Disclaimer: They belong to JKR, I'm only playing.
A/N: I'm overflowing with beta-love today (not that there was a time when I wasn't). Miconic has just returned all the chapters I sent her, which is better than good news because I'll be going away this weekend. So, depending on what you guys have to say about this chapter, I might post the next two chapters within the next couple of days. Or perhaps not. Perhaps I'll post them when I get back to Sydney. In four weeks. *grins*
Thanks as always for reading and taking the time to comment, you guys are the best lot of readers a girl could hope for. And please feel free to point out holes in the story as well. And of course, hugs to my dearest, sweetest beta miconic. Also, since people were wondering, my email is on the bio page now. It wasn't there before because, um, I didn't realise I had to un-tick the box. Feel free to say Hi.
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Chapter Six
"I don't know, Headmaster, I don't know. It was bedlam in there and the signals were confusing. And I'm not a seer, I can't predict the future. Besides, I--I was there only for a few minutes. But I know what I sensed. The intent was very strong--the intent to harm--very focused, but it felt like it was coming from very far."
"And you would still put your galleons on Cariad too?"
"Yes. Yes, absolutely. Now more than ever. Absolutely. And those injuries Severus reported--classic signs, absolutely."
"Tiresias, calm down."
"You don't understand, Professor! This--he's interfering with my receptivity! I can hardly stay still. I could barely stand being near him today. That's how I know it's Cariad, without a doubt. I feel like--it's like putting your hand on someone's bare heart, you know, not on their chest, but their living, beating, bloody heart that's just been pulled out of their ribcage!"
"But what about the rest of it, Tiresias? Any luck with Miss Granger?"
"No. There are places even I cannot encroach. Places like this. She refuses to look at it, blinds herself to it, so I can't come up with anything. I can't read minds. I can sense secrets but I can't sense exactly what those secrets are."
"But this is different."
"Yes, I know, it's not exactly a secret, but there's one somewhere, I'm sure of it. Headmaster, this is why my--this ability is not accurate, it's sometimes more trouble than is worth. And in the presence of strong magic like this, the strongest there is, things just go haywire! And Professor, surely you don't think Malfoy is telling the truth about the Imprimere spell?"
"No. But it is not entirely an untruth either, which is why it's difficult. I'm quite sure, as he said, that he found the Virtus potion for the spell among Lucius's stockpile. But you are right, there is more to it. This is very serious, Tiresias, we are going to have to increase safety measures."
"Yes, yes we must. And I think it's time to launch our original plan with Hermione."
"Hypnosis? Is she ready?"
"She's in danger. How much, how soon, I don't know. Sooner we find out what happened, the better."
**
Hermione sighed and shifted in the chair as discreetly as she could. Everyone was under the impression that she'd dozed off, so it's better to keep things that way. She opened her eyes a fraction. Professor Tiresias, Professor Dumbledore and the Healer were gathered near the door, talking in whispers. Tiresias's arms were crossed, head bowed. Dumbledore was fingering his beard. The Healer's back was turned towards her.
The last Healer she'd be seeing.
She closed her eyes.
She was supposed to undergo hypnosis with Professor Tiresias next week. She knew enough about it to realise that it was probably her last chance, the only way she'd be able to see inside her own head.
But did she really want to?
Did she really want to peer behind the tatters her nightmares presented every night and see what lay there?
And what if that didn't work either?
She opened her eyes abruptly, hoping daylight would chase Harry's fallen face rising behind her eyes, and met with a blue gaze.
"Ah, you are awake." Dumbledore smiled. "Professor Tiresias went to fetch Harry to walk you back to your room. That must be them." He turned as the door opened.
"Hermione?"
Harry strode to her chair and knelt in front of her, hands fretful on her knee. She tried to sit up, hoping to lessen the worry on his face but her limbs were lead. She tried to smile.
"Are you okay?"
She nodded. He covered her hands with his own and squeezed her fingers.
"Want to go to your room?"
She nodded again. In a corner of her mind that wasn't curling with a moan into the comfort of his presence, she registered that they were being watched intently.
He stood and pulled her up, sliding an arm around her waist.
"Make sure she gets enough rest, Harry," Dumbledore said.
Harry barely nodded as they shuffled to the door. The corridor outside was deserted. She could barely keep her head up. They walked silently down the passage and mounted the stairs. Her glazed eyes caught the anxious glances he cast her way, and she rubbed her head against his neck hoping to reassure him.
