Post by Liz-Miia Parker on Feb 17, 2008 0:37:00 GMT 3
PART IV: EVERYTHING I AM
You would kill for this
Just a little bit
– Straylight Run
Chapter 34; Vivacious Visitations
Lucius Malfoy looked up as he heard a rapid and urgent knock on the drawing room door. He glanced briefly at the Ministry official sitting in the armchair next to him, and set down the glass of amber liquid in his hands.
“Come in,” he called testily. Now was not a time he wished to be disturbed.
His irritation increased as he identified the intruder as Marlee, the head maid of the Manor. She clutched her skirts nervously as she entered, and bowed briefly as he rose to meet her.
“You idiot woman,” he hissed, too softly for the Ministry delegate to hear, “what is so important that it could not possibly be addressed after I finished negotiations with the ambassador from the Ministry?”
“Well, sir, it is rather important, sir . . .”
She looked unreasonably nervous. Lucius narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Get on with it, you foolish girl.”
“I need you to turn off the wards surrounding the Manor, sir.”
“The wards? Why would I do that? Those are the only devices in place that allow us to detect intruders . . .”
“Exactly, sir. You see, sir, it seems that they require routine maintenance, and the Charms expert is here right now, as you ordered, ready to fix any broken wards. He needs you to turn them off, sir, in order for this to be possible.”
“Why couldn’t this have waited?”
“You yourself told us that you had intelligence, sir, of an attack coming later tonight. We must have the wards in place before then, sir. So you’re required to come outside and turn them off . . .”
“I’m too busy to be bothered with this ridiculous matter, can’t you see that? Here, take the master key and use it to shut the wards off yourself, you lazy fool . . . now away with you!”
The woman, trembling, took the key from his hands and scurried out of the room with a nod of assent. Lucius turned back to the Ministry official with a practiced smile.
“I am deeply sorry, my friend, you know how pesky servants can be . . .”
Harry repressed a violent shiver as he watched his breath stream out in front of him, misty and pearlescent in the dark night. He peered anxiously again over the hedge and at the huge building that reared before him.
Why is Hermione taking so long? Hasn’t she gotten the key yet? What if something has gone horribly wrong? What if they caught her?
For the fiftieth time that night, he second guessed their plan. He and Hermione had ambushed the unsuspecting maid as she walked back to the servant’s quarters (separate from the mansion itself, of course), and Hermione had Polyjuiced into the maid and walked directly into the Manor. The wards, of course, recognized the maid and did not cause Hermione any harm. Now it was only a matter of obtaining the key from Lucius and shutting off the wards long enough for Harry to get in and all three of them to get out.
Suddenly he noticed a disturbance around the edges of the Manor. Harry sensed it more than saw it; a delicate change in the quality of the air, a slight waver in the coloring of the stone. He knew. The wards had been turned off.
Hidden under the invisibility cloak, he crept into the open and slowly, silently worked his way toward the Manor. He came closer, closer . . . and passed through the open door without the slightest trouble.
In the corridor he met the “maid,” wringing her skirts nervously and peering every so often out the window. He slipped off the invisibility cloak and smiled at her. “You did it.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “I wasn’t sure I’d turned all the wards off.”
“Now you tell me.” Harry scrunched his face and said, “Turn the wards back on. We don’t need to get through them again until we’ve got Ron with us. Where do you think they’re keeping him?”
“The dungeons, I would expect. If not there, then somewhere less obvious but also less protected. Wherever it is, we need to find it fast. I’ve only got about fifteen minutes left in this disguise, and besides, I’ve got horrible news.”
“Is now really the time? C’mon, let’s at least start walking.”
Harry draped the invisibility cloak over himself and strode down the hall. He a small idea of where he was going; he had studied building plans for the Malfoy Manor the night before. Hermione followed and spoke in a whisper.
“I overheard a conversation between Lucius and a Ministry official. Apparently the Ministry no longer has the power to stand up to Voldemort. They’re negotiating with him.”
“What?”
“You heard me. For some reason, Voldemort has just become much more powerful. It must mean that Draco’s given him the sword. Anyhow, I think Voldemort is here, in the Manor.”
“You can’t be serious.”
They turned a corner and came suddenly upon a group of three men, talking softly in the corridor. Two of the men looked up briefly at the solitary maid walking past, and the other didn’t even bother. Once they had passed those three, Hermione resumed her speech in an even softer whisper.
