Manacled by Senlinyu

chapter 3

She wasn't afraid of having her corpse rot in the Great Hall. That fate was nothing compared to giving up what she was protecting. Or compared to being raped and forced to carry a child that would be torn from her the moment it was born.

Escaping, she realised, was likely a luxury she couldn't afford to pursue. The important thing would be to die quickly. Before she could be stopped and kept from further attempts.

She lay quietly in the bed and schemed.

The days passed slowly. None of the prisoners brought into the hospital wing dared speak to Hermione with the guards constantly beside her bed.

Healers arrived several times a day to appraise and treat her. They took vials of blood and a bit of hair away for analysis. A therapist arrived to treat Hermione for the torture. For the tremors.

Eventually most of the intermittent spasming stopped. Hermione's fingers still tended to twitch spastically at unexpected sounds.

She wasn't used to noise anymore.

She remembered life being full of noise in the past; in classes, at meals, in the hospital ward after battles. Now any unexpected sound caught her off-guard. The banging of a door or clatter of boots, the sound waves from them—they felt like physical sensations on her flesh.

She'd twitch.

The nervous mind healer came frequently with Healer Stroud to examine Hermione's brain and psychological condition. There were concerns about her overall stability. They'd cast simulation spells on her brain to see how she'd react to crowds, tight spaces, physical contact, gore. If she was going to mentally snap, they wanted her to do it in the hospital wing.

Apparently, despite the twitching, Hermione was regarded as stable enough. When the most severe torture tremors stopped after four days of therapy, they decided she was ready for training.

On the fifth day, she was released from the hospital wing. The guards took her straight to the Great Hall.

There were rows and rows of chairs arranged facing the front of the hall. The chairs were filled with women dressed in drab grey dresses.

Umbridge was standing on the platform in the front, speaking with saccharine cheer. She was dressed in a subdued shade of pink with a large pendant hanging from her neck. One of her hands was heavily bandaged.

"You have been chosen to help build the future that our Dark Lord has envisioned. You have been granted the privilege of bringing it forth," she said, and simpered. "You are the few found worthy of it."

Umbridge sounded mechanical, staring down at the girls with eyes glittering with hatred. The false smile plastered firmly across her face. Her eyes kept flickering up toward a corner of the room.

Hermione turned slightly to look and saw two Death Eaters standing there unmasked; Corban Yaxley and Thorfinn Rowle. They were watching Umbridge with expressions of bored amusement.

"The Dark Lord has commanded that you be trained in order to fulfill your duties without fail. This is a great honour he has bestowed upon you; you do not want to disappoint him. You are important to the Dark Lord. Because of that, you must be protected from others as well as from yourselves."

Umbridge's smile suddenly sharpened, showing a malicious edge. She gestured toward the back, and Yaxley and Rowle came forward. Umbridge turned to the prison guards lined up along a wall.

"Stun them all. Be thorough about it."

A few of the seated women cringed or tried to shy away, but most of them barely moved as guards started hexing them. The bodies slumped down in the chairs or fell forward onto the ground.