A/N: Lots of difficult stuff here. As in-difficult to read and difficult to take, but I promise there's purpose to it. ^_^ Just a warning, because it really is harrowing.
Tome Raider did an excellent job polishing this chapter. Thanks Pam!
Standard disclaimers apply.
Chapter Six - Demon Gripped
Her eyes were his salvation from the Demon. Every time he looked into them, he felt saved from the imp that plagued him-from his burdens and responsibilities, from pain, and even from himself. He had willingly let himself fall into their depths and each time, he felt that nothing else mattered but having her in his arms, pressed against him, having her hand in his, or having their lips against one another, tasting…
She was the balm of his pain. He couldn't do without her. He lived for her.
There was a loud clap, and Harry wailed as a lightning shaped crack punched a hole through his wall.
The Demon.
It reached in and tore her presence away, sucking it into the rift. Her scream filled him with terror and helplessness. She was gone. He was alone. The realization was so overwhelming that his weakening walls crumbled completely and the demon that was tormenting him crashed through, breathing poison as it extended its razor-sharp claws to rend Harry's walls raw.
He screamed as his mind got uncontrollably swept into a cyclonic wind. He couldn't stop the images from showing. When he tried, he felt that his head was going to explode. And he couldn't stop the chaos. He couldn't stop any of it from happening.
The Demon was powerful. All it needed was to get in, and his walls were no more.
There was absolutely no relief, and the pain was agonizing.
~~~
Harry jolted awake with a scream. The pain from Crucio ripped through him like a serrated knife, slowly slicing him into a hundred pieces. Burning pain flashed through his body and he writhed on the floor. It felt like he was being twisted awkwardly from the inside out, like his bones were being pulled in impossible directions. He couldn't breath, and his eyes felt like they were being gouged out of their sockets. He didn't know if he could go on for very long.
Then the pain was waning, and while it didn't completely go away, it was no longer unbearable, and he was slowly becoming aware of things around him.
The cold marble floor was hard against the angles of his body. The ache on his shoulder and leg had not improved.
There was light. Lots of it, and for a moment, it glared into his waking eyes.
His head throbbed, his limbs felt stiff, and he felt filthy with blood and cellar grime.
Cellar… Hermione!
He tried to spring awake, but there was too much pain pressing on him from all sides. He moaned as he rolled to a more manageable angle-on his hands and knees. Head heavy between his shoulders, he tried to push himself up. A trickle of red ran down his arm from his shoulder, and his pants leg was wet with red and browning blood.
The pain made his head swirl, but he forced his vision to settle, focusing on steady thought.
How long have I been here?
It was very hard to tell. It could have been hours, but it could have been days, too. He had drifted in and out of sleep, his nightmares full of disturbing images. There was no rest in unconsciousness, because he had felt invaded in his dreams, like someone was trying to look in and that he had to fight it, so he did, and he had won each time, but he felt weaker after every battle, and it did not help in the least that in the brief moments that he woke, he had been Crucioed back into unconsciousness.
But this last time…
He'd gotten through. Voldemort got through! Oh, Merlin, what had he seen?
He felt his chest tightening, but he doubted it had anything to do with a hex.
There were footsteps. Distant, at first, but as his fuzzy thoughts gradually drifted into sharp focus, he realized that the sound was no further than a few meters away.
He oriented himself and saw a familiar blur within reach of his hand. They were his glasses, and groggily, he took them and put them on.
He was in a workroom of sorts, with magical contraptions and potions sitting on heavy tables and surrounded by reams and reams of paper. It looked like Dumbledore's chamber, but darker-more sinister. Potions piped skull-shaped smoke. Enchanted objects bore sharp blades and horrible carvings. Books screamed and sobbed periodically. Candles sat on small skulls. Animals were locked up in cages.
Voldemort prowled in a circle, his wand clasped lightly in his hand. His red gaze fell upon him at intervals when he wasn't glancing out of the window of the room, or looking idly at one of the many horrible paintings that decorated the chamber's walls.
Snape stood beyond the circle of the madman, watching him intently with the same sour expression that Harry always saw on him. Beside Snape stood Bellatrix, her smirk of triumph muted only by the loving gaze she would cast her master every time he passed her.
Harry turned his gaze to the window and saw the sky infested with Dementors. His stomach curled in and of itself.
Voldemort finally stopped walking and met his gaze.
Harry was startled by the absence of manic red and the presence of intense lucidity that replaced it. He had expected the fevered gaze of a megalomaniac; the image of Voldemort Harry had remembered from the graveyard, and from the Department of Mysteries. The spindly hands and hair-barren head remained, and by all means, he still looked like a horrific skeletal man, but the manic gleam in his eyes was not there, and while perhaps that should have assuaged Harry's fears, it seemed to strengthen it. Voldemort was no longer the monster driven by unrealistic, demented delusions. He was a man, one with clear intelligence-a calculating man who knew exactly what he was doing, and that-Harry thought, was more frightening.
"How thorough a teacher Albus Dumbledore was," he said. There was displeasure in his tone, but nothing to suggest that anger would overrule him. "He taught you many things."
Harry pursed his lips, eyes staring defiantly back.
This did not seem to bother Voldemort. "He showed you Tom Riddle; made a mortal man of me so you would learn not to fear… this." He gestured to himself nonchalantly. His tone was almost self-deprecating, a hint of dark humor showing in the quirk of his bald head. "Disappointing that the effect should be so ruined. I rather like instilling fear."
For a moment, the red of his eyes returned, coupled with Voldemort's manic smile. He was a snake, ready to strike and sink his fangs into his prey, and then it was gone. He was that intelligent, lucid man again, and Harry realized, much to his horror, that Voldemort could put on whatever face he wanted.
Harry's hands fisted, and he felt true fear-not for himself, but for Hermione, and Ron, and everyone else who might have been taken at the Burrow. "What have you done with my friends?"
Voldemort seemed mildly surprised by this, but it was only momentary. He smiled, some of the madman returning for a very brief appearance. "Friends, are they? That's an interesting way of calling them. Miss Weasley was more than just a friend to you once, wasn't she? I don't think she thinks you're just friends."
Anxiety spiked through him. Had they captured Ginny? Where was she? Was she suffering for him? Was she in great pain?
"She's not here," Voldemort said. Perhaps he had read Harry's thoughts. It wouldn't be the first time. "She got away with the other Weasleys. Relieved?"
Not quite…
"I have no use for Miss Weasley any more," Voldemort said dismissively. "Her use is done, and perhaps I might have been more eager to capture her if you still thought of her as you once had…"
Harry hated the fact that Voldemort had crept into his mind-had seen all these things. What else had he seen?
Oh, God…
"The Mudblood means much, much more to you."
Harry could see it in Voldemort's eyes-the lewd suggestion; the prurient interest. He dug his fingers into his hair. He gritted his teeth and felt physical pain at the feelings of violation. The privacy of his mind and his heart had been ripped open, and Voldemort had seen him… with Hermione. Voldemort had seen her in Harry's most intimate moments with her. "Stay out of my head!"
Voldemort shrugged with casual disregard. "The Blood Traitor wants her affection as well. You do not think he can love her the way you do. You belittle his feelings. You forget that between the two of you, he has not had the… pleasure of her company, yet he feels strongly for her, almost as much as you feel for her. Given the opportunity, he will take her from you, as you would if she had chosen him."
Harry pressed his hands over his ears and shut his eyes. Lies… he's trying to turn me against Ron…
"He was very strong," Voldemort continued. "He would not succumb to torture. He would not answer our questions, no matter how hard we hurt him. The Mudblood would say nothing, either. She is stubborn and bullheaded. She took much pain at the end of Antonin's wand with hardly a whimper."
