No Prompt. This is an adaptation from the original drabble that started the idea for this story. The event prompts have taken it places I hadn't expected and have been enjoying the journey. Hope it's hitting the right notes for everyone else.
Chapter 15: Anywhere
Hermione couldn't see. That wasn't a rare event. The spell Voldemort used to blindfold her would wear off eventually. Everything hurt. As she lay there she tried to understand what Harry had been thinking. Offering a horcurx was a terrible idea. The war would never end. Deaths would mount. The world might pay the price. Maybe he was bluffing. Harry knew Voldemort checked on his hiding spots.
Forced to acknowledge she had no idea what had happened since she was left behind, there was little she could do. It wasn't a situation she was used to. Even when they didn't know what to do next, there was something to be done.
The fighting was closer. Inside maybe. She could feel the exhaustion catching up to her. Voldemort's reviving charm was wearing off. She was torn between letting the darkness take her and waiting to see if she could do something to help.
Hermione lifted her shackled hands up to feel the scars on her neck. Healed. Bellatrix really liked her dagger. But the thin scabs as the cuts healed had been the only measure of time she had for the first weeks. The blade must have been imbued with something to slow that process. The torture had been endless. She kept waiting for them to go too far. Or worse, to finally hand her over to Greyback. It seemed they were still hoping to use her for something. Harry's name would be whispered around her. It was the only proof she had that he was still alive and causing them problems.
Laying there on her back, she felt a movement in her abdomen. She couldn't deny the reality of what was growing inside her. If she could feel the baby, she wondered how long it would be before someone noticed. Being nearly starved would ensure there would be little to no bump to be seen. Her hands moved from her neck to cover her stomach protectively. What damage was being done to the fetus with the potions, the curses, the abuse, the starvation. Not for the first time since she realized, she wondered if it would be better for the child if she miscarried. Harry was there though. He was trying to get her. He'd save her.
She thought hope had died. Hope gave way to fear, worried that if she gave birth there, in Malfoy Manor, they'd demand to know the father. No one had taken their abuse to that level to think it was one of them. Small favors. Would they need to ask who the father was or would the question be unnecessary once it came out looking like Harry. Those green eyes, the unruly hair. They say the first born often resembles their father more than their mother. An evolutionary development to ensure the father bonded. It sounded like an old wives tale. It would be better for the baby if it looked like her. Another mudblood. She could beg them to drop it off at an orphanage. Unless it looked like Harry. Panic took her breath away. Whatever Harry was planning, he needed to work fast.
Keys rattled in the door to her prison. She froze. The fighting was clearly still fiercely waging. An Order member wouldn't be using keys. Neither would Voldemort for that matter. What new fresh terror had they planned? Hands took hold of her shackles. She froze. She wanted to fight. It never helped. The chain attached to her fell away. Her free hand flew up to her face, searching for a way to see. A firm touch stopped her. They didn't speak. Their fingers were rough. Like how her hands felt when she was practicing her potions. Calluses. Burns. A hazard of the job. Was it Snape? He wasn't talking. She'd know his voice and that was dangerous. He helped her once, she chose to trust him. Laying still, she felt him lift her up. Instead of taking her to the exit, he carried her further into the cellar. There was nothing back there. Nothing she could see anyway when she could see. Then she felt fresh air. Wind flying through her hair. There was a secret exit. Was she escaping? Or being exchanged for a horcrux?
Her liberator moved with speed and purpose. They were in a tunnel. She was sure of it. Water dripped. Musty air surrounded them. But there was an exit to the outside. Occasional smells of flowers tickled her nose. It was spring. A quick shift in the ground and they were moving up. Smoke filled her mouth and nose. A blast somewhere lit up the world around her. Her world beneath the blindfold changed from voidless black to voidless red. Then they were turning on the spot. He was apparating her away. She let him take her. Anywhere was better than there.