(A/N: WARNING — this chapter of BWL contains blood, abuse, and harsh language. read at your own risk.)
CHAPTER NINE:
Third Person Narrative:
"I'm not asking again," called the hoarse voice once more, "get out here now! Or else we're coming in!"
Charlie looked around at the other three, now mere outlines in the darkness. Squinting, he saw Hermione point her wand, set toward the outside, but into Harry's face; there was a bang, a burst of white light, and Harry buckled in agony, unable to see.
"What are you —" Charlie began, panicking, as Harry's face swelled rapidly under his hands.
"Shhhh!" hushed Hermione, crossing the room and throwing her spare hand over her boyfriend's mouth. "Just trust me, okay?" she added in a quiet, terrified whisper, her body flush against his. "I love yo—"
Before Charlie could process what was happening, however, there were several pairs of heavy footfalls that surrounded them. Unknown hands harshly pulled Charlie from Hermione's embrace, restraining him in the midst of darkness. Then, unable to stop them, someone had rummaged through his pockets and removed his cypress wand.
There were screams and yells of anguish reverberating around the tent's canvas. Charlie had had his arms pinned behind his back, only able to see Harry's eyes physically reduce to slits out of the corner of his own. The crunching sound of glass sounded beneath their feet as Charlie and the others were bundled out of the tent; Harry's glasses had fallen off, shattering on the hard, solid ground.
As Charlie was dragged resistantly from the tent, he could briefly make out the blurred shapes of five or six people wrestling Harry, Ron, and Hermione outside too. His nostrils flaring with a newfound rage, Charlie managed to free one of his hands, desperately trying to fight his way towards Hermione.
"Get — off — her!" he shouted, but he was quickly silenced by the unmistakable sound of knuckles hitting flesh; Charlie grunted in pain and Hermione screamed, "No! Leave him alone, leave him alone!"
"Your boyfriend's going to 'ave worse than that done to 'im if 'e's on my list," said the horribly familiar, rasping voice, and Charlie realized it was the same voice that had belonged to the Snatcher which smelt Hermione's perfume so many months ago. "Well, aren't yeh just beautiful," — Charlie heard Hermione whimper — "what d'yeh think, Greyback?"
"Delicious girl... what a treat... I do enjoy the softness of the skin..." came another horrific growl.
Charlie's stomach turned over instantly and he wrestled fruitlessly against his captors once more. He knew who this was: Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who was permitted to wear Death Eater robes in return for his hired savagery.
"Search the tent," shouted the first voice abruptly.
Charlie was thrown facedown onto the ground. Two thuds told him that Harry and Ron had been cast down beside him as well. They could hear footsteps and crashes; the men were pushing over chairs inside the tent as they searched.
"Now, let's see who we've got," said Greyback's gloating voice from overhead, and Harry was rolled over onto his back. Then, a beam of wandlight fell into his face and Greyback laughed, "I'll be needing Butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?"
Harry did not answer immediately. He was afraid his voice would be recognized.
"I said," repeated Greyback, and Harry received a blow to the diaphragm that made him double over in pain, "what happened to you?"
"Stung," Harry breathed slowly. "Been stung."
"Yeah, looks like it," said the voice belonging to another Snatcher.
"What's your name?" snarled Greyback, picking Harry up by the collar.
"D-Dudley," stuttered Harry, saying the first name that came to mind.
"And your first name?"
"I — Vernon. Vernon Dudley."
"Check the list, Scabior," demanded Greyback, and Charlie heard him release Harry and move sideways to look down at Ron instead. "And what about you, ginger?"
Ron gulped, "Stan Shunpike."
"Like 'ell you are," said the rasping voice of the man called Scabior. "We know Stan Shunpike, 'e's put a bit of work our way."
There was another thud. Charlie winced for Ron.
"I'b Bardy," muttered Ron, and Charlie could tell that his mouth was full of blood. "Bardy Weadley."
"A Weasley?" repeated Greyback, in a gruffly rasp. "So you're related to blood traitors even if you're not a Mudblood. And now, your pretty little friend..."
The relish in his voice made Charlie's flesh crawl.
"Easy, Greyback," called Scabior over the jeering of the other Snatchers.
"Oh, I'm not going to bite just yet. We'll see if she's a bit quicker at remembering her name than Barny. Who are you, girly?"
"Penelope Clearwater," whispered Hermione, her head bowed to avoid direct eye contact. She sounded terrified, but convincing.
"What's your blood status?"
"Half-blood."
"Easy enough to check," growled Scabior, and Charlie heard the Snatcher's footsteps slowly creep back towards him. "And what your boyfriend, eh? Got any more fight in yeh, pretty boy?"
With a harsh kick to the abdomen, Charlie was forced onto his back. Before he could even properly register his surroundings, his captor's wand was lodged directly under his chin.
Towering over Charlie, his knee pressed firmly into his chest, Scabior demanded, "What's your name?"
"E-Ernie," panted Charlie, struggling to breathe with Scabior's knee pressing on his windpipe. "Ernie Macmillan, p-pureblood."
"All righ' there, Ernie?" jeered Scabior, now breathing raggedly over his face. "That's your missus over there, I take it?" — Charlie did not respond, only managing to thrash against his restraints — "My, o' my, she's a pretty little thing, Ernie. I 'ope yeh don't mind sharin'."
Enraged by this comment, Charlie managed to open his mouth and spit tentatively into Scabior's face, hitting him directly in the eyes. Using the distraction to his advantage, he swung his right hand up, clashing with the side of his captor's face; Scabior stumbled slightly, dazed, but quickly recovered.
"Go fuck yourself," said Charlie hotly, trying to push the Snatcher off of him. Before he could make a proper move to get up, however, Scabior had seized his hands and pinned him back to the ground.
"Quite the fighter, yeh are, Ernie," he taunted icily, reclaiming his superior position. "Shame, 'onestly, because I reckon we could've got on, yeh know."
With a signal over his shoulder, Scabior beckoned his fellow Snatchers closer, each now approaching with sadistic smiles plastered on their faces. Charlie could hear the cries of upset eliciting from Harry, Hermione, and Ron, but that didn't stop the Snatchers from taking turns to kick their friend repeatedly in the stomach.
Charlie was bound in such a way that he couldn't double over much, and it was a struggle to replace the air he'd just had kicked out of him. As more and more blows to the side and punches to his head rained down upon him, he felt all the air physically leave his lungs. They pummeled him, crashing into his head, chest, abdomen, legs, and bound arms.
"Stop! STOP! PLEASE!" shrieked Hermione, and Charlie could hear her struggling to break free from her own restraints.
Tears burning his eyes, Charlie had no idea how many times they had struck him, or how long it had been since he could breathe, when Greyback called the rest of his group off.
"Okay, that's enough," he shouted, his voice coming out in an aggressive hiss. "As fun as this may be, we don't want no trouble for attacking some rotten kid who may not be on the list!"
Almost immediately, the group of Snatchers retreated, and Charlie took the opportunity to gasp for breath, every bit of him aching and hurting. Scabior, however, stooped back down and grabbed Charlie by the hair, forcing his face up at an odd angle.
"The 'ole lot of 'em look like they could still be 'ogwarts age —"
Ron sat up abruptly, managing, "We'b lebt."
"Left, 'ave you, ginger?" questioned Scabior, now releasing Charlie, who fell back to the floor with a hard, loud thud. "And yeh decided to go camping? And yeh thought, just for a laugh, yeh'd use the Dark Lord's name?"
"Nod a laugh," muttered Ron, looking up to meet Scabior's demanding gaze. "Aggiden."
"Accident?"
There was more jeering laughter.
"You know who used to like using the Dark Lord's name, Weasley?" growled Greyback. "The Order of the Phoenix — does that mean anything to you?"
"Doh."
"Well, they don't show the Dark Lord proper respect, so the name's been Tabooed. There's been a few Order members have been tracked that way, so we'll have to see about you lot. Quickly! Bind them up with the other two prisoners!"
