Song Suggestion : J. Cole- "She Knows" (slowed + reverb)
Gentle Reminder: House Pet is almost Dead Dove, meaning that it contains disturbing content, but it doesn't quite meet the requirements of Dead Dove (to me). This chapter is a turning point for the story, and the content from here will be dark until the end (though it won't be unrelenting). Edit to add: please see Trigger Warnings at end.
The Rotten Truth
"I think I'd rather pet an acromantula." Hermione eyed the glass of firewhisky in complete loathing.
Harry clutched his own vial of alcoholic poison besides her. "It's tradition to send off the new recruits this way, but we can find some butterbeer if you'd like that better."
The cool air of the makeshift pub made her tighten her borrowed cardigan around her shoulders. Across the table, Ginny— Ron's sister—was in the process of pouring more drinks, and Tonks, the woman with purple hair from the Training room, was in the middle of singing the Hogwarts anthem with the infamous Weasley twins— all of them completely sloshed.
It had been three days since they'd arrived, and Sirius already planned to send Julie to their base in Scotland by the end of the week, along with Lavender and most of the children. He'd allotted them time to recuperate, but that would end soon. They'd fake Julie's death within a few days, making her decision permanent.
Hermione might need the liquid courage to release her friend.
She glanced sideways at Julie, who sipped on a glass of apple cider as she talked softly to Seamus.
"All right." Hermione raised her glass, and the others at the table cheered, following her lead. In synchronisation, everyone swallowed and grimaced. Hermione coughed, and Ron pounded on the middle of her back. The room gave raucous shouts and high fives. A little over the top, but Hermione grinned at the good-natured fun and wiped her lips.
"I'll drink as well." Julie surprised everyone by finishing off her apple cider with a single gulp.
Seamus gave a loud whoop of excitement, grabbing her wrist and lifting it into the air in celebration.
"Oh fuck, sorry Juls." He dropped her wrist like fire, just as Charlie seized Seamus's shoulders, lifted him bodily into the air, and set him aside.
"You're in timeout, Finnegan," Charlie warned, taking Seamus' seat. "You okay, dove?"
"I'm fine," Julie whispered back, cheeks stained pink. "I know he didn't mean it."
Under the table, Hermione grasped Julie's hand, trying to reassure her that everything would be all right, even if the day they needed to separate drew near.
"I can't leave you!" Julie clutched Hermione tight in their shared beds after leaving the pub. "And I can't bear my mum thinking I've died."
Since her rescue, Julie had been stoic to an unhealthy degree. Besides crying in her sleep, she showed little emotion. But as the hours approached closer to her journey, Julie cracked a little more until she fractured into pieces.
"He's going to find me. I can't survive it a second time."
Hermione cradled her like a child as she sobbed so hard she was gasping for breath.
"He won't," Hermione whispered, throat tightening. "You're going to go north and heal. You'll make new friends, and soon you'll be a mum like you've always wanted."
Julie pulled back, leaving wet blotches on Hermione's shirt. "I don't know if I can do that either. I never really planned to be its mum. And now— what if I never love it? What if I resent it?"
"Nothing you feel in this situation could be wrong," Hermione grabbed both her hands. "But this baby isn't his. It's completely yours. Nothing of you belongs to him."
Julie brushed her hand along her bump. "I just— I wish I had my mum."
"I know you do."
"I also wish I had its godmother there to help me. I don't know if I trust anyone else in this entire world."
"Godmother!"
Julie gave a sad smile. "I hope it's a girl, so I can name her Hermione."
"Don't you dare. It's unwieldy and impossible to shorten! I don't know what my parents were thinking."
Julie gave a sharp laugh and wiped her eyes. "It's my favourite."
"What if it's a boy?"
"Herm."
Despite the gravity of the situation, they both laughed. She stored the sound in the deepest parts of her soul—a place no one could steal it.
"I'm going to miss you," Hermione said.
"Every day of my life. I can never repay you for what you've done."
The next day, Hermione attempted to twist her body around her opponent in the training room, but she miscalculated and smacked into the sweaty mat. After that, Charlie Weasley quickly folded her into a pretzel.
"You're pathetic," he teased, looming over her, keeping her pinned down in a tight hold. "Our third years could beat you."
It wasn't her fault that she'd never physically trained like this. So far today, she'd lost ten matches, each more embarrassing than the last. The crowd around them had thinned after the first two when she showed she wasn't much of a challenge. Maryam had watched at first, before rolling her eyes and walking away.
She couldn't wait to challenge them to a duel and make them eat their words.
A deadly seriousness lurked under the surface of the people training around her. A thrum of tension in the throw of a knife, in the point of the wand. They might be normal young adults in the pub, but in the training room, they were recruits for a rebellion.
Despite not initially being interested in combat, Hermione admired the physicality— the ability to use leverage and pressure points to manoeuvre people. Grappling remained an essential skill even to wizards. Without wands, they'd still need to defeat opponents. She'd watched Titus push his body to the limit in training, using magical dummies to increase the challenges.
"Tap out," Charlie demanded.
"Never."
He twisted her arm down in a painful position. "Too bad. I'm ready to go."
This time her body relented, even though her mind wished to fight. She slapped the mat below her in frustration. Hermione's sweat dripped down her neck, and she was sure she smelled like a dirty sock, muscles burning and bones aching.
Charlie rolled his eyes. "Are you always this stubborn? I nearly had to break your arm for you to listen to me."
"Nearly always."
"Good. You'll need some fight in you. Though sometimes a person must retreat or concede defeat a time or two. It's wise to take the appropriate route. We only fight to the death if there's no other choice."
He stood up and reached down his hand. Her pride stung, so she almost swatted the offered help away, but she swallowed her frustration and let him pull her to standing. Then he patted her shoulder. "I have something to show you."
Charlie led her down a tunnel that went deep into the earth, coming out into a cavern.
It smelled of sulphur and dung, and the heat hurt her skin, hair crackling with volatile magic and an instinct of danger.
A growl rumbled from the dark depths of the cavern, and a red glow illuminated a giant snout in the dark.
"Get behind me," Charlie said.
She listened, positioning herself to only peek around his body as a Hungarian Horntail emerged from the shadows.
The black scaled dragon huffed, showcasing teeth the size of her arm. Yellow eyes assessed her, brimming with intelligence.