"Hermione--" He paused and she looked up at him. He touched her cheek and looked as if he was about to say something, then changed his mind. Before she could say anything, he picked her up.
She gripped his shoulder and shook her head, mouthing misshapen words. 'You can't--I'm too heavy…' He grinned faintly.
"You might have been. Not anymore."
She sighed and pushed her face into his neck.
They reached her room and he kicked the door open. The room was much tidier than it had been a week ago, more Hermione-like. He laid her on the bed. Then he sat down next to her to pull her shoes off and loosen her schooltie. She lifted her head and he pulled the tie off. The curtain at her window was closed, so his face was half-hidden from her. She pointed her head at the window.
He went over, pulled back the curtain and opened the window a little. The afternoon was dragging its feet, although the days were rapidly becoming shorter and colder. Faint voices drifted up from the courtyard far below. He turned and bent to pick up her shoes and put them away. Then he picked up her tie and hung it in her wardrobe.
She watched him move around the room. He moved slowly, as if his skin was too large and too heavy for him. Ron had avoided them for days. He barely looked at them, but seemed to know exactly when they were in his vicinity; when they entered a room, he left. Harry had tried on several occasions to talk to him, to no avail. Her chest burned when she saw his dejected look but he didn't say much about it. There was no need.
Harry returned to the bed and sat down.
"Are you hungry?" He stroked her cheek, brushing her hair away, fingers dipping in the skin below her ear.
She shook her head.
"Do you want something to drink then?"
She shook her head again.
"Anything else you want then?"
She looked at him for a moment, the faltering brilliance of his green eyes, the shadows, the shoulders that struggled to stay straight enough, broad enough for the weight heaped upon them.
'You.'
He looked puzzled, as if he was waiting for her to finish the sentence. Then he smiled.
He pulled off his shoes and climbed onto bed. She shifted herself into his arms, his face next to her shoulder. She removed his glasses.
The minutes dropped into a slow oblivion on the clock beside her bed. The curtain heaved in the wind.
Suddenly, as she watched, his eyes filled with tears.
She frowned and lifted her head, peering into his face, her hand on his cheek.
"Sorry, I'm, I'm okay, I'm just…" The words, all the words he tried not to say, not wanting to add to her burden, tussled in his throat. Not wanting to add to her burden, and because she already knew anyway.
She hooked a leg over his body, pulling herself on top of him, drew his head into her arms and began to nuzzle his face. 'It'll be okay, we'll be okay', she mouthed into his lips, pale cheeks, eyes. Her hair fell all around them. He clung to her with both hands and tried to keep the brokenness out of his voice.
"What if it doesn't? What if Ron never speaks to me again and you never, you never--"
He broke off, feeling frighteningly light. The weight of hope he'd lugged around for weeks was suddenly cast off, floundering in a future he didn't think he could bear.
"Hermione…" He pleaded, tightening his arms around her.
If it wasn't for her body pinning him to the bed, mooring him to himself, he felt he too might ebb away. She pressed her cheek to his, her voiceless breath incoherent in her urgency to soothe him. 'I promise, be okay, we'll be okay, I'll get better, be okay, promise, promise…'
**
"Lucius, wait!"
"No, I must see him now! This has gone too far!"
"What has gone too far, Lucius?"
"M-Master, I--I didn't see you there.."
"Of course not, Lucius, I excel in concealment. Now, what has made you so hotblooded this evening?"
"I--Master, Draco, I need to know what you plan to do with him. The truth."
"Ahhh, concerned for your son, are you, Lucius?"
"Master, I have been faithful to you even through the worst times--"
"You have been faithful to yourself, Lucius, don't think for a moment that I was ever fooled."
"That's not--that's not…"
"But I forgave you. You still seemed keen to return once I myself returned, and I thought you might retain some of your old zest, so to speak, if not the loyalty you swore by. But you disappointed me."
"I did my best, Master--"
"You failed to get me the Prophecy the first time, and the second time. And both times, you nearly destroyed us."
"But Master, I was not the only one responsible!"
"There you go again, Lucius, making excuses."
"Master, I deeply regret any oversights on my part and I swear to you--"
"Enough with your grovelling, Lucius!"
"Master--"
"What makes you think there's more to my plans for Draco than the instructions I gave him when he received his Mark?"
"He--he let something slip about laying in wait for the mudblood and I tried to warn him, told him it was dangerous but he said he was doing your bidding."
"He is, Lucius."