Someone yanked Charlie up by the hair again, dragged him a short way, pushed him down into a sitting position, then started binding him back-to-back with other people. Charlie's head was still whirring, barely able to focus on anything through the fuzziness. He wished he could see Hermione, or at least feel she was next to him, even though, tied up, he was useless.
When at last the man tying them had walked away, he whispered quietly, "Anyone still got a wand?"
"No," said Harry, Hermione, and Ron simultaneously from their bound positions stationed around him. Charlie tried to stretch his fingers in Hermione's direction to no avail.
Struggling against his binds, Harry spoke lowly, "This is all my fault. I said the name, and I'm so sorry —"
"Harry?"
It was a new, but familiar voice, and it came from directly behind Charlie, from the person tied to Hermione's left.
"Dean?"
"It is you! If they find out who they've got — ! They're Snatchers, they're only looking for truants to sell for gold —"
"Not a bad little haul for one night," Greyback was saying, as a pair of hobnailed boots marched next to Charlie, and they heard more crashes from inside the tent. "A Mudblood, a runaway goblin, and the four truants. You checked their names on the list yet, Scabior?" he roared aloud, in a demanding manner.
"Yeah, and there's no Vernon Dudley on 'ere, Greyback."
"Interesting," muttered Greyback, now intrigued. "That's interesting."
He crouched down beside Harry, who saw, through the infinitesimal gap left between his swollen eyelids, a face covered in matted grey hair and whiskers, with pointed brown teeth and sores at the corners of his mouth. Greyback smelled as he had done at the top of the tower where Dumbledore had died, of nothing but dirt, sweat, and blood.
"So you aren't wanted, then, Vernon? Or are you on that list under a different name? What House were you in at Hogwarts?"
"Slytherin," said Harry automatically.
"Funny 'ow they all thinks we wants to 'ear that," jeered Scabior out of the shadows. "But none of 'em can tell us where the common room is."
"It's in the dungeons," muttered Harry quickly, the memory of him, Charlie, and Ron entering the Slytherin common room disguised as Crabbe, Zabini, and Goyle springing to the forefront of his mind, as clear as it would be if it had happened that night. "You enter through the wall. It's full of skulls and stuff and it's under the lake, so the light's all green."
There was a short pause.
"Well, well, looks like we really 'ave caught a little Slytherin," said Scabior, thoroughly impressed. "Good for yeh, Vernon, 'cause there ain't a lot of Mudblood Slytherins. Who's your father?"
"He's works at the Ministry," Harry lied once more, painfully aware that his whole story would collapse with the smallest investigation, but on the other hand, they only had until his face regained its usual appearance before the game was up in any case. "Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."
"You know what, Greyback," whispered Scabior, sounding slightly disappointed, "I think there is a Dudley in there."
Charlie could barely breathe. Could luck, sheer luck, get them safely out of this?
"Well, well," said Greyback, and Charlie could hear the tiniest note of trepidation in that callous voice, and knew that Greyback was wondering whether he had indeed just attacked and bound the son of a Ministry official. Charlie's heart was pounding against the ropes around his ribs; he would not have been surprised to know that Greyback could see it. "If you're telling the truth, ugly, you've got nothing to fear from a trip to the Ministry. I expect your father'll reward us just for picking you up."
"But," argued Harry, panicked, his mouth bone dry, "if you just let us —"
"Hey!" came a shout from inside the tent. "Look at this, Greyback!"
A dark figure came bustling toward them, and Charlie saw a glint of silver in the light of their wands. They had found Gryffindor's sword.
"Ve-e-ery nice," said Greyback appreciatively, taking it from his companion. "Oh, very nice indeed. Looks goblin-made, that. Where did you get something like this?"
"It's my father's," Charlie lied quickly, hoping against hope that it was too dark for Greyback to see the name etched just below the hilt. "We borrowed it to cut firewood —"
"'ang on a minute, Greyback! Look at this, look at the Prophet!"
As Scabior said it, Charlie's Dark Mark, which had been hidden underneath his sleeve, burned savagely. It was as though the mere thought of being caught had suddenly alerted him, cutting through his skin like a razor-sharp blade.
With a huge effort of will, Charlie attempted to suppress the pain emitting from his forearm, pulling himself back to where he sat, tied to Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dean, and Griphook in the darkness, listening to Greyback and Scabior.
"'ermione Granger," Scabior was saying, "the Mudblood who is known to be travelling with Charlie 'Awthorne and 'Arry Potter."
Charlie's mark burned in silence, but he was suddenly suffocated by a growing fear, which clenched around his heart at the mention of Hermione's name. He heard the creak of Greyback's boots as he crouched down, kneeling in front of Hermione.
"You know what, little girly? This picture looks a hell of a lot like you."
Charlie felt as though he might sick.
"It isn't! It isn't me!"
Hermione's terrified squeak was as good as a confession.
"'...known to be with Charlie Hawthorne,'" repeated Greyback quietly, now shifting his gaze towards Charlie skeptically.
A sudden stillness had settled over the scene. Nobody spoke. Charlie sensed the gang of Snatchers watching, frozen, and felt Hermione's arm trembling against his. He suddenly wished to grab hold of her and Disapparate. To hold her close and never let her go. To return to that secluded clearing in the Forest of Dean and grow old together, like she'd suggested. To forget the world and live out their days in solitude.
Greyback got up and took a couple of steps to where Charlie sat, crouching down again to stare closely at the young man's defined, yet bruised, features.
"You're Fenwick's boy, aren't you?" he asked softly, his breath foul in Charlie's nostrils as he trailed a filthy finger along the boy's clothed left forearm.
"Don't touch me," demanded Charlie, unable to stop himself. This comment seemed to be enough confirmation for Greyback.
"We've been looking everywhere for you, boy," he snarled, yanking back Charlie's sleeve to confirm his suspicions even further. "Your daddy's not too thrilled you ran out after your Mudblood girlfriend, here." He cast a look over in Hermione's direction. "I bet he'd be eternally grateful, perhaps rewarding even, if we brought you back home, what do you think?"
"Fine then, take me," said Charlie defeatedly, making direct eye contact with the werewolf, "but please let the others go —"
"Charlie..."
But Hermione's silent whimper went unnoticed.
"You know I can't do that," laughed Greyback, devilishly amused. "This changes things, doesn't it? Because if you and the Mudblood are together, then that means..."
He trailed off, resting his gaze now on Harry's deformed side profile. He laughed again, deep in his throat, and the inflection of his voice alone indicated his newfound excitement.
"I thought you wore glasses, Potter?"
"I found glasses!" yelped one of the Snatchers skulking in the background. "There were glasses in the tent, Greyback, wait —"
And seconds later, Harry's broken glasses had been rammed roughly back onto his face. The Snatchers were closing in now, peering at him.
"It is!" rasped Greyback. "We've caught Potter! We've caught the Undesirables!"
They all took several steps backward, stunned by what they had done. Charlie, still fighting to ignore the familiar burning sensation on his forearm, could think of nothing to say. Huddled in a group, the Snatchers were now discussing their prisoners fate in low voices.
"...to the Ministry?"
"To hell with the Ministry," growled Greyback, waving an airy hand in dismissal. "They'll take the credit, and we won't get a damn thing. I say we take them straight to You-Know-Who."
"Will you summon 'im? 'ere?" said Scabior, sounding awed, perhaps even terrified.
"No," snarled Greyback. "I haven't got — they say he's using the Malfoy's place as a base. We'll take Potter and his friends there."
Charlie thought he knew why Greyback was not calling Voldemort. The werewolf might be allowed to wear Death Eater robes when they wanted to use him, but only Voldemort's inner circle were branded with the Dark Mark; Greyback had not been granted this highest honour.
"I'm sure seeing this hurts like a bitch then, doesn't it?" mocked Charlie, gesturing towards his now revealed Dark Mark. "See, I didn't even want this bloody thing, but You-Know-Who gave me my mark long before he even thought about branding you."
"Watch it, Hawthorne," snapped Greyback, getting in the boy's face. "Keep talking, and I'll tear your vocal chords out with my teeth, you understand me?"
"But are we completely sure it's them?" asked Scabior, slightly panicked, as he unknowingly diffused the tension. "'Cause if it ain't, Greyback, we're dead."