Bellatrix smiled.
Harry could hardly bear to listen. He could feel Voldemort watching, and Harry felt that Voldemort could see his internal struggle plain as anything. This wasn't random cruelty. Voldemort was observing him. Voldemort was watching for his reactions.
The silence that followed was maddening, and Harry almost wanted to say something-anything, just to ease the crushing pressure.
"You can't break them," he rasped. He believed it, and he said it with a lot of conviction.
Voldemort looked unmoved, tapping his chin, pensive. After a brief silence, he seemed to decide on something. "You're quite right. They are bound by Fidelius Charms. Clever of the Order, but to be honest, I did not take them for what they know. To me, they are tools. What Antonin and Lucius do with them is their business, and besides, like I'd stain myself breaking into the mind of a Mudblood…"
Harry's hands curled into fists.
"Fortunately, Severus was kind enough to break into their minds for me. Hence, we learned of the Fidelius charms. It did its work. Severus learned nothing from them."
Harry lifted his gaze to Snape suspiciously. There were some things that hadn't been protected by a Fidelius, most of it concerning their Horcrux hunt, of which knowledge they hadn't bothered to share with the Order. Snape must have seen those secrets, and yet…
"Whatever I wanted to know, I knew I'd learned from you, and I did. The poetry of it nearly made me weep," said Voldemort casually. He smirked. "I'm nothing if not dramatic. For the meantime, I'm just keeping your friends for insurance."
What… what does he mean by that?
The question was not going to be answered by Voldemort.
"Severus," Voldemort said as he made his way to one of his many worktables. "Take the boy to his cell."
Snape said nothing. He simply began to do as he was told.
Harry felt Snape grab him by the arm and hoist him to his feet. Harry wrenched his arm away and swung, making a grab for Snape's wand, but Harry's attempt was futile, and Snape easily dodged, whipping his wand in an upward hooking motion.
Harry felt himself levitating, ankle first. The ground swung out of control and Harry was upside down, his entire body dangling by one foot. The blood rush to his head was debilitating and his glasses tumbled to the floor. His injured shoulder and leg screamed and his entire focus was suddenly on the pain. He could do nothing else.
The floor rushed up against him and he fell in a supremely uncomfortable heap with a moan.
"If you had an iota of the Know-it-All's intelligence, you would have known that your attempts would have been fruitless, thus saving yourself from this most uncomfortable and embarrassing situation," said Snape in his snooty, nasal way.
Harry was too dazed by all the sensations of discomfort buffeting him from all sides to act aggressively, but the reality of his situation fell upon him just as intensely as everything else. He wasn't going to be able to escape, not right now, and not in his condition.
Snape grabbed him by the arm again and this time, Harry didn't have time to contemplate another attempt to escape before he found himself surrounded by Death Eaters, two of them holding him on both sides of him as his wrists were magically bound behind him. He heard the sound of crunching plastic and the tinker of glass. There went his spectacles.
He was pushed forward, through a doorway and out to the vast hallways. Behind him, he heard Bellatrix's seductive laughter, dwindling as the chamber doors shut them out. Snape marched ahead of him, the potion master's long dark robes swishing around his ankles as he walked with perfect poise.
Harry lumbered with a painful limp. His leg was killing him, and his shoulder was stabbing agony through him at each flex. He had very little choice but to move forward in spite of the otherwise debilitating pain.
They forced him through the hallways of the unfamiliar castle with its barely lit hallways and gruesome tapestries. He felt cold, but he was sweating profusely.
The torches came farther and farther apart until they reached a dark stairway that wound down from where they stood.
It was so much harder to descend the steps in his condition and he was dragged most of the way, his feet tripping over one another in their haste.
When they reached the bottom, they came upon rows of empty dungeon cells. Iron grills separated each cell, and each cell had grill-iron doors. The locks on each door seemed antiquated, but without a wand, they would be impossible to undo.
Further down the detention rows, he heard her voice.
He thought at first he was delirious, but when they threw him into his cell and shut him in, he lay on the rotting, cobbled stone and let her voice lull him back to his senses.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It had pained her to see his wounds. He had taken them because of her. He had used his body to protect her when those Death Eaters blasted their way through the cellar door. She had seen the slivers of wood lodge themselves on his shoulder and leg. They weren't very large pieces, but they were stab wounds, nonetheless. It had horrified her, but she could do nothing.
When she saw the tip of Severus Snape's wand poised at the back of Harry's head, she felt-for an instant-that she had been wrong about Snape all along.
But Snape hadn't killed Harry, and Hermione knew then that Snape had to do it. He had to knock Harry out, because the other Death Eaters were watching.
Still, she refused to be taken without a fight, however futile her efforts were. She kicked and screamed as they took away her wand, Harry, and finally her dignity as Draco was made to deal the stunning blow.
When she awoke, she was in a cell in a dimly lit dungeon. She was in one of many cells lined up on one side of relatively narrow walkway.
She could reach into the cell beside her, but that was small comfort, because other than the vermin, she was completely alone, with no idea of where the rest of the Weasleys were, or whether they had Ron, or whether she would see Harry or Ron alive again.
There was no way to tell time. Her wristwatch wasn't working properly, the surrounding magic spinning its hands in constant motion. Wherever she was, she was underground, far from sight of the sun or moon. A bowl of gruel had appeared beside her, along with a cup of water. She had refused to eat or drink it, and it disappeared untouched after several minutes.
Having no concept of time made her restless and agitated, and having spent hours and hours contemplating every possible means of escape, she would find herself exhausted from being unable to do anything. When she began pressing her ears to the cracks between the stone bricks of her wall, she just knew she was already beginning to go insane.
Though she had tried to avoid sleep, it overwhelmed her, and she drifted off with troubled dreams. Her sleep was not deep, and she would wake between hours, perhaps minutes.
There was nothing to break the maddening tedium of her total isolation. When next she slept, then woke, the gruel and drink were there. She found that she was starving, but she did not touch the bowl. She did, however, eye the cup of water thirstily. All of it disappeared before she could decide to partake.
Perhaps another day passed. She had completely lost track of time, and she was seriously afraid dementia would overwhelm her. Singing to herself gave temporary relief, but she couldn't keep it up. Singing was never her forte. She was always off-key.
She was almost relieved to hear the sound of approaching men.
They dragged her to a dark sitting room with stained-glass windows and elegant furniture. It was, she discovered, Antonin's favorite lounging area, and it was there he tortured her to reveal her secrets. She wouldn't tell-couldn't if she wanted to. Most of his questions could only be answered by information that were on Fidelius charms. Antonin could get nothing from her, and the one piece of information she could reveal-the one about the Horcruxes, was never asked about.
Because Voldemort had told no one about those.
When they dragged her back to her cell, she thought she was going to expire that night, with her body so exhausted and in so much pain from the Cruicios.
Antonin had sent for her again a few hours later, and this time, Severus Snape was there with him. After they realized that torture was not going to work, Snape was told to break into her mind.
She had wanted to scream and yell, demand from Snape assistance, but she stifled the urge valiantly. Going that route would help no one, and she could lose everyone she loved in one fell swoop.
Snape had gone into her mind. She felt him flipping the pages in her head, but he was not looking for answers. He was looking-for show. Antonin was watching, and it was best not to fake it.
When Snape pulled away, he cast her a disdainful frown.
"Do you think we would resort to poisoning you in your cell?" he had said. "If we wanted to kill you, we would have done it by now."
