Chapter Text
Disclaimer: I own nothing
"Hermione," he whispered, softly trailing his fingers down her cheek. "Are you sure?" he asked, looking deeply into her coffee colored eyes.
She nodded, her expression filled with worry.
He entered her swiftly, feeling her thin barrier tear and her unused muscles stretch.
She gasped and tightened her grip on his bare shoulders. "You okay?" he asked, suddenly uncertain.
She blinked back the tears and nodded, giving him a small reassuring smile. "I'm okay," she repeated back to him.
OoO
She sat outside, transfiguring trees and other plant life into household décor for practice, pensive about what had happened earlier.
She was glad it was Ronald. They weren't in love nor were they together in a romantic sense, but since they'd gone on the run, she'd felt this overwhelming urge to experience some elements of life; mental life-milestones that she felt she should experience.
They were going to die soon, she was sure of it, though she would never say that to Harry or Ron, but she felt it in her bones.
She'd woken up that morning and told Ron what she wanted. He was surprised at first, but happily agreed.
He had been tender and careful and loving. It was nice for a first time, but it had left her wanting.
Her mind drifted to Harry. She'd entertained the idea of asking him, but that seemed strange. He was family to her.
She loved Ron – she loved them both, but Ron was different. He wasn't like her brother the way Harry was. She knew all of his flaws and accepted them and he accepted her and all of her flaws.
She thought about the three of them when they began this hunt and how they would talk about how they were going to defeat the Dark Lord without him even being aware; just three teenagers. Then, before bed, she would sing.
They loved her voice and gushed about how she would become a famous singer when this was all over and how they would be able to tell her fans that they knew her when she was ‘just Hermione Granger, war heroine’. They'd all laugh and drift off to sleep, preparing themselves for the next day.
That rarely happened anymore. The hunt and the Horcrux they alternated wearing took its toll on each of them, lowering their morale and darkening their optimistic view of what the future held.
Hermione could see the sun rising on the horizon. They would need to pack up soon.
Wanting to wash up, she stood and smiled, listening to the soft snores coming from inside the tent. Walking down to the stream, she disrobed and gingerly stepped into the water. It was cold and she shivered; goose flesh pimpled her skin.
Bending her knees, she submerged herself in the cool waters, relishing its ability to wash the fatigue from her limbs, the soreness from between her legs and refresh her mind. She took a deep breath and plunged in completely. It was cold and she had to fight back a yelp when her head was covered.
Under water, she started lathering up. When she stood again, she heard voices. They were coming from the direction of the tent and they weren't familiar. She jumped out of the water and dressed in a flash.
Soaking wet and still a bit soapy, she arrived with clothes clinging to her skin and her hair matted to her head.
"Well, well, well. Wa’ do we ‘ave ‘ere?" the dark haired wizard sneered, his eyes roaming her slender feminine form.
Harry and Ron weren't out yet, but the snoring had stopped. "What do you want?" she snapped in a whisper, standing away from the tent in the hope that they would follow her.
They did, but only so far.
"What's a pre’y li’l girl doin’ in the forest all by ‘er lonesome?" The wizard that spoke was short, round and dirty.
She lifted her eyebrows, feigning superiority. "Bathing. Perhaps you should give it go," she retorted.
In the next instant, she felt immeasurable pain. It was searing and persistent, and flowed through her body at an alarming pace. She collapsed to her knees, and turned towards the mouth of the tent just in time to see Ron and Harry emerge with wands drawn.
She smiled, or what felt like a smile, at her would-be rescuers before her world faded to black.
Hermione woke to the sound of moaning and sniffling. Her entire body was aching and so sore that she slowed her movements in order to give herself time to adjust to the waves of pain. She opened one eye, squinting in preparation for bright light, only to find that she was not in the tent or in the sun with her two friends staring down at her, but instead she was in a dimly lit room.
The walls were stone, with no windows, and one metal door. As her eyes circled the small room, she jerked at the sight of Harry chained to the wall. He was dirty, beaten, bloody, and he was sniffling. Tears were coursing down his cheeks and his lips were chapped and quivering.
"Harry?" she croaked from the floor.
He stopped crying immediately and exhaled in enthusiastic relief. "Oh, thank God! I thought you were dead!" he said from the wall, rattling the chains that bound him.
Just then, Ron groaned and his breath gurgled. Hermione moved quickly, her body screaming at her to slow down. "Ron!" she cried, coming to his side.
He coughed and his eyes fluttered, but he didn't wake.
"What happened?" she asked Harry, her voice not sounding normal.