"Who's in charge here?" roared Greyback, covering his moment of inadequacy. "I say that's Potter, and him plus his wand, that's two hundred thousand Galleons right there! And Fenwick's boy is another hundred thousand! But if you're too gutless to come along, then it's all for me, and with any luck, I'll get the girl thrown in! Another fifty thousand Galleons and a free go at Hawthorne's Mudblood girlfriend!"
Charlie's blood boiled. He'd give anything — the sword of Gryffindor, his grandfather's inheritance, his own life — to protect Hermione now. The mere thought of Greyback's filthy hands anywhere near Hermione sent horrific chills down Charlie's spine.
"All righ'!" cried Scabior, enthralled. "All righ', we're in! And what about the rest of 'em, Greyback, what'll we do with 'em?"
"Might as well take the lot. We've got the Mudblood boy in the back, so that'll give us another hundred Galleons. Give me the sword as well. If they're rubies, that's another small fortune right there."
The prisoners were dragged to their feet. Charlie could hear Hermione's breathing, fast and terrified.
"Grab hold and make it tight! I've got Hawthorne," said Greyback, seizing a fistful of Charlie's hair; Charlie could feel his long yellow nails scratching his scalp. "On three! One — two — three —"
They Disapparated, pulling the prisoners with them. Charlie struggled, trying to throw off Greyback's hand, but it was hopeless; Harry, Ron, and Hermione were squeezed tightly against him, each of them standing back to back. Try as he might, Charlie could not separate from the group, and as the breath was squeezed out of him, his Dark Mark seared more painfully still.
The prisoners lurched into one another as they landed in a country lane. Charlie's eyes took a moment to acclimatize, then he saw a pair of wrought-iron gates at the foot of what looked like a long drive. He experienced the tiniest trickle of fear, the memory of being tortured into accepting his Dark Mark sprang to the forefront of his mind. The last time he had visited Malfoy Manor, he walked out these same gates, but his life had been forever ruined.
One of the Snatchers strode up to the gates and shook them.
"How do we get in? They're locked, Greyback, I can't — blimey!"
He whipped his hands away in fright. The iron was contorting, twisting itself out of the abstract furls and coils into a frightening face, which spoke in a clanging, echoing voice.
"State your purpose!"
"We've got Potter!" Greyback roared triumphantly. "We've captured Harry Potter and the rest of the Undesirables!"
Almost immediately, the gates swung open.
"Come on!" said Greyback to his men, and the prisoners were shunted through the gates and up the drive, between high hedges that muffled their footsteps. Charlie saw a ghostly white shape above him, and realized it was an albino peacock. He stumbled and was dragged onto his feet by Greyback. Now, he was staggering along sideways, tied back-to-back to the five other prisoners.
Closing his eyes, Charlie allowed the pain in his Dark Mark to overcome him for a moment, wanting to know whether Voldemort knew that Harry had been caught yet. Before he could register much of what was happening, however, all of the prisoners were pushed over gravel.
Suddenly, light spilled out over all of them.
"What is this?" said a woman's cold voice.
Greyback stood tall, rasping, "We're here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"
"Who are you?"
"You know me!" There was resentment in the werewolf's voice. "Fenrir Greyback! We've caught Harry Potter! And we've got Fenwick's boy too!"
Greyback then seized and dragged Charlie around to face the light, forcing the other prisoners to shuffle around too.
"I know 'e's bruised, ma'am, but it's 'im!" piped up Scabior. "And this 'ere, see the girl? That's the Mudblood girlfriend who's been traveling around with 'im, ma'am. There's no doubt it's 'im, and we've got Potter as well! 'Ere, ma'am —"
The prisoners were pushed around once more, exposing Harry in front. Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie saw Narcissa Malfoy scrutinizing Harry's swollen face. Desperate for more praise, Scabior thrusted Harry's blackthorn wand at her; Narcissa raised her eyebrows.
"Bring them in," she said at once.
Charlie and the others were shoved and kicked up broad stone steps into a hallway lined with portraits.
"Follow me," urged Narcissa, leading the way across the hall. "My son, Draco, is home for Easter. If they are who you say they are, he will know."
The drawing room dazzled after the darkness outside; even with his eyes almost closed Charlie could make out the wide proportions of the room. There was a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, more portraits against the dark purple walls. Two figures rose from chairs in front of an ornate marble fireplace as the prisoners were forced into the room by the Snatchers.
"What is this?"
The dreadfully familiar, drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy fell on Charlie's ears. He was panicking now. There was evidently no way out, and it was easier, as Charlie's fear mounted, to block out the burning sensation radiating from his Dark Mark.
"They say they've got the Undesirables," said Narcissa's cold voice. "Draco, come here."
Charlie did not dare look directly at Draco, but saw him obliquely: a figure slightly shorter than he was, rising from an armchair, his face was pale and pointed blur beneath white-blonde hair. Greyback forced the prisoners to turn again so as to place Harry and Charlie directly beneath the chandelier.
"Well, boy?" rasped the werewolf.
Staring forward, Charlie was now facing a mirror over the fireplace, it was a great gilded thing in an intricately scrolled frame. Through his slightly swollen eye, he was finally able to notice Harry's entire jinxed look in the reflection of the glass.
His face was huge, shiny, and pink, every feature distorted by Hermione's spell. Harry's black hair reached his shoulders and there was a dark shadow around his jaw. Had Charlie not known that it was Harry who stood there, he would have wondered who was wearing Harry's glasses.
Regardless, both boys resolved not to speak, for their voices were sure to give them away, but they still avoided eye contact with Draco as the latter approached.
"Well, Draco?" questioned Lucius Malfoy. He sounded avid. "Is it? Is it them? Is it Harry Potter?"
"I can't — I can't be sure," gulped Draco, avoiding Charlie's eyes completely. He was keeping his distance from Greyback, and seemed as scared of looking at the prisoners as they were of looking at him.
"But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!"
Charlie had never heard Lucius Malfoy so excited.
"Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv—"
"Now, we won't be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?" said Greyback menacingly, his eyes narrow.
"Of course not, of course not! Because at least one thing is for certain," growled Lucius impatiently. He approached Charlie himself, came so close that Charlie could see the usually languid, pale face in sharp detail, "you've definitely found the Hawthorne heir. Quickly," he then pointed towards one of the Snatchers, demanding, "go upstairs and alert Fenwick that his son has returned at last. I imagine he'll want to award you properly for bringing Charles home."
As a murmur of excited whispers broke out amongst the Snatchers, Charlie shuddered, painfully aware that Hermione's worried eyes were now settled on his side profile. The grand door behind them open and closed quickly, sealing Charlie's inevitable fate. The chances of him leaving Malfoy Manor alive were suddenly very slim, and the atmosphere in the room became more solemn than ever before.
"As we wait, please tell me," continued Lucius, turning his attention to Greyback, "what exactly did you do to Potter? How did he get into this state?"
Greyback shrugged, "That wasn't us."
"Looks like a Stinging Jinx to me," Lucius thought aloud, his grey eyes raking Harry's forehead. "There's something there," he whispered lowly, "it could be the scar, stretched tight... Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?"
Charlie could see Draco approach slowly, his face up close now, right beside his father's. They were extraordinarily alike, except that while Lucius looked beside himself with excitement, Draco's expression was full of reluctance, even fear.
"I don't know," he said, and he walked away toward the fireplace where his mother stood watching.
"We must be certain, Lucius," Narcissa called to her husband in her cold, clear voice. "Completely sure it is Potter, before we summon the Dark Lord... They say this is his" — she was looking closely at the blackthorn wand — "but it does not resemble Ollivander's description... If we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing... Remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?"
"What about the Mudblood, then?" growled Greyback. Charlie was nearly thrown off his feet as the Snatchers forced the prisoners to swivel around again, so that the light fell on Hermione instead.
Waiting with baited breath, Charlie's insistent protests echoed inside his head. His mind raced with options to bring the focus back on himself, but everything he could think of would surely make matters worse... would give all of them away...