She hadn't been afraid of poison. She had been afraid of Veritaserum, or some similar potion that would make her speak of things unprotected by Fidelius charms, but before she could think more of it, she blacked out, and she woke up again in her lonely cell.
The next time her food and drink appeared, she consumed both gruel and water. If she was going to get through this alive, she needed her strength.
She felt strangely rejuvenated after she had eaten, and then the lonely, dead silence fell upon her again, her dungeons offering nothing but the squeaky scurrying of rats.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They dumped her into Antonin Dolohov's room again and she relived one nightmare after another at each Crucio.
To say that Dolohov was pissed by the futility of his interrogation was an understatement. It took several Cruciatus curses to appease him, and when he was done, he had left her in the dark room, panting and cramping on the marble floor with nothing but the light of the moon shining through the stained-glass windows. She had regained some of her strength back in a bit, and she immediately checked the door. It was locked, of course, and no amount of force could get it undone.
She had then turned her attention to the windows, picking up a chair and flinging it against the glass. It was a mistake. The glass was as hard as rock. The chair didn't so much as crack it. Her frustration had almost been great enough to make her cry, but then the door to the chamber opened, and she tried to make a rush for it.
It wasn't, perhaps, one of her more brilliant plans, but she'd made an earnest effort of it. She had picked something up, flung it against her intruder, and attempted to make her escape while he was ducking from her projectile. The porcelain figurine shattered against the wall behind him and pieces shot out everywhere.
It appeared to nick him at the back of the neck because he yowled in complaint as he grabbed at his nape, but he was no whiner, because he hardly paused as he made a grab for her as she rushed to the door.
She felt his grip on her arm and she tumbled awkwardly to the floor. Acting on instinct, she grabbed whatever she could use to fight against him. It happened to be a shard of that same porcelain figurine she broke. The sharp edges of the piece dug into her palm, but she didn't care. She swung wildly. She didn't even know where she aimed, exactly, but she drew blood.
He cried out, hand to his face and again, she tried to run, but he was stronger than she thought, and even while he growled in pain, he had simply slammed himself against her and brought them both rolling on the ground.
Mounting her, he grabbed her wrist and slammed it back against the floor, knocking her crude weapon from her grip. Having disarmed her, he slapped her hard across the face.
Stars exploded in her vision as she lay there, trying to recover. Even as her vision spun, she began to put a name to the bleary face of her opponent.
It was Gregory Goyle. He was touching his face, which she had managed to slice from the apple of his cheek to the bridge of his nose. He checked his fingers and his expression pruned into an angry scowl when he saw the blood.
"You stupid, ugly, Mudblood!"
She struggled to push him off her, and in her frustration, she began mouthing off. "I'm still ten times smarter and better than you, Goyle. You're nothing but a spoiled, inbred, lumbering monkey to the Malfoy golden boy. Do you hear me? You're Draco's bitch! Where's your leash, huh?"
That did not seem to go overly well with him. His eyes blazed. It was the first time she'd ever seen him with such raw emotion-such anger. Usually, he was just staring stupidly at her with some kind of sneer, doing what he was told. Not this time.
He grabbed her roughly by the front of her shirt and tried to haul her to her feet, but she fought back, trying to kick him between the legs. She caught him inside the thigh, and he growled in pain, but her struggles didn't successfully thwart him.
She saw the back of his hand coming before she could dodge it and it hit her at the side of her head. Her vision spun, and she found she could hardly form a coherent thought.
Goyle gave her a vicious shake, hissing in her ear. "I'll show you bitch, Mudblood."
The moment Goyle turned her over and pressed his hand to the back of her neck to hold her down, she knew what he was going to do. He was going to make her pay for saying the things she did.
She felt him yank her trousers from her, and as brave a front as she had put up in the face of her situation, she couldn't help it when she screamed.
She could bear Crucio. She could bear any form of curse, but she crumbled at the reality of being raped. To be so physically helpless in the face of such violation was more than she could bear. By the time Goyle had grabbed her knickers, she was bitterly trying to fight back her tears.
Goyle began calling her all manner of demeaning names. Everything from Gryffindor whore to Mudblood cunt, to Blood-Traitor's slut. She grit her teeth against every single slur. She was paralyzed by Goyle's strength, but she refused to let him think that he could ever completely defeat her. She could cry and wallow in her humiliation by herself later. For now, she insisted on being defiant, however futile her efforts may be.
Goyle had, at that point, already sat on the back of her legs, and she didn't even want to know what sort of state he was in, but then the sound of the door opening cut through the room, and for a moment, things went silent, and all she could hear was the sound of her, fighting her own sobs.
Please let it be Snape. Please let it be…
But it wasn't Snape. It was the cold voice of Draco Malfoy.
"Go to your father, Goyle," Draco had said.
Goyle hadn't released her. "But-"
"Go to your father, now." Draco sounded monstrously displeased. "Or do you want me to go to him and tell him that you're sullying yourself with the Mudblood?"
At that, Goyle finally let her go and she frantically scrambled to get away from him, righting herself. She wanted to rail at Goyle. Hit him and call him names, but she had felt his strength-had already felt violated by him. She just wanted to get away; she just wanted to be fully clothed.
She watched him get up and button his trousers while she scrambled to dress. Goyle threw Draco a vicious glare as he stepped out of the room, cringing and seemingly sensitive around his left side.
Draco sniffed. "Snape brutal in training?"
Goyle didn't reply. He huffed out of the room and was gone. Draco turned to her, closing the door behind him.
She tensed, wondering with great panic whether she had been saved from one monster just to face another.
Draco approached and again, she tried to resist, thrashing as he tried to grab her.
"Settle down for Merlin's sake!" Draco hissed.
She spat at his face just when someone, some unknown Death Eater, barged through the door demanding what in hell was taking so damn long.
She didn't see it coming when Draco took her by the shoulders and dealt her a most dizzying backhand slap.
She stumbled to the floor with a gasp, and she was only just recovering her senses when he began to speak to the Death Eater.
"No problem here. I'll be out in a minute with her, alright?"
Perhaps satisfied that Draco seemed to have things under control, the Death Eater stepped back out, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Draco then turned to her, looking severely displeased. "You ought to be grateful I got here when I did, Mudblood," he said in a harsh whisper.
Her pride rose to the occasion. "I owe you nothing, Malfoy. It's not like you showed up to save me. You're here because you were told to come here, and you could care less about my virtue, so don't pretend you did it for me."
His lips pursed, and his silver eyes flashed in anger. "Like I would ever pretend that sort of thing. I've come to escort you to the dungeons."
She said nothing as he grabbed her arm, yet again.
"You'll like it better there. You'll have your weasel-boyfriend for company in a bit."
Only the hope that Ron might be alive appeased her. The rest of her unease remained. She would be back in her cell, but it didn't mean she would be safe from Goyle's bad intentions.
Draco had had an escort of several Death Eaters to lead her to the dungeons. She had been pushed roughly into her cell. He had shoved her so hard that she fell gracelessly, bruising her knees.
Ron hadn't been there when she first arrived, and when she was finally alone, with nothing but a few scurrying rats to keep her company, she had staunchly refused to cry by herself- even with what Goyle had almost done to her. It was an effort, and she had to take several deep calming breathes, telling herself that she had to stay strong if she was to keep her head. It was during this semi-meditative state that she noticed that her palm had been cut and that it was bleeding. She hadn't noticed it was there, earlier. It must have been from her scuffle with Goyle. She had wrapped her hand in her handkerchief.
