A/n: I do not own any of the characters or the plotline, It all belong to JK Rowling and SenLinYu.
Flashback 38July 2003
Sussex Lab was a huge black building that looked as though it had been dropped down into the middle of the Ashdown Forest. The apparition wards extended several hundred yards. Hermione approached under heavy disillusionment, giving wide berth to the other, smaller buildings scattered about it. The Lab overshadowed everything. The air was so twisted and corrupted with Dark Magic it was difficult to breathe. Dementors were patrolling high overhead.
From the angle of her approach, the building reminded Hermione of the pictures of Azkaban. She'd seen the blueprints of Sussex design and seen it from a distance, but it was the first time she'd approached it.
It was a towering, V-shaped building, with no visible point of entry. There were only a handful of windows on the uppermost floors. She knew from the blueprints that the only entry was by a secured apparition point inside the building, and the only exit a separate disapparition point on a different floor.
If she'd been calmer and less grief-stricken, she would have realised there was no way for Draco to extract Ginny so quickly without compromising himself.
They'd both made mistakes out of desperation.
She glanced around. It was evening and overcast for summer. It was beginning to grow dim; the dark creatures would soon emerge in force.
Hermione approached until she reached the final layer of protective wards. They were the same impenetrable kind that had been over Hogwarts. The grass and plants had burned away into ash along the perimeter.
Hermione held her hand out, and the magic crackled, shimmering into visibility at her proximity.
She pulled a knife out of her cloak and, kneeling down, pierced the wards near the ground. The manticore venom in the silver slipped through as though the magic didn't exist. Hermione pulled one of the dozens of bombs she'd brought, tapped it lightly with the tip of her wand, and pushed it through the opening, being careful not to let the ward or the knife come in contact with the tiny orb. If she accidentally set off a bomb, the Death Eaters would be picking up bits and pieces of her across a fifty foot radius.
She tried not to think about it.
She pushed five of the bombs through the opening in the ward and, with a flick of her wand, levitated the bombs over to the building, leaving three interspersed along the base and sending two to hover about twenty feet up the wall. She withdrew the knife, and the opening in the ward instantly resealed.
She quickly moved ten feet further and repeated the steps until she had made her way all the way along the east wall of the building and her pockets were empty. Based on every report Severus and Draco had ever brought about Sussex, the east side of the the building was where the curse development division and most research using human test subjects were located. The west side of the building was more technological, where the shackles and research into breaking the Fidelius had been based.
She backed away as far as she could, eyeing the edge of the disapparition wards and trying to gauge how far she'd need to run. With a quick flick, she cast a bubble-head charm on herself.
She closed her eyes and drew a slow breath before opening them and extending her wand hand.
I'm going to take care of you. I'm always going to take care of you.
She waved her wand sharply upwards and then slashed down.
There was a split second of silence. Then there was a rumble, as though the particles in the air were all vibrating.
The sound struck her like a wall, and her bones vibrated. The wards over Sussex rippled into view as rapid series of blasts zipped down the side of the lab. The air shattered in a deafening explosion. The blast slammed into the wards and then ricocheted back into the base of the Sussex Lab. A cloud of dust and deadly poison filled the air, and the entire east side of the building wobbled and then fell, toppling back and crashing into the west side of the building.
The ground shook so powerfully Hermione was thrown off her feet. Her head struck the ground, and pain caused her occlumency walls to waver. The dazed, drugged sensation seeped into her consciousness as she pushed herself to her feet. She shook her head, blinking and trying to clear her mind. There was a sharp, painful ringing in her ears that muted all other sound. She glanced back at the lab before bolting towards the anti-apparition point.
She had made it fifty feet when a freezing despair came over her.
She stumbled and faltered.
Harry had died.
All the grief abruptly struck her like a tidal wave.
Harry. Padma. Dobby. Everyone.
Everyone.
Everything she'd done. None of it mattered.
It had all been pointless.
Harry's blank eyes as he was struck with Killing Curse after Killing Curse.
Ron screaming. Throwing himself towards his best friend desperately.
"Is Parv—?"
Colin's screaming as he was flayed on the hospital bed.
There was no point.
"We had a good run, Granger, but we were never meant to last."
