hot breath tickling the sore skin of her cheek. "Oh, and by the way, once he's done with you," the man gestured over towards where Lucius Malfoy was waiting, "you've been promised to me next. I was in prison, you see, for so many years, and I haven't had a witch in such a long time." He started giggling again as he walked off, and Jasmine desperately wanted to vomit.
There was no doubt in her mind what they intended to do with her. Those threats, combined with the knowledge that Voldemort was right out there in front of her, terrified her more than anything she'd ever known. Not even her nightmares had been anywhere close to this. She concentrated and held it in, though, because if she threw up, she'd have to hold her mouth open, and the pain would be intolerable.
Despite the haze of agony that had descended over her, Jasmine could see that something was starting. The two men in Death Eater robes and masks began walking around the cauldron with their wands pointed at the ground. As they chanted something, pulses of light issued from the ends of their wands and into the ground, gradually creating a glowing circle. While this happened, the fire beneath the cauldron rose up, causing the liquid inside to start bubbling and sparking as if it were itself on fire.
Jasmine kept looking around in the dark, hoping to see something — anything — that might be useful, assuming she was ever let out of her bonds. All around, though, was darkness and greyish shapes that she assumed must be gravestones. She didn't know where she was, she was certain no one else knew where she was, and she could see nothing that would aid her. Not good not good not good not good….
The short, dumpy man in black robes was over by the altar chanting something over the bundle that Jasmine was certain contained Voldemort. Every so often the pain in her scar, which had receded in comparison to her broken jaw, would flare up and burn. Soon the man stopped, then turned and walked over until he stood a few feet in front of Jasmine. When he began speaking in a shaky voice filled with fear and uncertainty, Jasmine immediately recognized him as Peter Pettigrew. I never should have saved him from Remus and Sirius, she lamented.
"B-b-b-bone of the father," he said while waving his wand over the ground in front of Jasmine, "unknowingly given, you will r-r-r-resurrect your son." The ground before her started to move like liquid, and bones rose up out of it. Jasmine shivered as she realized that she was tied to a large, cross-shaped grave marker, and all she could do was watch while Pettigrew levitated one of the larger bones and dropped it into the cauldron.
"Hurry, Wormtail," the baby Voldemort thing called out from the altar.
Standing next to the madly bubbling cauldron, Pettigrew pulled out a long, wicked looking dagger with his left hand and said with a quavering voice, "F-f-f-flesh of the s-s-servant, willingly given, you will renew your l-l-l-ord." He then stretched out his right hand over the cauldron and, before Jasmine could look away, sliced his hand off in a single cut.
Pettigrew jammed the stump of his right hand against his body with a moan as the cauldron started bubbling even more vigorously, going through a rainbow of color shifts. Before she realized it, Pettigrew was moving towards her with the shaking knife held out in front of him, almost as though he was afraid of her. "B-b-b-blood of the enemy," he said, his voice betraying the pain he had to be enduring, "forcibly t-t-t-taken, you will revive your f-f-f-foe." He then ripped off a large portion of her shirt and drew his dagger along her now-bare arm, cutting her deeply and forcing a loud scream out from her which was increased by the pain from her broken jaw.
Pettigrew paid no attention to her distress and walked back to the cauldron, where he shook the blood-stained dagger at the bubbling liquid. When drops of her blood struck the surface, the bubbling grew so violent that it threatened to spill out over the sides.
"Now, Wormtail, now!" Voldemort screeched. Pettigrew bent down, scooped the bundle up in one arm, and dumped a tiny creature into the cauldron, where Jasmine heard it hit the bottom with a dull thud. For a moment she hoped that it might drown, but as the pain in her scar increased, she realized that was a vain hope. Soon black smoke began to pour out of the cauldron, spreading across the graveyard. It was thickest up close, though, and blocked Jasmine's view of what was going on.
She didn't need to see to understand what had happened when she heard a voice say, "Wormtail! Robe Us!" Just as quickly as it appeared, the black smoke dissipated, revealing a tall, pale figure climbing out of the cauldron. Please, no, she thought desperately, not this….