"Wait," said Narcissa sharply. "Yes — yes, she was in Madam Malkin's with Hawthorne and Potter! Undesirable No. 2 in the Prophet! Look, Draco, that's the Granger girl?"
"I... maybe... yeah."
"But then, that's the Weasley boy!" shouted Lucius, striding around the bound prisoners to face Ron. "It's them, Potter's friends — Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name — ?"
"Yeah," repeated Draco, shrugging, his back to the prisoners. "It could be."
The drawing room door opened once more, and a sudden chill ran down Charlie's spine. Behind him, his father and an unknown woman spoke, and the sound of their combined voices wound Charlie's fear to an even higher pitch.
"What is this? What's happened, Cissy?"
"Is it true? Have you found my son?"
Fenwick Hawthorne and Bellatrix Lestrange walked slowly around the prisoners, each matching with sadistic smiles. Fenwick stopped on Charlie's right, staring at Hermione through her heavily lidded eyes.
"But surely," he said quietly, "this is the Mudblood? This is Granger? My son's disgraceful girlfriend?"
"Yes, yes, it's Granger!" cried Lucius. "And beside her is indeed your son and, we think, Potter! All of the Undesirables, caught at last!"
"Potter?" shrieked Bellatrix, and she backed away, the better to take in Harry. "Are you sure?"
But her sudden pique of interest went unnoticed. Exhaling raggedly, Charlie pulled his gaze from Bellatrix. The drawing room fell dangerously silent as Fenwick took a sudden sidestep, now standing face-to-face with his son.
"Welcome home, my dear boy," he taunted, flashing a wicked, satisfied grin. "This isn't exactly where I'd envisioned our family reunion, mind you, but it'll work all the same, I'm sure. And you've brought all of your friends? Oh, how lovely! Well then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!"
Taking it upon herself, Bellatrix quickly dragged back her left sleeve; Charlie saw the Dark Mark burned into the flesh of her arm, and knew that she was about to touch it, to summon her beloved master —
"I was about to call him!" hissed Lucius, and his hand actually closed upon Bellatrix's wrist, preventing her from touching the Mark. "I shall summon him, Bella, Potter and the Undesirables have been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority —"
"Your authority!" she sneered, attempting to wrench her hand from his grasp. "You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! How dare you! Take your hands off me!"
"This has nothing to do with you, you did not capture the Undesirables —"
"Begging your pardon, Mr. Malfoy," interjected Greyback, "but it's us who caught Potter and his friends, and it's us that'll be claiming the gold —"
"Gold!" laughed Bellatrix, still attempting to throw off her brother-in-law, her free hand groping in her pocket for her wand. "Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honour of his —"
"THAT'S ENOUGH!" roared Fenwick abruptly, silencing the room once more. "BELLA, LOOK!"
Bellatrix stopped struggling, her dark eyes obediently following Fenwick's gaze, both of them now staring at something Charlie could not see. Jubilant at Bellatrix's capitulation, Lucius threw her hand from him and ripped up his own sleeve.
"STOP!" shouted Fenwick again, his eyes dangerously narrow. "Do not touch it, you insufferable moron, or we shall all be dead if the Dark Lord comes now!"
Lucius Malfoy froze, his index finger hovering over his own Dark Mark. Fenwick strode out of Charlie's limited line of vision, brushing past his shoulder.
"What is that?" he heard his father say.
"Sword," grunted an out-of-sight Snatcher.
"Give it to me."
"It's not yours, sir, it's mine. I found it."
There was a bang and flash of red light; Charlie knew that the Snatcher had been Stunned. There was a roar of anger from his fellows — Scabior drew his wand.
"What d'yeh think yeh're playing at, Hawthorne?"
But Bellatrix had come to Charlie's father's immediate defence, raising her own wand in retaliation.
"Stupefy!" she screamed. "Stupefy!"
Several flashes of light, and they were no match for her, even though there were five of them against one of her. She was a witch, as Charlie knew, with prodigious skill and no conscience. The Snatchers fell where they stood, all except Greyback, who had been forced into a kneeling position, his arms outstretched. Out of the corners of his eyes, Charlie saw his father now bearing down upon the werewolf, the sword of Gryffindor gripped tightly in his hand, his face waxen.
"Where did you get this sword?" he demanded of Greyback, yanking his wand out of his unresisting grip.
"How dare you?" snarled Greyback, his mouth the only thing that could move as he was forced to gaze up at Fenwick. He bared his pointed teeth. "Release me, Hawthorne! I've brought you back your son!"
"Answer him! NOW! Where did you find this?" Bellatrix shouted, pointing at the sword in Fenwick's hand. "Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!"
"It was in their tent," rasped Greyback, glancing over at the prisoners. "Release me, I say!"
Fenwick waved his wand once more, and the werewolf sprang to his feet, but appeared too wary to approach the ex-Minister. He prowled behind an armchair, his filthy curved nails clutching its back.
"Draco, move this scum outside," said Fenwick sharply, indicating the unconscious men. "If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me."
"Don't you dare speak to Draco like —" began Narcissa Malfoy furiously, but Bellatrix screamed.
"Be quiet! The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a serious problem!"
Fenwick stood, unbothered, looking down at the sword, examining its hilt. Then, he turned to look at the silent prisoners; Bellatrix remained stationary beside him.
"If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed," Fenwick muttered at last, more to himself than to the others. "The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of the boy himself —"
"But if he finds out, we're doomed," whispered Bellatrix, her eyes transfixed upon the sword of Gryffindor. "Fenwick, we must... we must know..."
Taking it upon herself, she turned back to her sister.
"The prisoners must be placed in the cellar, while Fenwick and I think of what to do!"
"This is my house, Bella, you can't give orders —"
"Do it! You have no idea of the danger we are in!" shrieked Bellatrix, looking as though she'd gone mad; there was a thin stream of fire issued from her wand, which burned a hole in the carpet.
Narcissa hesitated for a moment, then addressed the werewolf, demanding, "Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback."
"Wait," said Fenwick abruptly. "All except... except for my son's Mudblood girlfriend."
Charlie's mind went blank with panic, his heart constricting. He vaguely heard Greyback give a grunt of pleasure. With his quick thinking, any option he considered seemed like a foolish endeavour — one that would surely get them all killed — and yet, he couldn't stop himself from struggling against his restraints.
"NO!" he shouted, his voice cracking ever so slightly. "YOU CAN HAVE ME! KEEP ME —"
Before Charlie could finish his sentence, Bellatrix had approached him and slapped him hard across the face; the blow echoed around the room.
"Don't you worry, little Hawthorne, if she dies under questioning, we'll be sure to take you next," she jeered, trailing her finger along his reddening cheek. "Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book —"
"On second thought, Bella," interjected Fenwick, his devilish grin widening, "I think we'd best not separate our star-crossed lovers. Since my son is so inclined to play the role of Romeo, let him watch as we make the Mudblood suffer — maybe then he might actually learn that his actions have consequences."
"You heard the man," clapped Bellatrix, practically jumping up and down from excitement. "Take the others downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them — yet."
"No! Please!" bellowed Ron, and he started to writhe and struggle against the ropes tying them together, so that Harry staggered. "You can't do this!"
"Save your breath, ginger!" growled Fenwick, as he threw Greyback's wand back to him. "There's nothing you can do to save them, believe me."
With that, Bellatrix withdrew a small silver dagger from under her robes, using it to cut Hermione and Charlie free from the other prisoners. As soon as the ropes loosened around his wrists, Charlie was unsure how he still managed to stand on his own two feet, to breathe even. He'd never felt more afraid and angry, never felt more useless and hopeless, in his entire life.
And there, in the pit of his despair, Charlie found a desperate resolution. He had to figure out a way to save Hermione, for there was no other viable option. She could not die — Charlie wouldn't let that happen — and it would likely be the last thing he would ever do, but that would be okay as long as she could live.
Before he could say anything to reassure Hermione, however, both of them were dragged by their hair into the middle of room, while Greyback forced the rest of prisoners to shuffle across to another door, quickly disappearing into a dark passageway.
