A/N: Thanks a lot for all the reviews and for your patience!
Important: I have included a trigger warning below, but it might turn out to be a spoiler for the chapter, so you may choose not to read it. But this chapter contains some dark themes.
Trigger Warning: The following chapter contains partially graphic scenes involving violence, references to sexual assault/attempted sexual assault; scenes with gore, pain, and screaming.
If you don't want to read the dark part, you can stop reading from the line: "But what jerked Hermione out of her trance-like state was…" I will include a short summary at the end of this chapter.
Chapter 54: A Night of Terror
On Friday morning, Hermione had woken up early. She stretched lazily until her hand brushed against her familiar's fur. With a sleepy smile, she stroked Crookshanks' coat affectionately. The familiar woke up and came to lay closer to Hermione, atop her pillow. They booped their noses and Hermione giggled. She had not gotten that kind of time for a while.
The dormitory was quiet as both her roommates were still asleep. Hermione appreciated the silence that was a rare blessing in the dorm. She could hear her thoughts finally.
It was the end of January, the atmosphere in Hogwarts was tense and filled with students' disappointment. They were bored of classes, tired of training, and saddened by the announcement that Hogsmeade weekends were stopped for the time being. The decision was apt considering the dangers, yet it was less than appreciated, especially since the announcement had been made by Professor McGonagall and not the Headmaster himself—who not only had a knack of handling students but also had their faith enough not to be questioned.
In truth, the Headmaster had not been seen in the Great Hall or otherwise for a long time now. He was in school, but was seldom seen. Students assumed that he was merely keeping busy in these times, but Hermione knew that his absence was due to his worsening health. Severus had not said it in so many words, but she could tell by the growing worry in his eyes every time she asked about Professor Dumbledore.
In fact, Severus said lesser and lesser words every time they met, it seemed. He had once again become more quiet than usual, owing to his regular summonings and Order work, not to discount the constant worry over the Headmaster and the fact that only he was privy to the secret. He had reverted to his former character of before the winter break.
As for Hermione, although she was not training, her work with Madam Pomfrey took up most of her time and energy. Not to mention, the classes and assignments, and her prefect duties. Often, she was asked to be on duty while the students were being trained by Aurors, in the capacity of a prefect as well as a medical helper. The benefit of this was that even though she was not practically practising the spells, she was learning the incantations.
It was a treat to watch Harry duel with the Aurors! He had always had the knack for it, but now with enhanced skills, he was becoming smoother. Even Ron was thriving! He was gifted in strategy, so the group duels that he participated in, helped him to properly explore his talents. Hermione self-practised the defensive shields that the Aurors taught—the ones that could be practised without much leg movements.
Yet, the relationship between Hermione and Ron was less than fluid. There was a certain sense of detachment that she felt from Ron's side, like he wanted to say a lot, but was holding himself back. Oddly enough, she got similar vibes from Ginny lately, too. Hermione wondered if that was her natural reaction to what happened with Ron, or was it because Ginny was coming to dislike Hermione's choice to move on with someone else—as they had talked abbot that night at Grimmauld Place. But whatever it was, Hermione had not had either time or energy to ask Ginny yet.
After lazing about for five more minutes, Hermione decided to get up and take her own sweet time in the shower before her dormmates woke up.
UUUUUUU
"Can't believe I'll ever say this but thank Merlin there's no training for the next two days," Dean sighed in relief as he plonked himself down on the bench in the Great Hall.
"Same here, Mate," Seamus looked just as exhausted despite it being still early in the morning. "My whole body is aching after the last session."
Hermione glanced down the breakfast table and frowned—about every Sixth and Seventh year looked haggard. In usual circumstances, she would have asked them to consult with the teachers to lessen their burden but at a time like this, she more than most knew why extensive training was so important.
She looked up at the Head Table—the Headmaster was still missing. She sighed. Even though she theoretically knew that the man would only weaken in the clutches of the curse, she still had some undefined hope that he might just find a way to cure himself, as omnipotent as he was known to be.
Some teachers, too, had started training, mostly the ones who usually did not partake in offensive or defensive magic, like Professor Burbage, Vector, and so on. Professor McGonagall had only once demonstrated in a duel. Rumours were that Professor Vector had had said a word or two to the Gryffindor Head of House about 'dodging the training'. Well, it was suffice to say that Professor McGonagall had never been challenged again since. The demonstration of the elderly witch's powers had quite literally given Hermione goosebumps.
Among other Heads, only Professor Sprout attended the training, but not regularly. Obviously, Professor Flitwick did not need any training at all. As for Severus, he was only seen sneering at the very mention of training, going as far as to detain the students if anybody said that they couldn't finish the assignments due to the training. He was well in character.
But she would really like to watch him duel. She remembered him duelling Lockhart once, and it was quite commendable, even though back then Hermione had felt almost dejected on seeing Lockhart lose. The reminder of her childhood crush caused her to flush in embarrassment.
Severus again looked tired though, regarding his toast with an unwelcome frown. He had been called last nigh again. At least Hermione had the satisfaction that he did not suffer through headaches as frequently. It made her inwardly squeal in happiness to think it might be her Charmed balm that was helping the man.
"Snape, huh?" Ron's voice startled her.
She quickly tore her eyes off of the man and turned to Ron. "What?"
"The first class is Snape's, right?" He said with an odd hardness in his eyes.
"Uh, yes," she replied, suddenly feeling very unsure of herself.
She hadn't noticed him and Harry coming in and setting at the table. They, too, looked tired. Ron looked like he hadn't slept last night at all. It was oddly disturbing to see the beginning of light hollowness in his cheeks, like he wasn't eating properly either. Harry looked even more disheveled that usually with his hair messier than usual—that made Hermione wonder if he had even bothered to touched a comb to his head—and askew glasses.
When Harry's hair parted on the forehead, his scar seemed inflamed. She gestured Harry, pointing at her own forehead and looking at him in question. But her bespectacled friend shrugged and shook his head.