What Jasmine noticed first was just how white and pale its skin was. What she noticed second, and immediately wished that she hadn't, was that it looked more like a Ken doll than a real person: not anatomically correct.
Still whimpering on the ground, Pettigrew didn't move fast enough, so the second of the Death Eaters ran up and held out a robe for Voldemort to slip into. Then all three of the other men prostrated themselves in front of their Dark Lord, kissing the hem of his robes and professing their undying loyalty. Despite her terror, Jasmine couldn't help but be disgusted and wondered how this could possibly constitute the crème de la crème of pureblood society.
It seemed that Voldemort had similar thoughts because Jasmine could tell that he was sneering at the men groveling before him. He then reached down, yanked up the left arm of one of them, and pulled back the sleeve to reveal an angry, reddish Dark Mark. Jasmine couldn't imagine why anyone would want to put something so ugly on themselves, but a moment later all thought ceased when Voldemort pushed his wand against the Mark, causing her scar to flare red-hot on her forehead as she hissed in pain.
It wasn't long before she heard the cracks of apparition as people in black robes and Death Eater masks appeared all around them. Hesitantly at first, then more quickly, they all moved in around the re-embodied Voldemort, prostrating themselves like the first three and jostling each other to get a chance to kiss the hem of his robe, looking like dogs fighting over an old bone. As much as she wanted to turn away, as much as she wanted to flee in terror and never look back, she couldn't help but be fascinated and disgusted by the scene playing out in front of her.
"Friends and family," he declared magnanimously, arms stretched out like a benevolent deity, "It is good that you have come to greet Us at Our return. For too long have We wandered in the wilderness, alone and without succor." He paused for a moment, then his voice lost what little warmth it had and turned menacing. "Indeed, We have been forced to wonder what happened to all of Our faithful supporters. What happened to all those who once made vows of loyalty and service to Us. Why were We not sought out? Why were We not provided aid in Our time of need?"
There was another pause, and a heavy silence hung in the air.
"Well?" Voldemort half-shouted, and his considerable magic burst forth, pushing all of his prostrating minions away from him. Almost instantly they started babbling about having looked everywhere in their desire to find him but without any success. Jasmine wanted to snort in derision because from where she was hanging, she could tell it was all a load of self-serving hippogriff dung; and from the look on Voldemort's face, he wasn't buying it either. Is it bad that I'm actually agreeing with that creep? she wondered. What's next — am I going to start sympathizing with him about how hard it is to get good minions these days?
"Enough," Voldemort finally declared with disgust. "Very few of you proved to be truly loyal when it counted. Very few of you were true to Us when you were needed." He sneered down at them as they whimpered in fear. "However, this is a great day for Us, and Lord Voldemort is nothing if not generous in victory. For now, you are forgiven — but only if you do not give Us any more cause to doubt your loyalty." The groveling increased as the Death Eaters realized their good fortune.
Only now did Voldemort look over at Jasmine, who was still hanging limp and in pain from the cross-shaped grave marker. "And now we come to the so-called Girl Who Lived, Jasmine Potter. The impudent, uppity little witch who not only made this great event possible, but who will be providing this evening's entertainment as well." The Death Eaters all started chuckling in a knowing manner, and Jasmine got the feeling that the reference to "entertainment" was something standard for these gatherings. She also had no doubts about what he had in mind, and despite knowing that it was futile, she started straining desperately against her bonds again, wishing beyond anything that she could get free.
As if he sensed her heightened fear, Voldemort appeared to glide towards her with a predatory smile and said, "Struggle all you want, it won't do you any good. There's nowhere to go and no one will come to save you. Oh, yes, I know you're hoping that old fool of a Headmaster will swoop in with his phoenix to save the day, but We've had plenty of time to plan this out carefully. We had thirteen muggles sacrificed in a ritual to create wards that would hide you from all manner of detection, and another thirteen to keep out anyone who doesn't have one of Our marks or who isn't brought in by one of Our servants."
"Tell me, witch," he asked as he moved a little closer, "how does it feel to have been the key to Our resurrection? How does it feel to be coming to the end of your usefulness? Hm? Tell me, now that you are approaching your end — an end that will be filled with pain and suffering — how does it feel to know that the only purpose you've managed to serve in your entire life is to help make Us even greater than before?"