"But Master, the mudblood--it's dangerous! Just look at these arms, Master, the burns have still not healed! And Bellatrix still has trouble breathing--"
"I'm well aware it's dangerous, Lucius, but what I don't know is how dangerous. Don't you think that I need to know my enemy as best as I could? Well, that is what your son is doing for me. I see you're still confused. Let me put it this way, there is some kind of protection around that mudblood, I don't know how or who's responsible for it, but as you have so kindly pointed out, it was detrimental to us. Your burns, Bellatrix's injuries, Dolohov's paralysis."
"But, Master, how does Draco--"
"Let me finish, Lucius! Now, I need to know exactly how strong that protection is, how far it will work. I have realised that the adverse effects the protection had for us are directly proportionate to the strength of each curse we used on her. To put it simply, Draco's under instructions to do his worst--that way we can find out the worst the protection is capable of."
"My Lord, he could--he could die!"
"Indeed he could, Lucius. But I have instructed him to keep her alive. Once I find out how the protection works, she will be very useful. So, I don't think he would be using the Killing Curse in haste."
"You are using my son as a--as a common pawn!"
"Now, now Lucius, no need to be dramatic."
"He knows nothing about what happened here while we had the mudblood, does he?"
"Of course not, surely you don't think I am that simple-minded?"
"He's walking into your trap--"
"Well. Not the words I would have chosen myself but--Lucius? Can you hear me? Hmm. Bella, I think you can take him away now."
**
"Oy, Ron! Where are you going?" Dean looked indignant. He had been in the middle of explaining the finer points of football for the benefit of several Gryffindors when Ron stood up and walked to the door.
"Er, just--for a walk." He closed the door quickly.
The street outside the Three Broomsticks had a wet sheen over it, smudged with countless footsteps. Ron shoved his hands deep in his pockets and made his way slowly down the road, squinting in the cold sunlight.
He really wasn't sure where he wanted to go. He paused and looked around. Maybe he should've just stayed in the pub with Dean, Seamus and Neville. He sighed. Maybe not. That might have worked when he was in fourth year, but it won't work now. He began to walk.
He wondered where the two of them were. He'd seen them leave the castle with the rest of the crowd streaming to Hogsmeade, but hadn't seen them since. He knew he really had no business feeling all wounded when really, all it would have taken was to look at Harry when he was trying so desperately catch his eye these past few days.
He passed various shops and little groups gathered on the side of the road, chattering and laughing. There were people everywhere. He paused at a shop that looked relatively deserted and walked in, not bothering to glance at the name.
He'd walked into a stationery shop. He wandered past shelves and stands filled with parchment and quills, picking things up and putting them down. Then he turned a corner and came upon Harry and Hermione.
Well. What a surprise.
Hermione was examining a set of quills while Harry looked over her shoulder. The hard, unyielding thing he'd hauled around in his chest for days, the thing that really didn't feel right to him although he clung to it adamantly, buckled a little. For a moment he wished Harry would look up, see him and want to talk.
But then Harry said something to Hermione and stroked her hair away from her neck, hand lingering. Hermione smiled and kissed his cheek.
Ron was tired, so tired.
"Harry, Hermione."
They looked up. Harry's hand dropped abruptly from Hermione's neck. Ron flinched.
He shifted on his feet, face burning. What should he say? It's okay, mate, you don't have to hide it from me? I'm really sorry I've been a prat all these days? Can we please put this behind us and be friends again? Because I know you both need me and I miss you? Can we please make things the way they were?
But the problem was, they couldn't. Things would never again be the way they were.
Suddenly feeling foolish and enraged at himself, he dropped his gaze. When he looked up, they were still staring.
He turned and pushed past the shelves towards the door. Again he wished Harry would come after him. But the door slammed behind him and once again he was out on the wet, overcrowded streets.
Call yourself a Gryffindor, Ron?
He jammed his hands in his pockets and walked towards the end of the cobbled street. Beyond that, a dirt road sloped towards a sparse part of the village, strewn with openings among tall trees and clumps of bushes. He kicked a pebble down the slope. It rolled feebly down the wet road and fell in a puddle.
Why did it hurt so much? It wasn't like he didn't see it coming. He probably knew way before they did. Everyone knew. The way they always looked around the room and saw only each other. The way only he understood what her silent voice said, the way she would bother to open her mouth only when he was around. The million and one ways.
Then why? What exactly was his problem?
He rattled down the slope and came to the fence that overlooked the Shrieking Shack. A bird splashing in a muddy puddle near the fence flew away with a disgruntled squawk. He stared unseeingly at the tiny feathers floating in the cloudy water.
The problem was, it was… That suddenly he was alone.
