Of Days and Ends

A/N: The little voice in my head has been amazingly kind this week. We’ve been getting along marvellously, which would explain the quick update. I hope you are happy! Okay, so this chapter is one of those that makes me think nervous thoughts and I have had to really stop myself from editing it out and changing it all from the top, so, as always, just be honest with me. If it’s crap, please let me know.

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Chapter 20—Prison and Torture



“Just once more, Severus. Please explain to me in a way that is concise and understandable. How did you lose possession of your wand?”



Strapped to a chair, it was nearly impossible to do as the Dark Lord wanted. His tongue had swollen in his mouth hours ago, his face was beaten, cut, his jaw was dislocated and possibly broken, his naked chest was covered in his own vomit, at least three ribs were broken, he could hardly breathe, his hair had been cut short, one eye was oozing a pinkish pussy fluid, and his bare feet were freezing cold from days against the cold dungeon floor. Only once before had Snape personally received a punishment this severe and he knew it was because the Dark Lord perceived the use of his wand against him as treason. The only thing keeping him alive was his potions skills.



“Mmm… ooornd… I… ba-lll…”



Voldemort stopped him, “That is not comprehensible, Severus, so your master will show you mercy now and heal your jaw and your tongue and then you will speak.”



When Voldemort was finished, Snape opened his mouth to speak in shallow tones due to his broken ribs. “My lord… I battled for you… the… mudblood bitch… I don’t know how she…” He tried to catch his breath and shouted in surprise at the pain. The serpentine bastard showed no mercy and continued to watch Snape struggle to breathe. Eventually, Snape continued, “I assume… she has a rare… ability to… hold… use… other wands…”



“Could it be another experimental spell?”



Snape could hardly breathe and simply nodded an answer.



Voldemort laughed, “This cunt is more talented than you, but it won’t stay that way. I want you to find a way to give me the same ability, so that I can use it to kill her with her own spell.” Snape felt as though he had been doused in ice suddenly and Voldemort continued, “I’ll even kill her with her own wand! Ssseveruss… I want you to develop that spell within six monthsssss.”



“My lord, I don’t think—”



“Shut it.” Voldemort snapped dangerously low, “It was not a request. It was a direct order, and you will produce that spell within six months.”



“My lord, there is a legend—”



Voldemort raised his wand and swung it like a whip through the air and a thin flame shot out from his wand and it struck Snape across the chest. Snape cried out and fell out of the chair as the ropes tying him broke and his chest was cut. “Get out.” The maniac ordered, and Snape took three deep breaths before attempting to disapparate to his house.



He lay on the floor of the hallway and tried to steady his breathing lest he hyperventilate, shuddered, and moaned in agony. A warm heat begun to spread beneath him and he knew it was his blood from the wound across his chest. Gripping his wand and taking several small breaths he prepared himself for the incredible pain of healing his broken ribs. Just as he drew a breath to utter the medi-spell, a light flooded out from the bedroom next door and Hermione’s mother stepped into the dark hallway, tying the sash on a robe as she moved.



Turning first one way and then the other, she spotted Snape’s bleeding, beaten, and bruised form and ran to his side. “Paul! Paul!” She called to her husband. Mr. Granger ran into the hallway and upon spotting Snape, ran back into the bedroom before coming out with a black briefcase of First Aid materials.



Snape couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Where’d you… get… that?”



“Uhm…” Mr. Granger hesitated, “Elaine and I went to the market down the street from here.”



“What’re—” Snape began, reaching to stop the Grangers and their muggle tools, but Mrs. Granger cut him off.



“Silence. Now, Severus, sometimes you won’t understand, but you must let others tend to you.”



He wanted to argue, but they were right. It would be excruciating without their help. He lay in silence, letting the couple cover, bandage, and tap this and that until Mr. Granger tried to realign and strap up Snape’s rib cage.



With a sharp exhalation through his teeth, Snape grabbed Mr. Granger’s arm with all of the strength he could muster. “Stop!” He was thankful for their patience as he calmed his breathing. “Uh… help me… to…”



“Your bed.” Mrs. Granger finished for him, rushing to push his doors open while Mr. Granger gently eased his arms around Snape to help him sit up. In a raised position, Snape could feel his ribs lift off of his lungs a bit and breathed a bit easier. “Okay… ready.”