Beside him, Ginny, who was peeling an orange, looked up at Hermione. Maybe she had imagined it but it felt like the redhead girl had just rolled her eyes at Hermione coldly. The simple act somehow dulled her mood more than any fights, that she had had with Ron in the past, could. Why was Ginny being this way?!
"Uh, Ginny," Hermione tried. "Pass me a slice."
But the redhead girl did not respond, suddenly too engrossed in peeling the orange with precision. Hermione's heart sank, so she hadn't been imaging it all this time. There was something seriously wrong between Ginny and her. But then, all of a sudden, a slice of orange came flying from Ginny's plate and landed upon Hermione's.
"Woah, you are pretty hungry. Hermione," Dean joked.
"What the hell," Ginny looked pissed now. "Summoning food from my plate, seriously?"
"I-I didn't do that," Hermione bit her lip. What had just happened.
"Yeah, like everything else that you didn't do," Ginny taunted.
Hermione's face fell. Ginny had never been this rude to her. Then what changed now?!
"Gin," Harry said gently, "It's okay. Just a slice."
The redhead glared at her boyfriend in annoyance. "Yeah, sure, it's all about a fucking orange." With that, Ginny pushed her plate away, got up, and walked out of the Great Hall.
"What's gotten into her?!" Harry was frowning. Surprisingly enough, Ron had remained silent throughout, which was not quite his character.
Were the siblings really so annoyed witb her for breaking it off with Ron? Not even breaking anything off since they didn't have anything official to begin with. The Weasleys seemed seriously riled up.
She started getting up, but Harry stopped her. "I don't think this is the right time to talk to her. She'll cool down in a while, you kmow. There must be something entirely different on her mind and she snapped at you."
Hermione hummed half-heatedly and looked at her own plate, the slice of orange sitting in the middle was taunting her. She couldn't hold onto one relationship smoothly. She pushed her plate away, too, appetite now dead.
UUUUUUU
The rest of Hermione's day was no better. Classes, supervising the training, working at the Infirmary, finishing assignments—another usual, hectic day. By the end of the day, she realised how she had barely spoken to anyone the entire day. Ron and Ginny were ignoring her, Harry was busy, Severus was out of question most days. She had only interacted a little with Madam Pomfrey and the students who had come to the Hospital Wing needing treatment.
It was after many, many days that she was feeling as lonely as she used to during the start of the term. With a sinking stomach, she hoped she wasn't bouncing back into those depressive feelings that had tormented her days earlier. A shiver ran down her spine at the mere reminder how of cold those days were.
No, no, she was overthinking. She was tired and overworked. She needed to take it easy this weekend. She'd be fine, 'right as rain'—Mrs. Weasley's voice echoed in her mind out of nowhere. Were the other Weasleys also as pissed at her as Ron and Ginny were? That thought only added to her dull mood and the underlying feeling of loneliness.
She decided against staying in the common room after returning to the Gryffindor Tower, or talking to Ginny or Ron. She felt drained and if their interaction didn't go well, she'd be in an even worse mood. Maybe tomorrow.
She went up to her dormitory with slumped shoulders. The room was empty, thankfully. Hermione changed into her pyjamas and got into bed, behind the drawn curtains. She sat against the headboard, belatedly realising that she had almost squished her familiar behind herself.
"Sorry, Love," she ran a hand theough the coat of her disgruntled pet.
She paused her movements. The invisible ring on her finger grabbed her attention. Hadn't Severus told her to signal him if she was ever feeling this despondent?
Three signals, right?
Should she approach him for a brief chat? It was already curfew. She could just sneak into his office like all the other times and nobody would know. They could talk. It always felt relieving to talk to Severus.
But Severus had looked so tired today, and extra irritated in class, no doubt owing to being overworked himself. He had actual problems to deal with, like being a war spy and brewing potions for their dying leader. Hermione immediately dismissed the idea of irking him with her petty angst.
Sighing, she settled down under her blanket, pulling Crooks to her chest. Her mind kept playing the events of the day. Why was she like that, she questioned inwardly. Most people would just shrug and move on from these things. But she felt stuck, giving rise to the feelings of hollowness and loneliness.
But she instantly knew the answer—she was afraid of losing any more people than she already had. These people, Harry, Ron, Ginny, they were her family, not just friends. Severus' name, too, was added to this short list, recently. And she was so scared to lose her family again. She wanted to keep all these people safe, secured, close to herself.
Broken. The word sometimes pestered her. Like she needed fixing, her mind needed fixing.
"Get a grip on yourself, Hermione!" She reprimanded herself. She forced herself to stop right there before she went down that path again.
She closed her eyes. Just sleep it off, she told herself.
Her tired body obeyed, and it was not long after she was asleep.
She was on the verge of slipping into the deeper sleep when she knew Severus' forearm had been flared with pain. She sighed—thank God she hadn't gone rattling him with her childish problems. He was being called again.
But then she felt it—the flaring on Severus' forearm—again. Before her mind could recall what that meant, the ring on her finger vibrated with his signal. Bile rose in her throat as dread settled in.
She was being summoned, too.
UUUUUUU
Severus stepped upon the broken glass, uncaring when the shards were crushed under his boots, staining the soles with the remnants of Lupin's half-brewed Wolfsbane Potion that had been the primary victim of his anger when he received not one but two summons from the Dark Lord. He had, by reflex, immediately sent a signal Granger's way before irritably swiping away the contents on the counter to the floor of his Lab.
Severus strode to the cabinet near the main door of his quarters, and pulled out his cloak and mask. All the while, his mind was trying to craft an excuse for the Dark Lord for why he failed to bring Granger along, because he did not want to take her along.
Among all his other duties, he had somewhat side-lined any Occlumency practices with her. No matter that she had learnt the skill, she was not used to having her mind penetrated with sheer force, anymore. They had barely practised since the last time she had been summoned. And even though Granger had held herself quite commendably then, it had ended in disaster, nevertheless. The image of a shocked and injured Granger under the Cruciatus assaulted his mind.
And those scenes that she would enact with Potter, the false memories to show the Dark Lord, they had barely worked on those, either. He cursed loudly.