"We were ambushed. We thought they had killed you," he sobbed, but continued. "There were too many of them." He shook his head in defeat.
She swept Ron's red bangs from his face to assess the damage to his boyish face.
"Do you know where we are?" she asked, turning back to face Harry. She could feel her hair, clumped and stiff from letting it dry and not combing it.
"No," he said. He looked utterly hopeless, which sparked a rage inside of her. How dare he lose hope! She thought violently.
But then he was looking at her again, with those green eyes, pleading and sorrowful. Her anger dissipated and she stood, only wincing slightly at the sore muscles.
"How long have we been here?"
He didn't say anything, just continued to look at her. "Harry!" she hissed. "Think! How long?"
This seemed to get through to him. He pursed his lips and shook his head slowly. "I dunno, maybe a couple days; maybe three."
"Has Ron been unconscious the whole time as well?" she asked.
Again, he shook his head. "No. They've come a few times. They take us upstairs and torture us for entertainment," he spat, giving Hermione a feeling of relief at his still-present fire. "Ron was brought back just a little while ago."
There was more gurgling from the floor, where Ron lay. He coughed and spit up blood.
"'Mione?"
She knelt down. "I'm here, Ron."
"Are you okay?" he asked, opening one eye, though it looked painful. The other was swollen shut.
She was crying. "Yes, Ron, I'm okay. I'm so sorry-" she started to say, but his coughing fit interrupted the apology. When he was done, he said, "Nothing to be sorry for."
She swallowed and looked around for a bed of some type, water perhaps. Harry, reading her thoughts, answered the unasked question. "There's nothing."
Days went by with little to eat, only enough to keep them alive.
The Trio saw the same four Death Eaters daily. She was startled to realize one of them was Severus Snape. The first time she saw him, she gasped, but didn't say anything. The two stared at each other for a few seconds, but then Ron started coughing and the trance was broken.
Severus and the other Death Eaters ignored her for the most part, or at least, they didn't speak to her, but she did notice that they glanced at her much of the time when they came to get one of the boys.
They only ever chained Harry. She didn't think they saw her as a major threat, so they didn't chain her and Ron was too sick, too beaten, to fight back.
The first time she was taken upstairs she was made to watch as they tortured Ron; they never tortured Harry while she was there.
She recognized many of the Death Eaters present: Yaxley, McNair, Bellatrix, Fenrir; those were the ones that made her pulse race with fear.
She was not so out of her mind with fear to observe the way that her Death Eaters, who she now knew were Severus, Antonin Dolohov and the Lestrange brothers, watched her more blatantly than they had previously. Their expressions were stoic, but there was something different about the way they looked at her.
She'd noted that they usually came in after she stopped singing and not a second before.
Rabastan Lestrange seemed nervous when he had to bring her upstairs. She could see that clearly, but he wasn't sneering or malicious towards her.
Rodolphus just looked hard and something else, though she couldn't put her finger on the emotion. It was akin to the way he would look at Rabastan when the Dark Lord called him: worry for his little brother. She thought she was just imagining it.
Hermione was placed on her knees in front of an empty chair. It was a throne really, but still, vacant. She wasn't tortured; unless you counted the ache in her knees and back torture, which, after an hour, she did.
When Antonin came to collect her after what seemed like hours upon hours, she took in his scruffy appearance and morose expression – he looked tired. She realized that they were prisoners here as well, just in a different capacity.
One night, after kneeling for an entire evening, Antonin picked her up to take her down stairs. He was always so gentle with her. Hermione stumbled trying to walk down the stairs, but before she fell, he swept her up and carried her down. She thanked him and made note that he had the prettiest eyes she'd ever seen. Later, she'd shrugged it off as being delusional from hunger and fatigue.
That night, they got an extra piece of bread and some cheese with their paltry meals.
Ron didn't eat, he tried, but he couldn't keep it down. They had been given a large bucket for evacuation purposes and so he had just made it before vomiting.
She was sure the smell inside the bucket made him throw up more, though she didn't say anything about it; only dipped her fingers in the small amount of drinking water and cleaned his lips when he was done. She gave him her water that night and sang him to sleep with his head on her lap for comfort. She'd lost her appetite and gave her food to Harry.
Harry's legs gave out the next day. His wrists were raw from hanging from the shackles, and he just didn't have the energy to stand any longer. Breakfast was served and again they received the extra pieces of bread and some cheese.
Hermione, once again, dipped her fingers into her water and soothed his skinned wrists, helping him to stand. She fed him, as per the usual, and smiled when he indicated that he was done.