She had contemplated the possibility that Severus Snape, the oily git whom the entire Order thought was a traitor, would come to their rescue, but she kept remembering what Snape always told her: "If you get caught, you are on your own. I will not come to your aid."
Her arrangement with Snape was simple. Snape would provide her as much information about the Horcruxes as possible and she would use that information, along with his own research, for Harry to find them. When the time for reckoning came, she would vouch for his innocence. It had taken a great deal for Hermione to trust him, and it had taken even more to keep the secret from everyone she cared about, but it was for everyone's good that no one else knew. Snape was a mole. She was the mole's contact. It would stay that way until the end of the war… if it ever got to that point.
Thus deciding that Snape would take his statements to heart, she began to try to think of a way to escape. She found that it was difficult to think when she was so deeply worried about her boys.
Ron had been brought in much later, looking half-dead in his unconscious state. He was separated from her by one cell-block, and it was frustrating to watch him unconscious. It had been several hours before Ron woke, and shortly after, Harry was dragged in-by Snape, no less-looking so terribly out of shape that all she could do to keep from crying was the thought that they were all still alive.
Harry wasn't moving, but she could see him breathing, and she stifled her tears-that the few meters distance between them was an impossible gap to bridge.
"Harry! Harry, please say something!"
He remained quiet. He looked totally wasted, especially with his glasses gone and blood staining his clothes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Harry! Harry, please say something!"
Most of everything was a blur, but he had always been farsighted, and as he turned his gaze sluggishly in the direction of her voice, he saw her.
Her bushy brown hair was everywhere, a beautiful mess on her head. Her badly bruised cheek was streaked with tears. Her lip was split on one side. Her clothes were sullied with blood. The stained handkerchief wrapped around her hand suggested that the blood was hers.
He could go to her, and he could hold her, even if they were separated by iron bars.
Sluggishly, he pushed himself to his hands and knees, crawling in her direction.
"Oh, God, Harry…" She reached through the bars, arms open to accept him.
The mere thought of feeling her touch was enough to soothe many of his aches. He fell against the bars, but her arms were around him, and her frantic whispers were warm against his cold cheek.
"I was so worried," she whispered. "I knew you were hurt badly enough and I couldn't bear the thought that-that Voldemort would-oh, Harry…"
He leaned back against her, closing his eyes.
It felt like a lifeline. He could not have survived through the despair and hopelessness without it. He wanted to lose himself to the comfort of her presence for a few more minutes, but there was a sound-a clearing of the throat, and Harry felt her go slightly tense.
Harry cracked his eye open, and in the next cell he saw Ron, watching them with a blank expression on his face. Harry hadn't been aware that Ron was there. In his haste to find comfort in Hermione's touch, he had blocked everything else out.
"I'm alright, thanks," Ron said with icy derision.
Harry stared for a moment, trying to puzzle out what he was feeling. He was a bit surprised to note that he felt no reason to apologize. In light of what had happened, their jealousies seemed petty.
"Try to ease the pressure off that arm and leg," she said, her voice slicing through the tension. "We'll figure out a way to escape in a bit, alright?"
Even if it seemed hopeless, her words were soothing. Hermione was at the helm. He had nothing to worry about. Well, almost nothing.
"How long have we been here?" Harry asked to get some form of conversation going.
Ron's eyebrow arched in mild confusion.
"I've been in and out of consciousness," Harry said. "I had no way of knowing. Woke up in Voldemort's work room… he implied we've been here for a while."
Hermione shifted against his good shoulder through the bars. She checked her wristwatch and she sighed. "I'm not sure. It could be three days. Maybe more…"
"They tortured you both."
Harry felt Hermione stiffen; saw the tension in Ron's shoulders before he tore his gaze away.
"I didn't tell them anything helpful," Ron said. "I couldn't even if I wanted to, anyway."
Hermione said nothing. It was probably the same for her.
"Voldemort said he already got what he wanted from me," Harry said softly. "I think-I think he's talking about the Horcruxes. It's the only thing that didn't have a Fidelius charm that he would be interested in. I-I'm sorry I wasn't able to keep it from him. I tried. I swear. I fought him-"
"You couldn't have," Hermione said. "Especially not if he's been trying for days. It was only a matter of time, and it doesn't make it any easier that he's got a direct link to you. It's not your fault, Harry."
He shook his head. "But you and Ron held up against Snape, and you've never had formal Occlumency training."
Ron grimaced. "Didn't feel like he was very good at it, anyway."
Hermione was about to say something when she was interrupted by the banging of distant iron doors, followed by heavy footsteps.
Harry was greatly surprised to find Gregory Goyle striding through the walkway with an ugly scowl. Harry was even more astonished when Hermione scrambled to her feet, almost like she was frightened out of her wits
Harry's astonishment evaporated into panic when Goyle went straight for Hermione's cell.
Ron gave an alarmed start. "What the-"
"D'you think I was going to let you get away with it?" Goyle growled, yanking out a key. "Huh, Mudblood?"
Hermione gave a whimper of fear, her face gone pale and her eyes filling with panic.
"Goyle," Harry said in a warning tone. "Don't. Don't!"
Goyle wasn't listening. He shoved the key in the lock, went right into Hermione's cell, and made a lunge for her. She screamed just as Goyle slammed her up against the wall.
"You son of a bitch!" Harry cried, banging his hand against the bars. Behind him, Ron was yelling for Harry to grab Goyle and for Hermione to fight back.
Hermione swung, clocking Goyle in the face with her fist, but he was too strong, and it barely rocked him. He threw her to the ground, her eyes filling from the impact.
"Nobody here to save you anymore, is there?" Goyle growled, grabbing her by the hair. She shrieked as he turned her over, holding her down by the back of her neck and grabbing the back of her trousers.
He yanked and she yelped, but the trousers didn't give so easily.
Harry couldn't believe what was happening. He was completely helpless, and now he had to watch Hermione endure one of the worse possible fates.
This is my fault. This is my fault. This is my fault!
Hermione!
"I swear to you, Goyle," Harry said, his voice gone hoarse with rage. "When I get out of here, I will kill you. Do you hear me, Goyle? I'll kill you!"
Harry felt his magic fill him, the way it did just before he let loose a hex, but he had no wand, and his magic scattered unfocused.
The dwindling fire of torches lighting the walkways outside exploded with a roar all at once.
Goyle gave a jolt of shock.
His grip must have loosened, because Hermione was able to buck out from beneath him, slamming her left elbow just beneath his armpit.
Goyle gave a cry, crumpling on his side in pain. "Mudblood bitch!" he rasped hoarsely.
Hope welled inside Harry. "That's it, Hermione! Get out of there! Get-"
Goyle made a vicious grab for her pant leg, but instead of wiggling out of his grasp, she turned and kicked him on the same spot.
"Argh!" Goyle gurgled in agony.
Hermione made a run for the gate, but Goyle lurched after her, wrapping his arms around her legs. She fell with a cry, face down on the ground.
"Kick `em in the face, Hermione!" Ron shouted.
Her eyes gleamed with determination and she did kick, digging her foot right into his nose.
Goyle gave an angry shout and she was able to scramble to the door, but Goyle was as strong as an ox, and he went after her, managing to grab hold of her ankle. She hung on to the door for dear life, even as he pulled her in and the door slammed shut after her. Something clinked on the ground and Hermione gave a cry as she heaved herself to resist Goyle's pull while she reached past the bars, grabbing at the ground with a cry of effort.
Goyle dragged her back into her cell on her back and fell upon her. She twisted beneath him, managing to slip away when Goyle lost balance. She was able to crawl towards Harry a few feet, which baffled Harry completely for a heartbeat. On instinct, he reached for her but Goyle yanked her away and she slipped, her forehead bumping on the ground.