Dragons were sentient, but not in the same way as Centaurs. They viewed wizards as food, unable to control their high prey drive. On the rare occasion they did bond, it tended to be with a single wizard, whom they could speak to telepathically.
Bonding was dangerous, and many dragon riders were eaten or burned in the process. Only four out of ten were successful.
"This is Etelka. Isn't she a beauty?" The dragon moved close enough that Hermione could see striation on her shiny scales, and she resisted the urge to back away, knowing it might activate its aggression.
"Terrifying is a better word."
The dragon snorted, sending out a cloud of hot air that sizzled the ends of her hair.
"She liked that." Charlie scratched her snout. Unbelievably, the dragon rubbed against his hand like a puppy, though Hermione would be a fool to attempt the same.
"She can understand me?"
"For the most part."
"Did you build this room for her?"
"I did." He scratched along her jaw, close to her fierce teeth. "She needed somewhere to stay and doesn't like to be far from me since we're bonded. Though sometimes she joins her pack up north for days or weeks at a time. I don't keep her leashed."
"A pack leader?"
"The matriarch of a wild one. If you value your life, you shouldn't go near the others. Even I remain wary, though her hatchling sometimes tolerates my presence, since I helped raise her."
Hermione had as much desire to ride a dragon as ride a broom, maybe even less so. She respected their intelligence and power enough to keep a healthy distance, whether wild or bonded.
"Why did you bring me here?"
"I needed somewhere private to give you these, and no one is stupid enough to enter this room."
The dragon gave another rumble of a growl and lumbered to the edge of the cavern to curl up on the stone floors. Charlie extracted a bundle of scrolls from his cloak and handed them to Hermione.
"This is what little information we've compiled that the Order has on your father, including some written memories of some of his conversations. Your mother too. Sirius is willing to let you view his memories, if you wish, though we need to find a pensieve."
Hermione blinked at the scrolls, eyes burning with emotion, wondering at the contents. "Thank you."
"Sadly, it's not for free. Harry's going to bring you to your father's desk today. We need to try and open it."
"I've already told you that I'm not helping you with that."
Charlie ran a hand through his unbound hair, a common tic of his. "Sirius said that might still be your answer, and I get it. You don't trust us yet, but this is the only way. We need this, Hermione. We'll lose without some sort of break."
Hermione nibbled her lip in thought, unsure what to do. A part of her wanted to unravel her father's mysteries too, and the only place might be in that desk. Charlie was right— she didn't trust him, but she also didn't think he held ill will either.
"Could you go with me?"
"I have a mission, dove. We need to clear out a base in the west and relocate everyone, because the wards around it are failing."
"Alright, I'll do it."
Charlie's shoulders sagged in relief, and his dragon gave a snort of fire in the corner.
Five minutes later, long after Charlie and his dragon left and she'd stashed away her father's documents, something rustled near her. As she turned her head, Harry tugged off his invisibility cloak, revealing his messy hair and glasses, shifting in his perpetually awkward way.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"I suppose."
The Order tunnels went on forever, dark and damp and as suffocating as normal, filled with small spiders and roaches that made her shiver each time they crawled across her boots. The sooner she got out the better.
"Where exactly are we going?" She asked.
"To an abandoned base. It's not too far."
They'd fallen into silence, and the things unsaid between them bubbled to the surface, peeking out every time he stole a glance at her. Each distant crawl of a rat or drip of water only amplified the heavy barrier.
"You can ask me about him," she said.
Theo— the main topic they danced around. The thing that bound them together.
"I'm not sure what to ask. I'm not even sure I want to know."
"Yes, you do," she said. "He's training to be a healer."
Harry curled his shoulders forward, as if the knowledge pressed against him. "I always thought he'd be great at healing."
Hermione hesitated, staring at his back in the dim light. "He still loves you."
"I've always cared for him," he said and then hesitated. "He wanted more from me, but I— I don't know. I always knew things would separate us. His brother—" He sucked in a breath. "It was never meant to work."
She understood. Love wasn't enough. It didn't always overcome the obstacles or the differences. Sometimes paths diverged.
Before she could offer any more information, he lifted his lit wand to a wooden door. "It's here."
Empty, ransacked places always sent a chill down her spine. There was a melancholy attached to the stale molecules.
These tunnels had once been full of life. A busy center of activity. Her father walked these halls. Met people long dead, leaving only silence behind.
They walked through the abandoned rooms of the old base as Harry explained that it had been infiltrated by the aurors around the same time her father had been killed. The main wards had failed, because someone betrayed them. Most of the Order members fled and relocated.
But many people also died, right here in the tunnels, their blood congealed and dried where she now stepped.
Now only the ghosts remained, whispering warnings in the dark.
"The aurors used to monitor this place, but they don't bother anymore," Harry continued. "I'm not sure if they knew your father's research was here."
That didn't make her feel better. She didn't like to be in this enclosed tomb.
The final room they entered had been more ransacked than the others: rotting books strewn about, furniture upended, glass shattered, scorch marks along the wall.
The only thing untouched was a simple metal desk. With Harry's lumos hovering above, the shiny surface gleamed in its lonesome corner absent of any decoration.
"Is this it?" Hermione asked.
"Yes."
Hermione walked closer, running her hand along the cold metal of the top. So ordinary and unassuming. Yet, it contained inflammatory secrets. Things that could bolster the rebellion. Everything her father worked for was trapped in a single place. From the looks of the room, people had already attempted to crack into it.
"What if I find something I don't feel like sharing?" she asked.
Harry looked thoughtful. "If you think the contents are too dangerous, then I'll pretend we didn't find anything."
Sirius wouldn't approve of that decision.
Hermione stared at the desk, wondering what to do. But her curiosity guided her. She wanted to know her parents beyond the brief memories she had of them rocking her to sleep or singing "Happy Birthday."
There were four drawers on the sides, and a long skinny one in the center. She placed her hand on the middle handle. Taking a deep breath, she tugged.
Nothing happened.
She tugged again.
"It's locked," Hermione said, finally noticing the slight notch on the side of the metal handle. "I think it needs a key."
She performed an alohomora, but it stayed sealed. Then she attempted to open all of the other drawers. They didn't budge either, and the wards glowed red with the tampering.