She stood in the heath and shook.
A tidal wave of death washed over her.
They were all going to die.
She sank to the ground. She was so cold, and everything hurt.
She pressed her hand against her chest and tried to breathe.
"You must know, you're reaching the point where the damage is becoming irreversible."
All the memories she tried to hide from. All the screaming and dying. The putrid, tongue-curdling smell of gangrene and rot. Burning flesh. Bowels and insects and poisoned blood. Clawed hands gripping blindly towards her— "Help." "Kill me." "Please." "Make it stop."
Her whole body ached with cold, as though there was frost spreading across her fingers.
She wanted to die.
Draco.
"You're mine. I'll always come for you."
She stilled. She'd told him she'd be waiting for him.
If she didn't go back, he'd return to find a mess of hastily assembled explosives and her scrawled note on the table. I love you. I love you. I love you.
She forced her head up and realised there were Dementors, filling the sky and closing in on her.
She gripped her wand and tried to stand. She couldn't cast a patronus. She had to run.
She stumbled to her feet and then collapsed again, shivering violently.
The descending Dementors were gathered so closely around her they blocked out all light.
She pushed herself up again, racking her mind for something to use. Something that wasn't poisoned by the war.
"I'm going to take care of you. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. You don't have to be lonely. Because you're mine."
It wasn't happy. She wasn't sure what it was. But it was hers, a promise Draco had made to her. She had to get back to him. He was hers. She'd earned him. She'd promised she'd be waiting for him.
She couldn't die. She couldn't leave him behind. He'd crawl through hell to get her back.
Her skin was burning from the agonizing cold. She pushed herself up and pointed her wand towards the Dementors closing in on her.
"Expecto Patronum!" She poured every drop of emotion she had into the spell.
White light exploded from her wand, growing larger and larger until her patronus fully corporealised.
Not her otter.
Not a blur.
Hermione stared up as a full sized Antipodean Opaleye emerged from her wand. It filled the sky. It threw back its head, roaring and unfurling enormous wings. It opened its mouth, and white flames poured from it.
The Dementors retreated up into the sky, but the dragon flew after them in pursuit, driving the Dementors higher and higher until they doubled back and flew down towards the field.
Hermione stood up and watched them approach as she slashed her wand upwards.
Dementors may not die, but they could surely burn.
The fiendfyre curse, an inferno of molten flame poured from her wand, twisting and writhing as it morphed and corporealised into dozens of chimeras as the Dementors flew down, fleeing from her patronus. As the Dementors neared the ground, Hermione directed her wand skyward and the fiendfyre roared up, morphing into a wall of flame.
The whole sky was filled with screaming, burning Dementors being set aflame and eaten as the fiendfyre shifted and morphed into an enormous glowing dragon.
Hermione watched for only a moment before she ended the spell and turned to run as the burning Dementors dropped screaming from the glowing sky.
She made it a dozen yards when something tackled her to the ground. She kicked herself free and snarled a curse before the attacking vampire managed to bite her. It collapsed to the ground as she scrambled up.
She was halfway to her feet when a hag suddenly leapt toward her face. Hermione threw herself to the side, casting a disembowelment hex as she did so. The field was filling with dark creatures. An army of them had descended on her while she'd been trying to escape the Dementors.
She paused until they were close and then slammed her wand into the ground, liquefying the earth around herself and watching as hags, vampires, and werewolves were swallowed by it. Before they could swim to the surface, she cancelled the curse and flung herself toward the edge of the wards again.
Someone struck her from behind. She went flying and twisted, rolling, catching herself and then finding her feet, using the last bit of momentum to help her regain her balance. She cast a bombarda maxima without looking to see who she was attacking.
A young werewolf looked down and found himself with his stomach blown open. He dropped to the ground. With his lycanthropy, he would probably manage survive. She sent several rapid slicing hexes at the throats of hags and werewolves that had gotten too close.
As she was turning to run again—
"Expelliarmus!"
Her wand was wrenched away as the force of the spell flung her backwards. She landed heavily, and her head clipped a stone. Her vision swam, and black spots flashed in front of her eyes as she dazedly pushed herself up and looked in the direction her wand had gone.