The hallway, once cold, now felt boiling hot as the Grangers worked together to move Snape one step at a time to his bed. When they finally made it, Snape sat gingerly, trying not to jostle his body and Mrs. Granger lay him down on his back. As her chestnut curls fell over his bare chest he was reminded of his wife. “Hermione.” The name fell from his lips naturally.



“She hasn’t been back, Severus.” The woman quietly said.



“How—”



“Long has it been? Nearly 10 days.” She responded. Snape’s mind raced and he began to wheeze. “Let’s get this started. It’s going to hurt, but we have to realign your ribs.”



“No, no, no. Ah! I can...”



“Really?” The Grangers said together. Magic still baffled them.



He wanted to laugh, but the pain stopped him, and he grimaced instead.



“Okay… painful… I’ll… be alright.” Snape prepped himself. “One… two… three!”







“What is today’s date?” Hermione asked.



“Surely, you know it’s the New Year, Miss Granger.”



“I didn’t ask you for the year, you prick! I asked you for the date.”



“You would do well to remember just who you are speaking with, Miss Granger.”



“Ah, yes.” Hermione stood from her seat on the bed and began to advance on Scrimageour with courage drawn from her time and arguments with Snape. The only difference was that Scrimageour was simply not as scary. “Forgive me Minister, for a moment I was under the false impression that we woke up from surviving a battle against Voldemort, and not only found ourselves in St. Mungos, but also in the prison ward without a window, a trial, or our wands. Surely, Minister, we must be forgetting the simplest things, such as the date, when you tell us. How unrelenting of you, sir, to tirelessly keep us informed during our free tenure here. Why, we have been practically childish and misunderstanding of your goodwill for us.” She stood within a hand span of the Minister of Magic and sneered sarcastically at him, “How dare us! If you’ll just go outside and give us a few moments to compose ourselves we will be sure to conform to the proper respect for your position.” Her final clipped statement was quickly followed by a wicked smile.



Livid, Scrimageour turned on his heel and stalked out.



“Wow, Hermione!” Ron said in awe. “You really took the piss out of him!”



Hermione paced the room, stalking back and forth like a lioness in a cage and muttering under her breath. “Stupid, overconfident, desensitized…”



“Calm down, Hermione.” Harry spoke for the first time that day. “I, uh, think we should plan.”



“It’s not a good idea to talk in here.” Ron insisted.



“Oh yeah and, uh… where else do we have, Ronald.” Hermione snapped.



“Don’t bitch at me, Hermione! I didn’t lock us up here! I’m just saying that we can’t talk here! They say that there is always someone listening in to the prisoners in this ward!”



“Even if we whisper?” Harry asked.



“What world have you two been living in?” Ron yelled. “These aren’t muggle spy contraptions! You can’t get past wards on your tippy-toes! We can’t just sit in here and whisper!”



Hermione sighed and the trio fell silent.



They had woken up ages ago, and couldn’t tell the time. There were no windows in the sparsely furnished, pure white room and they received only one visitor. The Minister of Magic had come in five times to pester the trio for information about the Order, including its members, objectives, and communication methods. When news about the attack of Hermione’s parents’ home came out, he wanted to know where she had hidden her mother. He also seemed to think that he could coerce public cooperation out of Harry if he could just keep them locked up long enough.



The only information they were given was what curse Voldemort had used on them. That was only told to Ron because he had been the first to wake up in the new room and became so panicked about the state of his friends that a nurse had told him about the incredible shield Voldemort had utilised against them and insured him that the other two would awaken eventually. Apparently, Voldemort’s shield was storing up their curses to be reversed and each curse was sent back against the caster. The nurse had told Ron that he had been hit with seven stunning curses, one blasting curse, three jellylegs curses, and several others that were fairly easy to reverse. Harry had been hit with the hardest curses: three sectumsempra curses, 16 stunning curses, three weak cruciatus curses, and one blasting curse. Hermione’s curses were the fewest, but truly the most diverse. She had tried to petrify, slice, blast, wet, pull, bash, stun, and blind him. Hermione was lucky that the medi-witches had learned how to reverse her blinding spell on the other order members and gave her vision back quickly.