Hermione backed away, unwilling to test it further. "I can't open it."
Harry pushed up his glasses and tilted his head to the side. "Maybe you're right about the key."
"But where would my father hide one?"
"Sirius is going to be disappointed. They put a lot of hope in this, but it's just another dead end."
Hermione was disappointed too. Why would her father hide his work from the Order? It bothered her like a splinter under her skin. As if she was missing something important right under her nose. But no matter how many stones she turned in her mind, nothing revealed itself.
"Let's go back," Hermione said.
Harry shuffled his feet. "Sirius ordered me to show you the muggles today. He said after that, he'll allow you to leave when you want, as long as you let him obliviate information about base locations."
Hermione didn't like the thought of obliviation, remembering the way Travers convulsed and collapsed in agony, but she also didn't feel like arguing about it right now.
"How will we get to the muggles?"
"The place he wants me to show you is only a short broom ride from here."
Hermione curled her lip in disgust. "Why must it always be broom travel?"
Despite her terror, Harry was a natural at flying, though she still clutched onto his back with the invisibility cloak wrapped tight around them both, and a disillusionment charm on their broom and feet so as not to be seen.
She closed her eyes until they touched down. Finally safe, with her feet firmly on Earth, she let herself examine where they landed.
A formidable wall reached up to the sky in front of her, brick at the base to a man's height, then tall metal panels, topped with razor wire and stretching as far as she could see on both sides. Solid metal gates provided entry.
"Where are we?" She whispered to Harry, standing under the cloak beside her.
"They call this one the South camp. I believe they have five now."
She remembered the mention of them before attending Goyle's party. Titus had assured her that the workers were volunteers and compensated.
Her stomach turned as a tight sensation enveloped her chest.
Hermione tried to glance past the small cracks in the metal panels, standing on her tiptoes, but she couldn't see much from her vantage point.
"Let's go inside," Harry said.
"Inside? Are you mad? Don't they have wards?"
Harry shook his head. "They don't have the resources for real wards. The walls are charmed with caterwauling charms, but it's built for muggles. All we need to do is wait for someone to enter the main gate, and then we'll slip inside."
"But we'll get caught."
"I've done this several times."
She didn't feel that great about the situation, but she did promise Sirius, and she trusted Harry.
The entrance consisted of heavy double gates, showcasing the same lethal spiked wire lining the top.
"Hold still, someone's coming," Harry said after thirty minutes of waiting.
They huddled under the cloak as a wizard with an eyepatch entered into view on horseback with three women floating behind him, all petrified in contorted shapes. It looked as if they'd been frozen while running.
"Who is that?" Hermione whispered under the heavy fabric, listening to the clop of hooves get closer.
"A bounty hunter," Harry answered. "There are several that are loosely employed by the ministry."
"Why is he transferring women?"
Harry didn't answer that, and Hermione's magic tingled in her fingers, amplified by her disquiet.
Both gates to the camp opened with a loud groan.
"I told you to get five." An old man stepped out from inside the camp. He was stooped and greyed, beard to his chest in the old fashion.
"Well, I have three," the bounty hunter responded in a gruff voice. "You can take them or leave them."
The old wizard pulled out a bifocal and floated the women closer, taking his time to examine them, lifting their hair, and running his hands along their legs.
"They look a little rough. Where did you catch them?"
"Oxford. They'd been illegally scavenging. This one doesn't have her tongue." He tapped the closest woman, dark hair covering her face, and gave a sharp laugh. "But that's a bonus. None are virgins, and they're older than what I usually bring, but all of them have their teeth. Another wave of mercenaries are coming from Spain, and we'll need to prepare for them."
Hermione clutched her stomach, experiencing the same type of sickness she'd had seeing the woman at the party pressed to the table, dead eyes staring back at her, red dress pushed up her hips. Her vision tunnelled, and she grabbed Harry's shoulder for support.
The old man snorted, still feeling the women. Hermione's horror twisted into molten anger, billowing through her chest like dragon fire.
Harry gripped her wrist, pulling her to standing. "We can't fight. There are too many."
She knew that. But her magic had other ideas, sizzling under the surface to be used.
The bounty hunter dismounted from his horse, patting its flank. "Let's get them processed. I need to get back home by dinner tonight. Sherri is inviting our neighbours for a party." He grabbed the reins and walked inside the camp beside the older man, their captive women levitating behind them.
Hermione couldn't look at their faces as they hurried after them, ashamed about not helping, heart furiously pounding. They stayed under the cloak just inside the boundary of the work camp, completely still.
The gates snapped shut behind them, trapping them inside.
"Are you alright?" Harry whispered.
"I'm not sure," she answered honestly.
"The bounty hunters capture muggle women for crimes that aurors feel are below them to deal with," Harry whispered, voice gentle. "But it's mostly without proof, so they might not have done anything. Then they transfer them to various camps. Once here, they are then given a choice between selling themselves to work off their sentence in the whorehouse or labour in the fields."
"They—" she couldn't finish the sentence.
Harry put an arm around her shoulders. "Do you want to see more?"
A part of her soul hardened inside her, a numbness that spread through her veins, poisoning her heart.
"Show me all of it."
The main camp consisted of large rectangular brick buildings, lined neatly in rows. Nothing seemed special about them, having an industrial feel. The only demarcation was a number stamped on the door.
They snuck into one of the buildings easily, surprising Hermione at the lack of wards. But she supposed even with the lax security, it would be difficult for muggles to escape.
"They keep some of the women in this one," Harry whispered.
The building contained long lines of makeshift rooms, empty at the time they entered. Each space held a bed and a bathroom. The women had tried to make it homey with colourful comforters and small vases of wildflowers. Some had books, others had art or musical instruments.
Harry watched her peering into a room, curious at the contents.
"If they show good behaviour, they are given favour by the guards," Harry explained. "Sometimes the men that frequent them give them gifts too."
No matter how much the women tried to make the space comfortable, it was still a prison. Three of the walls were solid, some painted or wallpapered. Some with art or photos. But instead of a door, they had the iron bars of a cell, similar to the ones in the ministry.
"Where are they now?"
"Probably on their daily exercise runs. The wardens are militant with the women's health and hygiene."
"How do you know so much?"
"Sirius has brought me here several times. He wanted to show me the reality so I can remind myself what I'm fighting for."