“I think the whole Pureblood court is shacked up here. All of the Death Eaters, all of their wives and children, and Voldemort as well. It’s become a new base of operation for the war.”
Harry looked up at the ceiling. “Of course it has. That’s just our luck. We’ve broken into the most heavily guarded mansion in the world only to find that a mass murderer who has taken a special liking to me and all of his sadistic cronies are waiting in ambush, and you’ve simultaneously discovered that our own government is now negotiating with the enemy in order to cover their own arses. Absolutely brilliant.”
“Well, at least you seem to have an accurate understanding of the situation. Now where are the dungeons?”
“They’re very close,” Harry answered, glancing at her distractedly. Then he stopped dead in his tracks. “Hermione . . . Hermione, no! Your hair!”
The maid’s flaxen blonde hair was beginning to turn brown and frizzy. She reached up and discovered this momentarily. She gasped. “We have to get out of here. Fast.”
Harry increased his pace and immediately discovered the stairway that had been outlined on the map. “It’s here, Hermione. The entry to the dungeons is . . .!”
“Stop right there!” came a commanding voice from behind them.
Hermione turned to see Frederick Goyle coming toward them at an alarming clip, wand pointed directly at Hermione. “What exactly do you think you are doing?”
Hermione made a desperate attempt to act normally. “I was ordered by Master Malfoy to oversee the cleaning of the dungeons, sir.”
But it was too late. She was changing form right in front of him, slowly but surely.
“You’re not the maid. Who are you? How did you get in here?! Security!” Goyle bellowed, deafening to their hypersensitive ears. “I said security!”
“Impedimentia!” Harry roared, and Goyle did not see the curse coming, because Harry was still invisible. The bulky man froze on the spot. “Run!” Harry cried then, and took off down the hallway with Hermione in tow.
It was already too late, though. The alarm had been raised and the mansion was heavily populated with people more than willing to raise the alarm and catch Harry. Hermione knew right then that they were doomed. Maybe not both of us. Maybe only one.
Like water from a dam, men burst forth, out of doors and into the corridors, from any and all sides. Though Harry and Hermione hurled jinxes in all directions, there were too many to stop. The invisibility cloak slipped from Harry’s shoulders, and a collective shiver ran through the group of Purebloods surrounding them. That’s Harry Potter, here in this mansion, she could practically feel them thinking.
The two Gryffindors pushed their way desperately, haphazardly through the corridor of momentarily shocked onlookers, and at last came to a stretch of hallway where they were able to run. But by this time the real security had arrived- a group of black cloaked Death Eaters just ahead of them, waiting in ambush.
Hermione did it purposely, then. She fell back, lost her grip on Harry’s wrist, allowed the rough hands of men to pull her back toward them.
“Harry!” Hermione screamed, as the guards pulled her away from his retreating form. Harry turned around, the look on his face a portrait of anguish. He could either leap back into the fray (twenty guards and Death Eaters had accumulated between him and Hermione) or run away to save his own life.
Harry would have done it. He would have thrown himself back into the fray in order to save the only best friend he had left, heedless of his own self-worth or duty.
He was impulsive. Hermione, on the other hand, was not. She understood the situation immediately (she had engineered it, after all), and cried, “Get out of here, Harry! Run!”
He was worth so much more than her. If they caught Harry, the war was over. She told him this with one piercing, communicative look; she conveyed all of her emotion with one expression and he read it perfectly, a talent that only best friends possessed.
And Harry knew she was right. He knew it. He had a duty, and duty had always been more important than emotional attachment. That was why he had lost Sirius.
He ran.
Her last link to safety disappeared abruptly, and she stood alone at the center of twenty Death Eaters and guards. Several of the guards took off after Harry, but five or six remained there. The task of capturing and subduing her had stalled the guards just long enough to give Harry a chance to escape.
Her first instinct was to bolt, and she tried to force her way through the group, but someone grabbed her arms, effectively stopping her in her tracks.
“I don’t think so,” someone growled from behind her. It was Avery Sr., and when she looked at him, Gryffindor though she was, she almost collapsed with fear.
He looked absolutely livid as he gazed at her.
“Do you know who this is?” he addressed the group loudly. “This is Hermione Granger.”
She winced. He spat her name as if it were poison, and some of the men around her shifted to get a better look.
