My Sacrifice to Make

My Sacrifice

Early hours, 1 August 1998

Pain.

Once again, pain is the only thing that Hermione can comprehend.

She lies against the all too familiar feeling of the ice-cold stone beneath her. With her left forearm extended away from her body, she feels the searing heat from her poisoned blood dripping down the length of her skin. It feels as if her blood is boiling out of her body.

"Crucio!"

Hermione's entire body seizes in unimaginable pain, contorting into positions that shouldn't be humanly possible. Thousands of white-hot needles repeatedly pierce her skin. Her bones break, repair themselves, only to break again. She hears maniacal cackling as her body is shocked by multiple bolts of lightning. Attempting to breathe is futile.

When the curse finally lifts, Hermione hears another sound mixed with the unhinged laughter of the witch who tortures her – crying. Not her own, however, but a child's. One she recognizes as her child's cry. Forcing her eyes open, she searches the room for the source of the sound. It's not long before she finds it.

In the arms of Bellatrix Lestrange sits a small girl with riotous blonde curls. Her little face scrunches as she wails, arms outstretched and reaching for her mother. Hermione tries to lift her arms toward her, but the slightest of movements sends a new wave of agonizing pain throughout her body.

"Your father should have done a better job of protecting you, little one," Bellatrix coos at the child, a glint of pure chaos shining in her eyes. "He should have known better than to try to keep something hidden from me. His mind is too weak. So now he's going to have to watch me hurt you the same way I hurt your mummy." Her voice is sickly sweet, taking entirely too much pleasure in the thought of the pain she's about to inflict on an innocent soul.

Bellatrix runs the cursed blade along the little girl's arm gently enough that it doesn't pierce the skin but spreads Hermione's blood across the exposed plain of flesh.

Hermione struggles to move, to get to her daughter, to scream, to do anything, but she is entirely immobilized – forced to watch what is about to happen. Her sobs are trapped within her, seeking to escape but unable to do so.

'No, no, no, no,' she begs within her mind. 'Not her, not my baby... Oh gods, Draco, please help us....'

Before the dark witch can move against the child, Hermione regains control of her body and flings herself up off the ground, ignoring the blistering pain that shoots through her.

***

Hermione shoots up to a seated position in the bed, screaming for Draco to help her. She whips her head around, searching the room for him as she struggles to breathe, her sobs wracking through her. It feels like her lungs are punctured by daggers every time she tries to take a breath.

She barely registers that hands are grasping her shoulders, turning her to the side. They come up to cradle her head between them, and it's not until he is centimeters away from her face that Hermione realizes Draco is there with her. His presence doesn't lessen her frenzied worry, though.

"Where is she?" she asks in desperation, her voice trill with anxiety.

"Where is who? Love, you need-"

"Where is she, Draco?" Her eyes are wild with fear as she attempts to scramble away from him, needing to get up to search for her.

"Hermione, you need to calm down." Draco's voice is filled with concern at her erratic behavior.