Hermione stared at the sad rooms, at the meagre possessions displayed with pride. Each of these women had hopes and dreams. Did they wish for love or a career or children?
"Why don't they choose to work in the fields?"
Harry twisted his head and looked at her, green eyes glistening under his glasses.
"You'll see."
Harry flew low in the sky, twisting around the maze of brick buildings to get to the fields. They passed the group of women, about fifty of them, all exercising like Harry predicted. A woman in a grey cloak shouted orders at them, while a couple of guards lounged off to the side, smoking cigarettes.
Hermione didn't have long to view them before they flew too far away. She wished she could scoop them all up and shuttle them to safety like she'd done with Julie. It hurt to pass them by and leave them behind.
"Do they capture the men to work too?"
"If a muggle man is charged with a crime, he's normally killed. The workers in the fields sign up voluntarily."
"Why would anyone choose to enter this hell?"
"Starvation. The camp commander makes them sign contracts for a loan that equals enough food, shelter, and necessities for a year. Once they begin work, they're given a paltry wage, but it's almost impossible to pay back the balance fully, leaving them in debt. It's barely living. Some bring their wives and kids."
Hermione went cold. "Families live here?"
"Yes," he said, pointing to buildings near the north side. "Some of these are for single men, others for women, and the rest are built for families."
The thought of children growing up in this environment—
Harry banked left sharply, avoiding a group of guards, flying low, so that no one could see under their cloak from below.
"What are those?" Big rectangular boxes were attached to tall poles at different points around the camp buildings. They looked like muggle equipment.
"Televisions to broadcast announcements, experimenting with mass communication. They also have multiple cameras to record the muggles. They're fairly new. The Butcher's been implementing a surveillance system around the UK, but the camps are monitored the most heavily."
Hermione was so disturbed she forgot her fear of flying. Titus hated muggle technology. It felt hypocritical of him to use it.
They soon arrived in the fields to see organised rows of men and a few women bending down and pulling potatoes out of the ground. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. It seemed endless.
In the distance, she noticed other types of crops, though she wasn't knowledgeable enough to identify them.
Wizards on horseback, and some hovering on brooms, monitored the workers.
Most of the muggle men didn't have shirts or adequate clothing for the weather, hair cut short, their backs striped with scars and wounds. Ribs showed, bones jutting from skin, resembling skeletons walking upright.
The air reeked of something putrid. The type of scent that stuck to clothing, rotten and pungent. She placed a hand over her nose to precent retching.
"What's that awful smell?"
"Those."
Harry pointed to the middle of the fields, showing spiked metal poles with scarecrows attached to them. She'd read about them once in a muggle book, used to protect crops from scavengers.
But on a second, closer glance, she saw past the illusion her brain wished to paint.
They weren't scarecrows at all, but decaying corpses, rotting in the sun until all identifiable features had been sloughed away. Flesh and blood replaced the traditional straw and cotton.
"Merlin." Hermione clutched her nose and mouth, fearing she'd vomit.
"That's what happens when they try to run away without paying their debt," Harry said. "They keep them in the fields as a warning—"
"Get up!" one of the guards yelled below, flinging a curse at a worker. "I never said you could take a break." The man yelped, and a red welt appeared on his back.
"He's hurting him," she said, body tense, magic tingling so bad it was painful. "We have to stop it."
"We can't."
She'd never felt so helpless as when she watched the guard beat the man, only relenting when he pulled himself up and began picking the crops again, back red and bleeding.
"Why do they have to do this?" Hermione's eyes burned seeing the brutality. "They could help make the harvest faster with magic."
"The amount of work they'd have to do to plant, grow, and pick the amount of crops necessary to feed the entire nation is too much, even for the wizards. Why bother wasting magic when they can make someone else do it for them? Most wizards find this work beneath them."
Every potato she'd ever eaten had come from these fields. Every vegetable she'd stabbed with a fork or left on her plate after eating a bite and finding herself full. She'd never once questioned the source.
Do you know how many people would trade places with you? You've never been without food. You always have the best clothes, while the rest of the country is struggling to survive. You have no clue what suffering really is.
Titus had lied about many things, but he'd told her a painful truth then. She thought she'd seen the worst of it with the muggle cities and the decay and the parties and the mist.
But this was worse. All of the luxury she enjoyed. All of their food and books and ice cream— it originated in the welts and scars on the backs of muggles.
Calling them voluntary work camps was a ruse. Once a person entered the contract out of desperation, it became impossible to dismantle.
Could she continue living a life in a manor knowing all of the food and goods she consumed came at the cost of suffering? She'd been lied to all of her life.
An incandescent rage engulfed her, the likes of which she hadn't felt since Blaise. It simmered under her skin, powerful enough she thought she could Avada the whole lot of the guards in a blink.
She'd never considered herself truly bloodthirsty. But she felt it then— the urge to reach her hand into the chest of the nearest guard and rip out their heart. Watch it beat in her palm. She wished to see their shocked faces. Wished to be the one to send them to eternal torment.
"I think I need to go back."
She needed to go before she did something she regretted.
"Okay," Harry said.
She clenched her teeth as she trembled, wishing to help these people, finding it painful to suppress it.
As they flew back to the gate, almost clearing the south buildings, a shout broke through her internal distress.
She glanced up. "What's that?"
"I don't know." Another shout. "It sounds like it's from the children's section."
Her heart sank, fearing the worst.
"What do they do with the children?"
He shrugged. "The babies and young children stay in a nursery while their parents work. They have minders that watch them. Once they reach fifteen, they have to work half days in the fields, though they aren't allowed to be beaten like the adults. From what I know, Nott is supposedly a stickler about the childrens' treatment, making sure they have decent food and playtime, but I'm not sure how well his rules are followed."
Several more shouts.
"Whatever is happening, we can't interfere," Harry said. "We probably should leave."
"Yes," Hermione agreed, but Harry was already flying toward the disturbance.
They arrived at a circular gated playground with metal slides and creaking swings in the middle of the building complex.
Children should be crawling over every surface, laughing and squealing. Instead, they stood in straight lines, facing a group of guards that included the old man from earlier and the bounty hunter. Women— their minders, she suspected— walked along the lines of children keeping them behaved.