What had he been thinking? That Granger would never be summoned again? How could he, of all people, assume so?! He had assessed the megalomaniac better than most. Yet, he had blatantly overlooked the one duty that he should have taken most seriously—to ensure Granger's safety.
He left his quarters hurriedly. He could surely not tell the Dark Lord that Granger was among people for it was past midnight, and the the lunatic man cared little for petty excuses. Severus could say that Granger was indisposed, perhaps ill and under the supervision of the medi-witch. But then again, Severus could not risk his position by stirring doubts in the Dark Lord's mind, doubts about his loyalty. The entire Order had to put out a planned trap to earn him his position back only a few months ago. Especially at a sensitive time like this, he couldn't afford to lose his favour with the bastard.
But what about Granger? How would she hold up tonight? Severus couldn't risk her either!
With conflicting thoughts, Severus found himself standing at the staircase leading to the Gryffindor Tower. What a bloody conundrum! And all owing to his overconfidence and sheer foolishness.
"Professor?" Granger's voice cut through his stupor. Severus watched as the witch materialised before him, ending a Disillusionment Charm. She was wearing slightly wrinkled school robes over Muggle jeans and sweater. Suddenly, she seemed so innocent—somebody who could never be associated with the darkness where he was bound to take her. The sight of her intensified Severus' fears.
"Granger, I cannot take you along," he declared. "Go back to your Tower, please. I shouldn't have sent you a signal." He muttered the last bit under his breath.
"Huh?" She was looking at him with confusion. "But haven't I been summoned, too?"
"Yes," he spat. The anger that he felt towards the Dark Lord and his own self was overwhelmingly strong. "But we haven't practised Legilimenizing you in a while. Moreover, there would be no memories to show the Dark Lord tonight."
"I have made some false memories with Harry," she told him. Then in a quieter voice, added, "At least until before the Christmas break, Sir. And I have become quite efficient at occluding, too."
"Granger-"
"I did fine the last time," she quickly said. "I can do this, Sir, really."
Severus assessed her for a moment, silently. The witch sounded sure of herself. He had expected her to be quite fearful, telling him how underprepared she was and what a catastrophic idea it was to let her accompany her. Perhaps, he was underestimating her? Well, it wouldn't be the first time she was proving him wrong about his judgement of her.
As his forearm burned again, he knew he didn't have the time to decide any more logically. Not taking Granger along could have serious consequences, that perhaps taking her along might abate.
Yet, he somewhere knew he was not taking the right decision at all, neither was he truly taking into consideration the consequences that there might be for Granger if she was caught.
Now he wondered if he was overestimating her based on her mere words. But she had proved to be more efficient than most people he knew. If she said she was prepared, perhaps she was, to some extent, at least.
What choice did he have.
"We need to leave, Severus," she whispered, urgency marking her voice.
Quelling the voice that accused him of not thinking this through rationally, Severus nodded. But he already had a terrible feeling about this.
"Follow me," he walked ahead, belatedly adding, "Please," to negate the command.
UUUUUUU
Hermione tried her best to control her shaking hands as she followed after Severus through the dark corridors of the castle. She had occluded herself already. She hoped Severus wouldn't notice her fear. For if he did, he would insist that she stayed at Hogwarts while he'd himself go to Voldemort and be the victim of his wrath, even lose his position because of her. God knew Severus' intel was their only last hope in this war. Hermione knew the madman enough to know that Severus would sorely pay if she didn't go. The image of Severus suffering through muscle spasms kept frightening her.
When will this ever end! His torment, his worries. When will his life become easier!
When will our life become easier?
She looked ahead at the man and prayed for his troubles to abate. And if today she failed to perform well, it would only increase his troubles. She resolved herself not to break, no matter what. For him.
She couldn't let Voldemort discover the truth of their subterfuge. She pushed the false memories of Severus mistreating her to the forefront of her mind to settle into the headspace of a tormented woman.
On the surface, she had to be a meek woman who feared this man walking ahead of her, so much so that she had been betraying her best friend for him. On the surface, she had to be someone who immensely feared the Dark Lord, too. She had to be someone who obeyed ordered without question because questions caused pain, and she was immensely afraid of that pain and torture that she would be subjected to if she even dared to disobey.
Bile rose in her throat again at those thoughts. Hermione took deep breaths to steady herself. This is just an act, Hermione. Severus is nothing like that.
On the inside, she was still herself—determined, stubborn, courageous. Just like, on the inside, Severus was caring, understanding, respectful and supportive towards her.
Hermione followed Severus to the grounds, careful to navigate her way in the darkness, on her crutches. But instead of taking the route through the gates, they went to the edges of the Forbidden Forest. The school had Aurors appointed to guard the gates whom the pair had to avoid.
As they reached the Apparation point, Severus stopped. He looked around carefully, but the area was eerily quiet except for the uncanny noises that came from the Forest itself.
He produced a vial from his pocket and handed to her wordlessly. Hermione recognised it to be the antidote to Veritaserum, and downed it quickly.
"Can you stand without the crutches?" He asked, his voice rough and serious.
"Kind of…" She wasn't anticipating that question. She had never tried yet, too scared to fall if without support.
"Hold my arm, and hand your crutches to me, please," he held out his arm. Hermione let go of one of her crutches and held onto the proffered arm easily. But while handing the other crutch to him, she hesitated.
She bit her lip. Her problem seemed so trivial in the grand scheme of things, yet the simple act of standing without the support of her crutches unnerved her.
As she handed the other stick to him, Hermione swayed dangerously, her grip on his arm tightening. She couldn't help gasping when his arm came to wrap around her waist, practically drawing her to his chest. Hermione quickly wrapped her own arms around his neck as best as she could with their considerable difference in height.
There was a moment when they paused, just a moment, when Severus was looking down at her, and she up at him, not speaking, not planning the night ahead. Just a moment—that communicated a slew of unsaid words between them. A moment where the fear of facing the night was pushed back while Hermione registered the weight of his arm around her waist, the closeness of their bodies, his eyes boring into hers, his calming smell easing her nerves, their closeness sending a flutter to her chest.
