Sins of the Father

A/N: Sorry for the lapse in updates. I had a horrible virus on my computer that put it out of commission for about two weeks, just in time for finals! But I am back and have the whole summer to work on this piece, so yay! This chapter is much shorter then any of the others and it is just an interlude, but I hope you enjoy it none the less!!


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Days were passing, the sun slipping behind the earth and the moon dying in the dark night on an endless loop. Time seemed to stand completely still and yet it breathed in this place, stretching itself beyond all boundaries.

There was a stillness in the air, a heavy weight that pressed itself down, a weight that cracked ribs and stole breaths, squeezing out and extinguishing life.

The Burrow was becoming a ghost of itself.

Remus sat at the kitchen table staring blankly at the wall. It had been like this the first time Hermione had been taken from them, the dawning horror as they realized they couldn’t do anything for her, the creeping silence of the house bringing back those painful memories. His gut clenched when he thought about what she was going through, of the stories and memories she had imprinted on him. He knew Hermione was strong, being a lot stronger them most gave her credit for. What she told him had been monstrous though and Remus wasn’t sure if she could survive being a prisoner of the Death Eaters again.

He wasn’t sure if she could live through the torment again.

. . . the blood was so red where it splashed against the cold stone floor, leaking into the gray creaks and crevices. It was so bright, so fresh and candy-apple red and there was just so much of it, it seemed to perpetually leak from her body, making her wonder how there were any drops left in her at all. It felt as though her body would just stop producing the viscous fluid, her heart would tire out from trying to pump into her limbs and organs, and she would die here. She would die here and no one would know. Her friends, loved ones, everyone she knew and cared for. They wouldn’t know.

Her heart would stop, her flesh grow cold, and she would die, no one even knowing where she was. She would truly and finally be alone.

Her back began to itch and burn. She opened her eyes to see Malfoy’s face, laughing above her. He had stopped pumping into her and just laid there above her now, watching her face.

That’s when she felt it; the familiar feeling of the flesh on her back knitting itself together. It was a popular spell for them, one that fixed the skin of their still living prisoners so they could continue their tortures. The burning and itching was her skin closing back up, the wounds that were products of being scrapped against the jagged stones mending together. She knew her flesh would soon be whole again and Malfoy would wait for her to nearly fully recover before beginning his torture once more.

Malice and something darker, more evil, awaited for her in his eyes as he saw the recognition of all this and more flash through her eyes.

He was far from done and she was about to feel the brunt of his power once more . . .

Remus was brought back from the memories and pain she had given him by Harry sitting down across from him. The strain of his friend’s disappearance was showing on his face. It reminded him of when James and Lily had died and he had been forced to face everything on his own; that hollow, empty look that only the loss of a deeply love one could bring and only time could fix. The Order was almost positive that Hermione still lived, sure that if Voldemort had killed her he would have proclaimed it far and wide. That seemed to be the only small glimmer of hope that kept everyone going, kept everyone moving and active.

But even that hope was beginning to wear off.

Remus knew that regardless of if, and when, they found her, Harry would always blame himself for Draco’s deception. He had been the one that had suggested that Draco join the Order, as he could be an agent just like Snape had been, working both sides and getting information for them. He would blame himself no matter what anyone said to him and there was nothing that could be said or done to stop him.

Harry would never be able to forgive himself, even after Hermione was home, safe and alive.

Ron had become a ghost of himself as well. It reminded Remus of how Hermione had been that whole year it took her to recover. He had the same blank, dead look in his eyes that Harry had as well, except there was something else there. An intense melancholia had overtaken him, a depression that couldn’t be shaken from his being.

However, a smoldering rage now burned inside of him that even his mother couldn’t curtail. For the most part, Ron spent his days and nights by himself, a phantom wordlessly wandering through the Burrow. Some days, though, he would be set off and nothing could stop him. His anger would spill forth from him and it was unlike anything they had ever experienced from him. Remus figured that he, too, blamed himself for Hermione’s disappearance. It was the anger that people felt when someone they loved and cared for was gone, when their life was ripped away from them and they no longer had anything to cling too. It was an all encompassing anger that flowed over everything, destroying everyone.

For everyone’s sanity, they had to find Hermione.

And fast.

They knew where she was, but it was impossible to get neat her, ridiculous to think they could. Malfoy Manor was a fortress now, and Remus was sure the Death Eater had stepped up their defensive wards since the raid last year that had saved Hermione and a handful of other prisoners.

The only person they could have used that was keyed into the wards around the Manor was Draco, and that was not an option. Remus was sure that is Draco showed up on their doorstep, he would be Crucio’d and Aveda’d before he could offer any explanation.

Not that Remus was feeling particularly forgiving towards the Malfoy heir.

Harry was staring out the window when he felt Ron enter the room and take a seat next to him. The three men sat in silence, the air holding that kind of stillness that came from the vigilant waiting. Finally, Ron broke the stillness by sighing, clenching his fists as he spoke.

“We’ll find her, Harry.” Bright, glassy green eyes that held unshed tears turned to looked at Remus, and then moved to look over at Ron.

“And if we don’t?” It was the unfathomable question given life, the question that no one wanted to think about. It was the first time those thoughts and feelings had been given life and Remus didn’t like the absolute certainty with which Harry said them.

“We’ll find her, Harry. Even if we have to kill every last one of them, we’ll find her,” Remus and Harry nearly flinched at the palpable anger and malice lacing Ron’s words. Harry saw that Ron’s wand was clenched tightly in his fist and knew, with a certainty that came from knowing Ron since he was eleven, that the red-haired wizard meant every word he was saying. Ron was certain that Hermione would be found and would kill anyone that stopped him from getting her.

Slowly, Harry felt the same feeling of retribution bleeding into him as well. Twin, murderous gazes filled the boys’ eyes and Remus shivered inwardly. War was a horrible thing, and it changed people. People became shadows of themselves and did anything to survive. Still, Remus found himself lamenting for the boys he had once taught, knowing in that moment and with that look trained out the window that their youthful innocence had leeched out of their faces and souls a long time ago, leaving behind young men prepared to do what was needed.

“We’ll find her,” Ron repeated, his wand digging almost painfully into his skin.


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