“She is the filthy Mudblood that has ruined our plans more times than I can count,” Avery Sr. continued. His son had come to stand next to him, and her former classmate smirked at her darkly as his father continued. “You think we’ve forgotten the Department of Mysteries two years ago? The attack on Hogwarts? You’re the brains behind Potter’s operations, we hear, and you’ve been a mite more than troublesome these past few years.”
Upon recognizing her, a few of the men has dawned expressions similar to that of Avery’s. Their gazes held thirst for plain revenge.
“Do you know how priceless this is?” Avery continued quietly, excitedly. He caught a clump of her hair and jerked her head back ruthlessly. She bit her tongue. Didn’t scream. Didn’t give him the pleasure. “We have you here all by yourself, no Harry Potter to protect you now. You’re all alone, little girl. Does that scare you?” Avery taunted, hate flashing dangerously just beneath the surface of his face.
She was dead. She was so beyond dead.
A guard came puffing into the hallway, and stopped short. “Potter . . .” the guard gasped, “he’s still somewhere in the castle! We need backup!”
“We’re on it!” Avery said quickly, turning to Hermione. He thrust her at his son. “Take her to the dungeons and then get back here and help us find Potter. Quick!”
Avery Jr. jerked her along, and she struggled to get away from him. Sad as it was, though, she was defenseless against him without her wand. She silently cursed female anatomy as she tried in vain to overpower him.
“Stop it, Granger,” Avery bit out sharply, unconcerned and amused as he dragged her down the corridor. “You’re wasting your strength. Believe me, I think you’re gonna need that for later.”
He winked cheekily at her, and she did not pause to consider the possible implications of those words. She couldn’t.
Please get out of the Manor, Harry, she thought desperately.
“God, do you know how long us Slytherins have been waiting for this day?” Avery asked her conversationally.
“Ever since a one year-old baby defeated your boss, I would imagine,” Hermione replied.
d**n my tongue. Why can’t I just keep my mouth closed?
She saw his hand coming before it made contact with her face. Couldn’t do anything about it. Didn’t hurt much anyway, it was more of a warning gesture.
“Now, now, Granger, I thought you were more intelligent than to backtalk me in your position. Specifically, I meant the day we would see Hermione bleeding Granger topple from her golden throne. We’ve been waiting for a long time to see someone put you in your place, you self-righteous pregnant dog.”
Smartly, she kept her mouth shut. Hermione had always been a quick learner.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,”Avery commented on her silence as they stopped in front of a door. “You’re not so self-assured without those two neanderthals around to protect you. Poor little Granger, why don’t I feel sorry for you?”
Hermione couldn’t resist. “You don’t feel sorry for me,” she cut in helpfully, “because I have literally kicked Slytherin’s ass in every subject for the past seven years. You’ve been bitter and jealous all along, Avery. And now you’ve . . . what was it? . . . put me in my place. Do you actually have to hit girls to feel like a big man, you nasty brute? Congratulations on proving that you’re physically stronger than me. What an astonishing accomplishment. If I had a wand, both of us know who the winner would be.”
And so with a few choice words, she had managed to piss him off even worse than before. Being relatively unintelligent, he had no comeback. Avery settled instead with shoving her roughly into the cell and slamming the door in her face.
She hit the wall with force and collapsed to the floor. After a few moments, she collected herself enough to look around. A small wash basin, a toilet, and a bed were the sole occupants of the cell.
She was terrified. All of her bravery had been a facade. She was absolutely, heart-poundingly terrified. Hell, she wanted to curl into a ball and scream for Harry or Ron or . . .
Or Draco?
Something halfway between a dry sob and a laugh escaped her lips. He was somewhere in the Manor as well. Ironically, this was his house. But he would be of no help to her whatsoever. She didn’t want his help or need it, that much was certain, and he was in no position to offer it. Draco had given the sword to Voldemort, hence proven his loyalty to the dark side. He didn’t want to help her and she hated him.
In any case, Hermione was terrified. She didn’t know what they would do to her when they were finished looking for Harry, and she was sure she didn’t want to know.
But Gryffindors didn’t have breakdowns. She would collect herself, think the situation through, and find a way to escape.
Harry landed with a crash on the floor of the Gryffindor common room. He had flooed desperately to Hogwarts from the Manor.
Hermione.
He screamed in anger, cursing himself profusely for his actions.
Why had he listened to her? Why had he left her there, surrounded by Death Eaters? What in the world had he been thinking?