But the moment passed all too soon.
He asked the question, unspoken, and she nodded with the slightest of nods—yes, she was ready.
UUUUUUU
Severus did not look at the witch clinging to him once while he released her as she regained her balance on her crutches. Because if he dared to look into those innocent, trustful, chestnut brown eyes, agin, he didn't think he would be able to take her further into Malfoy Manor or restrain himself if the Dark Lord harmed Granger tonight.
Severus was far from naïve. He didn't fool himself into thinking that Granger would not be harmed at all. The Dark Lord relished in causing pain, he wouldn't let Granger go unscathed. But Severus would step in and cunningly warn him that the girl couldn't be found injured in front of her peers and teachers.
Severus barely spared one glance at Granger before donning, both, his actual and proverbial masks. He couldn't afford to be found harbouring anything but loathe for the witch in question. Especially not whatever it was that he did harbour for her, whatever he had felt finding her so close to himself a minute ago.
"As long as your Shields are protected, so are we," he said as quietly as possible, before leading the way.
Severus knew his way to the meeting hall like the back of his hand. He didn't spare a second glance at the Manor itself. He strengthened his Shields, reminding himself to act as cruel as possible to Granger inside.
Everything he loathed to be, he had to be to her because of his damn role.
Severus pushed the heavy door to the meeting room open—and a miasma of of magic brushed him. A part of the inner coterie was present tonight. It felt as if the combined scent of the Death Eaters' sins wafted to him. The Dark Lord sat leisurely on his throne at the far end of the room. His snake was wrapped upon the throne like an ornament to the chair itself.
Bellatrix, who stood by the side of the dark wizard, grinned fanatically on spotting the figure behind Severus, making him instantly suspicious of her intentions. He hoped Granger was in character behind him.
The Lestrange brothers, Yaxley, the bastard Dolohov, and two still masked figures, were in attendance. Yaxley stood the closest to the Dark Lord, demonstrating his growing power. The man nodded to Severus—Yaxley's friendship was to be handled with care, he could be the one source to intel during the war, Severus reminded himself.
Severus walked with confidence and knelt smartly by the Dark Lord. "My Lord."
"Had I not been so ecstatic today, my loyal servant, your tardiness would have cost you a limb," the man said with a disturbing amount of nonchalance. Severus didn't miss the triumphant smirk on the man's face either—the smirk that he wore after a successful raid.
"My sincere apologies, My Lord," Severus said. "It took an extraordinarily long time to leave the school with the girl in tow. The guards are a menace."
"The guards," the dark wizrd laughed bitterly. Derision in respect to the safety measures taken by Hogwarts was dripping from his voice. It clearly indicated what the measures meant to him and exactly how long it would take him to destroy them.
"Rise, my servant," he granted. He got up and removed the mask as awas customary. "Tonight, I am more interested in interacting with your wife."
Severus refrained any trace of emotion from coming to his face. His eyes remained hard. He looked back at Granger who was standing with her head slightly bowed, her eyes downcast, not meeting with anyone's.
Severus determined himself, and yanked Granger forward with a rough grip on her arm. He tried his best to ignore her gasp as he made her stand before the Dark Lord. But Severus did not let go of her arm in a show of exerting dominance, but in reality, it was his attempt to ground her.
"M-my Lord," she whispered, reflecting fear. Severus inwardly commended her on her improved acting skils.
"Severus," the man said, "Haven't you taught your Mud-blood wife how to properly greet her Lord?" The tone was casual, but the underlying warning was clear to Severus' trained ears.
"Kneel down, girl!" Severus forced himself to give her the outright command. His immediate guilt was like a physical rope strangling him.
Much to his horror, Granger tried but failed to kneel, no doubt owing to her still healing injuries. In that moment, Severus knew what was expected of him. He strengthened his Shields and pushed every emotion in regards to Granger away. Yet, he had to fight hard with the remaining traces of those emotions to act.
He yanked a crutch from Granger, and roughly pushed her to the floor. The other crutch, too, fell from under her arm, causing her to fall on her knees and hands with a painful cry.
Bellatrix drew her amusement from the scene and laughed fanatically. A snort was heard from Dolohov, too, boiling Severus' blood.
"My L-Lord," Granger said again, this time her voice wavering slightly from the pain.
The Drak Lord leaned forward and gripped Granger's chin in his long, bony fingers. "Long time, Mud-blood, yes?" Granger kept her eyes low. "Have you been doing my bidding, little whore?"
Severus clenched his jaw at the foul words.
"Yes, My Lord," she said in nothing more than a quiet whisper.
"Have you been a good toy to my most loyal?" The bastard was drawing amusement.
Granger answered after a pause, "I have…done my best, My Lord."
The Dark Lord looked properly amused. "And how is our dear friend, Potter?
"Manipulated, My Lord," she answered. Severus inwardly praised her for her choice of words. That seemed to have satisfied the dark wizard.
"Then show me."
That was when Severus hoped aginst hope for Granger to manage somehow. It was the ultimate test, after all. If she failed this, their subterfuge would be exposed.
The next few minutes were filled with thick anticipation as the Dark Lord searched through her mind. The tensed silence was only broken by Granger's gasps or cries.
Severus had, long back, learnt that he could be exposed any day. Albus and the Order worked on that assumption—that their spy could be rendered useless any day, without notice. Severus had accepted that death was always looming over his head, even though there was a protocol, a plan, to Obliviate himself in such case so as not to reveal any information that could be extracted from him through the means of torture. He had cared little for his life before his bonding to Granger. But he could not accept the same fate for her. Granger couldn't die here, in this way, this soon. No. Granger couldn't be killed, no matter what. He wouldn't let her.
The Legilimency attack ended sooner than expected. Severus tried to decipher the Dark Lord's plan. Was Granger already caught? Had he found something to jeopardise them? Was there a way to Disapparate out of the Manor.