Graham Montague was standing fifteen feet away, staring at her. Her wand in his hand.
"Today is my day, I'll say. It feels like only yesterday I saw you," he said, smiling. His expression was gloating and intensely unnerving. "I didn't expect to find you this quick."
He gestured towards the smoking ruins of the lab and the burning Dementors still falling from the sky. "Manage all this by yourself?"
Hermione didn't move; her eyes were fastened on her wand.
"Fuck. I bet I'll get my Mark for bagging you." He looked back at her and then grinned as he gripped her wand in both hands and snapped it in half.
She stared in horror.
Without a wand, she couldn't apparate.
"Come on," Montague pointed his wand at her and beckoned towards himself. The dark beings were gathered around him. "Don't make this any harder for yourself. Come here, Mudblood."
Hermione's eyes swept across the field as she tried to calculate what to do.
She slumped, curling her shoulders submissively inwards as she slipped a knife out of the inner pocket of her cloak.
She walked hesitantly towards Montague and all the dark beings flanking him. A werewolf stepped forwards and started to seize her arm.
Hermione struck.
Her knife flashed. She cut off the hand and gutted the werewolf.
She'd healed enough hag injuries to know exactly what knife wounds couldn't be fixed.
She dropped as a curse came streaking towards her, lunging for Montague. He was the closest person with a wand in his hand.
A hag leapt for her throat, and Hermione spun and buried her knife in its throat, before rushing towards Montague again.
Montague's eyes widened in fear, and he tried to curse her. He was a far slower duelist than Draco. Sloppy and imprecise. She dodged the first curse. And the second. A purple curse clipped her cloak and caught her in the stomach. She kept moving towards him until he fell back, tripping as he tried to get away from her.
Flipping the knife in her hand, she flung it at him, aiming for the center of his chest.
He cast a shield, but the magical blade sliced through it and sank to the hilt in his left shoulder. She'd barely missed his heart.
Hermione pulled out her second knife.
His expression grew terrified.
"Avada Kedavra!" He tried to cast the curse, but only sparks appeared.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Nothing.
"Crucio!"
The red curse missed her. He cast again.
As she buried her knife between his ribs, he jabbed her in the throat with his wand.
"Crucio!"
Her hold on the knife loosened, and she dropped to the ground, screaming. Her hands spasmed, and she writhed. The agony tore through every nerve. Her throat was being ripped apart. Her nerves mangled and flayed. The taste of blood filled her mouth. Pain. Nothing but utter pain.
Finally, it stopped.
Hermione forced her eyes open and watched Montague drop to his knees, bleeding heavily from his side and shoulder. He appeared to be on the verge of passing out. His wand was dangling loosely from his fingers.
Hermione sobbed and gasped through her teeth as she shakily tried to roll over.
Get his wand. Get his wand.
Her muscles twitching and contracting as she dragged herself up.
"You fucking bitch... Stupefy!"
✤
She woke to screaming.
She was on the ground, and her muscles spasmed and felt badly torn as she forced herself to sit up. She was in a large cage filled with more than a dozen other people, including a few she recognised vaguely.
It was nightfall, and the only illumination was torchlight, flickering orange. She could smell blood and Dark Magic. The screaming kept going on and on. There was laughter too. Cruel, taunting, hysterical peals of laughter.
She looked around and realised she was at Hogwarts. There were dozens of huge cages crammed with people scattered across the grounds of Hogwarts around the base of the Astronomy Tower. The screams were coming from the tower.
She looked up.
Hanging fifteen feet above the ground Molly Weasley was screaming, sobbing, and writhing where she hung from her wrists. Arthur screamed in agony beside her. A curse was slicing him apart, bit by bit.
"Please! Not him!! Hurt me! He doesn't understand!! Please don't do this to him!" Molly's voice was broken as she begged.
There were pieces of meat dangling from chains around Molly. Hermione squinted in the low light.
Severed arms.
A torso.
George's head.
Her throat contracted, and she doubled over and vomited so violently there was a tearing pain through her back as her body convulsed.
She looked up again as she wiped her mouth.
Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George were all dead, in pieces that dangled from the chains. Ron was still alive. Barely alive. Tonks was dead, her organs hanging down from her body. Remus hung beside her, so mangled he was surely dead too.