Charlie forced himself to stay calm. He couldn't lose his cool, not like how he'd acted on the Astronomy Tower the night Dumbledore died, where he was so blinded by rage he'd lost his head. If they were going to get out of this, if Hermione was going to survive, he needed to keep his wits about him.
Releasing his harsh grip on his son's hair, Fenwick threw Charlie onto the floor, forcing the boy to collapse next to the fireplace. Charlie's head fell to the side while his insides twisted, and his blood caught on fire. Once he managed to raise his head towards the other side of the room, he made direct eye contact with Hermione, noticing the fear which was written in every line of her body.
Hermione had been thrown to the floor as well, although Bellatrix had since mounted her, straddling her waist and dragging the silver dagger along her prisoner's cheek.
"We're going to have a little chat, girl-to-girl," she said menacingly, pinning Hermione down with the weight of her knees. "Where did you get this sword? Where? How did you get into my vault?"
"I swear — I swear we didn't," Hermione choked out, her eyes pleading in Charlie's direction. "We found it!"
"Liar!" Bellatrix lightly traced Hermione's lips with the of the silver dagger. "Tell me who helped you!"
Hermione let out a panicked sob, "Nobody! We found it in the woods!"
"You're lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!" demanded Bellatrix hotly, now an inch from Hermione's terrified face, breathing heavily.
Forcing himself to stand, Charlie flinched at Hermione's piercing screams as Bellatrix rained torture curses upon her. The tears streaming down her cheeks were no act, instead they only seemed to prove her utter terror. He took another step forward, wanting to shift the focus away from his girlfriend, whilst silently hoping that a feeble glimmer of hope would soon emerge.
"We didn't steal anything," he said abruptly, and watched as Bellatrix's gaze shifted between him and Hermione. "Please, she's telling the —"
But Charlie was quickly silenced once his feet were knocked out from underneath him, sending him crashing back down onto his knees. With another harsh blow to the abdomen, the impact left him gasping for air. From behind, Charlie felt someone's hand reach around his throat, wrenching his face upwards, and Charlie could see his father hovering overtop of him, his jaw clenched in fury.
"Where are your manners, Charles?" he spat, closing his hand tighter around the boy's neck. "Have you no shame? Can't you see that Miss Lestrange was clearly in the middle of something?"
"Please, father, I'll tell you anything you want to know," Charlie pleaded, desperate, and trying to pry Fenwick's strong, cold hands from around his throat, "but you've got to let Hermione go first!"
"No, no, that's not how this works I'm afraid, my dear boy," Fenwick taunted, laughing under his breath. "You've made your choice, and now unfortunately, I'm forced to show you what being the hero has cost you — Bella, don't mind us, please carry on."
And with a sadistic smile, Bellatrix yanked on Hermione's left sleeve, revealing her smooth, pure skin hidden underneath.
"Filthy Mudblood," Bellatrix snarled, finding enjoyment in watching her victim squirm beneath her. "The lot of you ought to be branded."
Then, she lowered her knife to the soft flesh beneath Hermione's elbow and began carving into it with the small, silver dagger. Hermione's screams reverberated off the walls, silencing the entirety of the manor; it was the most painful sound Charlie had ever heard.
She's going to die. She's going to die.
As Hermione's screams grew louder, he found himself bellowing repeatedly, "HERMIONE! HERMIONE!"
Charlie forced his eyes shut, unable to watch as Hermione struggled to break free. He tried to remain calm for the sake of his sanity, he really did. The longer Bellatrix hovered over Hermione, however, the more Charlie wanted to rip her blasted head from her body.
"STOP!" he croaked, his voice shaky. "SHE'S HAD ENOUGH! STOP! STOP! HERMIONE!"
"You know what? You're right, Charles," agreed Fenwick uncharacteristically, and Charlie felt the slightest sense of relief as his restraints loosened. "As fun as this is, Bella, I believe my son requires a more hands-on approach. I reckon the Imperius Curse ought to spice things up a bit, what do you think?"
"Excellent idea, Fenwick," giggled Bellatrix devilishly, pushing herself up from the ground. "Would you like to do the honours, or shall I?"
"I'll take care of it," Fenwick said calmly, now aiming his wand at Charlie's forehead. "Imperius."
It felt like relief for a single moment. As expected, all of the pain Charlie had gone through in the last couple of months had disappeared, and he felt like he was in an unknown paradise.
"Take the knife and torture the Mudblood," Fenwick ordered, whispering in the back of the boy's mind.
"No," said Charlie firmly, his voice coming out in a mere whisper as Fenwick dropped the spell, his expression stunned. "N-No, I won't!"
"Oooh, the boy's a tough nut to crack, Fenwick!" Bellatrix laughed in delight. "How about I loosen little baby Hawthorne up for you?"
"Go ahead, my dear," Fenwick shrugged, motioning towards Charlie with an airy wave. "Do your worst."
Charlie's yells of pain and agony echoed off of the stone walls of Malfoy Manor as Bellatrix so happily placed the Cruciatus Curse upon him multiple times.
In the midst of chaos, the Malfoy family had returned to the drawing room, bringing three other unknown Death Eaters along with them to enjoy the show. Their presence, however, went unnoticed as none of them dared to put a stop to the merciless acts of torture happening in front of them.
"Poor little Hawthorne," hummed Bellatrix, sinking to her knees in front of Charlie, twirling her dagger. "Such a pretty boy, you are — now, open wide for me," she cast a spell on the boy again and his mouth unwillingly opened for her. "Let's see, hmm, which of these perfect little teeth could you live without?"
Bellatrix's psychotic laughter rang in Charlie's ears as she dug her dagger deep into one of his back molars. Being fiendish in her pursuits, she dug and poked around for a while before two of Charlie's back teeth fell out of his mouth. In the short distance, Hermione watched on in horror, still to weakened to stand on her own.
"Charlie..." she whispered, loud enough for him to hear, hoping her voice would allow him to focus.
In response, Charlie closed his eyes, a single tear rolling down his cheek as his mouth quivered in agony. When Bellatrix was done, she threw Charlie back against the floor and presented Fenwick with his bloody teeth, grinning sadistically as she did so.
"He's loosened up a bit, now give it a go."
"Imperius," Fenwick said again, and that same relief, which Charlie felt the first time the curse had been set upon him, washed over him again like a nice, warm shower on a winter evening.
Not long after, a voice rang out in the back of his head once more, hissing, "I said take the knife and torture the Mudblood!"
And with that, an idea formed in Charlie's delirious mind. With utter convincingness, he nodded stoically. He rose to his feet, his face showing no emotion, as he took the knife from Bellatrix, his heart breaking into a million pieces as Hermione sobbed louder on the floor. Charlie slowly approached Hermione, the dagger at his side, held tightly in his right hand.
Once they had made eye contact, Charlie's eyes trailed down to the wound Bellatrix had inflicted on her left forearm, noticing the word, 'Mudblood', carved deeply into Hermione's skin. She froze as he approached her, but the golden flecks in his eyes told her that she had nothing to fear. Somehow, he was still the Charlie she knew and loved.
(A/N: might be my fav gif I've ever made...)
"It's going to be okay," he mouthed quickly, watching his captors from his peripheral vision. "Trust me."
Then, in what seemed like a complete blur to Hermione, Charlie had spun and thrown the dagger at Fenwick, hitting his target in the shoulder, rendering his father temporarily immobile.
"That's for my grandfather!"
Stunned, Fenwick dropped his wand, and acting quickly, Charlie scooped it up, disarming the Malfoys and Bellatrix with a simple flick of his wrist.
"Bombarba!" he yelled, aiming his father's wand at the stone archway as the three unknown Death Eaters aimed to kill him.
The debris from the archway landed on the three oblivious Death Eaters, killing them all upon direct impact, whilst splattering thick crimson blood everywhere. Then, Charlie spun around again, now aiming his father's wand at those left standing.
"Don't fucking move," he warned, blood dripping from his own mouth. His father's wand was trembling in his shaky hands, but his captors seemed to abide by his request, well aware of the look of sheer conviction and determination in his eyes.