She groaned, dazed, but then there was another clink on the cobbled floor, this time nearer-within Harry's proximity, and he saw it: the key. She had grabbed the key, and she had tried to give it to him.
That's my clever Hermione.
It was right there, barely within his reach, and as long as Goyle didn't see it, Harry just might get it on time. Harry reached through the bars, ignoring the pain on his shoulder from the effort.
I'll bloody get that key if I have to dislocate my shoulder for it.
The key touched his fingertips, and taking a deep breath, he pushed himself as far through the bars as he could. The key was beneath the pads of his fingers and he pulled. It slid within his reach and he grabbed it.
With a singular purpose in mind, he went to his dungeon door, jammed the key through his lock and turned. The lock clicked open and he kicked the door wide. The rage inside him reared and he rushed into Hermione's cellblock.
Goyle looked up with a shocked start, fumbling for his wand as Harry lumbered in.
In the background, he could hear Ron's vicious encouragement, telling him to make Goyle sorry he'd ever been born. Pulling his foot back, Harry slammed his foot right into Goyle's face.
Goyle flipped right off her, falling on his back.
Harry didn't even think. He rode Goyle, full mount, and pounded his fist on Goyle's face over and over again. More blood gushed out of Goyle's nose, and his lip was split open. Harry felt some teeth come loose, but Harry was so angry that he didn't feel much like stopping. All he could see was Goyle all over Hermione, doing unforgivable things to her.
Unbelievably, Goyle still managed to push him off with a mighty heave and Harry stumbled back, but Harry's rage was so potent that he rammed his shoulder right into Goyle's gut. Goyle stumbled back against the wall, gasping. He reached into his robe and Harry braced himself to dodge wand-fire, but a panicked look fell upon Goyle's face in the next second, and he frantically began to pat himself down, as if he were missing something.
"Looking for this?" Hermione said hoarsely.
She had the wand. A hex shot out of the wand's tip and Goyle went flying back, bouncing against the iron bars before crashing to the floor in a flatulent heap.
And just like that, the rage was gone from Harry. His hands were bloody. Goyle lay limp, unconscious. Harry backed off.
Hermione leaned wearily against the bars a few feet away. She looked pale, and she was trembling slightly. There was a lump on her forehead and parts of her face had gone sorely red. Her tears fell more freely, but she furiously attempted to catch them all with the swipe of her arm.
"We have to-" she began nasally, pushing herself to stand. "We have to get out of here." She touched her nose and there was a spot of blood. Her hand shook violently. She sighed, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "Shit."
A deep sense of compassion filled him, and he wanted so badly to give her comfort, or apologize for what happened to her, or both. "Hermione…"
"We have to get out," she said evenly. She walked out of her cell door. "Lock him in."
Realizing that she was refusing to act the victim, even for one moment, all he could do was sigh and do as he was instructed. Hermione was waiting for him outside Ron's cell.
Ron shot a glare in Goyle's direction as Harry let him out. "Is he dead?"
Harry wasn't quite sure if Ron wanted to hear him say yes. "No. Just knocked out."
Ron took a deep breath before turning to Hermione. "You going to be alright?"
She pursed her lips. Harry could still see her trembling, but she nodded. "I-In a bit. Stand still, Harry. Perhaps I can numb some of the pain on those wounds of yours."
It was a welcome offer. She worked quickly, and while it wasn't a remedy, Harry felt a lot of relief.
When she was done, she held the wand out to Ron. "Here, Ron. You lead."
Harry made to protest but Hermione cut him off.
"You're injured, leg and shoulder, you haven't fed properly, and you can barely see without your glasses. As soon as we get out of this dungeon, we'll have to get two more wands from someone else, and Ron's in the best shape out of the three of us to do that."
Harry clamped his mouth shut.
Ron took the wand awkwardly.
Harry had to stifle a huff. Not that he didn't trust Ron, but he wasn't used to stepping back while someone else fought his battles.
"Say Hermione," Ron said as he settled the wand in his grip. "You handled all that pretty well… just thought you should-you know, know that."
Hermione blinked several times before she managed a small, appreciative smile. "Thank you."
"How did you know where to hit him? You know… under the arm?"
For a moment, she didn't look like she was going to answer, but she did. "Draco." She left it at that, urging Ron forward.
Harry didn't know what was more astonishing, her answer, or the fact that she had called Malfoy by his first name.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two guards were posted at the dungeon doors, both with wands on them. At first, Hermione couldn't tell, but she devised a way to keep their odds at even by getting the guards to come to them.
Ron did a fairly good imitation of Goyle's voice with a clever spell, likely learned from his prankster brothers, calling for the guards to come in and help him with something. Hermione didn't think the guards would come in without asking what that something was, but it appeared that the guards couldn't be bothered with details.
They walked right in without a care in the world and one of them got Stupfied in an instant. The other one had to be wrestled to the ground before Ron could petrify him.
She watched Harry take up the Death Eater's wand, noticing the odd lilt of his shoulder and the slight limp on his leg. She felt a pang of anxiety.
Ron hauled one of the Death Eaters in the shadows while she helped Harry with the other.
With the guards done away with and the hallway free of Death Eaters for the meantime, they crept through the shadows on full alert.
Hermione could feel her heart thudding, and she wasn't quite sure if it was still from Goyle's assault on her or it was from pure nerves.
Several meters down, they heard voices and they had to slide behind one of the darkest curtains to conceal themselves.
"You should have known Gregory was up to something when you saw him heading this way," said the voice of Snape in a harried tone. "Do I have to tell you how to do everything?"
Someone made a sound of frustration. "Well, how was I supposed to know he'd do something as stupid as this?"
"If I have to answer that question, I will have to slap you, Draco. If the Know-It-All dies in Gregory's oafish hands, I'll be well and truly screwed after this war. And in case you haven't thought about it, perhaps it would do well for you to figure out that she can very well save your behind from Azkaban as well, so you'd best start evaluating your interests."
Hermione could hardly believe what she was hearing.
He's gotten Draco to help…
Hermione pushed the curtains back, much to Harry and Ron's shock.
"Draco would have to kiss my arse first before I help him skive Azkaban," she said.
Snape and Draco stopped in their tracks and they turned to face her.
Snape looked only mildly surprised. Draco was blinking in astonishment.
"How the hell did you get out?" Draco asked.
"Well, for starters, your best friend's an idiot," Hermione said snootily.
"Oy! I resent that!"
"Coming to his defense, are you? Too bad it's a lost cause. He's too daft-"
"Not that! Why in hell would you think I'd be best friends with a stupid fuck like that?"
She glared at him. "Do you really want me to answer that?"
Draco glared back.
Snape's expression went from mild surprise to outright irritation. "You brought the dunderheads with you."
Hermione looked to her companions and saw that their wands were out rather threateningly. She let them. It would be useless to tell them to set it down, anyway. "I thought you said you weren't going to help me if I got caught."
Snape sniffed. "Plans change. Come along, then. You'll be wanting to escape. Considering you already managed half of it by yourselves, this works out much better." He walked past her and she immediately fell into step beside him.
"You wouldn't happen to have our wands, would you?"
"Do I look like Ollivander's to you?"
"I never knew Severus Snape to do things in halves," she said huffily.
"Insufferable…" Snape shoved a bag and a sword into her hands. "I hate it when you preempt me."
"Wow, and you took the sword from the Burrow, too?" she said. She sounded almost teasing. "How did you know?"