Above the Weasleys, Remus and Tonks, there was another figure. A skeletal corpse.
Hermione's fingers spasmed as she gripped the bars.
"Is—is that Harry?" she choked out.
"Yes," a girl nearby said dully. Hermione thought her name might have been Mafalda. "When You-Know-Who stopped using Killing Curses, he cast a spell, and Harry started rotting. He put him up there—so we'd all see it happen. And all his closest friends too. They've been torturing them for hours now."
Arthur's screams were growing fainter.
"Please!! Don't hurt him. Arthur. Arthur." Molly kept sobbing and begging as she tried to reach him.
Hermione's fingers twitched, and she tucked her chin down and looked away from the tower.
Her cloak was gone, her necklace, her bracelet. She'd been stripped and redressed into a thin grey dress; even her hairpins and hair ties had been removed. Draco's ring still glittered on her hand.
"Malfoy!"
The blood in her veins ran cold, and she stiffened and turned. There were crowds and tents interspersed among the cages. Death Eaters, guards, and Ministry Officials were mingling and drinking. A Death Eater stepped forward and shot a curse up at the bodies hanging from the Astronomy Tower. There was drunken, braying laugher.
A few men were leering into the cages.
"You're sweet. Perhaps the Dark Lord will give you to me as a favour," a Death Eater was crooning as he tried to grab one of the prisoners through the bars.
"Malfoy!"
Hermione looked for Draco. She saw Lucius approaching instead.
"We thought you and the others might miss the whole celebration," a ragged voice called out.
Hermione huddled low to the ground and averted her eyes as Lucius came closer. Her ears were still ringing from the explosion. She held her breath and strained to hear.
"The Dark Lord required my presence," Lucius said, his voice was an unnerving, caressing drawl. "There was—an unexpected situation."
Hermione felt her throat close. Draco.
The other voice dropped lower. "Sussex?"
"Indeed," Lucius said quietly. "The Dark Lord is keen to keep it quiet. Only his most trusted."
Hermione slumped in relief. Not Draco.
"Is it true then? Everyone?" The ragged voice was persistent.
"Did I not just say it's being kept quiet? Do you want to know what the Dark Lord does not wish to be known?" There was a singsong quality within the softness of Lucius' voice. "When he is concerned about spies in our midst? I should hate for him to learn you were heard prying. I still shudder to think of what happened to poor Rookwood last week."
"I didn't—I only meant to—polite inquiry was all I meant by it. Look! I save something for you. There were plenty who wanted to finish him, but I said you deserved the honors. Look, he's still alive."
Hermione glanced up and saw Lucius and the other Death Eater looking up at the Astronomy Tower.
Arthur had gone still, and Molly's screams had turned to quiet sobs.
"Still a few of them alive." The ragged-voiced Death Eater shot a curse at Remus, and Remus' body jerked and then went limp again. "That one won't die. No matter what we throw at him. Regrown his organs twice now." He sniggered. "Then there's the mum. She screams louder for her spawn than when you crucio her. But I saved the best for you. Potter's best friend, the one who was always with him. I made sure no one killed him."
"How very thoughtful you are, Mulciber." Lucius crooned the words as he studied the Weasleys overhead.
His face grew drawn and thoughtful. His features were almost skeletal, the skin tightly pulled over his skull, and the hollows of his cheeks and eye sockets were sunken, almost black holes in the darkness and flickering torchlight. "I had hoped to have more time to savor the experience—but the Dark Lord wants them dead before the day's end." Lucius' voice was wistful. "I have devoted some thought to just how I should go about it."
A sickly yellow curse shot from Lucius' wand and struck Ron on the side of the head. Ron's body started jerking, and his eyes widened and bulged out, as though he were suffocating.
"Don't—" the word was halfway to Hermione's lips before she bit it back.
Lucius' grey eyes were glittering as he stared up at the bodies strung overhead.
"I made a vow at Narcissa's grave that I would kill every blood traitor in this country. I knew Potter belonged to the Dark Lord, but I hoped to be the one to send the rest of Potter's beloved 'family' after him."