But the Dark Lord still bore an aura of triumph that did not come from catching one of his followers red-handed. "Most cruel turn of events, Severus," he said. Severus regarded the man with faux sincerity. "I cannot please myself as much as I desire today. I need your Mud-blood's mind coherent tonight."
Those words, both, relieved and alerted Severus. The Dark Lord hadn't dug deep into Granger's mind, thus their subterfuge was safe. Granger was panting and slightly shaking. But other than that, she seemed fine, at least as fine as she could be.
"Bring them in!" The Dark Lord ordered.
UUUUUUU
Chills ran down Hermione's spine on hearing those words.
He was going to call people in and ask Hermione to kill them. Her shaking increased significantly. She had somehow passed his rummaging of her mind, but now she knew she would miserably fail, like the last time.
She could hear bodies being dragged inside the hall. Against her will, she recalled how her parents were also dragged in this very hall all those months ago. She quickly pushed the memory back and focused on the present.
Voldemort leaned towards her again. He ran his fingers down the side of her face, settling beneath her chin once more. His touch caused to shudder involuntarily. Dirty, the word filled her mind.
"Turn and see who we have here." The words were whispered near her ear, the tone dripped with nauseating gentleness as if he had brought her a present.
Hermione felt sick. The man reeked of darkness and murder. But she turned her upper body, never moving her legs that were in immense pain right now. In the darkened hall, all she could make out was two figures laying on the ground, and two masked figures standing above them.
"Take the girl to meet our guests," Voldemort commanded. But when Severus stepped forward, he held up a bony hand. "Let your brothers have a taste of her, too, Severus. Antonin."
Hermione's breathing quickened as Dolohov came to her side, smirking darkly. His eyes ran through her hungrily, making her feel queasy and even more dirty,
He crouched down, bringing his face close to Hermione's neck. She couldn't help squeezing her eyes shut as the feelings of dread and loathing threatened to overpower her. He was barely an inch away from touching her. His breath stunk of cheap alcohol and stale smoke.
"Finally," he breathed into her ear, making Hermione shudder with queasiness. She wanted to smack the man, punch and kick him until he was all but dead. But she stayed put.
Keep the Shields intact.
Dolohov placed his hands on Hermione's shoulders, and she had to physically clench his jaw to keep her magic from lashing out at him. The hands moved down her arms, leaving loathe-burning skin in their wake.
Then the hands were gone from her arms, and instead they wrapped around her torso in a vice-like grip, hauling her to her feet. The arms, that infested touch, burnt her. She felt dirty to her core. Then she was being dragged to the two people. She tried to block the feeling of Dolohov's body behind her, or his appendages that bound her, of her back flush against his chest. He knew she was shaking abd she hoped it would be mistaken for fear and not disgust and the anger that was simmering right beneath her Shields.
Her gaze fell on Severus. Their eyes met, his mask of indifference broke something within her. She searched for something, anything, to hold onto.
'You can, Granger.'
The words sent her way sank deep into her consciousness. They came like a breath of fresh air that reminded her to breathe. Severus' eyes followed her, the surface opaque, impassive, indifferent, but their connection was brimming with his unspoken reassurances.
Dolohov dropped her to the ground without warning. She cried as her legs were put through more maltreatment. She silently mourned the loss of her connection with Severus.
She was sitting by the two people, so close that she could hear their teeth chattering. They were trembling, maybe even muttering pleas, but their voices were muffled with nothing but fear that was constricting their throats.
"Who are they, Mud-blood?" Voldemort's question made him shudder. Did she know them? People whom she knew were here- No! No, not again, please! The memory that she had been trying to block since the evening finally came gushing down—images of her parents' lifeless bodies. Their flesh melting away due to the overuse of dark magic. Their still faces. Their frozen hearts.
One of the Death Eaters hauled one of the two captives up. As light from the candles fell upon his face, Hermione's vision swirled.
"Do you know him, girl?" Dolohov planted a kick to her back, making her double up in pain. "Answer me!"
Hermione looked up at the man—the man whom she had seen after every summer at Kings Cross. The man whom she and Ron most disliked, and often warned Harry about. The man who was now uttering incoherent pleas.
Vernon Dursley.
"Pick up that filthy woman, too!" Dolohov ordered the Death Eater. "Do you recognise her? Tell us, who's she?"
Petunia Dursley wasn't pleading, she was angry, furious in fact, and scared, so scared. The woman whom she had seen only once in Harry's photo album, as one of the people standing in the background of the wedding photograph of James and Lily Potter. But Hermione recognised her.
The couple looked to be thoroughly tortured, swaying, unable to even sit up without support. There were open wounds here and there, dried blood staining their faces.
"Are they Potter's relatives, Mud-blood?" Voldemort questioned impatiently from his throne.
"I…I don't know…" Hermione whispered. She could only lie, or the Muggles would be bereft of their lives. "I'm not sure…"
"What is she blabbering about?" Voldemort hissed.
"She said she isn't sure, My Lord," Dolohov answered him.
Petunia Dursley still had some form of recognition in her eyes, but her husband stared at Hermione from behind his glazed eyes, lost.
"Ah, aren't you, Mud-blood?" The voice wasn't impatient anymore, it was cold. And challenging. "Crucio!"
But the expected pain never hit her, what did hit her were the agonised screams of Petunia Dursley. The woman who was flailing about, blood gurgling from her mouth, convulsing violently. His husband, though not under the curse himself, was screaming just as well, watching his wife being tortured, if he even recognised his wife anymore. Then the curse was lifted from the woman and targeted at the man. They were Muggles, they'd suffer twice as much if put under the Cruciatus.
Just as her parents had.
Voldemort alternated between the two. Again and again. The hall filled with their screams until the screams were hoarse and weak and fading.
"Please, stop! Please!" Hermione finally shouted, tears running down her face. "Sto- Argh!" She toppled to the floor as Dolohov kicked her again. She looked up at Voldemort, his face twisted in sheer pleasure while torturing those Muggles under his wand. And Hermione instantly knew that no matter what she said, the Dursleys would be killed. But maybe her confession could spare them some horror.
"Yes, yes, I recognise them!" She shouted.