Duty?
Duty was a word, a concept, a flat, unfeeling entity. Hermione, on the other hand, was a person, one of the few he loved. Why had he let her convince him to leave her there?
Coming to a precarious decision, he staggered back up to get the floo powder. He was going back. He didn’t care if he got captured. Harry couldn’t leave her there alone.
A hand grasped his shoulder firmly.
Dumbledore.
How had he gotten there?
“Let go,” Harry growled fiercely.
“Harry, what happened?”
“I don’t have time for this,” Harry told Dumbledore. “Look, it’s Hermione, she’s captured in the Malfoy Manor and, Professor, I have to go back right now! I’ve made a huge mistake . . . they’re going to kill her!”
“Harry, you are hysterical,” Dumbledore informed him calmly, crushing the boy’s shoulder to stop him from leaping for the floo powder. “They are not going to kill her. Don’t you see? She is far too good of a hostage.”
“So what if they can’t kill her?” Harry cried brazenly. Obviously Dumbledore didn’t understand at all. “That won’t stop them from torturing her! You don’t care about that, just like you didn’t care about Ron being kidnaped . . . I know this is all a big political game to you, Professor, but they’re my family, don’t you get that? It’s my fault they’re in danger and I can’t just sit here and do nothing. So let go of me right now so I can go back and fix what I did!”
“I cannot let go,” Dumbledore informed him sadly. “You are a hazard to your own health. I assure you, Harry, I do care for Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger, and I can inform you that neither of them are in any immediate danger. Do you think I would prevent you from going if I thought otherwise? My students . . . your friends have always been my top priority.”
“You don’t get it!” Harry roared hotly. “I don’t need some condescending reassurance ploy from you! I’m not eleven any more, Professor, and you can’t fool me with some false sense of comfort.”
“Harry,” Dumbledore said sharply. “The world is falling down around our ears. Hogwarts is the only safe place left. Muggles are being mass exterminated outside these walls. Muggle-borns are being tortured, raped, enslaved. Voldemort is taking over and as much as I wish I could tell you otherwise, there is no false comfort to be had. Wake up, Harry. For Merlin’s sake, wake up. Hogwarts is no longer a school, it’s a safehouse. Things are worse outside than you can possibly imagine and we need you to stop Voldemort now. I’m going to be very frank with you. We cannot and will not let your personal relationships get in the way of defeating a crazed megalomaniac. You have a job to do. Forget Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, because if you do not succeed in defeating Voldemort, they will both die beyond a shadow of a doubt.”
Harry was somewhat shocked out of his hysterics. Dumbledore, usually the comforting voice of reason, was being blunt and truthful with him for the first time ever. The situation was serious.
Harry slumped. “I’m so worried about them. So worried, Professor.”
“Do not be. You of all people should know that Miss Granger is an excellent problem solver and an outstanding politician. Mr. Weasley is also determined and brave enough to pull through. I assure you that they will fare just fine.”
Harry nodded, although he didn’t fully believe Dumbledore.
It was the hardest thing he would ever have to do, but Harry would leave his best friends in a lion’s den in order to save the world.
Because that was what heroes did.
Hermione hadn’t been on the verge of tears when her cell door clanged open. Honestly, she hadn’t been about to cry.
But it was a good thing she had been sitting down when the door opened. She likely would have collapsed if she had been standing.
Draco.
Immaculate, calm, icy, standing before her like some ironic angel, smirking down at her scrunched form.
She looked horrible, in all honesty. Tangled hair, bruised face, torn clothing. Nothing like the spotless Draco.
“Well, look who we have here,” Draco drawled, every bit the owner of the austere mansion.
“Malfoy,” Hermione choked. “Come to taunt me and revel in your own victory? Congratulations on your promotion. I daresay giving the sword to Voldemort upped your Pure Evil status one or two notches.”
He raised an eyebrow but remained silent.
“Your house is amazing,” she sneered sarcastically, “I love what your mum’s done with the place. Those metal shackles over there are the perfect compliment to the overall color scheme of this room.”
“Unbelievable,” Draco breathed. “You never know when to shut up, do you, Granger?”
“I can say whatever I want to you now that we’re enemies again,” Hermione clarified.
An odd expression came over Draco’s face. “You’re not even my enemy anymore,” he sneered softly. “You’re just a slave.”
When Malfoy wanted to be cruel, he could be cruel. The most terrible thing about his comment was that it was true and they both knew it.
