Captured

Chapter Thirty-One: Separation

Hermione's eyebrows knitted together as she slowly swam back to consciousness, confusion the only thing making it through her muddled and foggy brain.

She knew she was in a bed, she could feel the mattress below her. But had her bed always been that stiff?

And the sheets... she could have sworn that the sheets she had slept on every night were satin, not cotton.

She tried to remember, tried to push through that haze in her mind to find the memories of what had happened.

She remembered Draco, he had come and pulled her from her room.

But why had he done that?

Her mind felt mixed up, as though all of her memories had been thrown in a muggle blender and been jumbled together so thoroughly that she couldn't quite pull them apart. When she pushed, trying to piece them back together, an aching throb pounded behind her forehead and echoed throughout her body, forcing her to tighten her lips together so that a hiss of pain didn't escape them.

But she needed to know, before she opened her eyes and potentially had to deal with an unexpected enemy, she had to remember what happened.

So she pushed, despite the worsening pain in her head, she tried desperately to piece back together the last memories she had before losing consciousness.

There was Bellatrix, and the drawing room in Malfoy Manor.

The cruciatus curse. She winced as she remembered the all-consuming pain that had coursed through her. Suddenly, she could feel every ache within her, as if remembering the curse brought back some of its lingering effects deep in her bones. Every single muscle felt as though it had been worked within a moment of tearing, and there was a sharper pain, more concentrated, on her forearm.

A flash of silver.

A cruel and wicked laugh.

Black, shining curls.

A mangled mess of skin and blood.

Bellatrix. She had carved something into Hermione's arm.

But why?

And how had Hermione gotten away?

Was it Draco?

No, Draco had been forced to stand aside. She remembered that.

She pushed again, against that barrier in her mind that seemed to be making everything blurry, like frosted glass. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from crying out as she tried to remember the most important detail.

And then it came to her, in a flash of red hair.

Yes, Harry and Ron. They had been there.

But they had been thrown in the dungeons, their wands taken. How had they escaped? Had they escaped? Or were they still in the manor?

No, that didn't quite make sense either. The more she transitioned into the waking world, the more certain she was that this was not her usual bed. But if she had been tossed in the cells with Harry and Ron, she doubted they would have given her another bed.

She focused on the room she was currently in, searching for any indicators of where she may be or who she may be with. She strained her ears, and could hear nothing but muffled voices from somewhere outside of the room she was in. She couldn't hear any indication that there was anyone in the room with her, but if it was someone who had a wand, being unable to hear them didn't mean much. Chilly air ghosted across the skin that wasn't covered by blankets, accompanied by the salty smell of ocean spray, indicating that she was nowhere near Malfoy Manor.