Lucius flourished his hand, but the movement was spasmodic, as though it were a tic he had. His expression tightened as he stared up at Ron and, with a wave of his wand, ended the curse suffocating him. Ron gasped raggedly. His chest heaving. His eyes deadened.
Lucius waved his wand in lazy spirals and spoke slowly. "Burning is a particularly painful death. The Muggles used to burn witches. Burn them until there was nothing left to recover. All I have of my wife is an empty tomb. There was nothing left of her. Although I looked—many times." His hand flourished again.
"It's fitting, I think, that you know the pain she did." He raised his wand. "This is for my wife."
A dark green curse flew up and struck Ron on his foot. Smoke curled up, and Ron flung his head back and screamed as it spread up his leg.
Hermione's body shook; her throat contracted as she tried not to vomit. She knew the curse. It turned blood to molten lead inside the body. It was a slow curse. She pressed herself against the far side of the cage and tried not to sob.
Lucius threw back his head and laughed.
Molly jerked and roused herself. "Please. No! Not my son. Please don't hurt my son!!"
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears, but she couldn't block out Ron and Molly's screams. Or Lucius' laughter.
The screaming was gradually growing quieter when something warm and cloyingly sweet met Hermione's nose. Her eyes snapped open to find Dolores Umbridge's face merely inches from hers, studying Hermione with vicious glee through the bars of the cage.
Umbridge was flanked by several guards.
"I believe I recognize that deceitful little face." Umbridge gestured to a guard. "You, open it and grab her."
There was the shriek of the cage door, and a hard hand caught hold of Hermione's arm and dragged her out. Fingers tangled in her hair as her head was wrenched cruelly back.
Umbridge gave another small laugh, and it ghosted across Hermione's face, warm and sugary as though she'd been eating candy only a moment before.
"It is you. I would know that filthy face of yours anywhere. I haven't forgotten you." Umbridge's eyes were glinting. She gestured over her shoulder. "Make a note. I want her transferred to Sussex, next batch they ask for, top of the list, for Dolohov personally." She leaned closer to Hermione, and her voice was almost a whisper. "He's always looking for new toys to break."
One of the guards coughed slightly. Umbridge looked sharply at him.
"Warden, Sussex is—they're saying it's permanently out of commission—due to the—the accident there. And Dolohov's—dead."
Hermione felt a flush of triumph through her terror as Umbridge's face fell.
She'd hoped Dolohov would die. The only person she hated more than Antonin Dolohov was Voldemort.
"It's confirmed then?" Umbridge's voice was sharp.
The guard gave a reluctant nod.
Umbridge sighed and looked disappointed. "Pity."
She jabbed her wand against Hermione's sternum. "Crucio."
Hermione screamed, and her legs gave out. The hand in her hair held her in place. Her body was bathed in agony until her muscles began spasming so violently she thought her tendons might snap. She screamed until her throat was stripped raw and her voice faded into sobs; she hung in place as her body jerked and spasmed violently.
The spell didn't stop.
Hermione could feel her brain scrabbling to escape; to break free of the agony. Just break. Just break.
No. She couldn't.
"I am not fragile. I am not going to break. Please believe that about me."
She hung in place, shaking in agony.
The spell finally stopped. Hermione was dropped heavily to the ground, her muscles still twitching. She felt as though she'd been torn into pieces. Whimpering sobs came from low in her spasming chest.
She forced her eyes open and stared up. She could see the Astronomy Tower over Umbridge's shoulder; Molly was dying.
Umbridge studied Hermione on the ground and gestured over her shoulder again. "I want this one, once her magic is suppressed. I imagine she'll require my thorough interrogation. Put her back."
Umbridge giggled and began turning to leave.
Thorfinn Rowle paused as he was passing by. "You can't have that one, Warden." His voice was slurred, and he gestured jerkily towards where Hermione lay on the ground. "I helped bring her from Sussex after they caught her. The Dark Lord said he wants her kept intact in case he decides to interrogate her himself. It's on the transfer paperwork."
Through the agony and shock her body was going into from the torture, Hermione felt her blood run cold.
Umbridge's expression fell. "But they die so quickly when he does it."