Charlie was shaking, whether with fury or fear, he wasn't sure. He felt something slide down his cheek, and he realized that his eyes had become glazed with salty tears. Blinking furiously in hopes of clearing his vision, he focused back on Hermione in time to see her pull herself into a sitting position.
Triumphant, Charlie rushed to Hermione, crouching down next to her. She was petrified, her head lolling to one side, but her eyes were wide open. He gently brushed the back of his unoccupied hand across her cheek, and her eyes immediately focused on him. Then, he carefully lifted Hermione into his arms, and she clung to him desperately, her whole body shaking.
"I've got you," he assured her lowly, still pointing the wand over her shoulder. "Shhh, it's okay, it's okay."
Hermione nodded, still too weak to speak, and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Together, they walked backwards toward the exit. Everyone in the drawing room was still shocked to all hell, their eyes wide in disbelief. Charlie carefully walked through the room, peering around each corner to make sure nobody was coming. Once he and Hermione had reached the door, Charlie pushed it open with all the strength he could muster, stepping over the three dead bodies littering the floor.
With his focus too preoccupied on witnessing any potential movements from the Malfoys, Bellatrix, and his father, however, Charlie hadn't realized he'd backed up directly into the werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, until it was too late, inhaling the scent of sweat, dirt, and blood at the very last second.
"Where do you think you're going, Hawthorne?" rang Greyback's voice, his wand pressed firmly against Charlie's spine, before the young man could even think of what to do next. "CRUCIO!"
Charlie's back arched, his body flailing, and his scream pierced all the way to the wispy remains of Hermione's soul. His body fell back to the floor and twitched with the strength of Greyback's curse. He let his father's wand fall from his hands. Hermione had dropped to her knees alongside him, unable to hold herself up any longer, and now began sobbing into her boyfriend's convulsing chest.
"No, no, no," she repeated over and over, her voice hoarse in despair. "Please, stop! PLEASE!"
The spell's fire taking its course, Charlie screamed louder. Spasms rocked through his body, making it look like he was having some sort of seizure. Greyback kept the spell active until the boy's muscles gave out from exhaustion.
As Charlie grew weaker and weaker, Fenwick approached, scooping up his wand along the way; there was a newfound mischievous grin splitting his face, his lips curled upwards in a malevolent fashion.
"Quite the spectacle you've just put on for us, Charles," said Fenwick icily, pulling the bloody dagger from his shoulder. "But did you honestly believe we'd let you escape that easily? Foolish mistake, my dear boy, very foolish indeed."
Greyback beamed, his chest puffed with pride.
"I knew something was wrong, sir, I knew I had to —"
"Shut your mouth, Greyback," barked Fenwick, venom laced in his voice. "The more you talk, the more aggravated I feel. Get back down to the cellar! I can't stand the sight of you, you hideous half-breed!"
His jaw clenched in fury, Greyback seemed to retreat, unwilling to bear the brunt of Fenwick's anger. Once the werewolf had disappeared, the ex-Minister's long, slender fingers seized Charlie's wrists, dragging his son back towards the centre of the drawing room. Behind him, Bellatrix had attacked Hermione, grabbing a fistful of her hair, and wrestled her to the floor, laughing at her prisoner's attempted restraint.
Still recuperating from the Cruciatus Curse, Charlie vaguely felt his left arm twist behind him, forcing his face to rest against down upon the rough carpet. There was a sudden snapping sound, and then a shockingly intense pain shot down from his shoulder to his wrist. Unable to stop himself, Charlie let out a horrendous wail, whimpering uncontrollably.
Before he could even register what had happened next, Fenwick had swiped the silver dagger's blade on Charlie's skin, piercing his flesh in a taunting manner.
"You know, Charles, you remind me a lot of your mother," said Fenwick, toying with his victim. "See, Julianne was pathetically relentless for most of her life. That woman was always too quick to accept, to love. The truth, however, is that love is irrelevant to people like us, to people who are destined for success. Over the years, I've tried to ensure that you'd one day lead by my example, Charles, but you've proven to be just as hopeless as your mother once was —"
"Then kill me!" spat Charlie harshly. "Kill me like you helped kill my mother, you fucking coward! At least then I'll be free of you!"
"Spare me the melodrama, Charles. Sixteen years ago, I did Julianne a favour by putting her out of her misery," growled Fenwick, pinning his son under his suede shoes. "She'd found out about my devotion to the Dark Lord, so it was only a matter of time before she'd met her untimely end. If anything, you should be grateful that her death was quick and painless. Had it not been for me, she wouldn't've been so lucky."
"The same won't be said for this one," leered Bellatrix from a distance, eyeing Hermione hungrily. Somewhere between now and the beginning of Fenwick's speech, she had retrieved her wand, trailing the tip of it along Hermione's body, her wicked laughter carrying around the room.
"NO! LEAVE HER — ARGHHH!"
Charlie pounded the floor with his free hand, trying to resist the pain overwhelming his body. Fenwick had twisted his dislocated shoulder again, bringing his foot down harder on his son's spine to shut him up.
"Have you learned nothing, Charles? That filthy Mudblood," he emphasized loudly, pointing a stern finger in Hermione's direction, "is the root of all your problems, can't you see that? She's ruined you, tarnished your pureblood name! And yet, you still manage to defend her somehow! It's disgraceful! How can you possibly love someone so ugly, so inferior, so weak — I've raised you better than this!"
"You didn't raise me at all," retaliated Charlie at once, his heart pounding; the roaring in his ears blocked out all other sound. His sight was pulsing with red. "You fail to realize, father, that I'm nothing like you. Never have been, never will be."
"Well, if that's how you feel, then I'm left with no choice," muttered Fenwick, now turning Charlie around to expose the jet black engraving on the boy's forearm. "Tonight, I've reached my wits end, Charles. There's no hope for you after all. You're a disgrace to the Hawthorne name, to the pureblood echelon! You're nothing to me, nothing but a filthy blood traitor. And now, I daresay you must suffer for daring to defy the Dark Lord —"
The soft sounds of chuckling halted Fenwick mid-sentence, and Charlie vaguely recognized the laughter as his own. He probably looked deranged, laughing without smiling, but maybe he was. His eyes flickered back over to the still body of Hermione and he reached out for her for the first time, hoping to find some sort of relief hidden in her potential touch.
"I will not beg for mercy, nor will I ever ask for forgiveness," Charlie stated, his gaze settled on Hermione, although everyone in the room knew he was talking to his father. "Because I've done nothing that warrants either. All I've done is fall in love, and the Dark Lord gets no say in who I love, nor do you," he cocked his head back towards his father, challenge in his dark brown eyes. "So do your worst, Fenwick, because there's not a single atom in my body that lives with regret for loving a Muggle-born."
"Foolish mistake," Fenwick repeated, shaking his head in disgust. "Very foolish indeed —"
And with that, he lifted the dagger and plunged it deep into Charlie's skin, piercing his son's Dark Mark over and over. Blood spilled over the floor, trickling down like a waterfall, as Fenwick dug deeper, forcing Charlie to bite back a low groan of pain.
"Unworthy... blood traitor..." spat Fenwick icily, again and again, his son's blood now staining his hands.
The agony Charlie felt was nearly unbearable, and a few tears leaked out of his eyes when he squeezed them shut. His voice had grown hoarse from all the screaming, forcing him to settle for breathless moans and whimpers. Again, he pounded the floor with his unoccupied fist, trying to fight his way to freedom.
However, with every cut, Fenwick remained merciless in his pursuits. He seemed to pay no mind to Hermione's frantic screams of panic, nor did he acknowledge Bellatrix's cackling laughter. Instead, he focused on the task at hand, sliding the dagger along Charlie's forearm until the Dark Mark was no longer eligible underneath the bloody wounds.
In spite of his father's brutality, Charlie kept his gaze settled upon Hermione. There was still a quarter of his Dark Mark left, and he was beginning to feel dizzy from the painful exertion and blood loss. His vision grew blurry, fading in and out. He gasped and groaned loudly, struggling against Fenwick's restraints with all the strength he had left, his blood spilling everywhere.