All Jasmine could do is stare in horror at him through half-lidded eyes as she fought against the twin pains from her jaw and her scar. Her earlier efforts to control her breathing were forgotten as her lungs started pulling in quick, shallow breaths and she continued to jerk against the bonds around her wrists.
"Well?" Voldemort demanded in a louder voice. When she still didn't answer, his wand moved faster than she could follow and something like a bludgeoning hex slammed into her midsection, forcing her to expel all of the air in her lungs in a long, piteous moan of pain. "Why do you not answer? Why do you insist on defying Us, even to the last?"
Another hex was cast at her, this time at her chest, and she was certain she heard at least one rib crack, adding yet another element of pain to the thickening haze that was hampering her ability to think straight. She had no idea where in Britain she was and she didn't have a wand, so even if she could get free, she couldn't see how she had any hope of getting out of this alive. And, according to Voldemort, there was no chance that anyone would be able to find her. It was only a question of how much pain, humiliation, and suffering they'd put her through before the end.
"Master!" came a voice as Voldemort raised his wand to strike at her again.
"You dare?" Voldemort asked menacingly. "You dare interrupt Us?"
"Please, Master," the voice pleaded again. "I... I think her jaw is broken. I don't think she can answer you."
That actually caused Voldemort to stop and stiffen slightly. He quickly closed the rest of the distance between himself and Jasmine, taking the time to carefully look at her face. He used a single long, thin, bone-white finger under her chin to lift her head so he could look into her eyes. Even that small pressure was enough to elicit a low moan of pain, and the swelling along her jawline was impossible to miss.
"Indeed," he said softly. "We were sure that We had given strict instructions that she was not to be seriously harmed before the ritual. Afterwards, yes, she is to be taught a new understanding of pain and suffering; but not before. Who was responsible for this?"
When no sound came from the assembled Death Eaters, Jasmine took a chance and forced out in a low, moaning voice, "Luuusssisss."
Voldemort raised something that might have been an eyebrow had there been any hair at all on his body, but the implication was obvious. "Interesting." She wasn't sure if he meant the information itself, or the fact that she had the temerity to inform on a Death Eater at all. She wasn't given time to ponder that, though, because he quickly turned around and strode back into the group. Reaching down, he ripped off one mask, revealing Lucius Malfoy's frightened face.
"Do you have something to tell Us, Lucius?" he asked angrily.
"I... I... forgive me, my Lord, but I may have been too vigorous trying to teach the uppity witch her proper place," he said as he tried to lower himself to the ground.
Voldemort chuckled, then said, "No, Lucius, you simply couldn't wait to have the fun We promised you. It would not do for you to force Us to reconsider." He paused for a moment, then hissed, "Now fix this!"
Malfoy scrambled to his feet and rushed over to where Jasmine was hanging. With a quick incantation, her jaw was healed with a loud crack accompanied by a short scream of pain that was torn from her throat. He looked as though he was about to say something, but he was prevented by a loud "Crucio!" from behind and dropped to the ground, writhing and screaming in agony.
After a minute the torture curse was ended, and Jasmine was left staring in mute horror at the still-twitching body. The man was alive, but he looked like he would have preferred death. Two other Death Eaters rushed forward and dragged Malfoy back into the group while Voldemort stepped forward again. "Do note," he said to her, "that We actually like Lucius. He is one of Our most faithful and capable servants. He was instrumental in Our resurrection tonight. Imagine, then, what We shall do to you, one who has been the subject of Our anger for nearly fifteen years."
He stepped back a pace, and with a wave of his wand, Jasmine's bindings vanished. She fell painfully to the ground, and only with great effort was she able to rise to her hands and knees. She wanted to gag as she saw that she was surrounded by the leftover bones that had been drawn up out of the grave for the ritual.
"No, that's good right there," Voldemort commanded. "That's exactly where you belong, little witch, serving your betters on your hands and knees. You and all the blood traitors and mudbloods who pollute our world. Isn't that right?"