The curse was lifted, the screams stopped, giving way to whimpering in its wake.
"They're…Harry's relatives," Hermione said with a choked sob.
"And this woman, she is the source of protection to Potter, is she not?" Voldemort asked.
Hermione closed her eyes and nodded. "Yes. My Lord."
The ecstatic laughter of the Death Eaters and their leader engulfed the pitiful whimpers of the couple. Hermione looked at them apologetically. Even though she hated them for how they had treated Harry, from what little he had told them about his family, she possessed a human-level of respect for them and watching them being tortured shook her as much as watching the Muggle being killed had shook her, during the last summoning.
She squeezed her eyes shut and sent a silent prayer above—one that she knew wouldn't make a difference.
UUUUUUU
Severus mostly kept from looking at Granger, and for that, he felt ashamed. His Shields had threatened to slip when his eyes had caught that bastard Dolohov laying his sordid hands upon Granger. The fury that had burnt in his chest was alarming to the safety of his Shields. He had been about ready to grab the foul man by his throat and strangle him to his death in this very hall. Especially when he had caught sight of Granger's strained face, the greenish hue that passed her on being manhandled by the bastard, Severus had to dig his nails into his palms to keep from reacting.
He wished he had his Death Eater Mask still on, for with every passing minute, it was becoming more nad more straining for him to keep his features impassive as if the plight of the girl mattered not to him.
He was cursing himself for bring Granger here, he knew he was wrong. He should have planned something in advance! But he had been too busy trying to cover for Albus Fucking Dumbledore and his inability to work with any efficiency to formulate a plan for a situation such as this.
"Quite a stubborn bitch she is," Yaxley chuckled behind him. "I'm sure you had your fair share of entertainment breaking her, my friend."
Pushing every emotion into the deepest corner of his mind, Severus turned to regard the Death Eater and pasted a nasty smirk on his face. But more than anything, Yaxley's words rattled him to realise that Granger had, indeed, been stubborn, trying to initially deny the Dark Lord that she was aware of who these Muggles were—which couldn't prove to be in their benefit. He sincerely hoped the Dark Lord would overlook that deflection, as lost as he was in his glory after catching hold of the Dursleys.
When the amused rounds of laughter died, the Dark Lord stood bearing a cruel smirk on his abhorrent face. Severus glanced at Granger who was still sitting on the floor, her eyes flickering between the two Dursleys. Before Severus could tear his eyes from her sight, a flash of red light alighted her face, her eyes reflected with brightness in that flash.
And then, there was the darkness again. And blood. And Granger's screams.
And that of Petunia Dursley's, too, as her husband's head was detached from his body with a Slicing Hex, and landed a few feet away with a nauseating thud. The woman's face was covered with the blood of her husband but that wasn't relevant because not a second later, her own head laid beside the man's. Their beheaded bodies laid limp, covered in gore.
The hall erupted in cheers and laughter, but all Severus could hear were Granger's hysterical sobs, and all he could see were her frantic attempts to wipe the Dursleys' blood off of her face and clothes.
The Dark Lord had accomplished it today—he had killed the ultimate protection that Potter had. Now, no matter how protected, the bay would be unsafe. There was nothing that could guard the boy, save for killing the Dark Lord, himself.
The Dark Lord had gained a part of his victory even before stepping on the battlefield.
"Rodolphus," the man hissed. His voice was dripping with a warped sense of contentment. "Send their heads as a gift to my beloved friend, Dumbledore."
Rodolphus Lestrange grinned, as if entrusted with the most honourable of tasks. The man levitated the heads, leaving a trail of blood behind. He left the hall, much to Severus' relief.
Although seeing such brutal violence did not disconcert him any longer—for he had gained some twisted immunity to such—Granger was visibly trembling. Experimentally, Severus tried to Legilimize her to check if her hysteria had resulted in the slipping of her Shields, but he, fortunately, found that they were still erect, if a little wavering. Granger recognised his intrusion and quick strengthened her hold on her mind. No matter what, she could not let her mind be open to the Dark Lord's prying.
With Rodolphus gone, it was Rabastan who levitated the beheaded bodies, and carried them out. Severus was, at least, relieved that the night would end soon. There didn't seem anything more that the Dark Lord might need from him or Granger tonight. They would be dismissed soon enough. He started formulating his plan of action for when they returned to Hogwarts. Severus mentally filed away what all potions Granger might need—definitely a strong Pian Reliever for her legs and a mild Calming Draught, among others. He was glad to have enough potions in stock, for he could not ask Poppy for assistance with Granger, not without revealing highly classified information to her.
"Sevy, dear," Bellatrix's shrill voice bounced the walls in a way that irked Severus' ear. "It seems like your training couldn't quite sit well with the little Mud-blood girl, could it?" The woman pranced to him and stood on her toes to lean close to his face, but what she spoke wasn't in a whisper. "She tried to lie to the Dark Lord."
Severus retained impassiveness, but let his voice hold a hint of sternness. "Yes, and she will be dearly punished for her deflection."
"Deflection, you call it!" The woman shrieked theatrically. "I call it sedition! Betrayal!" Conspiracy!" She turned to the Dark Lord, "My Lord! The girl has betrayed You! You gave your trust to the Mud-blood, and the worthless whore has dared to stand in your path to victory. She should pay for it with nothing less than her life."
The Dark Lord's face was lit with dark glee. "Yes, my Bella. She should." Severus felt his heart rate increasing. He kept his eyes trained on the dark wizard's wand hand. "But not her life, as unfortunate as it is. She could be of some future use to me." His gaze fell on Granger, who was taking in the scene with an eery blankness about her, one that she often acquired from occluding too hard. "Assisting me could have been your redemption for your foul birth as a Mud-blood. But you dishonoured my generosity. Pain, I have heard, can be just as redeeming, though."
"My Lord," Severus stepped up. He made a show of throwing a disgusted glare at Granger. "I have failed to train her appropriately. Please, grant me a chance to correct my mistake. I shall present to you the most refined of a slave, very soon."