You would kill for this
Just a little bit
– Straylight Run
Chapter 34; Vivacious Visitations
Lucius Malfoy looked up as he heard a rapid and urgent knock on the drawing room door. He glanced briefly at the Ministry official sitting in the armchair next to him, and set down the glass of amber liquid in his hands.
“Come in,” he called testily. Now was not a time he wished to be disturbed.
His irritation increased as he identified the intruder as Marlee, the head maid of the Manor. She clutched her skirts nervously as she entered, and bowed briefly as he rose to meet her.
“You idiot woman,” he hissed, too softly for the Ministry delegate to hear, “what is so important that it could not possibly be addressed after I finished negotiations with the ambassador from the Ministry?”
“Well, sir, it is rather important, sir . . .”
She looked unreasonably nervous. Lucius narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Get on with it, you foolish girl.”
“I need you to turn off the wards surrounding the Manor, sir.”
“The wards? Why would I do that? Those are the only devices in place that allow us to detect intruders . . .”
“Exactly, sir. You see, sir, it seems that they require routine maintenance, and the Charms expert is here right now, as you ordered, ready to fix any broken wards. He needs you to turn them off, sir, in order for this to be possible.”
“Why couldn’t this have waited?”
“You yourself told us that you had intelligence, sir, of an attack coming later tonight. We must have the wards in place before then, sir. So you’re required to come outside and turn them off . . .”
“I’m too busy to be bothered with this ridiculous matter, can’t you see that? Here, take the master key and use it to shut the wards off yourself, you lazy fool . . . now away with you!”
The woman, trembling, took the key from his hands and scurried out of the room with a nod of assent. Lucius turned back to the Ministry official with a practiced smile.
“I am deeply sorry, my friend, you know how pesky servants can be . . .”
Harry repressed a violent shiver as he watched his breath stream out in front of him, misty and pearlescent in the dark night. He peered anxiously again over the hedge and at the huge building that reared before him.
Why is Hermione taking so long? Hasn’t she gotten the key yet? What if something has gone horribly wrong? What if they caught her?
For the fiftieth time that night, he second guessed their plan. He and Hermione had ambushed the unsuspecting maid as she walked back to the servant’s quarters (separate from the mansion itself, of course), and Hermione had Polyjuiced into the maid and walked directly into the Manor. The wards, of course, recognized the maid and did not cause Hermione any harm. Now it was only a matter of obtaining the key from Lucius and shutting off the wards long enough for Harry to get in and all three of them to get out.
Suddenly he noticed a disturbance around the edges of the Manor. Harry sensed it more than saw it; a delicate change in the quality of the air, a slight waver in the coloring of the stone. He knew. The wards had been turned off.
Hidden under the invisibility cloak, he crept into the open and slowly, silently worked his way toward the Manor. He came closer, closer . . . and passed through the open door without the slightest trouble.
In the corridor he met the “maid,” wringing her skirts nervously and peering every so often out the window. He slipped off the invisibility cloak and smiled at her. “You did it.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “I wasn’t sure I’d turned all the wards off.”
“Now you tell me.” Harry scrunched his face and said, “Turn the wards back on. We don’t need to get through them again until we’ve got Ron with us. Where do you think they’re keeping him?”
“The dungeons, I would expect. If not there, then somewhere less obvious but also less protected. Wherever it is, we need to find it fast. I’ve only got about fifteen minutes left in this disguise, and besides, I’ve got horrible news.”
“Is now really the time? C’mon, let’s at least start walking.”
Harry draped the invisibility cloak over himself and strode down the hall. He a small idea of where he was going; he had studied building plans for the Malfoy Manor the night before. Hermione followed and spoke in a whisper.
“I overheard a conversation between Lucius and a Ministry official. Apparently the Ministry no longer has the power to stand up to Voldemort. They’re negotiating with him.”
“What?”
“You heard me. For some reason, Voldemort has just become much more powerful. It must mean that Draco’s given him the sword. Anyhow, I think Voldemort is here, in the Manor.”
“You can’t be serious.”
They turned a corner and came suddenly upon a group of three men, talking softly in the corridor. Two of the men looked up briefly at the solitary maid walking past, and the other didn’t even bother. Once they had passed those three, Hermione resumed her speech in an even softer whisper.