Jasmine could hear a chorus of cheering agreement from the Death Eaters a few meters away. She didn't want to think what sort of "service" she and others like her would be expected to provide. All she wanted was to get away, to run as far and as fast as she could, but even now that the haze of pain had diminished a little, she couldn't think of how she'd accomplish that. Even with a wand, she'd be hard-pressed to escape. Breathing quickly in panic, she realized that she wasn't even sure how well she'd be able to stand.
"Walking around in this graveyard seems to have soiled Our feet," he said with feigned casualness as he stuck out one bare, bone-white foot caked with the dirt of old graves. "Clean them. With your tongue." She could hear chuckles from the Death Eaters as she tried to pull away from him. Then she heard "Imperio!" and a feeling of calmness descended over her. Everything seemed right and proper.
When she once again heard the command to use her tongue to clean the dirty feet in front of her, it sounded like an excellent idea. They are dirty, after all, she thought, and why not use my tongue? What else is it for, but to use to serve my betters in whatever way they deem appropriate?
As she closed the distance on her hands and knees, she heard a wailing voice in the back of her mind crying out, "NO! DON'T!" She hesitated, but the command to clean those feet came once more, this time with more power behind it. She resumed moving forward and leaned down to reach the proffered foot when the voice in the background came through even louder, "THIS IS NOT YOU! THIS IS NOT WHAT YOU WANT!"
Jasmine hesitated again and even pulled back some, but the command to lick those feet was repeated even more forcefully. This time, though, she was actively questioning it, and with a snap, the calm sensation disappeared. Jasmine realized that she had been put under the Imperius Curse and had broken it; in an act of defiance, she spat on the foot stuck out in front of her, adding her blood and saliva to the grave dirt already there.
Before she could look up and tell Voldemort what was on her mind, that same foot pulled back and lashed out, striking her in the chest so hard that it lifted her up off the ground and propelled her hard against the grave marker she had been tied to a few minutes earlier. Both impacts were accompanied by sharp cracks, and Jasmine didn't want to think about how much more had been broken in her battered body.
Looking up, she could see how large and heavy the marker was and saw the name "Tom Riddle" carved in thick letters across the top. Dimly, she thought she heard Voldemort call out, "Wormtail! Bring Us her wand." Then, after a pause, she heard, "Oh, yes, We forgot about that. Would you like your reward?"
"M-m-m-master, please," came a choked, sobbing response. As Jasmine rolled her head to face the other direction, she saw Pettigrew holding out his bleeding stump while Voldemort chanted a soft incantation over it. As she watched, a silvery metal wrist and hand grew up out of the stump, and Pettigrew's eyes shone in gratitude.
"Now, return her wand," Voldemort commanded. At the rat's questioning look, he continued, "It is time for us to duel. We were defeated when she was an infant, but it wasn't through any power or skill on her part. At best, it was because her mudblood mother discovered some ancient magic that We were unaware of. It is now time for the world to learn that this so-called 'Girl Who Lived' is neither more powerful nor more skilled than Us. Now move!"
Pettigrew scurried over to Jasmine's side and shoved her wand into her hand, then got away from her as fast as he could move. With the wand came a spark of renewed hope: she still had no idea how she was going to get out of this, but at least now there might be a chance. As long as I can make it through the next few minutes… she thought grimly as she tried to rise, feeling things shift in her abdomen that she was certain weren't supposed to move. Pain was coming from so many different places that it was difficult to concentrate on anything else, but she grasped that one ray of hope and held on for all she was worth.
When she finally made it to her knees, a struggle that seemed to take several hours, she heard Voldemort say, "We'd suggest that the two of us bow, as is expected in formal duels between wizards, but We really don't think that a witch like you deserves such courtesy. So let's just begin, shall we?"
Before Jasmine could react, Voldemort incanted "Crucio!" and she felt pain unlike anything she had ever experienced before. She thought she'd been in serious pain earlier that evening, but none of it compared to what she was going through now. She'd have gladly taken all that she'd endured earlier and called it a lovely experience if someone would have stopped the hot knives that were stabbing across every inch of her body. Her muscles were convulsing, her nerves were on fire, and she was screaming so loudly that she was certain that her lungs would burst.