The lack of information was beginning to take a toll on the Gryffindors, and they tended to go through many emotional phases and argued often, and Scrimegeour could never be sure of what mood he would walk in on. Only one thing was consistent for him: Hermione’s anger. Since her last outburst, she seemed to be content with taking her friends’ advice and pretending he didn’t exist.



“How did we get here?” Ron asked, several Scrimegeour visits after Hermione’s tirade, breaking the silence the three had kept in response to the Minister’s arrival in their room.



“You were brought here.”



“To this ward?” Hermione sniffed derisively.



“No, Miss Granger,” The name irked her every time she heard it now. “The ministry keeps you here, to get information that could be useful to the magical community and cooperation that could inspire confidence to settle the near panic that the average citizen is feeling.”



“You mean the panic that the average voter is feeling.”



“Not everything is about re-elections, Miss Granger.”



“Not to the average citizen, but to you—”



“I care about each witch and wizard regardless of whether they voted f—”



“Who brought us here, Minister?” Harry interrupted Scrimageour.



Scrimageour turned to regard Harry with his full attention, and gave him a careful look. “Give me one of the members of the Order of the Phoenix.”



Harry returned the inspecting look at Scrimageour, before saying, “Fine, but rather than the name of the person who brought us here, I want a window that portrays an accurate view of what is going on outside within one week of our deal. In other words, if it is raining, I want to see rain, if it’s snowing, I want snow, if it’s a full moon, I want a full moon. It there’s an entertaining street performer just outside the building, I want to see it. It gets rather boring in here, and I need a way to be distracted while Hermione and Ron argue.”



Scrimageour’s eyebrows creased and he stroked his goatee in thought. “Deal.” He offered his hand to Harry, who looked over his shoulder at Hermione who shook her head minutely.



“No, minister, I would like to make the deal an unbreakable vow.”



The minister hesitated before nodding. “Fine, let me get someone.”



The trio watched him leave and waited a few seconds after the door had closed.



“Who are you gonna give up?” Hermione asked.



“The walls have ears, Hermione.” Ron mumbled, moving his lips very little.



Harry continued to look contemplative. “I think I know now. Besides, our window is worth more than this person right now.”



Hermione wanted to object, but decided against it. Certainly, he knew what he was doing.



Scrimageour returned with a pretty little witch who looked up at the trio and blushed, “Hello, Harry Potter, Ronald, Hermione.”



“Penelope!” Ron gasped.



“Let’s get on with it! Miss Clearwater, if you may.” Obediently, Penelope performed the spell and bound both parties to their word. Without thanking her, the Minister waved Penelope away, and she frowned as she left. “Now, Mr. Potter…” Scrimageour pulled his wand from the sheath on his hip, and Hermione noted it for future reference. Conjuring a slat-back wooden chair, Scrimageour sat in front of Harry and leaned forward so that they were no further than half a meter apart. “Tell me the name of a member of the Order…” He savoured each part of the organizations title, “of… the Phoenix!”



Taking a long deep breath, Harry looked as though he would regret what came out of his mouth, and appeared to be gathering all of his resolve for… “Albus Brian Wulferic Percival Dumbledore.”



Hermione let out a bark of laughter and Ron’s own snort from trying to hold back his own guffaws were the start of laughter that lasted the rest of the time between Scrimageour leaving and coming back in what the trio was beginning to call a Scrimageour day. Even then, there was no calming the trio enough to talk to them, as they kept having fits of the giggles.



When a worker came to install a window in their wall, Hermione flirtatiously offered a retelling of the story of how that window came to be. The worker knew better than to encourage her, but was regaled with a colourful telling despite the fact that he insisted that he didn’t want to know. Hermione finished the story with a light giggle and leaned against the wall very near him to look past his lank blond hair into his face at the small smile tugging at his lips. Smiling smugly, she went to flop on the bed next to Ron.



By the next day (they didn’t have to call them Scrimageour days anymore), Scrimageour stalked in angrily just as the trio was waking up and Hermione was coming out of the bathroom. “Hello, Minister.” Hermione said politely, pulling her white robe around her tighter. Putting her hand to her mouth, she covered a light yawn. “It seems that my biological clock is a bit wonky right now.”