Snape looked like he'd rather hurl than explain things to her, but he did, anyway. Perhaps he didn't want her thinking that he was being thoughtful in any way, shape, or form. "Like you said, I don't do things in halves. I already knew I was going to spring you, mostly because I really didn't think even you were clever enough to escape from this place without help. So I took your wands from the Burrow. I need to protect my interests, Granger."
"And the sword? How did you know to take it with you, too?"
Snape was clearly annoyed. "Like I would ever leave a sword like Excalibur lying around for anyone to take. You're not the only one who knows Arthurian Legend. The trouble with you is that you think you're the only one who knows everything."
"Oy, what the fuck is going on?" Ron cried from behind her.
"Intelligent as always, I see?" Malfoy remarked.
Hermione would usually agree that Ron wasn't the smartest person she knew, but she wasn't going to let Draco insult him. Only she could insult Ron. "Shut it, you. At least he gets by in Hogwarts out of his own merits, unlike some people I know who use their slimy father's money and power to get ahead." She dealt him a glare as she gave out the wands.
Ron eyed her suspiciously.
Draco's nose lifted even higher. "That's not true. I use my dazzling good looks to get ahead. I use my slimy father's money and power to evade prosecution by the law."
"The only thing your dazzling good looks has gotten you is the favor of an oily-haired potions master."
Snape frowned and Ron smothered a laugh.
Hermione and Draco shot each other matching glares before she turned and gave Harry Excalibur.
She froze and met his gaze when he wrapped his hand around hers on the hilt.
His eyes roved briefly to Snape then back to her. "He killed Dumbledore."
She sniffed and nodded. "I know. But I've been communicating with him for the past year-"
"You wha-oh, that's just great. He's your secret? I can't bel-"
"And I've come to trust him," she continued. "You'll have to, for now."
He blew out an exasperated breath. "And Malfoy?"
She shot Draco a sneer. "Him, I don't trust. He gave me this bruise right here, you know."
"That's gratitude for you," Draco said with a raise of his eyebrow, backing away from Harry who was already giving him a very dangerous look. "If I hadn't gone into that room earlier, you would've been Goyle's bitch by now, and the only reason I hit you was because that other bloke saw you spit on my face. I had to do something!"
"And you expected me to figure this out? Right after Goyle assaulted me?"
"You could at least figure out that unlike that lunkhead, I don't need to force women to sleep with me. I have my own supply of willing cunts, thank you very much."
She felt herself moving forward, and her hand swung from sheer instinct. Her palm connected with Draco's face with surprising force and he stared at her with open-mouthed, wide-eyed shock.
Even Harry and Ron seemed shocked.
"You horrid, uncouth, vulgar boy!" She glared at him with self-righteous reproach. She cannot fathom how offended she was, and it was odd that this offended her more than Draco's earlier actions towards her.
Draco couldn't seem to muster the breath to speak. She doubted that anyone had ever spoken down to him in such a manner.
"Well," Snape said with a sniff. "Nothing like a tender loving Know It All to teach manners at a time like this." He grabbed Hermione by the arm and rushed her forward. "But lessons on etiquette aside, you have to `escape,' don't you? So you'll follow me without a word, understand? Hurry along. I have better things to do than risk my neck for you brats."
Hermione sighed. Everyone seemed to be manhandling her today.
"Get your hands off her."
Snape froze, and when he shifted to let Hermione go, she saw that Harry had his wand to Snape's throat. Draco lifted his own wand, but Ron was quicker.
"Move another inch and I'll Stupefy you," Ron said.
Hermione sighed exasperatedly.
Snape's lips pursed. "It would do well for you to tell Potter over here to point his wand somewhere else… perhaps at himself. Maybe it will knock the half of his brain that works to waking."
Harry frowned. "Just keep your distance, Snape, and we'll be fine, alright?" He shoved his wand forward which had Snape stepping back a few steps.
The wand was put away, and that prompted Ron to lower his own wand.
Harry shot Snape another glare as he strapped the sword and its ill-fitting scabbard on his back.
Hermione could've sworn Snape muttered "dunderhead" before he began walking again.
Snape led them through the lower levels of the castle, dodging anyone who might happen to see them with a well-placed spell or by simply hiding behind corners. In time, they reached what appeared to be a wine cellar.
"Go down there and turn left at the third entryway," Snape instructed, pushing the cellar door open. "Go all the way down to the end of the row. Look for a casket marked `Pickled Leech,' move it aside and you'll know what to do from there. Don't forget to put things back the way they were when you're done. Understand?"
"Where are we, anyway?"
"Portree, Isle of Skye."
She gasped.
"Well, that's fantastic, isn't it?" Ron said sourly. "How are we supposed to get off this place? Swim?"
"You may hitch a ride out of here on any boat from the ports. Do you make an effort to be this daft, Mr. Weasley, or does it come naturally?" Snape hissed.
Hermione shot Ron a glare, then she sighed. "We can find our own way out of here, thanks, Professor, but you must admit the waters don't make things any easier."
"Whatever. Do you have any other questions? Something that wouldn't showcase Mr. Weasley's dazzling brain powers?"
Hermione forestalled Ron's angry protests by quickly interjecting her question. "One last thing, professor… does Voldemort know about the-you know?"
Snape's gaze went briefly to Draco before he nodded. "Yes."
"How much?"
"Everything. Down to the last locket."
She heard Harry's breath catch. "Is he-is he going to make another one?"
"Yes, he will, but he's going to need Potter for it, so whatever you do, do not let him get caught again. Now, go."
Hermione ducked through the door while Harry and Ron followed. Behind them, she heard a hex being fired, but nothing else followed. She hurried along, lighting her wand as the door closed behind them. She counted the entryways and entered at the third.
"I can't believe he was your secret," Harry said in a hissing whisper. "You know how I felt about Snape."
She had it coming, and she even understood that Harry wasn't so much concerned about her not telling them as he was about her not telling him. "I couldn't tell you, Harry. It was too dangerous a secret if too many people knew about it."
"Who else knows, then?" Ron asked.
She hesitated. "Only me."
"Well, that's a rather elite society, isn't it?"
"Shut-up, Ron. If I told you and Harry what I was doing, you'd get on my case for trusting him, and you'd both make a fuss of it, which could blow the entire secrecy thing to bits. I decided the Order needed him here, even if they didn't know it."
"Snape could've been dangerous," Harry pointed out. "You could have been in serious danger!"
"I wasn't. I took precautions, especially when I had to meet up with him-"
"Merlin feckin' Arthur, Hermione!" Ron gasped. "You went to see him by yourself? What the hell is wrong with you, woman?"
"Nothing! Look, I'm still alive, aren't I? And obviously, I wasn't wrong about him, so I don't know what the big effing deal is-"
"He killed Dumbledore. That's the big deal," Harry said pointedly, his anger apparent through the flashing of his eyes.
"He had to-"
"Oh, is that what he tells you? That he had to? Well, that makes everything alright, doesn't it?"
She was getting just the slightest bit impatient. "We can't talk about this now. We just have to get out of here. You two can badger me later-when we're in the clear. We've put Snape at serious risk by having Harry know, as it is-"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry shot at her.
"Think really hard, Harry," she said curtly. She didn't feel that she had to tell him how susceptible he was, out of all of them, to having his mind read by Voldemort, even from afar.
It seemed to dawn on Harry because he said nothing more about it.
By the time they reached the end of the row, they were covered in dust, and perhaps even a few cobwebs. Hermione began searching the wine caskets for Pickled Leech. Ron found it and began to move it aside.
There appeared to be nothing there.