As the prospect of death eroded his mind, Charlie willed himself to repeat the same three words over and over, desperately wanting his last words to be an affirmation of his feelings for Hermione:
"I love you, Hermione..."
Fenwick drove the dagger deeper.
"I-I love you..."
And deeper.
"I... love... y-you..."
And deeper if possible, now covering the entirety of the dagger's blade in blood.
Tears streaming down her face, Hermione could smell Charlie's blood soaking through his shirt, mingling with the stench of despair and death. The sound of his voice was slow to fade, and she tried her damnedest to push Bellatrix off of her, trying to crawl herself towards Charlie's spasming body; Hermione gave a dreadful scream.
Barely conscious of the fierce sensation of pain flooding her own body, she tried to wrestle herself free, shouting, "CHARLIE! NO! STOP! LEAVE HIM! LEAVE HIM! PLEASE! STOP! STOP! I'M BEGGING YOU!"
But Fenwick's rage was far too intense, and it filled the room like a noxious cloud. Charlie's eyes rolled upwards into his head, the whites of his eyes exposed, as his father dropped the dagger at last. To his delight, the entirety of the Dark Mark now ceased to exist, covered in stab wounds and the bloody remains of his deteriorated skin.
And in similar fashion to Hermione's newfound 'Mudblood' scar, Fenwick has also carved the words 'Blood Traitor' underneath his brutal massacre of flesh.
(A/N: photo reference! another AMAZING edit done by the loml wonhosmila <3)
Deciding that the deed was done, Fenwick took a step back to admire his work, wiping the dagger's blade clean on his suit jacket. He let go of Charlie's arm at last, letting it fall to the floor with a hard thud. As blood continued to pool around him, Charlie felt himself growing weaker, his eyelids growing heavy.
"That ought to shut you up for a long while," hissed Fenwick, his voice fading as he walked over to the fireplace. "Now you'll forever be remembered as the blood traitor you happily claim to be," he put his bloody hands on the mantle, and sighed heavily. "Bella, I believe we've gone way off course. Shall we get on with the task at hand? Find out more about how they've required the sword, will you? The quicker we can summon the Dark Lord, the better it'll be."
With his ability to speak currently disabled, Charlie watched, in what felt like slow motion, as Bellatrix pulled on Hermione's hair once more, slamming her against the hardwood floor. He exhaled shakily and cradled his arm in attempt to stop the bleeding, applying as much pressure as he could manage.
"I'm going to ask you one more time," he heard Bellatrix croon softly, "what else did you take from my vault? What else have you got?" — Hermione could feel the woman's saliva spray her face, mingling with her own tears — "Tell me the truth or, I swear, I will run you through with the same knife we used on your boyfriend!"
"We didn't — we have nothing — nothing else," Hermione sobbed, her voice tired. "Please — we only found the sword!"
"You're lying to me, Mudblood," Bellatrix whispered through clenched teeth, and Charlie sickening recoil in her voice. "What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"
Hermione felt the screams rip from her throat, felt the blinding pain wrack through her bones and flesh.
She's going to die. She's going to die.
When the curse stopped, Bellatrix had now straddled Hermione's chest, holding her by the neck, their faces inches away from one another. Below her, Hermione could faintly hear Harry and Ron's voices echoing.
"How did you get into my vault? Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?"
Hermione had to answer quickly, only hoping that she would have the strength to speak.
"We only met him tonight!" she managed, her thoughts still on Fenwick's brutality. "We've never been inside your vault — it isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!"
"A copy?" screeched Bellatrix, dumbfounded. "Oh, what a likely story!"
"But we can find out easily!" came Lucius Malfoy's voice. Charlie nearly forgot the Malfoy family was still in the room; they had gone uncharacteristically silent. "Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!"
Charlie was only conscious enough to register the fading footsteps, which evidently belonged to Draco whom went to retrieve Griphook. He silently prayed the goblin would lie, hoping to buy Harry and Ron more time to escape.
After a short while, he could hear Draco's approaching behind him, followed by the goblin and Greyback; Charlie forced himself to raise his head, trying to catch Griphook's eye. His arm flopped flaccidly at his side, while the throbbing in his shoulder made his stomach turn disgustedly. Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie saw Bellatrix towering over the goblin, her wand pointed directly in his face.
Rejoining the conversation, Fenwick strode out from the shadows, holding the sword of Gryffindor in his fatalistic hands. He shoved the sword towards the goblin, narrowing his eyes upon him; Griphook now held Gryffindor's sword in his long-fingered hands.
In the midst of this interrogation, Charlie glimpsed Hermione. She was lying at Bellatrix's feet, barely stirring, but Charlie could see she was alive. It took every ounce of restraint in his being not to get up and pull her into his arms.
"Well?" Fenwick was saying to Griphook. "Is it the true sword?"
Charlie waited, holding his breath, fighting against the unconsciousness threatening to overcome him.
"No," said Griphook, his voice squeakily terrified as he noticed the blood stains covering the walls and floorboards. "It is a fake."
"Are you sure?" panted Bellatrix. "Quite sure?"
Griphook nodded, "Yes, ma'am."
Relief broke across both Bellatrix and Fenwick's faces, all tension evidently drained from them. They shared a wicked laugh in celebration.
"Good," Bellatrix beamed, and with a casual flick of her wand, she slashed an unwarranted deep cut into the goblin's face, and he dropped with a yell at her feet; Fenwick quickly kicked him aside.
"And now," he went on in a voice that burst with triumph, "we call the Dark Lord!"
At once, Fenwick pushed back his own sleeve and touched his index finger to the Dark Mark. In the moment, Charlie quickly realized that the anticipated burning sensation didn't split through his veins, proving that his Dark Mark was now rendered ineffective. That being said, however, he had the slightest suspicion that Voldemort was enthralled by the sudden summons of his most loyal followers.
"And I think," came Bellatrix's voice once again, "we can finally dispose of the Mudblood — Greyback, take her if you want her!"
She's going to die. She's going to die.
Then, as though all of Charlie's prayers had been answered, Harry and Ron came bursting into the drawing room together. Bellatrix looked around, shocked; she turned her wand to face Ron —
"Expelliarmus!" he roared, pointing what appeared to be Wormtail's wand at Bellatrix, and hers flew into the air and was caught by Harry.
Hovering nearby, Lucius, Narcissa, Draco and Greyback wheeled about; Harry yelled, "Stupefy!" and Lucius Malfoy collapsed onto the hearth.
Over Charlie's head, jets of light flew from Draco's, Narcissa's, and Greyback's wands; Harry threw himself to the floor next to Charlie, dragging his friend to safety, before they both rolled behind a sofa to avoid any opposing counter curses.
"I've got you, mate," came Harry's soothing voice, and Charlie only just realized that the Stinging Jinx had worn off, restoring his friend's face to its normal proportions. "Hold on a bit longer, okay? Stay with me, Charlie! We're going to get out of here!"
And with that, he pointed Bellatrix's wand over the top of the sofa, blasting countless spells from the tip. Across the room, Ron was doing the same, hidden behind one of the middle support pillars. However, Charlie's staggering gaze set out to find his girlfriend, and he panicked when he realized Hermione was no longer laying on the hardwood floor.
"HERMIONE!" he yelled at once, but another voice rang through the air, overpowering him completely.
"STOP OR SHE DIES!"
Panting, Charlie peered around the edge of the sofa. Bellatrix was supporting Hermione, who seemed to be just conscious, and was holding her short silver knife to her throat.
"Drop your wands," she whispered. "Drop them, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is!"
Without having to be told twice, Charlie came out of hiding, throwing his bloody hands in the air. Next to him, Harry straightened up, still holding Bellatrix's wand. Ron appeared from around the corner of the middle pillar, clutching Wormtail's.
"I said, drop them!" Bellatrix screeched, pressing the blade into Hermione's throat; Charlie saw beads of blood appear there, and he shuddered in horror.
"Harry, please!" he managed weakly, and doing as he was told, Harry dropped Bellatrix's wand onto the floor at his feet; Ron did the same with Wormtail's. Both of them raised their hands to shoulder height, following Charlie's lead.