The Shrieking Shack stood still, bramble palming its dank wooden walls. He thought of the faint scar on his leg and the three of them clutching each other's hands inside a creaking, musty dimness. It all seemed so far away.
But the worst part were those hot, uncomfortable waves of guilt pushing against the hardness in his chest. They grew pushier, louder every time he saw Hermione with her head in her hands over the stack of missed homework, or Harry struggling to find the energy to last through a Quidditch practice.
He sighed. He couldn't do it, not any more.
He turned around, steeling himself to walk back into the stationery shop.
Then he froze.
Harry and Hermione stood at the stop of the slope, their eyes on him.
Ron swallowed.
Hermione turned and took Harry's hand. Harry shrugged and nodded. She began to walk down the slope. Ron stood rooted to the spot. When she was close enough to see him clearly, she smiled hesitantly. Without even thinking, he smiled back.
"Er, Hi. What--what are you doing here?"
She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a pen and notepad. She propped her bag on a bent knee, laid the notepad on it and scribbled something. Then she held it out to him.
Ron ran a hand through his hair and took the pad. I want to talk to you, it said.
He looked at her. Her mouth was set in a firm line. Ron dropped his head in relief; even if he wanted to, she wouldn't let him run now.
"Yeah. Okay"
She smiled. Then she turned around and waved at Harry. He waved back, hesitated, then turned and walked back up the road.
Hermione hoisted her bag and looked around. She walked over to a large stone a few feet away, sat down and patted the space next to her. Ron walked over and sat down, handing her the notepad.
"So…Harry…er…" He tried to come up with words. Any words.
Hermione scribbled on the pad and lifted it up. He had to go, he has Occlumency.
"Today? Saturday?"
Hermione shook her head at him and scribbled some more. You have Quidditch practice on Thursday, remember? Because of the match next Saturday. So Dumbledore asked him to come today.
"Oh. Right." Ron nodded and fingered a groove on the stone. "So he…er…he didn't mind you staying with me?"
She rolled her eyes, pen over paper. Why would he mind?
Ron raised an eyebrow.
Hermione sighed and went back to her pad. Okay, maybe I had to persuade him just a teeny weeny bit. She grinned. He snorted lightly.
The bird that had flapped away had returned to claim the puddle. It turned a firm fluffy tail towards him and dipped its head in the water.
Hermione handed him the notepad again. Ron, why are you doing this?
He dropped his head. Sand had gathered in the hollows on the stone. He flicked at the grains and watched them fly out.
She sighed. The notepad rustled. She paused after a few penstrokes, then resumed. Okay, since you're not going to just tell me, I'm going to ask. Is this because we didn't tell you?Because if it is, Ron, it's all a big mistake. Because we really were going to tell you, the first person we thought of telling, but Malfoy just messed it all up."
Ron stared at the paper, her writing sitting neatly between the blue lines. She was waiting for him to speak. When he didn't she pulled the pad from his hand.
Say something Ron, please?
Ron sighed. "I--okay, all right, I guess I overreacted a bit there. I suppose if I'd given you enough time, you'd have told me."
Hermione nibbled the end of the pen and scribbled. Then she held the pad out to him hesitantly.
Are you mad at us?I mean, us?
Ron stared at the underlined word.
Was he?
He was mad at something. But it had nothing to do with Harry and Hermione.
It was about Harry, Hermione and himself.
About how his north and south had shifted, how he had slipped off orbit.
"No." He had hoped to clear the look on her face, but it didn't. She ran a finger around the edge of the notepad.
We miss you, Ron. And look at Harry, he's miserable, he needs you.
"Not as much he needs you." The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them.
She gazed at him for a long moment and shook her head. Her shoulders slumped and she closed her hands over the notepad. Moments passed. The preening bird had been joined by a companion. The water was now the colour of the earth around the puddle.
Ron sighed. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I didn't mean it like that. It's all just--strange. I mean, I guess I did know you and Harry--well, everyone knew--but it just makes everything very different." He took a deep breath. "I guess I'm wondering what I really am now, to you and Harry."
When she handed him the notepad, the paper had faint holes etched along her penstrokes.
Ron, you are our BEST FRIEND
He ran his hand over his face. "Hermione, I know. Look, I'm no good at talking about these things but it's like you and Harry--suddenly you have a different life. And I'm not a part of that. I know, I know, I'll always be a part of anything you two do, but it's not the same. I…I guess I need time to get used to it."
Hermione nibbled her lip and stared at the birds flapping in the mud.