A short eternity later, the torture curse was ended, and she went limp on the ground, breathing heavily and twitching everywhere. Having just seen Malfoy go through the same thing a few minutes ago, she had a good idea of what she looked like, but she didn't care. Just then, she'd have done anything, used any magic, if it would have ensured that she never experienced that again. It hurt so much that she couldn't even cry.
In the distance, she could hear the Death Eaters laughing and cheering.
"Did you enjoy that?" Voldemort asked genially.
She began to realize that making through the next few minutes might not be possible even with her wand... and under the Cruciatus curse, might not be desirable, either. With that realization came an unexpected resolve, though. I don't want him to have the satisfaction of torturing me into insanity... but if I'm going to die here, I'm not going to do it while lying passively on the ground, she promised herself while struggling to her knees.
"It was your first time, I believe, yes?" Voldemort continued. "It always hurts a bit the first time, or so I've been told; but I hear that it gets better. Crucio!"
Once again she fell over on her side, convulsing in agony. Hot knives were stabbing over and over again without end. She completely lost all sense of time. It seemed to her that her entire existence had narrowed to the unimaginable torment she was enduring. Then, just as abruptly as it started, it stopped again, leaving her twitching and gasping on the ground.
She could hear the Death Eaters laughing, entertained by her screams and convulsing body. Resolve began turning to anger.
"How was that — better?" Voldemort asked. "I've been told that I have some skill in this area, and I assure you that this will become much more pleasurable. For one of us, at least." The last was said with a leer, but that leer fell away when Jasmine choked out her response.
"Don't... flatter yourself," she said as she panted and slowly got to her knees, then eased back so she was crouched on the balls of her feet. "Remember... I saw you... without your robe." She even tried to grin herself, though she figured that it probably came out more as a grimace. "I saw... what you're missing. ...Now everyone will call you… He-Who-Has-No-Balls."
The pain made it hard for her to talk, but Jasmine had used her slow, panting delivery to her advantage and gathered all her strength as she spoke. As soon as she pronounced the last words and the assembled Death Eaters gasped, she saw the look of fury pass across Voldemort's snake-like face. She threw herself backwards just as the green curse left his wand.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Had Jasmine not been so badly injured, she might have managed a halfway decent backwards somersault. As it was, she just flopped back a bit, but she managed to get out of the way of the curse before righting herself quickly enough to cast her own curse back at him: "Confringo!"
Despite the dirt and rocks that had been kicked up by his killing curse, Voldemort had seen what she was doing and cast again immediately: "Avada Kedavra!"
Before Jasmine could even think about diving away, the two curses connected, and instead of passing through each other, they hung together in mid-air, sending back tendrils of light to each of the two wands. Jasmine could feel her wand start to vibrate with power, and she had to grab it with both hands just to keep hold of it, let alone keep it steady. Voldemort didn't look like he was any better off, and although he had told his Death Eaters to stay back, he didn't act as though he'd planned for this.
Then the Dark Lord started looking worried when something like a golden cage began descending over them. It formed first on Voldemort's side, and Jasmine could see Death Eaters trying — but failing — to get through, despite their orders to not interfere. Do I really want to be trapped in a magical cage with him? she asked herself. No, thank you! Just because he doesn't like it, doesn't mean it will help me.
Using all of her strength, she wrenched her wand away, breaking the connection with Voldemort's and releasing a burst of magical energy that dazzled her. Fortunately she had the presence of mind to dive behind a nearby grave marker. Hopefully that blinded them as much as it did me, she thought, figuring that she'd have a minute or two of safety while she decided what to do next.
Mentally thanking Professor Flitwick for his wonderful foresight and vowing to find some sort of gift for him, she incanted "Ossus Emendo" several times around her chest, trying to heal as many of her cracked ribs as she could. It was painful, easily as painful as when they were first broken; but soon she started feeling much better as it became easier to breathe and think.
"Potter!" she heard Voldemort call out, "It wasn't wise for you to anger Us. We don't want to kill you yet because We still have plans for you. The more difficult you make it for Us, the worse it will go for you. It's always possible to heal you and start over, after all."
Jasmine forced herself to regulate her breathing and not panic. I'm alive and hidden, she thought, which is at least something. But what now? I can't stand up and fight them all. If I run, they'll see me and cut me down. What can I do?
