Hermione's spinal cord was being stretched out like a snake, ready to shed its old skin. The only difference was that snakes rarely endured pain when they shed. She bit her tongue and closed her lips shut.
"There's a lot of tension here," Padma said, holding Hermione with both hands while applying the pressure on her back to bend forwards.
"I can't do more," Hermione gritted through her teeth. She couldn't bend over at all. Her middle became like tree bark, and her flesh transformed into bone.
"Just a bit more," Padma encouraged.
Hermione was sure that if she pushed on, her spine would break in half and then she wouldn't be able to move a single muscle for the rest of her life. Annoyance filled Hermione. She was exhausted, and she was angry all the time, but she knew she couldn't be cross with Padma–her healer friend was doing all she could, after all.
She moved an inch closer, staring at her feet.
"That is enough for now," Padma said. Hermione straightened up, sighing with relief. "There's still a lot of work to get you where you were before, but we're making substantial progress."
Hermione mumbled something, putting on her clothes. Padma gave her the yellow potion, and she drank it without tasting–she had got so used to the disgusting aftertaste by now that she wasn't even registering it.
"Thank you for coming to check up on me," Hermione said, although not experiencing gratitude. Her bones and muscles still ached from being stretched violently.
"No problem, especially because I'm already here. Harry wants to talk to me."
Hermione's head shot up. "About what?"
Padma shrugged. "I guess I'll find out when he tells me."
Hermione had a sense that Harry would seek advice from Padma about the safety of using legilimency on her. She trembled at the thought, but acknowledged there to be no alternative.
Her memories were coming back, now slower than usual. By the second week of January, she had only retrieved four more memories, all centred on Phantom's acts of rape or torture. These were the most frequent and worst memories to emerge. Seizure-inducing memories left her sick and numb, forcing her to isolate, with Harry finding no clues within them. The Phantom she saw in those memories had no face or eyes. He was still a ghost, and that made him even scarier.
"Do me a favour: if he asks whether I can fight in battles, please tell him that my health is in perfect condition," Hermione said.
Padma cocked an eyebrow. "And why would I lie to him?"
Hermione sighed, anxiously pinching the sleeves of her shirt. "It's been over two months and I have accomplished nothing worthwhile. My memories are blurry and messed up, my body is in constant pain, and Harry thinks I'm the weak link whom he needs to keep protected like a bird in a cage. I can't do it anymore."
"Huh. So, you're bored," Padma concluded.
"I might be. But I also want this nightmare to be over. When will Harry's repeated assertion of being on the verge of triumphing over the Phantom actually come true? When will we finally win, after countless decades and victims?"
Padma recognised these questions were meant to make a point, not to elicit a response. "I know nothing about war strategy, but I trust Harry's judgement. You should too." These words came out harsher and colder than Hermione might've expected, but she said nothing.
Just as she said "What if—", the sound of apparition, which she had grown used to ignoring, caught her attention. This time, a scream followed the sound of apparition. Startled, both women ran to the window to see. Ron and Harry had apparated back to the safe house, but they were not alone; they were dragging a man with them. He was kicking and screaming in a foreign language.
Padma rushed downstairs, and Hermione followed her.
Ron and Harry pulled the man into the house as Hermione and Padma climbed the final stairs.
"Who is this?" Hermione asked in a small voice.
Harry looked up at them, heaving from the burden, his eyes dark. "Battle prize." He turned to the man who appeared severely beaten up close and pointed his wand at him, whispering, "Imperio."
Hermione had never known Harry to speak an Unforgivable curse, but the effect was immediate–the captive no longer thought back. His bruised face was vacant of any expression.
"Ron, you can let go. I'll handle this," Harry said, and Ron obeyed. He probably wouldn't have been able to help further, because his head was bleeding heavily. Padma urgently moved to Ron, looking at the injury.
"How did it happen?" she asked.
"Some asshole threw a stone at my head when his curse didn't hit me," Ron complained. Padma began performing healing charms.
Meanwhile, Harry kept pulling the Imperio'd captive after him into the cellar. Hermione followed him, leaving Ron and Padma alone. The area was cold, damp, and dark, with Harry's wand serving as the sole source of light. He cast a silencing charm before descending the stairs. Harry's throw was so powerful that the man ended up on the ground within seconds, despite not attempting to fight back because of his disorientation. Whether out of ignorance or indifference, Harry proceeded without acknowledging Hermione's presence, solely focusing on his intended goal. Harry didn't waste any time getting down to business.
"Legilimens," he cast a spell, invading the captive's mind, muffling the scream that was about to leave his mouth. The enemy's body convulsed as Harry shuffled through his memories, looking for anything important–looking for the Phantom. It seemed an eternity of unbearable minutes, and witnessing the man's writhing, agonised body reminded Hermione of her own suffering.