"It's a trap. Snape's tricked us!" Ron wailed.
Hermione sighed impatiently and pushed him aside. She waved her wand. "Apparecium."
What appeared was a sturdy wooden plank that was twice as wide as the casket that had been set atop it. Another casket sat on the edge of plank.
Hermione's mind turned fast. The plank had to be moved in such a way that they could put it back the way it originally looked. She levitated the other casket off the plank before getting on her knees. "Help me slide this aside."
Getting on their knees, they pushed the heavy plank back and revealed a gaping hole with a crude wooden ladder.
"Where does this go?" Ron asked.
"Do I look like I have a blueprint of this castle, Ron?" she said testily.
Ron sighed. "Alright, fine, but I'll go first. Safer for you that way."
Hermione felt about ready to blow her top. What was that supposed to mean?
"Ron, just go, before she kills you," Harry said.
Ron rolled his eyes and began to head down the stair, muttering `impossible' at intervals.
Appeased, she gentled her tone with Harry. "You next."
"You can't scare me like you scare Ron."
She took a deep, calming breath. "I have to put it back the way it looked-"
"I can do that."
"Harry, it has to look exactly the way we found-"
"I think I can figure out how, Hermione. Go now. I won't screw it up."
Biting her lip from any further retorts, she proceeded after Ron. She descended the ladder slowly, waiting to see how Harry was going to do it.
She halted and waited.
Harry levitated something, and she heard the sound of something being placed atop the plank. He repeated the sequence one more time.
"Concelare," said Harry, and then he was stepping down the ladder, sliding the plank close after him with a well-controlled dragging spell.
Hermione hastened to go down the ladder. She had to admit that Harry appeared to do everything right.
She reached the ground and hopped down beside Ron. Harry followed.
Harry actually shot her an amused smirk. "You were so waiting to see if I did that right."
She reddened then chuckled. "Can I help it if I'm neurotic?"
There was a pause before Ron began to head down the tunnel and Harry gestured for her to go ahead.
Hermione scowled. "Well, don't everyone jump in at once to disagree. You might hurt yourselves." She stomped after Ron.
Harry laughed softly behind her. "If you weren't so neurotic, we'd all be dead."
Oddly enough, Hermione appreciated that.
She followed Ron's lead, never minding that the tunnel seemed to go on forever. It was several minutes later that Hermione felt Harry's gentle touch, his hand entwining in hers. She tightened her fingers around his, clasping him more firmly.
"Are you alright?" he whispered over her shoulder.
She didn't know if Ron heard that. He certainly appeared not to notice. She looked at Harry, slowing her pace a bit, and gave it a brief thought. "I think so. A bit shaken up… but I'll be fine."
"I'm sorry I couldn't… help sooner."
"Oh, Harry… that wasn't your fault."
He sighed, shaking his head. "Everything's my fault."
The guilt in his eyes was heartbreaking. "Harry-"
"Hurry along, now," he whispered, nudging her gently forward. "Go on."
Pursing her lips, she quickened her pace, never letting go of his hand.
The light from Ron's wand ahead showed that the tunnel was coming to an end. Ron was looking up, and when Hermione came up beside him, she could see a trap door. The door was a bit too high for all of them, even Ron, but it wasn't completely unmanageable.
Harry looked up. "I'll go first. Give me a boost, Ron."
Hermione felt anxiety immediately. "Be careful, Harry. Have your wand ready."
He nodded and Ron crouched down, interlacing his fingers for Harry's foot.
Ron lifted Harry easily and Harry gingerly reached for the trap. It seemed heavy, but Harry was able to open it carefully enough to look around briefly to assess the surroundings.
"Clear," Harry said, pushing the trap door aside. It yawned open with a whine and a thump.
Ron heaved and Harry was out in a second.
"You're up next," Ron said, crouching for Hermione's foot.
She set her foot in Ron's hands and she was astonished at how fast she shot up, and how easy Ron made it seem.
Harry caught her, hooking his arms beneath hers and scooping her out of the hole without so much as a grunt. She felt the muscles on his injured shoulder ripple uneasily. His shoulder was hurting him.
To haul Ron out, Harry stuck out his good arm and shoulder. She took Ron's other arm and heaved with everything she had. Ron was a big person. It wasn't easy, but she didn't want Harry to carry the brunt of it.
When they were all above ground, Hermione surveyed their surroundings.
They were in a rather overgrown forest, the ground covered in foliage while the thick trees rising high above them were gnarled with vines. She listened briefly and she heard and smelled the sounds and scents of the sea, crashing waves, salty winds, and piercing cry of birds. She couldn't yet see the harbor town through the thick trees, but she knew it wasn't far away.
She looked behind them. Voldemort's castle was a fair distance away, but not far away enough to make her comfortable. It didn't help in the least that she could see black shapes hovering around its perimeter airspace, mostly concentrated at the highest tower.
She peered upward, through the trees. She couldn't really find any Dementors, but if they caused enough noise, the could attract unwanted attention.
"We aren't very far from enemy territory," she said nervously. "We should keep going."
Harry nodded and took her hand. "Let's go, then." He took off in a swift walk, leading her.
Ron came up beside her. "You and Harry together now?"
She gaped at him. She couldn't believe that he was bringing it up now. And besides that, she wasn't quite sure how to answer him, anyway. She and Harry hadn't talked about the formalities-
"Yeah," Harry said all of a sudden, much to her surprise.
She stifled the pleasant shudder that was threatening to overcome her. This wasn't the time for romantic flutters, but it was difficult not to cling to something better than running away from the madman behind them.
"That going to be a problem, Ron?" Harry asked, his grip on her hand tightening.
Ron looked overly unaffected. "Oh, no. Not at all. So when I told you I kissed her, you-what? Didn't think it relevant to mention that you bloody got to her first, you lying sack of shit?"
It was like someone hit her on the head, what with the vertigo she experienced from her shock. Apart from the fact that this wasn't something they should be talking about, the poison in Ron's voice was like a dagger through her heart. She felt physically ill all of a sudden, and she couldn't believe the venom of Ron's words. She gasped, feeling sick to her stomach.
Harry came to a screeching halt, his eyes gone dark with dangerous calm. "Lying?" he said in a soft tone. It was actually quite frightening. "I never lied to you."
Ron gave a derisive laugh. "That's right. You didn't. You just decided to omit certain truths! By the way, I could've used that information when I was spilling my guts out about her to you!"
Harry was beginning to look pissed. "Well, this isn't my fault, is it? You're the one prancing around, throwing off mixed signals for the last bloody fucking seven years!"
"Mixed signals? Where did you lift that term off? Witch Weekly?"
Hermione began to massage her temples, coping with the suddenly oppressive weight that seemed to have settled on her shoulders. She told herself this wasn't happening; that this was one big stupid dream where in some twisted fantasy world, boys fought over plain Hermione Jane Granger. In a proper reality, her boys had more sense than to fight while they were embarking on the important task of saving themselves from bad people. They weren't having this ridiculous fight; this was a complete and utter delusion.
"Alright, you two knock it off!" she squeaked angrily, barging between them. "Let me remind you that there are Death Eaters behind us. It's quite possible that they've found out we've escaped, and even considering the reality that we're kilometers away from our previous point of origin, they have A, the advantage of being on familiar grounds, so they know these grounds better than we do; B, they have brooms to fly overhead. That's not a guess, that's a definite possibility. It doesn't matter if they're Cleansweeps or Firebolts-they can fly, we can't; and C, even if we do get away from this place… they'll never stop chasing us, so… any head start is better than nothing, yes? So please, please… I want to get away. I'm not going back there. Not after what I had to endure from Dolohov, and Goyle. Do you understand me?"