"The commander." Harry pointed to a man with grey hair, cut severely short, who walked through the guards toward the front. He was middle-aged, dressed in pressed dress robes with heavy gold rings on each finger. "This must be serious. I've never seen him out—"
"My precious sweetlings," the man crooned in a voice that crawled along her skin. "Earlier this morning, your minders found all of the crayons turned pink."
His grin was a razor blade as he stared at the rows of shivering children, the littlest of which seemed to be around five. Whoever this man was, they were terrified of him. With his hands behind his back, the commander walked down the line of children, inspecting them slowly. One small girl pressed her face in her hands as if to hide.
"Now now, sweet little thing." He reached down to gently stroke her cheek. "No one is in trouble. In fact, it's a miracle. Whoever tells me who did it will get a whole box of sweets and any toys they desire. The sooner someone tells me, the sooner you can get back to your play."
"My dad said we shouldn't tattle." An older boy with freckles and bright blond hair stood tall and sneered.
The warden's sharp smile faltered, and he let go of the little girl's cheek and slowly walked to the boy, who shrank back at the towering figure.
"That's just not true." The commander placed a heavy palm on the boy's curly hair. "We reward little boys who tell, especially about their parents." He bent down, fishing out a peppermint from his pocket, holding it out like a lure. "Do you know who turned the crayons pink?"
"N-no."
"No what?"
"N-no sir."
The commander straightened. "Anyone else?"
He waited, but no one answered. It was so silent she heard the crinkle of the peppermint wrapper as he closed his fist around the sweet.
"That's a shame. I do so hate to give punishments. But I'm afraid I'll be left with no choice, because one of your parents has been very naughty, lying to us, and they'll all have to be questioned."
A little girl with sunburned cheeks began to cry. She had brown hair, braided neatly, skinned knees, and sucked on her thumb to soothe herself. The Warden twisted in the direction of the cry, zeroing in on his prey.
"Bring her to me," he demanded. A guard grabbed the girl and gently led her forward. She tried to hide behind the man's legs, afraid of the commander, but she was shoved forward.
The commander once again leaned down and offered the peppermint, which was ignored, wiping away a tear on her cheek with his thumb.
"There's nothing to fear from me." He grabbed both her hands in a gentle hold. "Did you turn the crayons pink, darling?"
Her breathing hitched with subdued cries. "Mummy said it was bad."
"No, no, little one. It's wonderful. Did your daddy tell you that too?"
"I don't have a daddy." She began to cry again. "I just wanted a pink flower, but there was only green and blue."
"Of course, you did. Pink is a lovely colour for a flower. In fact, soon you'll get to live with a new mum and dad who will give you all the sweets you like. And I bet, they'd also make sure you can colour as many flowers pink as you'd like."
"A new mum and dad? Will mummy come with me?"
"Maybe," he lied. "Thank you for being brave and telling me the truth. Now go with your minder while we wait for the ministry."
He stood and motioned to dismiss everyone. The women guided the children in lines as they walked toward a far building. The little muggleborn went the opposite way, holding the hand of a minder, one thumb still stuck in her mouth.
Hermione stood close enough to hear the commander's next orders, spoken in a low voice.
"Get the girl's mother and place her in building seventeen. Without her husband to procreate more magical offspring, she's useless to us and will serve as a severe reminder to the rest of them of what happens when they lie and hide. Geoffrey, get in contact with the ministry." He grinned at the old man with the long beard from the gate. "We're going to be handsomely rewarded for this. Owl the Carrows too. They've been wanting a ward."
Hermione froze at the names, a hand still over her mouth to prevent a scream. Even Titus hated the Carrows. They were banned from teaching at Hogwarts after proving too cruel to the pureblood heirs.
What would they do with a child in their grasp? Would the ministry actually grant their request?
Harry breathed just as hard as she did as they waited in the courtyard, watching as the guards dispersed, leaving them with the creak of empty swings.
"We have to get her out," he said.
"How would we do that without getting caught?" Hermione, for once, was the voice of reason. "It's too dangerous."
"I thought you said you were a Gryffindor? But perhaps you're just a coward."
That was a low blow. She didn't want to leave the little girl either, whose only mistake was loving pink. And for that she'd be given to a pair of psychopaths. It would be a lifetime filled with unknowable torment. People like the Carrows didn't want to be loving parents to children. At best, they wanted a muggleborn pet as a status symbol. But even then, the girl would probably be mistreated.
"There's no way we could—" Hermione reached down and touched the edge of her trousers, remembering something.
No, she decided. Harry was right. She couldn't stand by and watch a little girl fed to monsters.
Not when she could stop it.
Hermione held the last vial of Titus' Polyjuice potion. It worked best freshly brewed. As time went on, it lost its efficacy. So if she drank this, she took a risk.
Was it worth it?
She imagined the sweet girl with braids in Amycus' grasp, young enough she still sucked on her thumb for comfort.
Her threshold for tolerance and inaction had hit its limit. A child couldn't protect itself. The little girl didn't have a wand, knowledge, or strength to fight.
But Hermione did.
"That looks nasty," Harry said, eyeing the remains of the bubbling brown liquid.
"It is," she agreed and drank it all. Within moments the potion began to work, her legs elongating, chest widening. Scruff sprouted on her chin as she readjusted her clothing and then bent down with her new height, so that her legs didn't poke out from under the hem of the invisibility cloak.
Hermione tapped her wand against her borrowed apparel, transfiguring it into Titus' Mediator outfit, body armour and all. She knew every button. Every snap. It would be indistinguishable to everyone, beside Titus himself.
Hermione waited until they were alone before stepping out from under the invisibility cloak, following the path of the guard who had taken the little girl. In her newly transfigured clothes, she made sure to copy Titus' swagger too. The slight gait to his walk, the way he kept his head high. She'd examined him enough to know his subtle cues.
When she came across her first guard, he shrank away under Titus' hard stare. The small group of muggles besides him gasped and trembled, keeping their heads down while she passed. It was disconcerting to cause so much fear just walking.
"The Butcher's here," she heard the whispers. Hermione resisted the temptation to adjust his clothes again.
"Where's the muggleborn?" she asked a guard she finally recognized— one she'd seen on the playground with the commander.
"This way."
The guard led her to one of the buildings.