“I think the whole Pureblood court is shacked up here. All of the Death Eaters, all of their wives and children, and Voldemort as well. It’s become a new base of operation for the war.”
Harry looked up at the ceiling. “Of course it has. That’s just our luck. We’ve broken into the most heavily guarded mansion in the world only to find that a mass murderer who has taken a special liking to me and all of his sadistic cronies are waiting in ambush, and you’ve simultaneously discovered that our own government is now negotiating with the enemy in order to cover their own arses. Absolutely brilliant.”
“Well, at least you seem to have an accurate understanding of the situation. Now where are the dungeons?”
“They’re very close,” Harry answered, glancing at her distractedly. Then he stopped dead in his tracks. “Hermione . . . Hermione, no! Your hair!”
The maid’s flaxen blonde hair was beginning to turn brown and frizzy. She reached up and discovered this momentarily. She gasped. “We have to get out of here. Fast.”
Harry increased his pace and immediately discovered the stairway that had been outlined on the map. “It’s here, Hermione. The entry to the dungeons is . . .!”
“Stop right there!” came a commanding voice from behind them.
Hermione turned to see Frederick Goyle coming toward them at an alarming clip, wand pointed directly at Hermione. “What exactly do you think you are doing?”
Hermione made a desperate attempt to act normally. “I was ordered by Master Malfoy to oversee the cleaning of the dungeons, sir.”
But it was too late. She was changing form right in front of him, slowly but surely.
“You’re not the maid. Who are you? How did you get in here?! Security!” Goyle bellowed, deafening to their hypersensitive ears. “I said security!”
“Impedimentia!” Harry roared, and Goyle did not see the curse coming, because Harry was still invisible. The bulky man froze on the spot. “Run!” Harry cried then, and took off down the hallway with Hermione in tow.
It was already too late, though. The alarm had been raised and the mansion was heavily populated with people more than willing to raise the alarm and catch Harry. Hermione knew right then that they were doomed. Maybe not both of us. Maybe only one.
Like water from a dam, men burst forth, out of doors and into the corridors, from any and all sides. Though Harry and Hermione hurled jinxes in all directions, there were too many to stop. The invisibility cloak slipped from Harry’s shoulders, and a collective shiver ran through the group of Purebloods surrounding them. That’s Harry Potter, here in this mansion, she could practically feel them thinking.
The two Gryffindors pushed their way desperately, haphazardly through the corridor of momentarily shocked onlookers, and at last came to a stretch of hallway where they were able to run. But by this time the real security had arrived- a group of black cloaked Death Eaters just ahead of them, waiting in ambush.
Hermione did it purposely, then. She fell back, lost her grip on Harry’s wrist, allowed the rough hands of men to pull her back toward them.
“Harry!” Hermione screamed, as the guards pulled her away from his retreating form. Harry turned around, the look on his face a portrait of anguish. He could either leap back into the fray (twenty guards and Death Eaters had accumulated between him and Hermione) or run away to save his own life.
Harry would have done it. He would have thrown himself back into the fray in order to save the only best friend he had left, heedless of his own self-worth or duty.
He was impulsive. Hermione, on the other hand, was not. She understood the situation immediately (she had engineered it, after all), and cried, “Get out of here, Harry! Run!”
He was worth so much more than her. If they caught Harry, the war was over. She told him this with one piercing, communicative look; she conveyed all of her emotion with one expression and he read it perfectly, a talent that only best friends possessed.
And Harry knew she was right. He knew it. He had a duty, and duty had always been more important than emotional attachment. That was why he had lost Sirius.
He ran.
Her last link to safety disappeared abruptly, and she stood alone at the center of twenty Death Eaters and guards. Several of the guards took off after Harry, but five or six remained there. The task of capturing and subduing her had stalled the guards just long enough to give Harry a chance to escape.
Her first instinct was to bolt, and she tried to force her way through the group, but someone grabbed her arms, effectively stopping her in her tracks.
“I don’t think so,” someone growled from behind her. It was Avery Sr., and when she looked at him, Gryffindor though she was, she almost collapsed with fear.
He looked absolutely livid as he gazed at her.
“Do you know who this is?” he addressed the group loudly. “This is Hermione Granger.”
She winced. He spat her name as if it were poison, and some of the men around her shifted to get a better look.