Rowle straightened and narrowed his eyes. "Doubting me, Warden? I can call the Dark Lord here, if you doubt the paperwork."
Umbridge gulped, and her chin wobbled as she shook her head rapidly. "No. No. I would never disobey the Dark Lord. If he wants her intact, she will, of course, stay intact. This—" she gestured down at Hermione,"—was only a few minutes for her—defiance. I would never question orders from someone as important as yourself. My disappointment got the better of me." Her voice grew simperingly sweet. "After all, you—are one of the Dark Lord's most trusted."
Rowle squared his shoulders, and his barrel-chest rose. He looked at Hermione and nudged her with his boot. "I doubt she matters. He's got dozens more important—terrorists he plans to interrogate—if she ends up forgotten—" He shrugged. "No one will care what you do with her then."
He gave a barking laugh and continued on his way.
Umbridge looked back at Hermione in silence for several moments. "When her magic is suppressed, I'll take care of her personally. We do want to be sure we follow our orders to the letter and she stays intact ."
Hermione was pulled off the ground and thrown heavily back into the cage.
She curled tightly on the ground as her body kept spasming and jerking, but she barely noticed. She was frozen with terror.
Voldemort had marked her for his personal interrogation. The mere thought had her more panic-stricken than anything Umbridge might want to do to her.
Her mind was filled with memories of Draco.
It was an almost impossible number of memories to try to occlude or misdirect from.
If ever you're under interrogation by a truly accomplished legilimens, you'll never keep them out with the sheer strength of your mental walls. If you were a minor member in the Resistance, they'd probably just kill you rather than go to the effort of getting in. But you're an Order member. Potter's Golden Girl.
...If I hadn't gotten you I would never have had a chance to encounter a brain organised like a filing cabinet.
She pressed her twitching fingers against her mouth and crammed herself into a corner of the cage as she struggled not to panic.
"Are you alright? She kept that curse on you for—I don't even know how long." A boy in the cage came over and put a hand on Hermione's shoulder.
"I'm fine. Don't bother me," Hermione said in a tight, shaking voice as she jerked away from the touch. "I need to think."
She drew a deep breath, using her occlumency to force her attention away from the spasming pain in her body.
Voldemort would realise she was an occlumens. He would realise it and then tear her mind to pieces.
He'd find Draco.
Even if her death under interrogation was quick, Draco's punishment for his betrayal would not be.
It would be a worse death than the one she'd tried to save him from by bombing Sussex.
It Voldemort found their relationship, he would likely use Hermione as a means of punishing Draco. That was what he'd done with Narcissa. He'd used what Draco cared about to torture him.
Draco had always been more driven by his fear of what could happen to her than of what Voldemort would do to him.
She had to hide him. Bury the memories so deeply they'd never be found.
A brain organised like a filing cabinet...
She gathered all her carefully, meticulously examined and sorted memories of Draco, Ginny, and the hocruxes, and pushed them as far back in her mind as she could; she placed them in the furthest reaches of her memory; beyond her parents, beyond the very earliest memories she possessed. She pushed them all as far away from her consciousness as was possible.
Then—she hesitated and swallowed nervously, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She squeezed her eyes closed and drew a shuddering breath as she moved through her mind again, tearing down all the walls she had built over the course of the war.
Her neatly compartmentalised life. All her separated emotions and memories. Her grief and devastation over her lost relationships with Harry and Ron. Her bitter, poisonous resentment towards the Order. All the things she'd pushed away and ignored in order to stay focused, to stay on mission. The things she'd hidden away and refused to think about in an effort to stay sane while she kept working.
Colin's death. Colin. The first death. The way he screamed as his skin was sliced off his body, off his face, his eyes. Until he stopped screaming, and Hermione stood there, too devastated and guilt-stricken to look away, as he was carved away into a skeleton. Layer after layer.
All the victims from the first curse division that she'd spent months trying to heal and save. They died. Everyone died. And died. And died. They always died. She tried to save them, but in the end they always died.
Harry had died. Ron. The Weasleys.
Her life was a graveyard.
She pushed it all into the forefront of her mind.