"Potter!" Voldemort called out again, his frustration evident.
Maybe if I'm careful, she considered, I can sneak from marker to marker until I can get out of this place? Wait, what about Dobby? Can he find me through the wards? Could he even get in here and get me out again? She shook her head, rejecting the idea. I'm not going to try while there are Death Eaters all around — at best, he'll pop in and they'll kill him instantly. Maybe if I can get far enough away...
"Remember, Potter," Voldemort said, suddenly sounding almost calm, "death is a release. It's a gift that We may choose not to grant you. Perhaps We will keep you alive while We see to the punishment of all your friends. Just imagine what We will do to your little pet mudblood as you watch. Just imagine the look in her eyes, because the entire time she'll know that it's only because of your defiance that she suffers so."
All the pain, fear, and even resolve she had been feeling were abruptly eclipsed by a red mist of fury. That fury overrode her sense of self-preservation, and she dove out towards a large grave marker to the left that she'd just been eyeing. Catching a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye, she no longer bothered with stealth and incanted, "Confringo!"
Unbeknownst to her, Voldemort's talking had been mostly a distraction as his Death Eaters dispersed through the cemetery to hunt for her. One of them had gotten to within a few meters of the marker she'd first taken cover behind; caught completely by surprise, he took the explosive blasting hex at point-blank range in his chest. Had she not continued moving, she'd have seen that as a result, nothing was left of him above the waist — and what was left below the waist was on fire.
Unfortunately for Jasmine, her curse drew the attention of several Death Eaters. "Over there!" she heard at least one shout, and multiple curses struck the stone marker. Some had no effect, probably because they needed to hit a person to do anything; but the others were more general curses, causing parts of the marker to explode and sending pieces of stone cutting into her back and head. Once again she was forced to find new cover and tossed a few more spells in the direction of her attackers, just in case.
More than once, she heard screams of pain as her curses connected with someone, and each time that happened she couldn't help but grin as the pleasure of retribution won out over the fear that had been her constant companion all night. Whatever happens, I'll take a few of you bastards with me.
Twice more she did this, and each time she noticed that the number of usable grave markers was dwindling. She counted herself lucky that the full moon kept slipping behind clouds, thus preventing the Death Eaters from seeing her clearly. Then she realized that some of the curses that the Death Eaters were firing weren't going anywhere close to her; they were, however, hitting the largest of the remaining stone markers and reducing them to rubble. Eliminating what little cover is available to me, she concluded.
Risking a quick peek to see where her closest enemies might be, she was startled to see Lucius Malfoy just three or four meters away, looking in another direction. Not caring about how it would attract the attention of every Death Eater there, she immediately cast one of her favorites, "Sphaera Ignea!" Fueled by her rage, pain, and the humiliation she'd endured at his hands that evening, a fireball a full meter across sped out from her wand and smashed into the side of the black-robed wizard, lighting him up like a Roman candle.
His screams of agony attracted everyone's attention, just as she expected, but they were first and foremost concerned with stopping the magical fire that had engulfed their fellow Death Eater, giving Jasmine time to move in the other direction. She managed to get behind what she quickly discovered was the last marker in her vicinity that was large enough to provide usable cover. I'm safe for the moment, she realized, but I might as well erect a flashing neon sign saying "Girl Who Lived" with an arrow pointing at me.
In the distance, she could see lights that she vaguely remembered having seen before and suddenly wished very hard that there was something, anything, that she could do to get to them. Most of all, though, she wanted to get back to Hermione… to see Hermione, one last time. Taking as many Death Eaters down with her sounded great, but seeing Hermione again sounded better.
"Stop toying with her, you fools!" she heard Voldemort shout somewhere behind her and to her left. "Find her and bring her to Us! Alive! Or We'll have you crawling on the ground for the rest of your short and painful lives!"
Suddenly, Jasmine had a plan. It wasn't a great plan, she knew, since it had just been inspired by Voldemort, but it was a plan. Assuming I haven't used too much magic already, it might even work, she thought.