Harry must've not found anything important because he withdrew from the victim's mind and that gave him two seconds of peace and clarity. The captive, barely clinging to consciousness, looked straight into Hermione's eyes and she had a strange sense that he recognised her.
"Жив си…" he mumbled, his eyes going wide.
Hermione was thoroughly confused. She didn't know this man. She didn't understand what he was saying. Why would he know her?
Harry, apparently, didn't like words he couldn't understand, because then he used another spell, one Hermione had never heard before, "Memoriae Obscurare!" His eyes were dark green as the emerald on her ring.
The reaction was diabolical–the man's limbs twisted into unnatural positions as a blood-boiling screech tore through his throat. Hermione even had to look away. Continuing to look was a dreadful experience. Harry did. He had done it before; she realised. Whatever magic the spell was must've been especially dark. The man's relentless screaming eventually caused him to lose his voice or made Hermione numb to his wails. She hoped it was the former.
But then it finally stopped for real. Pure silence stood there, covering her ears like that snow covered the ground outside. She looked at the man. He was alive, but not living. His face was ashen, his body lying limp on the ground. He showed no signs of understanding where or who he was.
Harry turned to Hermione, waking her from the trance she was in. He was aware of her presence, after all.
"Let's go. That will be enough for today."
Hermione swallowed with difficulty, then nodded, moving out of the cellar first. Once they returned to the main house, it was as if Hermione had stepped back into a reality without screams or violence.
"What did you do to him?" she asked quietly, turning towards Harry, when they were back in the now-empty hallway, standing in a place that was meant for passing through on the way to an actual room.
Harry looked at her, his green eyes now a lot clearer. "I search for the Phantom in his memories, but just like many others of his soldiers, this one didn't remember him. I think he had never met his soldiers, so they cannot betray him once I catch them. Then I changed the most vulnerable memories. This is a long process, so it will take a few weeks."
Hermione frowned, still unable to believe the ruthlessness of this act. "And what will you do once you change those memories?"
Harry's face turned somewhat cruel. "I'll send him back to the Phantom as a gift. Once I'm done with this one, he will want nothing but to destroy his leader."
"How did—how did you come up with this?" she spoke, too shocked by what she just witnessed to fully grasp what happened.
"You taught me that spell, Hermione," he answered. "You were the best at obliviating, and the memory alteration spell you created is a testament to that. This is the reason I'm so confident victory will be mine–you've given me a key that ensures every time he sends his warriors my way, I can turn them against him."
Hermione shivered, unaware of why. "It's brutal."
Harry held her gaze. "A sacrifice I'm willing to make."
Hermione cast her gaze to the floor, anxiously flexing her hands at her sides. Harry sighed. "I wanted you to see it, but I must've made a mistake."
Hermione huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Was I approving of this before?"
"You were," he answered. "Not only did you approve, but you also acted on it. You, like the rest of us, did what needed to be done. You knew we could only win this war in one way. But you don't know anymore."
Hermione's gaze turned spiteful. Harry sighed once more. "I'll talk to Padma, and maybe I'll take you to a battle with me soon. To understand my actions, you need to experience the outside world.
She clenched her jaw. "Fine."
She wanted to fight. But nothing was going how she imagined. He was about to leave, but she remembered something else. "Wait, did you hear what he said?"
Harry nodded. "I heard he said something, but I'm not sure what exactly."
"I think he recognised me… He said it to me…"
Harry nodded again. "Do you remember him?"
Hermione shook her head. "He wasn't speaking English… What kind of army does the Phantom have?"
"I believe he accepts anyone who is in the Dark Arts to fight for him. No matter where they come from. He is losing. And he knows it."
No matter what things Harry did, Hermione still believed he needed her help. She was certain that he wouldn't win if she didn't help. "Will you take me with you to fight him?" she asked, now hopeful.
A faint smile appeared on Harry's face. "Always a fighter. But I have to consult Padma first. She knows your condition best." Hermione nodded. "By the way, I think you should check on Ron. He's very sorry for what happened on New Year's. Listen to what he has to say."
She rolled her eyes. "Fine."
Harry departed for his bedroom, undoubtedly in search of Ginny and James, to make sure they remained oblivious to the recent events in the house and unaware of the person locked in the cellar.
Hermione took his advice and went to the room where Ron slept and spent his free time now that Hermione no longer wished to be anywhere near him. She thought of knocking, but this was her grandparents' home, so she didn't, to her own regret. Because what she saw next would've been better off hidden forever.