When Voldemort came, all he would find would be the endless death toll of the war, year after year. An unheeded voice in the hospital ward. Just a healer. All the Order meetings when she'd argued for lethal spells and been dismissed and scolded. She wasn't a fighter. Just a healer. What did she know?
Sussex would look like her revenge.
She was lost in her memories when the door of the cage shrieked, and she was roughly dragged out of the cage again. Cold metal clamped around each wrist, and she was pulled towards the castle. Everyone hanging from the Astronomy Tower was dead but Remus.
There was a flash of poisonous green light. As Hermione glanced back, she saw the Killing Curse sailing through the air. Remus finally went fully limp. The last of the Marauders.
She was pulled through the hallways, only half-lucid through the jumble of trauma in her mind and the remaining physical pain from all the cruciatus. The hallways were stripped bare. There were a series of large iron doors that the guard had to pause and unbolt as he dragged her further and further into the bowels of the castle. Down into the dungeons, past the classrooms, past the wall that had concealed the Slytherin common room, through a heavy door into an unfamiliar hallway.
Umbridge was standing by a door. She gave a saccharine smile as she looked Hermione over.
"This is where we kept our problematic prisoners until transfer to Sussex. Without the wards on the castle, we can't be too careful with a prisoner saved for the Dark Lord's exclusive interrogation. I'm sure you'll do quite well here until he thinks to call for you."
Hermione was shoved into a small room, barely illuminated by the torchlight outside the cell. Stone walls. Straw in a corner. A chamberpot in another.
She turned as the door was being swung shut, then it suddenly stopped, and Umbridge stepped through, as though she were re-considering something.
Her eyes ran up and down Hermione.
"We must obey the Dark Lord's commands, mustn't we?" she said in a musing voice as she gestured at Hermione with her wand. "Intact. That's very important. We don't want you sitting down here gibbering like a loon, chattering away to yourself like a filthy little savage. Let's keep you—very quiet." The tip of a wand dug into the dip behind Hermione's jaw, forcing her head up. "Silencio."
Umbridge gave a small giggle, and her cloying, sugary breath brushed across Hermione's face.
"You'll understand soon enough."
Then Umbridge turned and walked out the the cell. The door swung closed with a heavy thud, and in a matter of seconds even the torchlight outside the cell was gone.
Hermione was left in darkness and silence.
She felt her way carefully to the corner with the straw and curled up into a tight ball. Her muscles were burning and spasming painfully. It was freezing in the dungeons, and her clothes were thin.
She kept blinking, and peering into the darkness, hoping that if she waited long enough, eventually she'd be able to make out a faint outline.
There was nothing, nothing but darkness.
Eventually she curled her head down and returned to her occlumency.
Except—it wouldn't—
She tried again but her memories—
Moving through her mind was laborious. As though she was mentally weighted down and she could barely crawl through her mind with occlumency.
She froze with dawning horror. Her twitching fingers went to her wrists, feeling the metal locked around them as she tried to breathe calmly.
It had never occurred to her—with her magic suppressed she'd lost her ability to use occlumency. Her mind was locked in the exact state it was in at the moment the shackles were fastened around her wrists. A sea of trauma at the forefront of her mind, and Draco hidden so far away she could barely draw up a clear memory of him.
She pressed her hands against her mouth and forced herself to breathe.
She inhaled slowly. To a count of four.
Exhale, through her mouth. To a count of six.
In and out.
Again and again.
She forced herself to think carefully. This was for the best. Voldemort would bring her in for interrogation and find a chaotic jumble of memories. If she were careful not to think about Draco, Voldemort might not be able to find him.
She wrapped her hands around her shoulders, shivering in the cold. She just—couldn't think about Draco. Not at all. She couldn't let herself.
Hold on. That was what she had to focus on. Hold on.
Her ring suddenly burned painfully.
Hermione gave a silent gasp and gripped her hand. Her ring burned again and again and again. Then the burning stopped.
Hermione twisted the ring around her finger. Draco might come for her, before Voldemort called her in for interrogation. She had to be ready.
He always came for her.
She couldn't let herself waste away.
"Hold on. Hold on, Hermione," she mouthed the words over and over.
She didn't know if it was merely hours or a day later when her ring burned again. She was in so much pain she barely felt it. Her body was screaming from the muscle damage of the cruciatus and the cold and her hunger. She could barely move.