Focusing this time not on her anger, but on her desire to get back to Hermione, she pointed her wand at herself, twirled it slightly, and tapped her forehead to cast the disillusionment charm, pushing as much magic into it as she could. She could actually feel her magic weaken as she experienced the standard sensation of having an egg broken on her head. After pausing to catch her breath and allow the charm to fully encompass her, she looked down and saw that she was no longer visible.
This was the first time she'd been able to cast it so well, though it was also the first time she'd been so desperate. She didn't know how long the charm would last, and she was starting to hear movement getting closer to her, so she scooted back from the marker and prepared herself to cast yet another unperfected spell with as much magic as she could without passing out from exhaustion.
Pushing her wand into the soft earth of the grave she was kneeling on, she whispered as loudly as she dared, "Terra Motus!" She held it for several seconds, and the results surprised even her as the sudden shaking of the ground soon caused her to tumble onto her side away from the marker. She immediately saw several Death Eaters who had gotten way too close, all of whom were trying to maintain their balance... and failing.
Voldemort's scream of fury followed quickly. Not waiting around to see what would happen next, she turned and started crawling away as fast as she could without making noise on the grassy ground. Even crawling was difficult, though, because that spell had drained her even more than the disillusionment charm. Both moving and thinking had become difficult again, and she worried that the potion they'd given her might still be affecting her.
Once the ground stopped shaking, she rose to a crouch and continued moving in the direction of the lights, regularly stumbling and hoping that neither Voldemort nor the Death Eaters would recognize those lights as an obvious destination for escape.
It was only a few minutes later that she realized just how exhausted she was. She didn't know if it was from a lack of food, lack of sleep, her injuries, an overuse of magic, or all of the above. It was taking all of the mental effort she could muster to keep going instead of just lying down and going to sleep.
For a long time, the lights she was heading towards didn't seem to be getting any closer, but finally, after what felt like hours of trying to run quietly while crouched, she realized that she was almost there. In a few minutes, she found herself standing in the street of a village. She had no idea where it was or what it was called, but the electric lights told her that it was muggle, at least.
She considered knocking on doors for help, but what could she possibly tell them? And how could she put unsuspecting muggles in danger by dragging them into her problems? The Death Eaters would blow up this entire place looking for her, that much was certain.
Suddenly a memory caught at her, and she tried to follow it. Blow up… blowing up Aunt Marge and then….
With a flick of her wrist, her wand shot out of the special holster which Neville had given to her as a Christmas gift. She faced the road and raised out her wand. With a loud crack, the Knight Bus appeared in front of her. It was that sound which finally broke through her haze of exhaustion, and she remembered that she'd thought about summoning Dobby to see if he was capable of carrying her; but when she saw the door to the bus open, she decided that this was good enough.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport service for stranded wizards and witches," came a familiar and welcome voice. "I'm Stan Shunpike, your conductor, and…."
His standard spiel cut off abruptly when he looked up and saw her, his mouth hanging open. I guess I look pretty bad, she thought. She stumbled forward and managed to reach the steps of the bus before she collapsed from pain and exhaustion.
"Ern!" Stan called out. "C'mere! I recognize this witch!" The two wizards gently rolled Jasmine over and Stan exclaimed, "It's Jasmine Potter, it is!"
Jasmine opened her eyes and stretched out her hand. "Stan?" she asked weakly. "Dark wizards... torture…."
"Right," Stan said, "we'll take you direct to St. Mungo's, we will. They'll fix you up good."
"No!" she responded as forcefully as she could, which still wasn't much more than a harsh whisper. Grabbing his arm, she continued, "Hogwarts! Hermione! Dumbledore!"
"Are you sure?" he asked, sounding dubious.
"Yes!" she said as she started losing consciousness. "Safe. Hermione."
Stan nodded in understanding, though anyone who knew him would have realized that he didn't understand a thing. Still, it was his job to take stranded wizards and witches to wherever they wanted to go, and if she wanted to go to Hogwarts that badly, then that's where they'd take her.
He gently lifted her limp body into the bus and told Ernie to head directly to Hogwarts. It was a long trip and that shouldn't have been their first stop, but he felt it was the least he could do for her. The whole time he cradled her in his arms and wondered what sorts of wizards could inflict such horrible injuries on such a small, frail-looking girl.