The little girl sat outside with her minder. Someone had found a temporary table, along with a colouring book, and a whole box of crayons. She clutched a pink one, already scribbling away, looking so innocent, unaware that her whole world had been upended.
"Where's my mummy?" the girls asked.
"Quiet," the minder said without any vitriol. Hermione wondered how the woman could disconnect from her humanity to the extent that she could hand over a child she'd been tasked to care for.
When the minder glanced up and noticed Titus, she snapped to attention, straightening from her lazy stance leaning against the brick wall.
"I'm here for the girl," Hermione deepened her voice.
The minder looked confused. "I was told to wait for—"
"I would advise you to do as I say."
Titus was usually in charge of serious crimes, so his appearance was out of place.
"Yes, sir," the woman said without a second hesitation. "Get up, Caroline. It's time to go. You can bring your colours."
The girl blinked with a frown. "But I don't want to go with him."
Not having time to argue, Hermione reached down and picked up the colouring book and crayons and tucked them in her cloak. Caroline gave a little cry at the sudden theft.
"Be a brave girl and come with me. We can colour later, and I'll let you pick out a sweet."
Caroline glanced back at her minder, and then let Hermione take her tiny hand, sticking her opposite thumb in her mouth again like a toddler.
Like she hoped, no one stopped or questioned Titus Nott as they walked away.
The next moments were a blur as Hermione continued her long trip around the buildings, heart pounding, the girl in her grasp. This all seemed way too easy, and Hermione found herself growing a little paranoid. The heat of the sun bore down on her. Sweat trickled down the nape of her neck, and her disguise shimmered under the light more than it should.
"Where are you taking me?" The little girl whimpered.
With horror, Hermione watched the skin on Titus' hand ripple. Like she suspected, the polyjuice didn't last very long. She didn't have much time before the disguise faded.
"Somewhere safe." Hermione made sure no one could see and made a quick decision. "Stupefy." The girl collapsed, finger still in her mouth. Remembering her own rescue, Hermione knew the child was too young to be reasoned with. She couldn't risk a struggle, especially if she frightened her by turning back into a woman.
Hermione picked up the confused child and hurried along. The fake dragon hide boots crunched over pebbles as they entered the playground, knowing Harry was under the invisibility cloak.
"I have her," she said.
"And no one followed you?" Harry only lifted the cloak enough so that Hermione could slip under.
"No."
"She's so young." He stared at her for a long time. "Flying with three might be difficult."
"We won't need to fly."
Hermione shifted the girl into Harry's hold, while she snuck her hand into her trousers and into her hidden pouch, coming out with a small black box.
"What is that?" Harry asked.
She opened the box, seeing an ordinary rock nestled in velvet.
"A single-use portkey to the manor."
"Malfoy manor?" Harry spat. "Are you mental? Malfoy hates me."
"Besides maybe forcing me to stay behind, he won't do a thing. You can use the floo after, if you need. Or you could fly back to the base."
Harry seemed sceptical. "You really trust him, don't you?"
"I do."
"Alright," he said. "I don't trust him, but I strangely trust you."
Hermione reached inside the box and touched the rock the same time Harry did, forcing Caroline's little fingers to touch as well.
They waited.
And waited.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't know," Hermione said. "It's not working, but that's impossible. Draco gave it to me."
A faulty portkey. Something about it twisted her stomach, slightly painful like pressing against a loose tooth. Draco would never give her something that didn't work.
But that knowledge didn't change the fact that nothing she did activated it.
She'd think through it later. Right now, they were wasting time and needed to get out of the camp before ministry officials showed up and locked it down.
"Do you think you could apparate?"
"I've never attempted side-along," Harry admitted.
That left only one option.
By the time they straddled the broom and completed the disillusionment charms, she'd changed back into herself. But even with her smaller size, they still found it awkward with two adults and a heavy, catatonic child between them. Harry flung the girl across his lap, but it showed more of their legs than before, even if they flew low.
The broom lifted, struggling to manoeuvre with the added weight. Under the bright sunlight, the charm was far more visible than she'd like. The outline of the broom and feet shimmered in a way that might give away their location if people looked too closely.
Harry's Firebolt wasn't as new or fast as Draco's, but he pushed it to the limit, zooming around building corners.
A minute into their flight a loud alarm rent the air, screeching so loud she jumped and almost lost her grip.
"They know she's missing," she said. "Fly faster!"
"I'm flying as fast as I can."
Not fast enough. And not hidden enough.
A curse sizzled by her ear, just barely missing. Hermione twisted to see two wizards trailing after them on brooms.
Harry cursed under his breath, managing to evade another curse.
Hermione fired back, only using defensive spells, but she'd never duelled while flying, and she missed each time.
Harry twisted around a building close to the gate, and then flipped up. Hermione bit her tongue to keep from screaming at the trick move. Any other time and she'd beat him for that, but the two wizards flew along, unaware they now hovered close to the roof of the building.
He didn't waste time, zipping off into the opposite direction, keeping silent until they flew over the endless fields.
"I think we should just fly over the wall," Harry said over the rushing wind. "Even if it trips the charms. They already know we're here, so we need to avoid the entrance. I could outfly—"
A spell struck their broom, spinning it. Hermione let out a scream, attempting to hold on, but centrifugal force ripped her from the broom, and she hurtled to the ground.
"Arresto momentum," she screamed right before she would have splattered, and then collapsed to the ground. She panted at the near miss, glancing up.
Harry just counteracted the broom spinning curse, somehow still holding onto the girl. His cloak had slid off his head, making it look as if he floated mid-air.
The same two wizards they thought they'd outsmarted had turned around and were on their way, curses zinging from their wands— immobilising spells, she assumed. They didn't seem to want to risk hitting the girl. Hermione managed to deflect two as Harry gained his bearings. They were close enough now to see their features, recognizing one of them as the old man from the gate— Geoffrey, she believed he'd been called.
"I'm coming to get you," Harry called, the broom still slightly wobbling. A blue curse hurtled over his head.
Hermione's stomach sank as she measured the distance in her mind. Her mind quickly flipped through the risks. If he flew down, the men would be upon them before they could get back up. All three of them would be caught and detained and everything would be pointless.
"There's no time," she screamed. "Keep flying. Save the girl."
"I'm not going to leave you." Finally finding his balance, he ignored her plea and started flying toward her.