Harry stood by the window with a cup of coffee and a scone where he and Ron had dragged the table earlier. “Morning, Minister.” Ron said sleepily from the opposite side of the table, one fist under his chin, eyes closed, and a scone on its way to his mouth.



“Morning, Minister. We really do appreciate this window.”



“We’d appreciate being out of here more.” Hermione added.



“But we do appreciate the upgrade.” Harry amended.



“I want another name, Mr. Potter.”



Harry pondered for a moment. “Okay.”



“I want someone who is not so obvious, Mr. Potter.”



“Okay.”



“What do you want, Mr. Potter?”



“I want an untouched, uncensored, routine newspaper from the Quibbler, Witch Weekly, and The Daily Prophet. I want it when it is fresh off the printer too, no games.”



Scrimageour was less trusting of them and really didn’t want to give them any information, and pulled up the third chair at the table to sit down.



Hermione came to stand next to him, and politely offered, “Croissant, Minister?” She placed one on the plate in front of her and cut it open with the dull butter knife they left for her.



“Uhm… Yes, Miss Granger.”



“Butter and jam?”



“Just jam please.”



Hermione passed the croissant to him, and the trio sat in silence, eating as though they had no conflict with Scrimageour. As they finished their meal, Harry was the first to break the silence, “Time for answers minister.”



Scrimageour steeped his fingers under his chin and met Harry’s gaze. “Deal, Mr. Potter, but it better not be anyone that the ministry already knows about.”



Penelope was called again and performed another oath, and in exchange for the very disappointing name of, “Sirius Black.” the trio was given daily newspapers.



2 weeks, three street performers, and seven arguments later, the golden trio had finally grown tired of reading about themselves in the papers. The entirety of wizarding media was focused on the disappearance of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The explanations of the missing trio ranged from the deranged to the obviously informed, McGonagall had been questioned by the Ministry of Magic, though the reporters could only speculate what it was about and the Prophet was still in a curious fit about the seven Death Eaters caught on New Years Eve. More than that, however, it was depressing to read about the increasingly frequent murders that Voldemort and his followers were committing.



Hermione was also showing signs of sickness again, and Harry and Ron insisted that she should ask to speak to a medi-witch. Hermione quickly learned to hide as much of the sickness as she could because she couldn’t explain how she knew the medi-witch couldn’t help her. Meanwhile, the next couple of weeks were torturously cold for her as her body became more and more ill.



When Scrimageour entered one morning, Hermione knocked on the bathroom door for Ron to come out and greet their visitor. “Happy Valentines Day, Minister.” She bit out, crossing the room, and trying to avoid the scrutinizing gaze that surveyed her fever-flushed face.



The minister sighed and took his muddy shoes off at the front door. “Morning, all. How do you do?” Harry was the first to admit that he was tired of the newspapers and Hermione and Ron nodded agreement.



“You want me to take them away?” The Minister asked.



“No, but I think that I’m ready to give you another name.” Harry said.



The Minister shook his head, “No, no more names.”



“Fine, I’ll give you a name and one of the Order’s plans in exchange for a Young Witches’ and Wizards’ Potions Kit.” Harry quickly said.



Scimageour looked at them as though they were joking, but when nobody laughed, he said, “You can’t possibly think that I would give you any sort of magical tools whatsoever!”



Harry was ready for this argument and suggested, “Can we have a muggle cooking kit and a first-aid kit for safety?”



Scrimageour wasn’t very confident with giving them what they requested, but the arrogant wizarding part of him was confident that nothing muggle could ever be effective against his wand. Surveying the group with caution clearly written in his features, he said, “Deal. I want a current objective of the Order’s, and the name had better be of a living member of the Order of the Phoenix, someone who is a member today.” Harry nodded, so Scrimageour walked to the doors murmuring, “Penelope has the weekend off so…” Opening the door, he politely called, “Merriweather, Medi-witch Merriweather.”



A squat tottering old witch in a blue uniform, very like Penelope’s came to the minister at the door, “Did you call me, minister?” Her voice was rough and crabby, but when the Minister requested that she perform the spell for the Unbreakable Vow, she obeyed without question.



Waiting for the medi-witch to leave, Harry began after the door clicked closed, “Severus Snape.”