The door opened and Antonin and Rabastan walked in. They were looking at Ron.
She panicked. "Take me," she blurted, knowing Ron wasn't strong enough to handle another bout of the Cruciatus curse.
"We were given orders-" Rabastan said, but was interrupted when she flung herself to her knees and bowed her head at his feet. "Please, take me. He'll die…"
Another man stepped forward, one who she knew to be Rabastan's older brother, Rodolphus. "Take her. He doesn't care, he's just bored. I'll look after Mr. Weasley," he said. His voice was deep and calm, almost sad.
Antonin nodded and gave Rabastan a short glance. If she hadn't been feeling so forlorn, Rabastan's next action, or rather, the manner in which it was carried out, would have shocked her into speechlessness.
As it were, he bent down and carefully, gently, wrapped his large hands around her upper arms and pulled her up. "Granger," he whispered to get her attention. Not Mudblood; he had called her Granger.
She lifted her head and let him pull her to her feet. The look in his eyes made her mind reel: fear, compassion, and tenderness swirled in the oceanic depths.
Her face shot to his brother's and the man, who had previously scared the living daylights out of her, gave her a brief nod. In that one moment, these pureblood supremacists let her know that they were no longer on opposite sides; the brief nod let her know that they would not harm Harry or Ron whilst she was away, nor would they harm her.
Rabastan helped her up the stairs. Half way up he stated, "You have a lovely voice."
This was turning out to be the strangest day; it was surreal. "Thank you," she replied, furrowing her brows in confusion.
Not wanting it to be the end of the conversation, he spoke again. "We heard you singing to the blood traitor."
"We?" she asked not commenting on the reference to Ron.
He nodded. "Rodolphus and I, Dolohov and Snape," he told her. "Are you feeling better with the extra food?" he asked in a whisper.
She nodded, near tears for his kindness. "Thank you," she said in a shaky voice.
"Is there- Is there anything else I can…" he was going to ask her what else he could do, but she stopped him by squeezing the hand holding hers. "Unless you want to carry a bath tub filled to the brim with scalding hot water and a ton of soap, no. But, thank you," she said and offered him a small smile.
They reached the top of the stairs; all the while he had had one hand warming the small of her back and the other holding her hand, steadying her gait. It was a very kind gesture in Hermione's mind and she wondered if he was a gentleman with all the ladies. He was certainly handsome enough to have witches throwing themselves at him.
She then chided herself; he probably was, pureblood wizards were, if anything, gentlemen -just not to her.
They stopped when they reached the large room with a large chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Rabastan bowed and left her to stand alone.
"Ah, Miss Granger, I wasn't expecting you," the Dark Lord said, eyeing Antonin Dolohov and Rodolphus Lestrange. Voldemort's tone promised punishment for the rich purebloods for not bringing the requested individual.
She felt the sudden urge to protect them. "It was me! I wouldn't let them take Ron," she exclaimed.
She could feel all eyes on her, boring into her very soul. Bellatrix quickly walked forward and backhanded Hermione. "You dare speak to our Lord, filthy Mudblood!"
Hermione stumbled, but didn't fall. She whipped her face around and glared at the crazy witch; anger and hatred filling her eyes.
The red eyes of the Dark Lord watched, interested in Hermione's reaction and the flicker of silver in her eyes at the moment. The air in the room changed. It was subtle, but Lord Voldemort felt it.
He spoke with a smirk, ignoring the assault by the Lestrange witch. "You?" he drawled.
Hermione nodded confidently and jutted her chin in defiance.
Surprising the entire room of Death Eaters, he laughed. It was heavy and deep and chilling. "You didn't let them take the blood traitor? A slip of a girl didn't let three of my most feared Death Eaters take Mr. Weasley!" The last was an incredulous statement of knowing disbelief.
Hoping to end his humor, she squared her shoulders and hissed, "Well, this slip of a girl effectively downed three grown Death Eaters my fifth year and evaded you and your minions for months!"
Severus Snape was watching from the shadows and had he not been so worried for her welfare, he would have rolled his eyes at her bravado.
That statement made her captor laugh even louder. "Severus, you didn't tell me that the lovely Mudblood was such a ball of fire; how entertaining."
Severus stepped out of the shadows and bowed. "Forgive me, My Lord, I didn't find it very entertaining while facilitating a class," he drawled.
"No, I guess you would not."
"Young Master Malfoy, come forward," Voldemort directed.
Hermione watched Draco swallow and bow in front of him. Draco's back was to her, but she thought she noticed his hands shaking slightly. "Yes, My Lord?"