"Good!" Bellatrix leered, grinning triumphantly. "Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Potter! Your death approaches!"
Charlie gulped, knowing that there were no way out. He could feel himself growing drowsy, his knees buckling beneath him. Whether his eyes were opened or closed, however, all he could manage to see was Hermione's terrified face haunting him.
She's going to die. She's going to die.
"Now," said Bellatrix softly, as Draco hurried back to her with the wands. "Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight."
Fear coursing through his veins, Charlie only just noticed that there was a peculiar grinding noise coming from above him. Everyone looked to the ceiling in time to see the crystal chandelier tremble; then, with a creak and an ominous jingling, it began to fall. Bellatrix was directly beneath it. Throwing herself aside with a scream, she released Hermione.
The chandelier crashed to the floor in an explosion of crystal and chains, falling on top of Hermione and the Gringotts goblin, who still clutched the sword of Gryffindor. Glittering shards of crystal flew in all directions; Draco doubled over, his hands covering his bloody face.
"Hermione!" Charlie heard his own voice scream. Without hesitation, he took his chance, charging forward to pull his girlfriend out of the wreckage.
Behind him, Harry leapt over an armchair and wrested all of their wands from Draco's grip. Then, he pointed all of them at Greyback, and yelled, "Stupefy!" The werewolf was lifted off his feet by the spell, flew up into the ceiling, and then smashed to the ground.
As Narcissa dragged Draco out of the way of further harm, Bellatrix sprang to her feet, her hair flying as she brandished the silver knife. Her sister, however, had already directed her wand at the doorway.
"Dobby?" she screamed, and even Bellatrix froze. "You! You dropped the chandelier — ?"
Sure enough, the tiny elf trotted into the room, his shaking finger pointing at his old mistress.
"You must not hurt Harry Potter or Charlie Hawthorne!" he squeaked, with utter confidence.
"Kill him, Cissy!" shrieked Bellatrix, but there was another loud crack, and Narcissa's wand too flew into the air and landed on the other side of the room.
"You dirty little monkey!" bawled Bellatrix, enraged. "How dare you take a witch's wand, how dare you defy your masters?"
"Dobby has no master!" squealed the elf. "Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!"
Harry's scar was blinding him with pain. He dimly knew that they had moments, maybe even seconds before Voldemort was with them.
"Ron, catch — GO!" he yelled, throwing one of the wands to him; then he bent down to tug Griphook out from under the chandelier. Hoisting the groaning goblin, who still clung to the sword, over one shoulder, Harry seized Dobby's hand and spun on the spot to Disapparate.
At the last second, however, Charlie felt someone attack him from behind, capturing him in a headlock and wrestling him from Hermione's embrace. Unable to defend himself due to his lack of strength, Charlie yelped aloud, exerting the last of his consciousness to reflexively react and jerk away... but it was no use.
"You're not going anywhere, my dear boy," the voice above him whispered menacingly in his ear. "Your time is up... the Dark Lord is coming..."
"NO! CHARLIE!" He faintly heard Hermione scream as he was dragged back to the centre of the room, his father now crushing his windpipe. "NO, I'M NOT LEAVING WITHOUT HIM! CHARLIE! PLEASE —"
"Hermione, we've got to go now!" pleaded Ron insistently, terrified, as he caught hold of her hand before she could step out after Charlie. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! HERMIONE, COME ON!"
"STOP! NO! NO! RON, GET OFF — CHARLIE!"
As Hermione turned into the darkness, she caught one last view of the drawing room; of the the pale, frozen figures of Narcissa and Draco, of the streak of red that was Ron's hair, and a blur of flying silver as Bellatrix's knife flew across the room at the place where she and the others were vanishing —
"CHARLIE, NO — !"
And then, as Charlie weakly managed to raise his head, he felt hot tears immediately well in his eyes.
His friends, Dobby, and Griphook had vanished.
Hermione had vanished.
He was alone.
He's going to die. He's going to die.
There was a shrill cackle and a disturbance in the air above him. Charlie's lips parted, his screams spending the last breath left in his lungs before everything finally disintegrated into oblivion.
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Bill and Fleur's... Shell Cottage... Bill and Fleur's...
Hermione had disappeared into the unknown, sobbing uncontrollably. Overwhelming guilt flooded her senses, and the weight of her lost love bore suffocated her entirely; Ron's hand jerked in hers, affirming his insistence of holding her close, but all she wished was to be as far away from him as humanely possible.
At long last, they hit solid earth and smelled salty air. Hermione fell to her knees, quickly relinquishing Ron's hand and pushing him away. Looking up, she squinted through the darkness. There seemed to be a cottage a short way away under the wide starry sky, and she thought she saw movement outside it.
Harry, Griphook and Dobby were yards away, on their knees, and without another thought Hermione dashed to them. Staggering, she collapsed next to Harry, clinging desperately to his arm.
"No, no, no, please, we have to go back," she pleaded frantically, her voice faint and terrified. "Harry, you have to take me back! Please, I'm begging you —"
"Hermione," said Ron at once, who had followed quickly behind her, offering support, "we can't —"
"Shut up, Ron! SHUT UP!" she snapped, unable to control herself. "WE SHOULDN'T HAVE LEFT! NOT WITHOUT HIM! HE'S GONE! GONE! WE HAVE TO GO BACK! WE HAVE TO SAVE HIM —"
"Hermione, please —"
"NO! TAKE ME BACK! NOW! RIGHT NOW! WE LEFT HIM! WE LEFT CHARLIE BEHIND! WE CAN'T — I CAN'T — I WON'T! NO! NO! PLEASE, TAKE ME BACK! PLEASE! THEY'LL KILL HIM! PLEASE! I LOVE HIM! I LOVE HIM! PLEASE — !"
"Hermione, you've got to calm down —" Harry started, his own throat clogged with emotion, but he didn't finish as Hermione broke down, whimpering and burying her head in her hands.
"Oh god, oh god... Charlie... Ch-Charlie," she kept sobbing, over and over. "W-We have to go back — we left him — no, no, no, p-please... Ch-Charlie..."
Harry exhaled slowly, trying again, "Don't worry, we'll find him — he'll be all right — safe —"
"H-Harry Potter..."
Behind them, there was a weak squeak that echoed in the near distance. Harry looked up and caught Ron's face, stricken in fear. Almost immediately, Harry whirled around, ignoring Hermione's insistent cries for a mere moment.
"DOBBY!"
The tiny elf stood feet from them swaying slightly, stars reflected in his wide, shining eyes. Together, they all looked down at the silver hilt of the Bellatrix's knife protruding from the elf's heaving chest.
"Dobby — no — HELP!" Harry bellowed toward the cottage, toward the people moving there. "HELP!"
He did not know or care whether they were wizards or Muggles, friends or foes. The only thing on his mind was that a dark crimson stain was spreading across Dobby's front, and that he had stretched out his own arms to Harry with a look of supplication. Harry caught him and laid him sideways on the cool grass.
"Dobby, no, don't die, don't die —"
He looked at Ron and Hermione, who was still struggling to regain her composure. "HELP ME!"
"Such a beautiful place," Dobby whispered, staring blankly at the night sky.
Harry looked back down at Dobby's face, the elf's huge eyes now had equally dilated as pupils. Before he could stop them, tears began falling thick and fast down Harry's cheeks.
"No — no —"
"Dobby is happy... to be with... his friends..."
Harry's resolve broke. He had tried staying strong for Hermione and Ron, but he couldn't hold it any longer. The elf's eyes found him, and his lips trembled with the effort to form words.
"Harry... Potter..."
And then with a little shudder, the elf became quite still, and his eyes were nothing more than great glassy orbs, sprinkled with light from the stars they could not see.
Their hearts shattered that day.
Dobby the house-elf was dead.
And Charlie Hawthorne, the boy who loved, might very well be next.
DEATHLY HALLOWS: PART ONE
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Author's Note:
*this chapter was not proof read*
.......
*insert nervous laughter*
huge thank you to TomasGranger003 for helping me write some of the torture scene <3
xo, selena
p.s. another INSANEEEEEE graphic by wonhosmila