"Look…I, I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to make a big deal about you two but it sort of just happened." He swallowed and took a deep breath. "And I miss you both too."
Hermione looked at him and smiled, her eyes filling up.
"Er, but you can't tell Harry that, okay?"
She grinned wider and gave his arm a brief squeeze.
"Is he mad at me?" He said in a small voice.
Hermione picked up her pad. No, not really. He just wants to talk to Ron. She smiled.
"Well, I guess I'd better not keep him waiting any longer then, eh? Merlin knows what he might do, he tends to become the Boy Who Lived when he's pushed too far. Hmmm, I'd better prepare my speech carefully. What shall I say? Harry Potter sir, I beg of you, please find it in your generous heart to forgive your erring best friend-ouch! Fine, I won't make fun of it then. Here, I'll take your bag. What time does he finish his lesson? Oh that's good, we have plenty of time. Shoo! Those two bloody birds! Splashing mud all over me, shoo! It's not funny! Go find some other puddle, you stupid bird! Look--now I've got mud inside my shoe!"
**
He wasn't good at waiting.
Patience wasn't a virtue. It throttled him. And fury screeched in his blood all day. Detention on a Saturday, on a Hogsmeade Saturday. All because of the muggle-loving sod.
He had to act fast. But it was getting harder and harder. She wasn't moseying about in filthy halls anymore. And Potter trailed her like a sick bloody puppy.
He marched through the Great Hall and out towards the marble staircase, robes whipping. Then he stopped.
Well.
He couldn't believe his luck.
The mudblood, alone.
He leaned behind a pillar and watched her walk up the stairs. He checked his watch. There was still time till the Hogsmeade crowds streamed in. And Potter, where was Potter?
He'd take his chances with that.
He'd had enough of waiting.
He turned around. "Hurry up, you idiots!" He hissed at Crabbe and Goyle who'd been lumbering behind him.
**
Hermione skipped up the stairs, swinging her bag. The castle was deserted. Good thing too, the way she was grinning to herself. A portrait raised an eyebrow and pointed at her feet.
She looked down at the trail of twigs and wet leaves she was leaving on the stone floor. She turned, ran back down and stamped her feet on the enchanted carpet on the bottom stair. The carpet swallowed the dirt. Then she hopped her way up and stuck her tongue out at the portrait as she walked past.
"Insolence!" Its occupant muttered.
Ron had walked with her as far as Hagrid's Hut. Then he'd been distracted by a group of second years who'd let loose a few Dr Filibuster's catherine wheels in Hagrid's pumpkin patch. Hermione watched for a while as he drew himself upto his full height and berated the cowering offenders, then left by herself for the castle.
Harry would be finishing his lesson soon. She really should stop smiling to herself like that. But it was hard when her mind was filled with the look he'd have on his face when he walked to dinner that night and saw Ron at his usual seat.
She walked past the passage that led to the Gryffindor common room and climbed two staircases up to the floor which housed Dumbledore's office, planning to wait for Harry. At the top of the stairs the passages branched off.
Hermione was just about to walk to the far end of the left one where the gargoyle stood guarding Dumbledore's door when she was distracted by the familiar path to her right.
A familiar, desolate path.
She bit her lip and slid her bag off her shoulder. The passage was dim but full of shards of light falling through grimy skylights, breaking against the glass panels over portraits. At the far end, a nondescript mahogany doorway stood next to a large painting that leaned against the wall. The door was dwarfed by the shadow of the painting; you could almost miss it.
That is, if you hadn't walked down that passage, through that door day after day under the scant cover of a silver cloak.
Hermione glanced at the grotesque outline of the gargoyle at the other end and glanced at her watch. Then she turned and began to walk.
It had been little more than a week since she started going to classes but it felt like a long time. Her footsteps sounded odd, too loud against the stone floor. It was as if two people were walking inside her shoes. Twice she whirled around to see if there was anyone behind her. But there was nothing except vague shadows trapped between high walls.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The musty smell opened its arms. She left the door half-open, hoping to coax some light from the corridor into the hall. As if to protest against this insolence, the cold detached itself from the stone pillars and jostled her. She hugged her bag to herself and walked forward.
Cobwebs and dust.
Unseen scamperings underfoot as if the floor itself was alive.
How did she spend hours and hours here? She tread carefully, not wanting to stir up more dust than she could help. She walked over to the stone ledge along one wall and sat down. Then she shook her head at herself.
What are you doing here, Hermione?
Don't know, don't know.
She certainly wasn't here to hide.