Her heart wrenched in her chest, realising she couldn't allow that. If Harry was caught, they'd kill him— but they might not do the same to her.
She focused on how it felt to see the muggles' backs filled with scars. The scarecrow corpses. The women floating to their fate. The children in a line. The hate wasn't toward Harry, but it strengthened her intent.
"Imperio," she screamed, feeling the familiar suffocation of the unforgivable, but it zipped out of her wand even easier than the last time. The curse struck Harry. "Go back to the Order base. Save yourself and Caroline. Fly as fast as you can and don't get caught. I'll distract them."
With a flat expression, Harry paused mid-air. Only for a moment, and then he did as she ordered, flying away at lightning speed, one of the guards on his tail. The old man broke off from the chase and flew toward her, probably thinking she was easier prey.
Hermione glanced around, making a quick assessment of her location. She'd landed in a potato field, the leaves crunching under her boots. In the distance, the muggles still laboured.
The disturbance of her falling had caught the attention of some of the guards, and several were already headed her way on brooms.
Hermione flung up a protego as a yellow curse bounced off. She twisted and ran, not sure where to go. The wall was too far to reach, and she couldn't scale it without a broom. Two guards on brooms hurtled toward her, and more were on their way. Multiple wizards could be seen flying in the distance.
Unable to figure out what to do, she continued to run, using protegos to deflect the curses as they zipped by her head. She ducked and zigzagged, finally stopping when she neared one of the metal poles topped with a scarecrow corpse.
The smell of it burned her nose with each breath as she neared.
Instead of passing it by, she bent down, gasping and retching, and then straightened, glancing up the metal. Above her, the feet of a dead muggle dangled. She saw now that his body had been impaled on a spike from the top. But he barely looked human, skin darkened and bloated.
This man's only crime had been attempting to run from the monsters now chasing her.
She twisted to view the oncoming storm of wizards, the scarecrow corpse above her. An odd calm overtook her. An acceptance.
Running only wasted her energy. Like the murdered muggle, there was no way to escape this.
Hermione clutched her wand, crouching down into the duelling stance that Titus taught her.
If this was a fight to the death, then she'd show them she was no lamb to be led to the slaughter. She'd show them that she'd been trained to fight by the Butcher. That she learned dark magic from the Malfoys. Her final bite would be aimed for their throats.
In her last moments, she'd force her opponents to face her as an equal.
Geoffrey landed before the other wizards reached them, wand pointed at her.
"Drop your wand."
"As you wish." She did as he asked, letting it tumble to the dirt. But it was his mistake. Like she planned, he let his guard down, only seeing a defenceless woman.
"Now lie on the ground—"
Hermione lifted her wrists and twisted, magic focused with sharpened intention.
The old man's head exploded like the vases in Malfoy manor, liquified into a spray of crimson, bone, and brain matter. It fertilised the ground around them, splattering across her skin. His headless body collapsed like snipping a puppet's strings.
"Fucking hell," she whispered in shock. The amount of blood a body could carry would always surprise her, watching it seep into the Earth from an empty neck. She accioed her wand back into her hand, knowing the same trick wouldn't work twice.
A red curse struck her side— a spell that burned her skin— but it was a weak one. Hermione managed to counter it with minimal skin damage just as the two guards arrived, catapulting off their brooms. They stepped over their dead comrade on the ground and attacked, spells meant to subdue.
They wanted her alive, but she wanted them dead.
Her brain went deadly silent as she began to fight, relying on training and instinct. Remembering the way Titus corrected her stance, taught her to curve a spell. The way to spin and protect her back while protecting her front. She'd watched his graceful movements and had practised them to perfection for years. Step, slash, duck, twist, slash, step.
As the curses slammed into her shields, she imagined herself a coiled snake, defensive until the perfect strike.
It didn't take long. Even though it was two to one, they were sloppy and ill-trained. They'd grown complacent, only oppressing people they considered easy victims. She waited for an opening, and when the youngest of the guards wobbled in his stance, she went on the offensive.
"Oculus Lacrimam!" she viciously curved her spell, striking him in the side. His eyes went opaque, rolling up, and then ripped out of the sockets. He screamed, clutching his face, but it did nothing to replace his eyes.
"What did you do to him, bitch?!" a guard next to him with red hair growled.
"He'll never see again."
"I'm going to kill you!" The man reacted in fury like she'd hoped, letting his anger make him careless.
Use the element of surprise.
He was so focused on her right hand, he didn't catch that she was ambidextrous. With her left, she flung an "Afflicto!" aimed at his dominant side. His arm snapped like a twig. Then with a quick expelliarmus, his wand hurtled away from him, preventing him from using the counter-curse to fix it.
The guard dropped to his knees in agony, defenceless, eyes wide, realising his sudden vulnerability as she stepped toward him with her wand raised. Given time to study his features, she recognized him as one of the guards that had stood aside and let a man be beaten while harvesting potatoes. How many other people had he tormented?
Her rage returned, infecting her soul. All of the horrors she'd seen condensed into this single moment.
"Mercy," he begged while she levitated his body, placing it directly above the metal spike holding the rotting corpse.
He screamed and pleaded, understanding her intent. She hesitated only a moment, and then she remembered the bloody backs of muggles, the rooms for the women. And her rage turned cold.
"I don't grant mercy to monsters."
Hermione dropped him, grimacing at the noises of death his body made, turning her face away from the grisly sight of it. Finished with her task, she forced her attention back to the wizards racing toward her. Planning to kill them all, one by one.
But before she could twist back around, a blue spell slammed into her back, toppling her over— a petrificus totalus. Her frozen mouth came into contact with the fields, face buried into a tangle of leaves. Globs of dirt sucked into her mouth with each breath.
She didn't stay in that position long, because hands grabbed and shoved her over, forcing her to stare up into the face of the bounty hunter.
Releasing the curse, he grabbed her wrists, slamming them hard into the Earth, straddling her stomach. "Who the fuck are you?"
She spit in his face, and he backhanded her. The collision forced her face to the side with a crack. Black dots exploded in her vision, and the pain shocked her whole body. Never in her life had she'd been hit like that— by a man, with his whole force behind it. She was unable to think through the intense pain.