“She is the filthy Mudblood that has ruined our plans more times than I can count,” Avery Sr. continued. His son had come to stand next to him, and her former classmate smirked at her darkly as his father continued. “You think we’ve forgotten the Department of Mysteries two years ago? The attack on Hogwarts? You’re the brains behind Potter’s operations, we hear, and you’ve been a mite more than troublesome these past few years.”
Upon recognizing her, a few of the men has dawned expressions similar to that of Avery’s. Their gazes held thirst for plain revenge.
“Do you know how priceless this is?” Avery continued quietly, excitedly. He caught a clump of her hair and jerked her head back ruthlessly. She bit her tongue. Didn’t scream. Didn’t give him the pleasure. “We have you here all by yourself, no Harry Potter to protect you now. You’re all alone, little girl. Does that scare you?” Avery taunted, hate flashing dangerously just beneath the surface of his face.
She was dead. She was so beyond dead.
A guard came puffing into the hallway, and stopped short. “Potter . . .” the guard gasped, “he’s still somewhere in the castle! We need backup!”
“We’re on it!” Avery said quickly, turning to Hermione. He thrust her at his son. “Take her to the dungeons and then get back here and help us find Potter. Quick!”
Avery Jr. jerked her along, and she struggled to get away from him. Sad as it was, though, she was defenseless against him without her wand. She silently cursed female anatomy as she tried in vain to overpower him.
“Stop it, Granger,” Avery bit out sharply, unconcerned and amused as he dragged her down the corridor. “You’re wasting your strength. Believe me, I think you’re gonna need that for later.”
He winked cheekily at her, and she did not pause to consider the possible implications of those words. She couldn’t.
Please get out of the Manor, Harry, she thought desperately.
“God, do you know how long us Slytherins have been waiting for this day?” Avery asked her conversationally.
“Ever since a one year-old baby defeated your boss, I would imagine,” Hermione replied.
d**n my tongue. Why can’t I just keep my mouth closed?
She saw his hand coming before it made contact with her face. Couldn’t do anything about it. Didn’t hurt much anyway, it was more of a warning gesture.
“Now, now, Granger, I thought you were more intelligent than to backtalk me in your position. Specifically, I meant the day we would see Hermione bleeding Granger topple from her golden throne. We’ve been waiting for a long time to see someone put you in your place, you self-righteous pregnant dog.”
Smartly, she kept her mouth shut. Hermione had always been a quick learner.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,”Avery commented on her silence as they stopped in front of a door. “You’re not so self-assured without those two neanderthals around to protect you. Poor little Granger, why don’t I feel sorry for you?”
Hermione couldn’t resist. “You don’t feel sorry for me,” she cut in helpfully, “because I have literally kicked Slytherin’s ass in every subject for the past seven years. You’ve been bitter and jealous all along, Avery. And now you’ve . . . what was it? . . . put me in my place. Do you actually have to hit girls to feel like a big man, you nasty brute? Congratulations on proving that you’re physically stronger than me. What an astonishing accomplishment. If I had a wand, both of us know who the winner would be.”
And so with a few choice words, she had managed to piss him off even worse than before. Being relatively unintelligent, he had no comeback. Avery settled instead with shoving her roughly into the cell and slamming the door in her face.
She hit the wall with force and collapsed to the floor. After a few moments, she collected herself enough to look around. A small wash basin, a toilet, and a bed were the sole occupants of the cell.
She was terrified. All of her bravery had been a facade. She was absolutely, heart-poundingly terrified. Hell, she wanted to curl into a ball and scream for Harry or Ron or . . .
Or Draco?
Something halfway between a dry sob and a laugh escaped her lips. He was somewhere in the Manor as well. Ironically, this was his house. But he would be of no help to her whatsoever. She didn’t want his help or need it, that much was certain, and he was in no position to offer it. Draco had given the sword to Voldemort, hence proven his loyalty to the dark side. He didn’t want to help her and she hated him.
In any case, Hermione was terrified. She didn’t know what they would do to her when they were finished looking for Harry, and she was sure she didn’t want to know.
But Gryffindors didn’t have breakdowns. She would collect herself, think the situation through, and find a way to escape.
Harry landed with a crash on the floor of the Gryffindor common room. He had flooed desperately to Hogwarts from the Manor.
Hermione.
He screamed in anger, cursing himself profusely for his actions.
Why had he listened to her? Why had he left her there, surrounded by Death Eaters? What in the world had he been thinking?
Duty?