The man assessed Severus, his red eyes studied him closely, before swimming in mirth. "Why should you have all the fun, Severus. Haven't you learnt to share with your brothers?" Bellatrix's laughter was only barely registered into Severus' panicking mind. "I believe, Anton has quite a taste for your Mud-blood wife."
UUUUUUU
Sometimes, when Hermione occluded, she couldn't perceive well through her senses. Her Shields created a barrier, of sorts, between her brain and sense organs. It happened very rarely, but it did. In her haze, Hermione wondered if her eyes looked as dead and opaque as Severus' did when he was occluding very strongly.
Tonight, she felt like a distant onlooker to the scene that was unfolding before her. At one point, she was trying to wipe herself clean of the Dursleys' blood, and the other moment, the blood didn't matter. The metallic stench dulled to barely a hint; the awful slipperiness of the substance marring her face faded into nothingness; the nausea settled without effort, too. It had happened after someone—perhaps Severus—had tried to intrude her mind. She had strengthened her Shields as much as possible, and in a way, she was grateful to float into that numbness for as long as possible.
But what jerked Hermione out of her trance-like state was a strong, rough hand that grabbed her from the back of her neck. Her trance burst as suddenly as a bubble, leaving her feeling more vulnerable and exposed than before.
"You're mine." Cheap alcohol and stale smoke. Hermione flinched. The hand twisted around her flesh, tight enough to leave bruises. "Mine."
"No!" She finally exploded, as if sensation was only now returning to her limbs. She jerked her head back and hit the man on his face. A crack, followed by a muttered curse were her rewards. It was the oldest trick in the book, the one of few that she still recalled from her Muggle self-defence classes.
"You, bitch!"
Hermione knew her cry would have resounded in the hall as she was grabbed to her feet by her hair. Her head was throbbing and her eyes were watering and her legs were giving away as she was being dragged to the middle of the room.
She was shoved to the ground, her cheek grazed against the stone. Dolohov was still holding her down by her hair when he bent over her, so close that Hermione could smell the blood oozing from his nose. It disgusted her so much so that she wanted to throw up.
"I will deal with you, Mud-blood, and you will remember that for all of your sad, little life."
Hermione could feel her magic simmering. It wanted to lash out like all those times she was threatened or infuriated. Her magic wanted to explode with such sheer power that it could kill the man. Half of her strength was spent In containing that power, for if she demonstrated that power, their subterfuge would be ruined and Severus would be killed for lying to Voldemort the last time Hermione was summoned. A lot would be exposed, and Hermione herself would be perceived as dangerous, and eventually be killed.
She wrapped that powerful streak of her magic and stoved it as far away as possible. She had never before felt such a physical representation of that inexplicable power within her. But today, she felt it, and if she concentrated enough to follow it, it might introduce her to her core.
Dolohov let go of Hermione's hair and held both her wrists, instead. His free hand started to wander down her neck, her shoulders, lower. Hermione endured. He wanted to break her. All she had to do was to appear fearful of him, and he would be satisfied. She tried to block the feeling of his fingers on her skin and his sordid words.
Her resolve remained firm—but only until she felt the buttons of her sweater pop open when he tore at the garment with frantic desperation. It was then that Hermione truly knew fear. She screamed and kicked her injured legs and pushed him away with as much force as she could muster. Maybe she was uttering something—no, no, get off—but between the buzzing in her ears and the echoes of amused laughter from the others in the halls, she couldn't comprehend her words. Panic was flooding her mind, and the sight of the man above her, blood dripping his nose, and his predatory grin sent chills down her spine.
His hands, rough and desperate, were manhandling her, pulling the now torn sweater from her frame. She was ashamed to admit how much she differed from him in physical strength. Chill air touched her torso and reminded her of the flimsy pyjama top that she was wearing inside the sweater, that would be even more easy to rip off of her. Maybe she was crying, too, maybe even crying out for help. But then Dolohov had flipped her on her stomach and succeeded in freeing her arms of the sweater.
There was laughter from their audience and cheers of encouragement. But all that was blurred behind the panic of feeling Dolohov's abusive touch as his fingers looped into the neckline of her top, the back of his fingers grazing her nape.
"I've waited for far too long," he muttered in her ear. "How I wish the Dark Lord had gifted yoy to me that night." And then there was a tear as Hermione's top was almost ripped from her back. Cold air touched the bare skin of her back.
Hermione screamed.
The assault stopped, and abruptly, the heavy weight of Dolohov was lifted off of her.
No, no, no! She had let her magic escape! She swallowed at the sudden silence in the hall that was, only moments ago, reverberating with laughter. Now shaking for a whole different reason, Hermione turned back, expecting to see Dolohov laying slump against a wall. But what she saw shocked her even more.
Dolohov's feet didn't quite touch the ground as he was hauled up by his collar against a furious Severus. Hermione's brows frowned. Panic had given way to bafflement. She watched, with her lips slightly agape, as Severus muttered something to the other man, all the while shaking him violently. Then Severus shoved the man hard to the wall, where his body was slammed with sheer force.
"You, traitor!" Dolohov shrieked, breaking into a run towards Severus, but the latter already had his wand out that stilled Dolohov in his tracks and crumpled to the ground.
The entire scene reminded Hermione of some Muggle movie. But then, with a snap, the consequences of Severus' act dawned on her. It was for this very reason that she had refrained herself from using her magic.
They were exposed.
Hermione pressed a hand on her back, holding the remnants of her ripped top on her frame, and sat up. For the moment, her brain was running on adrenaline so much so that she cared the least about Dolohov's assault. Her only focus, presently, was Severus' and hers safety. Her eyes searched for her wand that was stoved inside the compartment on the sleeve of her sweater. She found the stick laying right beneath the tattered garment, on the ground.
How would they run? Could they apparate from the Manor? Why wasn't Severus apparating them away, if so!
"My apologies, My Lord," Severus' voice held only a hint of the anger he had just demonstrated, but mostly it was impassive. He strode to the Voldemort's throne and knelt, "Have my head, Sir, for my deviation, but Dolohov's action would have led the bond to kill the girl, and the girl might still be useful to you, as you had mentioned. I could not let the lowly bastard foil your plans."