The bounty hunter wasted no time interrogating. He stood up and kicked her in her side, the steel toe of his boot cracking against ribs. Then he leaned over and slammed her head against the metal of the pole. She could no longer think. Could barely breathe from the pain. Blood filled her mouth as he knocked her around like a doll.
This man didn't really want her answers. He wanted to punish her. Maybe because the old man had been his friend. She didn't have the breath to plead, only to scream as the beating continued. She had no way to judge how long it went on until it stopped.
"If you kill the woman before I can question her, I'll be very angry," a familiar voice cut through the agony.
The hands abruptly left Hermione's body, and she curled to the side, attempting to crawl away in self-preservation. She only got as far as the metal spike, fresh crimson dripping down from the guard she'd killed above, splattering against her skin. Dirt and thick blood leaked out of her mouth and smeared across her face.
Through blurry eyes, she watched as Titus dismounted his broom. He reached in his pocket and slowly pulled on his leather gloves— ones he often used for torture. He didn't rush, using the time to intimidate her.
Since she'd lost awareness from the beating, many more guards and aurors had arrived. They surrounded her, all with wands out, pinning her in place.
"The minder said I'd taken the muggleborn, but that would be impossible." The leather of Titus' dragon hide gloves creaked as he finished putting them on. "Now here you are, yet the girl is gone."
She could only see his boots as he stalked closer and crouched down. "Here's what's going to happen," he said. "You're going to tell me where you put the little muggleborn. Then you're going to tell me who you work for, everything you know, and how the fuck you managed to get one of my hairs for polyjuice. If I'm satisfied, then I'll consider a faster death, though I must warn you that I'm very annoyed you dared to impersonate me. Now—" He reached down, grabbed the back of her hair, and yanked up, pulling her face into view. "Let's see who you—"
Titus froze for a long time, blue eyes widening. She rarely saw him surprised, but his mouth opened and closed in shock. The hands in her hair loosened, gently transferring to her face, cradling her jaw.
"Sprite?" He brushed her curls away, sticky with blood. "Bloody hell, what the fuck are you— why the fuck are you here?"
She could only groan in pain. As he examined her wounds, his occlumency shields snapped into place.
"Tell me what hurts the most."
"My side."
She flinched when he pressed against the most tender spot, counting his way across her bones.
"Your ribs are broken." His wand glowed, whispering a Brackium Emendo, and the bones snapped back into place. She arched with a cry of pain and panted, opening her eyes fully for the first time as his wand glowed slowly over her body and face, using episkeys to deal with smaller wounds.
As he healed her, calculations played in Titus' gaze, as if projecting every possible outcome in a moment and choosing the best one he thought available. When he was finally done, he gently let his gloved thumb glide along the bruised flesh of her cheek. "Cleaning up this mess will come at a cost."
The touch made her shiver, seeing him in a different light. She glanced up at the feet dangling above her and then at the muggles in the distant field. Titus wasn't just a passive observer— he was one of the architects. And if she'd been anyone else, his fingers would be giving pain instead of healing.
"Don't touch me," she whispered.
His expression shuttered again, and his hold firmed.
"Tell me where the girl is, Sprite."
Harry must have gotten away, or he wouldn't ask that question. A tightness uncurled in her chest. She might be just an ordinary muggleborn, but she'd saved both Julie and Caroline from horrid fates, and she wouldn't let him take that from her.
"You'll have to torture it out of me."
"Your mind is addled. Don't be stubborn. You have nowhere to go and no ability to fight me. Resistance to my questions is foolish. I'll give you another chance—"
"Why are you healing the bitch?" the bounty hunter interrupted. "She killed Geoffrey and should be strung up with the rest of the muggles."
A muscle in Titus' jaw clenched, and he took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. He softly lowered her, pocketing her wand and stood up, turning to the bounty hunter. "Were you the one who beat her?"
Her assailant stepped forward, chest puffed with pride, though she saw the way he swallowed hard with nerves. "Yes, sir. She killed Monty and Geoffrey and blinded Tealson."
"Did she?" Titus viewed the carnage— the man impaled on the pole and a body with a crimson halo in place of head—as if seeing it for the first time. It was hard to tell for sure, but he seemed impressed.
"Yes."
"You unfortunately misstepped." Titus' wand slashed down in a vicious stroke. A red light struck the bounty hunter, and he clutched at his throat and collapsed, unable to make sounds, unable to breathe. His face turned an ugly purple as Titus glared at the convulsing body at his feet, free hand twitching with restraint. "Cruicio!" he added. The green light lit up his face even under the sun, illuminating his enjoyment while inflicting pain. He waited callously a few more moments before letting up, muttering the countercurse to the suffocation spell.
"Get him out of my sight before I kill him." An auror silenced the bounty hunter and levitated him away before Titus could make good on his threat. "The next person who even breathes in her direction will be sliced in two. I don't care if she murders ten wizards, no one touches her but me, does everyone understand?"
A mumbled chorus of "yes, sir" answered him.
Partially healed, Hermione's mind began to work again, making a list of her problems.
She'd killed two camp guards and blinded a third. If she was dragged back to the ministry, she'd be interrogated and punished, even with Titus' intervention. Dolohov and his warnings infected her mind, the shadow dogs tearing at her legs. This time she'd actually killed purebloods and helped steal two muggleborns. Not to mention if they figured out about Travers. What would he do to her?
Hermione wasn't willing to stick around to find out.
Titus had her wand, distracted with punishing her attacker. He'd turned his back on her, because he believed her defanged due to her injuries. And he was right. What could she do? She might be able to defeat a few poorly trained guards, but the men surrounding her were deadly aurors, and she'd never be able to win a duel against Titus.
But she still had her magic.
An idea entered her mind, something insane, but she was just desperate enough to try it.
Her magic tingled in her fingers, but she had no time to build it up to the amount she wanted.
She imagined her destination clearly, having practised entering the same place hundreds of times, but she'd never gone such a long distance. Nor had she ever attempted it injured.
Titus turned and sighed, examining her raised wrists. "I thought I said not to fight me. You're already in enough trouble. Don't make it worse for yourself. I'd hate to bind you in this state, but I will if I must."
His wand came up to stop her.
But she was faster.
"Malfoy Manor," she whispered.
In a blink, Hermione apparated.
And splinched.
Trigger Warning: graphic depictions of violence, references to slavery and sexual slavery, and death