She heard sounds of banging first. Then she saw Ron's back, Padma's face, visible between his head and shoulder, contorted in bliss. Hermione paused, absorbing the shocking scene before her, but she couldn't deny the truth - Ron was fucking Padma against a wall, and she appeared to be lost in the ecstasy of it. Lost in their wild intensity, they were oblivious to Hermione's presence until Padma suddenly opened her eyes and let out a gasp at the sight of her.
"Hermione…"
Hearing her name, Ron halted, but Hermione had no interest in staying for the discussion. She darted out of the room and descended the stairs, hearing Ron's voice behind her. "Hermione, wait!"
She didn't. Hermione left without shoes or a coat, without looking back or closing the door. She walked barefoot on the weeks-old icy snow, the cold hitting the exposed flesh of her legs like a thousand needles. She scuttled through the backyard until she reached the first trees of the forest nearby, and even then, she didn't stop.
She kept going until she reached a river. She clung to her knees when her legs gave out, hugging herself firmly to keep warm. Her skirt became soaked. She was breathing thickly, and she didn't know why. It's not like she felt anything romantic for Ron anymore. It's not like she aspired to be in Padma's place. She peered at the small ice floes carried onward by the current of the river. It had to be the shock. The betrayal stung. She reached out one of her hands and dipped it into the freezing water. The sting in her heart materialised and became all she knew. But besides the pain, there was something else. Relief. She didn't owe anyone anything anymore. Ron will leave her be in peace.
Except now he didn't. He followed her here.
"Hermione, I'm so sorry you—you saw—"
She spun around abruptly, withdrawing her hand from the water, and clutching it tightly to her heart. "How long has this been going on?" she asked calmly, and her voice didn't waver, although she was shaking from the cold.
"I… Please, come inside... It's freezing out here..."
"Tell me the truth. Just the truth. Please," she added the last part quietly.
Ron sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Before you came back."
Hermione felt nothing. What a strange sensation that was. She was impervious to the cold, as if it couldn't even touch her. "You got with her when I got kidnapped?"
Ron threw his hands at his sides hopelessly. "Before that."
"When?" she asked quietly.
"Seven years ago, on and off. Mione, when you returned, I hoped we might have another chance. Just because it didn't work before doesn't mean it can't work now.
"So, when the Phantom kidnapped me, you and I weren't together?"
The Adam's apple in Ron's throat bobbed. He didn't want to say it. But she demanded the truth. "No."
Anger flared in Hermione's chest, warming her up with fire from the inside. "So, you used my memory loss to get back together?"
"I wanted to try again…"
"Oh, you tried it alright. Worked out splendid, Ron," she said, her voice matching the current temperature.
"I'm sorry…" he repeated. "I regret it now…"
Hermione scoffed. "And you still wanted to kiss me… To have sex with me… while you were with Padma behind my back?"
"Sorry…"
Hermione had enough of this. She looked behind her to the river and beyond. Hermione wanted to escape from this place, to run as far as she could until her legs froze off... But her body couldn't make the journey, and someone still kept her wand hidden from her, and her magic remained unresponsive... She wanted to cry, to leave... But she had nowhere to go.
She turned back to Ron, who kept repeating the same apologies incessantly. "I don't care what you do, Ron. I'm glad Padma will have you and I won't have to tolerate your presence anymore," she spat at him, passing by on the way back to the house.
Ron muted, left standing by the river. Padma's guilt-ridden face greeted Hermione as she went inside.
"Hermione, I'm so sorry…" she whispered.
Hermione looked at her reflection in the mirror–her skin was white as the snow, her lips blue as the water of the river, her feet red and frozen. She looked back at Padma, sighing, rubbing her aching temples. "Don't be," she said firmly. "I can't imagine how uncomfortable it must've been for you, waiting for Ron to be finished with me. Well, I'm done with him. I wish you an abundance of happiness."
Padma's shocked expression was the last thing she saw before going back to her bedroom, closing the door shut and pushing the chest of drawers to block the entrance so no one could come in. She snugly lay down in her bed, tucking in the surrounding sheets, waiting to get warm. Her feet remained cold. She stared ahead with unseeing eyes until it got dark, and the only colour that stayed in her vision was black–of all the colours. Her body, a gaol, ached and splintered under the pressure, unable to exist without suffering. She was weak and exhausted, so any thought of doing magic or getting her wand back to was out of the question. She knew that, and she accepted this pathetic fate, at least until she got better. But she wasn't getting better. Today, the weight of her captivity settled upon her as she realised not only was she imprisoned in her body, but also within the confines of this house. She would never leave. She had nowhere else to be.
Hermione wasn't a believer. She was never religious growing up. But that night, she begged the stars, and the moon, and the sun to get her out of there. She begged until a single tear fell down her cheek and dried out on her sickly pale skin.