Manacled

Chapter 33: Flashback 8

Voldemort scattered vicious attacks across Muggle England; swamping Hermione with a flood of cursed Muggles that she had to stabilise before the Order obliviated them and turned them over to recuperate in Muggle hospitals.

Hermione pulled twenty-four hour hospital shifts with four hour breaks for sleep until her magic gave out entirely toward the end of the third week.

Poppy had dragged her out of the hospital ward and told Moody that if he didn't want Hermione to die or permanently injure her magic, then he and Kingsley would find healers to cover for her.

Hermione suspected that Kingsley took several healers from St Mungo's hostage for the two days when she was recovering. Poppy refused to meet her eyes or answer the question when Hermione had asked who subbed for her.

After nearly a month, things finally calmed slightly.

Hermione had run out of most of the locally foraged potion ingredients. She had headed out. In the lushness of late June she was able to restock most of her supplies quickly before going to meet with Malfoy. She had barely had time to think of him during the last several weeks.

He appeared the moment she stepped through the door. As he did, his expression twisted and he stumbled slightly.

They stared at each other.

"You look awful," he finally said.

"Thanks," she said acerbically.

"What happened?" he inquired.

"The Resistance doesn't have any other healers with my specialty," she said in a tired voice.

She stared at him.

"You look rather awful too," she said, looking him over carefully. It was an extreme understatement.

He glanced down at himself. His face was tense and gaunt, as though he'd lost a dramatic amount of weight. His features were twisted and drawn. His skin was grey and papery looking. He looked as though he hadn't slept at all since Hermione had last seen him.

"You may have noticed the Dark Lord was rather upset about the attacks," he said in a bland voice.

Hermione felt herself pale, and her chest hurt as though she'd been struck. She hadn't even thought-she'd had the information and she'd run with it. She'd worried over the possibility of his betrayal, but she hadn't even paused to think that the legitimacy meant Malfoy might pay for having given it to her.

"What happened?" she demanded, drawing her wand and coming toward him.

"It's fine," he said in a clipped voice.

"What did he do to you?"

"Fuck off, Granger," Malfoy said, grimacing. His fingers spasmed slightly as he drew away from her.

Hermione ignored him and cast a diagnostic spell. He didn't move.

The diagnostic indicated that he'd been extensively crucio'd. Probably right up to the limit, given that he was still showing the aftereffects weeks later. Or perhaps it had happened repeatedly.

There was something else in the diagnostic. She cast a more obscure diagnostic spell to try to identify what it was.

"What-happened to your back?" she demanded finding it difficult to keep her voice steady as she tried to read the information her charm was revealing. It was a mangled blur of Dark Magic and poison; she wasn't even sure how to interpret it.

Malfoy's face tensed slightly.

"The cruciatus curse is such an excellent punishment for failure," he said in a light tone, "but overusing it risks compromising the mind. Sometimes a different, permanent reminder is deemed additionally necessary."