"You've spoken of her quick mind and how she bested you in your studies, but you failed to mention how very attractive she is. Why is that?" he asked, his red eyes never leaving her brown ones.
Draco was stumped. He'd always felt a pull towards her, but he didn't understand why.
He was not attracted to her romantically and her status as a Muggle-born disallowed any civil discussions to get to know her.
As he got older, he tired of the fighting and wanted to speak with someone who shared his academic pursuits; he wanted to befriend her. Sometimes that urge was so strong that he wished for death to release him from the obligations of his heritage.
And then she'd disappeared.
He hadn't seen her in over a year and in that time, she had matured more than he had ever thought possible.
He was jarred out of his conundrum when the Dark Lord spoke again. "Do you fancy her?" It was a leading question.
"Not particularly, My Lord," he answered, hoping that would suffice.
He watched the Dark Lord give a poignant look to his father, Antonin Dolohov, and Rodolphus Lestrange and then back to Draco.
Draco remained silent.
The Dark Lord sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Alas, I was looking forward to entertainment from the redhead. His cries send my spirits soaring." He said this staring at Hermione, who was fisting her small hands and clenching her jaw in anger.
"But since Miss Granger wouldn't let him be taken…" He chuckled at the thought and then, just like that, he stopped. "I am no longer in the mood for that type of distraction."
She relaxed infinitesimally. Though, his abrupt mood swing left her a little dizzy, she was glad he wasn't in the mood.
Voldemort waved her away and Antonin was at her side in a flash with Rodolphus and Snape, ready to take her back downstairs. "Let's go," Antonin said quietly, stiffly taking her elbow.
The gentleness with which they handled her made her heart melt. These were not the men she had grown to hate and fear. These men were something different.
"Thank you," she whispered as her breath hitched.
Antonin nodded to her, but didn't reciprocate.
Her legs almost gave out going downstairs, but Rabastan and Antonin caught her and Antonin ended up carrying her, once again, bridal style the rest of the way.
She was so tired; she dropped her head onto his chest and was almost asleep when she heard the metal door open. "We're here, Granger," Rabastan said, his voice filled with regret.
She nodded. "Thank you, again, all of you."
Severus spoke, leaning in and looking her in the eyes. "I'll try to get you some tea with honey, Miss Granger. Until then, keep your head up," he said, tapping the bottom of her chin with his finger.
Her eyes welled up at his words and she nodded, unable to speak.
"Rodolphus fixed a pallet for Mr. Weasley. We couldn't bring more blankets as they would be missed, but it'll do," Rabastan added.
She turned to look at Ron. He was lying on top of a thin pallet with some rough looking blankets, but he was clean and looked warm, resting peacefully. She was almost jealous of the fact that he was clean.
Her breath hitched again and she nodded her thanks. "There's nothing we can do for Potter," Severus said with an edge to his voice. Hermione chose to ignore it; some feelings just didn't go away overnight.
She took his hands and squeezed them affectionately, then looked at Rodolphus with appreciation at his act of kindness. She found him the most interesting. He was married to a woman who had tortured Hermione, but still, he treated her with care.
Antonin was interesting as well, he hadn't spoken to her yet, though the way he touched her and the emotion in his eyes when he looked at her was intoxicating, soft, caring, loving and just generally sweet. He was a contradiction. She knew he was one of the most feared, and that he was the one who held her during the Department of Mysteries, but even then, he'd only been rough in voice; his touch had been gentle, but firm.
They left with a parting glance at her seated on the hard floor next to Weasley. She had started to quietly sing. They waited by the outside of the door, listening to the caged songbird inside. Her voice was like a warm balm, soothing frayed nerves and raw emotion. It called to their souls like nothing ever had. It was strange the way she affected them all.
Antonin would need to think on this.
Severus and Rodolphus just felt off balance. This was not normal for them, this feeling of compassion, and yearning.
Rabastan was eager to get to know her, and scared that she would be taken away. The pull he felt was palpable.
Once the door closed, Harry spoke, "Consorting with the enemy?"
She frowned and stopped singing. "They brought us more food, Harry, and made a bed for Ron," she pleaded, a little annoyed at his rancor.
"You look well. Tell me, what kind of torture did they perform?" he asked, quirking a brow lasciviously.
Her frown deepened. "What are you on about, Harry?"
"The way that the Lestranges were looking at you and the way Snape practically drooled over you; I think maybe they fancy you. Perhaps, you fancy them, too?"
She chose not to respond to those allegations and instead, dropped her head back against the cold concrete stone and closed her eyes. Singing always made her feel better.