Then was she here to be thankful for being found on time?
A rope of dusty light dangled weakly through the small skylight in the high roof. She stood up and went over. What about those things that were still lost then? Those things she still couldn't find, still couldn't see, still couldn't put right?
She stood under the skylight and squinted up. Through the panel that probably hadn't been cleaned for at least five hundred years she thought she could see the faint autumn sky. And when she held her hand out into the light, she thought her fingertips felt warm.
Maybe she was here to remind herself of out there. Out there where the light and warmth waited. She may never find what she lost but--
She was still Hermione Granger.
And she had Harry.
And they had Ron.
Something swished behind her and she turned around, squinting. Nothing. She shook her head at her own jumpiness.
Anyone would think you'd never been here before. You know very well the place is full of funny noises all the time.
She sighed and tried to read her watch. Harry would almost be finished now. She pulled her bag over her shoulder and turned to go.
Somebody wrenched her bag off.
She jumped back. Her breath rammed in her chest.
A voice knifed through the cold dimness.
"Well. Fancy meeting you here."
A muttered spell, a pinprick of faint green wandlight.
A sallow, pointed face. Gleaming blond hair.
Hermione took a deep breath. Bastard.
She crossed her arms and glared. He smirked.
"Here I was thinking you had given up your regular strolls around the castle. Good thing I kept a close watch. Almost missed my chance."
Hermione continued to glare. The panic that seized her when he snatched her bag had turned to scalding rage. She held out her hand, gesturing at the bag.
"What? This? I don't think so." He tossed it sideways and Goyle caught it.
Great. All three were here. And her wand was in her bag.
"You see, the thing is, I have some business here. So why don't we make ourselves comfortable?" He gestured at Crabbe.
A spell hissed. Before she knew what was happening, she was thrown against a stone pillar a few feet off, bound with gleaming green ropes. Panic flared in her chest again and sharp pain shot down her back. She bit her lip.
Malfoy swaggered towards her and crossed his arms, Crabbe and Goyle behind him.
"All right." He twirled his wand. Hermione swallowed back revulsion. The slick hair, the blustering gestures, the cold eyes. She tried to breathe evenly, trying to remember if she told Ron where she was going. Even if she did, would they think to look in here? Would Harry have finished his lesson by now? How long would it be before they wondered where she was?
"Before I get down to…real business, I have a couple of questions. So, you had the good fortune of meeting the Dark Lord over the summer, didn't you? Must have been very…overwhelming for a mudblood." He cocked his head and smirked.
Hermione stared.
Mudblood mudblood
"Anyway, he was somewhat displeased. Apparently you weren't very forthcoming with the information he requested." He tapped his wand against his palm and paced back and forth.
"The Dark Lord had been keen to discover the exact words in the Prophecy about himself and Potter. But apparently you insisted you knew nothing about it." He walked up and pushed his face close. But Hermione was far too distracted to feel anything.
Words raked through the dark undergrowth of her mind. They uncovered more words. She grit her teeth. The words, the words--they pulled and pulled at her memory and oh--
The Prophecy, mudblood, the Prophecy-WHAT DID IT SAY?
"Now I think that's bullshit." Malfoy withdrew. Hermione felt her breath struggle. Beyond that, she had lost all feeling.
The pointed face, light hair.
The sneer.
Under a crystal chandelier, a skeletal voice.
Take her away, Lucius, she knows nothing.
But Master--
I said she knows nothing, Lucius. I can see in her worthless mind. Potter hadn't told her.
But we cannot let her go!
I did not say to let her go, TAKE HER AWAY!
"So now you're going to tell me what was in it." Malfoy was saying. He thrust his face close again. "Because I--" He pulled back. "--Plan to serve my Master in every way I can. He doesn't expect me to come back with the Prophecy but I aim to exceed his expectations." He pushed up his sleeve and thrust his arm at her.
Hermione stared at the black-green mark on his upturned wrist. The surrounding skin was still faintly bloodstained. Scabby flesh crowned the skull.
Her stomach heaved.
She pushed against the ropes, kicked, wrenched.
Her hands, her hands--
Pull them free to cover her eyes, to cover
The abyss of memory beneath her feet
She can see it, feel it, smell its putrid depth--
The pillow that betrayed.
The dark, menacing room, the curtains, the goblet, the high-backed chair
Hooded pain.
Faces she loved soaked in blood.
Her body strained against the ropes.
Something hurtled up her throat, tore through weeks and weeks of blindness, silence--
Hermione screamed.
****