Regardless of whether she had her eyes opened or closed, all she could see was the dead. Harry dying before her eyes. Over and over. Ron's screams as he died. Colin. Molly and Arthur. The hospital ward. They were at the forefront of her mind, and there was nothing else to think about.
There wasn't any food. There was no water either.
She thought it had been a day, but she had no way to be sure. There was no sound outside, not even monotonous dripping. There was only endless silence and darkness.
Perhaps Umbridge intended to starve her to death.
Her ring burned again hours later, she pressed her hand against her chest. Several hours later she suddenly smelled food and half dragged herself across the floor. She found a plate with bread and some kind of meat and a large bucket of water.
Her muscles were still spasming so badly she nearly dropped the bucket while gulping down water.
After that meals appeared. Randomised. There never seemed to be any set amounts of time between them. Sometimes it felt like days. Other times it seemed like only a few hours had passed.
After what she thought had been a week, her body stopped burning and spasming. She forced herself to get up and explore every inch of the cell with her fingertips. The door was sealed with magic; there was no lock to pick even if she had anything but straw and a chamber pot. She sniffed at the air through the bars on the door in the hopes it might indicate something. The air was stale, wet, cold. Lifeless.
She had hoped that if she just checked carefully enough, she'd find a loose stone in the wall; some secret compartment hiding a nail, or a spoon, or even a bit of rope. Apparently the cell had never held any problematic prisoners for very long. There were no scratches to mark time. No loose stones. Nothing.
Nothing but darkness.
Her ring kept burning. Every time she'd give a small gasp of relief and start crying from the reassurance Draco was still alive somewhere.
Then she'd catch herself sharply. She couldn't think about it. She couldn't let herself think about Draco. If Voldemort got to her first, she couldn't have him in her mind when she couldn't occlude him. She used the barest, smaller bits of magic and pushed her memories of him further out of reach. As though she were an oyster, carefully burying each memory under the tiny layer of occlumency she could wield without activating the magic suppression.
Her ring kept burning, every day, with almost blistering intensity. The fiftieth time it burned, she set her jaw and pulled it off, hiding it carefully in the corner. Before three meals appeared she felt her way back across the cell and put it back on, terrified that if she wasn't wearing it, it would somehow disappear.
It didn't burn again after that. She didn't know if it meant Draco somehow had known she had taken it off.
Or if he'd died.
She huddled in the corner of the cell, feeling the rough texture of stones in the darkness, and tried not to think.
She recited potion recipes in her head. Transfiguration technique. Reviewed runes. Nursery rhymes. Her fingers flicked as she mimicked wand techniques, mouthing the spell inflection. She counted backwards from a thousand by subtracting prime numbers.
She massaged her damaged muscles into compliance and began working through the exercise regime she'd memorised. Push-ups, sit up, burpees. She found that she could slot her feet through the bars of the cell door and do crunches while hanging upside down. She taught herself to do handstands.
It helped turn her mind off. Counting. Pushing herself to new physical limits. When her arms and legs turned to jelly, she'd slump down into a corner and fall into a dreamless sleep.
It was the only way to make the end of the war stop playing in front of her eyes.
Hold on, Hermione, she kept reminding herself when she was so cold and broken-hearted she didn't want to go on anymore. All there was in her head was death. Everyone screaming.
Sometimes she'd press both hands against the stones, draw her head back, and prepare to smash her forehead into the wall in the hopes of making it all stop.
But she always held herself back and then drew away.
"Hold on. You promised you wouldn't break."
She couldn't always remember why.
When she did remember, she pushed the thought away and forced herself to do something else. Calculate the cubic feet of her cell. More push-ups. Could she count backwards from a thousand all the way to zero before her next meal appeared if she doubled the subtracted number each time? Two thousand? She'd keep going until she was too tired to think anymore and then huddle in a corner and trace her fingers along the walls.
The walls were the only things she always knew she could find in the dark
"Someone will come for you. Someone always comes for you."
No one came.
Everyone was dead. She'd seen them die. No one was going to come for her.
The walls of her cell were all she had.
Everything else was darkness.