She must have drifted off, because the door opened and Harry was dropped inside the cell. He had no bruising and no cuts. He wasn't sweating or panting in pain. He was just being roughly treated.
Rodolphus was looming at the door, staring down at the boy-who-lived with an expression of distaste.
It softened when he spied her open eyes. "Miss Granger, you should eat," he softly admonished.
She looked to where he had indicated and found a tray with bread, cheese, water, and hot tea with honey, waiting for her under a Stasis Charm.
Harry had his own tray with the same thing, excepting the tea.
She immediately turned and woke Ron enough to force him to drink some of her water.
Harry scoffed and she looked up sharply at him.
Before laying into her best friend, formerly known as the boy who was like a brother to her, she looked at the large wizard still standing at the door. "Thank you," she said.
He tilted his head at her. "You're welcome." He shut the door and waited outside, hoping to hear her yell at the Potter boy.
She didn't disappoint.
"What's your problem?" she asked, failing to keep her tone even and herself calm.
Her anger made Harry angrier. "My problem is that I'm here, in this cell, with you and Ron! I am chained to this bloody wall and must watch while you bat your eyelashes at Death Eaters like a bitch in heat and then fuss over Ron!"
Rodolphus palmed his wand and lurched forward, but was stopped by a grip to his arm. He turned angrily to confront the person who dared to man handle him. He relaxed momentarily; it was Severus. "You mustn't," he said quietly.
She stared dumbfounded at the wizard who she loved like family. "You're jealous," she whispered incredulously. She started to laugh, not believing that after everything that had happened, everything that they had gone through; Harry was jealous that she was attending to others. She just could not believe it.
"I- I soothe your wrists, I feed you and I-" She shook her head. She didn't know what else to say. The previous laughter had transitioned to tears.
"You didn't pick ME!" he yelled all of a sudden.
She was appalled. They were at the mercy of the Dark Lord and Harry fucking Potter was mad that she had chosen Ron to take her virginity.
In another time, in another place, with other people surrounding them, she could fathom this conversation, but here, now, with Voldemort upstairs, she couldn't.
So, she didn't.
Shaking her head, and with uneven breath, she scooted back towards the corner and sat cross-legged, letting her head fall back to close her eyes and sing to herself. Before she drifted off, she heard his chains rattling and him yelling at her to wake up and talk to him.
Snape and Rodolphus just looked at each other. "You think she and the Weasel are together?" Rodolphus asked not liking the idea of that and not understanding why.
In fact, he felt somewhat repulsed at being attracted to a nineteen year old girl.
Never mind that she was a Gryffindor.
Never mind that she was a Muggle-born witch.
Never mind that she was best friend to Harry Potter… though, if she ever discovered the Potter boy's secret, Rodolphus could line through that last item.
"What'll she do if she finds out?" Rodolphus asked.
This time Antonin answered and startled the two men huddling in the dark, like children spying on their parents. "You mean wen she vinds out," he said, his accent thick.
Severus nodded in agreement. "She's a clever one. She'll put two and two together soon enough; that is, if she doesn't get herself killed," he drawled.
Potter was still raging, but they heard nothing from her. They soon left, each lost in his own thoughts.
OoO
Something wasn't right. Harry was seething, hanging from the iron restraints and glaring at her, but silent. The room was dimly lit as usual and she wondered randomly if her eyes would ever adjust to the sunlight again. She smiled, thinking of the sunlight warm on her face, and then frowned.
She couldn't hear gurgled breathing. She couldn't hear anything. The room was quiet, with the exception of the occasional clink from Harry's chains.
Her eyes bolted to Ron's still body. He was pale, and the skin below his eyes were shadowed with a blue tint. His lips were parted, dry and not moving. She half-crawled half-slid to his side and checked his pulse.
Nothing.
She started screaming, "Ron! Ron! Wake up, Ron!"
She was shaking his heavy limp body with as much strength as she could muster and wailing for him to wake up, teasing him with everything and anything she could think of.
"Ron! Ron, please, Lavender misses you! Wake up, Ronald Weasley, right this minute!" she said the last with a firm tone. He had always responded to the mothering tone.
He didn't move. He was dead. He'd taken his last breath while she slept.
She sobbed and pulled his dead weight, so that she could hug his shoulders. She was rocking and holding him and crying. "No, no, no, no, Ron," she'd say between violent catches in her breath.
In tears, she buried her face in his neck, and that's how they found her, hunched over his still form, sobbing and rocking.
Harry hadn't said a word.