Silence in the hall was deafening. Hermione watched Voldemort's face and the form of Severus kneeling there. The lamps cast some light on his back that was towards Hermione and helped her see the slight strain in his shoulders as they waited in anticipation.
"Rise, Severus."
A sigh of relief escaped Hermione's lips. In that moment, she could only wonder where Severus had acquired his sharp wits from.
"I will forgive your deviance, for it was in my best interest," Voldemort granted. "Bella," the man ordered, gesturing towards Hermione. "Let us watch how Bella tends to your wife. It will not be nearly as entertaining, but it will have to do for now."
UUUUUUU
Alecto and Amycus Carrow were another two prisoners who had broken out of Azkaban—without a single article of such appearing in any paper. It made Severus wonder what else was censored and kept from the public. But that thought was brief as not much else was occupying his mind than the muffled whimpers of Granger.
Even as he was introduced to the pair of Carrow siblings—the only two Death Eaters who were masked when he had entered the hall—by the Dark Lord, Severus couldn't register what the conversation was about. Granger's cries, her pleas to stop—pleas thay were falling on Bellatrix's deaf ears—were calling for every ounce of self-control from Severus. As Alecto Carrow had spoken of her desire and hunger for power and the Dark Lord had implied something about the importance that the pair would hold soon, all Severus wanted to do was to sprint to Granger's side, haul Bellatrix up and strangle her to her death! He wanted nothing more than for Granger's torture to end!
He had witnessed more scenes of torture in his late teens alone that mostly anyone present in the hall had. He had partaken in such scenes, mostly as a show of loyalty to the Dark Lord, but sometimes also by will in his early days as a Death Eater. He still had visions and nightmares of those events, those people whom he had inflicted pain upon, would come back to haunt his sleep often. Severus knew he could never forget some of those faces and those screams. Perhaps, that was his punishment. He wanted that punishment as a pitiful redemption of his crimes. He wanted to be haunted and feel the guilt that reminded him what kind of a man he had once been, and was still sometimes forced to become.
But tonight, he desperately wished that he could just let Granger's cries be faded and locked away forever. He wanted to forget the look of pain and misery that was on her face. Her eyes had met his briefly, full of terror and perhaps even hope that he could help. But Severus had stood there and done nothing. Nothing at all to protect the woman who he often thought of as the closest to him. He had stood and let the shame engulf him. Who was the war being fought for if he could not even save an innocent witch from suffering so brutally on the hands of the dark?!
Five minutes, Severus thought. The Dark Lord had been bored of watching the torture after about five minutes, after which he had introduced Severus to the Carrows. For once, even meeting new Death Eaters felt like a relief to him than being shown Granger's torment idly, like the useless, helpless, spineless man he was.
He had watched how Bellatrix had unsheathed a cursed blade from her sleeve; how she had bound Granger in a Body-bind; how she had used the blade on Granger's skin, marking her back with abhorrent words; how she had drawn blood and screams; how she had punished Granger mercilessly and entertained the others.
'Let the dirty blood flow away.' The bloody witch had chanted with sick glee. 'Embrace your redemption.'
Something profound had cracked within his chest at the sight. A deep pain had settled there. How he yearned to gather her in his arms and take her to safety where nobody could ever lay a hand on her again! How he wished that Granger's magic would explode and burn the hall down! He was supposed to protect her, and what he had let happen to her was unspeakable!
Bellatrix had squealed in pleasure even as Granger's cries had died down, only whimpers remaining. Once the screams had died down, the Dark Lord lost interest.
It was when even those whimpers stopped that Severus had been truly alarmed. He interrupted what Amycus Carrow was saying and turned to the Dark Lord. "My Lord," Severus said, barely containing his desperation, "If the girl appears too ill, they would get suspicious."
After having prevented Dolohov's advances, Severus knew he was on thin ice. Maybe he had already overstepped, but there is only so much a person can endure and Granger had endured far too much tonight.
"You spoil the fun, Severus," the Dark Lord said nonchalantly. "Look, how tempting the scene is."
And so Severus had to look again—Granger laid on her front, a torn, bloodstained garment barely covering her upper body, her back bloody. She looked barely conscious anymore. Bellatrix knelt by her side with that blasted blade in her hand. Severus vowed to himself in that moment that he would bring Bellatrix to her death with that very blade, one day, no matter if they won or lose the goddamn war!
"That will be all, Bella. You have ruined her enough," the megalomanic of a wizard ordered lightly. "It will take a long time to Severus to patch her up as it is."
The witch looked unhappy as she had to put the blade down, but she looked at Granger with twisted pride. "I have made her pretty for you, Sevy, Dear." She brought the bloodstained blade to her mouth and licked the dripping drops of blood from it. She squealed. Severus felt sick and outraged and even shocked at the sheer, naked inhumanity in the woman.
"I am not a forgiving man, Severus," the Dark Lord said as a form of dismissal. "Next time, her deflection will lead to nothing but death."
Severus bowed his head and made an effort not yo grit his teeth. "I expect nothing less, My Lord."
He kept in mind to maintain his confident gait as he approached Granger, but he was shaking within. He tried to keep himself from seeing her face—he couldn't afford to lose his self-control right now.
So he looked at her back instead—and it took him his everything to not lash out then and there. Words were engraved on Granger's skin, barely legible under all the seeping blood, and yet he could make out the message that was etched from her mid to lower back.
REDEMPTION FOR DIRTY BLOOD
A/N: One of the heaviest chapters I have ever written, I think. Really anxious for your feedback.
Summary of the torture scenes: Dolohov attempts to tear Hermione's clothes—and though he succeeds to some level, Severus stops him in time and tackles him down. Later, he says that the act could have killed Hermione (due to the terms of the bond) who was still valuable to Voldemort, that's why he had stopped Dolohov's advances. Then Bellatrix is handed the task of punishing Hermione, who engraves words on her back, with her blade. The words read, "Redemption for dirty blood".