She was talking quite fast, and she didn't know if either of them understood the full extent of her desperation, but it seemed to sink into Harry quite fast, because he shot Ron one last glare before he nodded and took Hermione's hand.
"Let's go."
Ron, scowling fiercely, threw up his hands. "Fine."
Hermione sighed with relief. "Alright, then. This way for now-I can hear the water."
She basically followed the sound, and the entire time, she refused to meet their gazes.
Before long, the forest thinned, the taste of the air became saltier, and the sound of cawing seagulls rang louder.
The harbor town was a Muggle one, and even from afar, they could see that the closest tavern was alive with activity, even if very few people could be seen wandering the docks. It didn't mean they weren't there. The small houses, set further inland from the tavern, were lit with life. It wasn't very late in the evening.
Hermione decided they had to proceed very cautiously. Just because Voldemort's castle was behind them, it didn't mean their enemies weren't ahead of them. Like she reiterated to her boys earlier, their enemies were far more familiar with the area than they were. It was entirely possible that the Death Eaters would have apparating points within the harbor town. The Death Eaters could have already been alerted of their escape and could be waiting for them in the docks.
"We can't get a boat out in the open," she said, peeking through the growth of trees. "Voldemort might already know we'd escaped. The Death Eaters could be anywhere."
Harry frowned. "We can't just sit here and wait."
"We'll need to get a message to the Order," Hermione said. "Even if they wanted to rescue us, they wouldn't know where to look. A message to them will-"
"Send your Patronus," Harry said. "It'll swim really fast through the water. Even if it's slow on land, it won't be a huge distance between the lake and Hogwarts."
Hermione couldn't have thought of a better plan. They stayed under cover of the wood and sought a place to launch her Patronus without getting noticed. They found an isolated expanse of beach and they stared at it uneasily from their hiding place.
"I've an odd feeling about this," she said, looking around the deserted beachfront. There were no birds hopping about. There was nothing but rock, sand, and the crashing of waves. "I think we should go to the busier ports and send the Patronus from there. They'd never expect us-"
"Merlin, just do it, Hermione," Ron hissed. "The sooner we get out of here, the better!"
She frowned. "We're not going to get out of here if we get caught, Ron."
"We're not going to get caught, period! They probably don't even know we've escaped the castle!"
"Oh, and how would you know that? Your psychic connection with your psychic girlfriend?"
Ron scowled. "Ex-girlfriend! Are you ever going to stop nagging me about having dated Lavender? It's been more than a year since we broke up!"
Harry sighed. "So after I stop fighting with Ron, you start fighting with him. That's just great…"
His tired tone did nothing to melt her icy stubbornness. "Harry, what do you think?" She shot him a meaningful look, willing him to agree with her. He always did, anyway.
Ron gave a sigh of defeat, knowing what Harry would say.
Harry returned her glare with one of his own.
Well, she thought sheepishly. He never really could be bullied into giving in…
"They'll expect us to get on a boat, too," Harry said. "If they know we've escaped, they'd have Death Eaters posted at the ports. At least in this setting, we'd have a greater chance of getting away."
Great.
Ron looked surprised that Harry had somehow agreed with him, then he recovered and shot Hermione a smirk.
She shot Harry another glare. She might not scare him, but she thought he ought to understand how against she was at this idea.
Harry shrugged.
"What are you smirking about?" she hissed at Ron.
"Absolutely nothing."
Lifting her nose haughtily with her wand, she cast her Patronus as far towards the water as it could go, bracing herself for an ambush.
Wandfire immediately shot out from the beach and she felt herself being dragged to the ground.
A beam of light shot above their heads, exploding a few meters away and scattering chips of wood all over.
Hermione risked the rain of curses to see if her otter made it across the beach and into the water. She saw it disappearing into the salty waves.
"Evasive maneuvers!" Ron cried, pulling her to her feet by her arms.
Harry came up right beside her, throwing more hexes as he went.
Hermione gathered her bearings and began firing in the direction of their enemies, though she couldn't be sure where they were.
The sound of splintering wood cracked above them, and Hermione jumped out of the way of a falling tree limb. It fell less than a meter away from her, and she scrambled to recover her footing when she saw Bellatrix heading in her direction.
Hermione shot into the thicket of leaves, muttering concealment spells as she ran. She could hear Bellatrix telling her that she couldn't get away without her friends.
The fact that she couldn't find Harry or Ron anywhere made the danger all too real. Over the past year, she'd learned to defend herself more effectively than her first sessions with the DA, but it was still a struggle to trust on her split-second instincts. She was clever, and she could be quick, but her natural state was still attuned to careful consideration-something that could cost her in a fast-paced battle.
Bellatrix was no amateur. The woman, apart from being psychotically unhampered by conscience, was a master dueler.
"Come out, come out!" Bellatrix sang. "You've nowhere to run."
She had to find her boys. They couldn't have gone far. They were probably cloaked in concealment spells like she was. She ran towards the harbor town. If she could get there in one piece, perhaps she could get the precious time to think of a proper plan.
I don't know why I ever listen to those two… maybe they get off on jumping into trouble without a plan to fall back on, but I happen to think it seriously kills the mood. I can't live like this. I can't-
A prickly, terrifying cold crawled down her spine and she felt the first petrifying grip of fear.
Dementors…
She saw them coming for her from behind and none of her cloaking spells were working on them. They could feel her living soul, and they were closing in on her. She had no choice. Fighting the fear, she remembered the hours she'd spent with Harry-finding out that she loved him and feeling his strong arms enfold her as they kissed under the light of the moon…
Her Patronus flashed bright and powerful, sending the Dementors running and screaming, but they'd already done what they were meant to do.
Bellatrix shot a Reducto hex at her and Hermione was barely able to dodge. It caught her on the shin and it felt like getting stabbed right through.
Crying out, Hermione bit her lip and deflected Bellatrix's other hexes successfully enough. Hermione cast a clouding spell, impeding Bellatrix's vision just enough for Hermione to limp away and recast her concealment charms.
She stumbled out of the woodland, feeling the sand between her fingers and searching frantically over her shoulder for Harry and Ron.
She needed to find them. Her escape would mean nothing but cowardice if she left them behind.
Bellatrix emerged from the trees looking decidedly annoyed. Hermione scampered as noiselessly as she could behind some shore rocks and watched as Bellatrix began to head in her direction. Hermione was about to make an offensive attack when someone clamped a hand over her mouth and pulled her back against the rock.
She stifled a scream, fighting her violent urge to thrash. She was wrenched firmly around and she saw to her utter relief that it was Harry. Beside him was Ron, peering over their hiding place and possibly seeing Bellatrix headed their way.
Harry shot Ron a look and nodded.
Ron cast a spell, and as Harry removed his hand from her mouth, she scrambled to look at what Ron had done.
A bright flare of light from within the woods caught Bellatrix's and the other Death Eaters' attention. It took them but a second to turn sharply in the direction of the light. It looked like a Patronus and it was sure to distract their enemies into thinking they were somewhere else.
With the Death Eaters all disappearing back into the woodland, she felt Harry take the lead to hurry to the nearest harbor town. They stayed under cover of darkness and Hermione rubbed away their footprints in the dark sand with her wand, but they moved quickly, and managed to duck into a departing horse-drawn carriage filled with old vegetables. They hid under the tarp for as long as they dared. The carriage didn't stop for close to an hour, nothing but the sound of horse hooves and the driver speaking to his companion to break the tedium.
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