Duty was a word, a concept, a flat, unfeeling entity. Hermione, on the other hand, was a person, one of the few he loved. Why had he let her convince him to leave her there?
Coming to a precarious decision, he staggered back up to get the floo powder. He was going back. He didn’t care if he got captured. Harry couldn’t leave her there alone.
A hand grasped his shoulder firmly.
Dumbledore.
How had he gotten there?
“Let go,” Harry growled fiercely.
“Harry, what happened?”
“I don’t have time for this,” Harry told Dumbledore. “Look, it’s Hermione, she’s captured in the Malfoy Manor and, Professor, I have to go back right now! I’ve made a huge mistake . . . they’re going to kill her!”
“Harry, you are hysterical,” Dumbledore informed him calmly, crushing the boy’s shoulder to stop him from leaping for the floo powder. “They are not going to kill her. Don’t you see? She is far too good of a hostage.”
“So what if they can’t kill her?” Harry cried brazenly. Obviously Dumbledore didn’t understand at all. “That won’t stop them from torturing her! You don’t care about that, just like you didn’t care about Ron being kidnaped . . . I know this is all a big political game to you, Professor, but they’re my family, don’t you get that? It’s my fault they’re in danger and I can’t just sit here and do nothing. So let go of me right now so I can go back and fix what I did!”
“I cannot let go,” Dumbledore informed him sadly. “You are a hazard to your own health. I assure you, Harry, I do care for Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger, and I can inform you that neither of them are in any immediate danger. Do you think I would prevent you from going if I thought otherwise? My students . . . your friends have always been my top priority.”
“You don’t get it!” Harry roared hotly. “I don’t need some condescending reassurance ploy from you! I’m not eleven any more, Professor, and you can’t fool me with some false sense of comfort.”
“Harry,” Dumbledore said sharply. “The world is falling down around our ears. Hogwarts is the only safe place left. Muggles are being mass exterminated outside these walls. Muggle-borns are being tortured, raped, enslaved. Voldemort is taking over and as much as I wish I could tell you otherwise, there is no false comfort to be had. Wake up, Harry. For Merlin’s sake, wake up. Hogwarts is no longer a school, it’s a safehouse. Things are worse outside than you can possibly imagine and we need you to stop Voldemort now. I’m going to be very frank with you. We cannot and will not let your personal relationships get in the way of defeating a crazed megalomaniac. You have a job to do. Forget Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, because if you do not succeed in defeating Voldemort, they will both die beyond a shadow of a doubt.”
Harry was somewhat shocked out of his hysterics. Dumbledore, usually the comforting voice of reason, was being blunt and truthful with him for the first time ever. The situation was serious.
Harry slumped. “I’m so worried about them. So worried, Professor.”
“Do not be. You of all people should know that Miss Granger is an excellent problem solver and an outstanding politician. Mr. Weasley is also determined and brave enough to pull through. I assure you that they will fare just fine.”
Harry nodded, although he didn’t fully believe Dumbledore.
It was the hardest thing he would ever have to do, but Harry would leave his best friends in a lion’s den in order to save the world.
Because that was what heroes did.
Hermione hadn’t been on the verge of tears when her cell door clanged open. Honestly, she hadn’t been about to cry.
But it was a good thing she had been sitting down when the door opened. She likely would have collapsed if she had been standing.
Draco.
Immaculate, calm, icy, standing before her like some ironic angel, smirking down at her scrunched form.
She looked horrible, in all honesty. Tangled hair, bruised face, torn clothing. Nothing like the spotless Draco.
“Well, look who we have here,” Draco drawled, every bit the owner of the austere mansion.
“Malfoy,” Hermione choked. “Come to taunt me and revel in your own victory? Congratulations on your promotion. I daresay giving the sword to Voldemort upped your Pure Evil status one or two notches.”
He raised an eyebrow but remained silent.
“Your house is amazing,” she sneered sarcastically, “I love what your mum’s done with the place. Those metal shackles over there are the perfect compliment to the overall color scheme of this room.”
“Unbelievable,” Draco breathed. “You never know when to shut up, do you, Granger?”
“I can say whatever I want to you now that we’re enemies again,” Hermione clarified.
An odd expression came over Draco’s face. “You’re not even my enemy anymore,” he sneered softly. “You’re just a slave.”
When Malfoy wanted to be cruel, he could be cruel. The most terrible thing about his comment was that it was true and they both knew it.
;D deeem. Läbi sai praegu.