Hermione’s heart stopped.



“Snape?” The minister repeated. “That’s not possible.”



“One of the Order’s biggest priorities is capturing him.”



“Capturing a current member?”



“We don’t know how to strike him from the membership.”



Scrimageour fell silent for a moment before nodding, “Well, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, and Mr. Weasley,” He stood and began to go to the door, “I will have that cooking and first aid set delivered later today.”



True to his word, the tottering old nurse brought a cooking set and first-aid kit to their room that evening. Ron, who had accepted the package, looked at Harry with confusion.



“What are we going to do with this thing?”



“I don’t know, I just thought we’d play with it.” Ron set the children’s oven on the ground and opened the box while Harry and Hermione opened the first-aid kit. Within a few moments Harry and Hermione both reached for the same bottle and Hermione squealed with joy.



“What is it?” Ron asked, coming to their side.



“Well this,” Hermione said leaving the bottle to Harry’s hands, “is gauze, and the muggles use it on their cuts.”



“And what’s this?” Ron continued, reaching for the bottle in Harry’s hands.



“Ipecac.” Harry said.



Hermione licked her lips, “I had to drink this once when I was a little girl, and let’s just say that it’s not pleasant.”



“If Ron cooks, we’ll be drinking it again.”



“So, what? Does it make you vomit?”



Hermione smiled, “Exactly.”



Ron couldn’t see how something that induced vomiting could be a good thing, but let the other two plot in shrouded questions and arguments. Later that evening, just as Ron bent down to look at his cake in the tiny oven, a loud crack in the middle of Harry and Hermione’s argument made him turn around.



Hermione sat on the floor pulling on one leg of the dining room chair while pushing on the nearest two with her feet. The chair creaked and cracked a couple more times, but the leg didn’t seem to want to come off. Harry stalked over and took Hermione’s place, breaking it off with powerful ease, but knocking himself in the bullocks in the meantime.



Hermione laughed, but Ron was confused, and just as he was about to ask, Hermione stopped him. “Go to sleep, Ronald. Tomorrow’s Sunday. You’ll need your rest, to… use our new toys.” Harry confirmed that they were plotting with an over-exaggerated wink, and waddled to bed. Ron knew better that to question them and went to his bed.



The next morning, Harry woke Ron gently, putting a finger to his lips to remind him to remain quiet. He followed Hermione’s lead as she sat on her bed patiently, looking towards the door as though waiting for something. Harry stood behind the door, lightly dangling the wooden leg of the chair in his left hand. Looking back and forth from one friend to another, he suddenly understood what they planned and grew nervous. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait very long before the Minister of Magic opened the door and took a step in.



Like a leopard, Harry leapt and brought the chair leg down on the head of the unsuspecting, older man. Hermione jumped up from the bed and caught the door with her foot before it could close and Ron quickly acted to take her place at the door, giving Hermione the opportunity to slide on her knees to Harry’s side.



“How is he, Harry?” She asked quickly, pulling out the bottle of ipecac.



“I didn’t knock him hard enough, and he’s about to come out of it.” He answered quickly.



“His wand!” Hermione hissed.



“What?”



“Give me his wand!” She pat at the minister’s chest desperately.



Harry glanced around the floor and snatched it up, passing it to her very quickly. In exchange, she gave him the bottle of Ipecac. Harry struggled to get the cap off, and eventually succeeded. “How much should he have?”



“Just dump a bit down. If it’s too much the medi-witches’ll fix him.”



Peering anxiously down the hall, Ron began to worry, “I really, really hope you two know something I don’t!”



“Shut up, Ronald!” Hermione hissed in response.



Ron listened though his heart hammered in his chest.



The minister’s eyes opened, and Hermione glanced up at Harry. Harry looked at her, wide eyed as the minister’s stomach lurched in preparation. “Oh! My head… what have you done? What? Mmhm!” As they dragged him to his feet, he clasped his hands to his mouth to try to stop the liquid rising in his throat. Ron pushed open the door and they all stopped in horror to see Kingsley standing on the other side.



Kingsley’s eyes widened, and they could tell that he was unsure of how to act. They didn’t want to give him away, so Hermione acted first. “Back up!” She raised the minister’s wand to his head. “You know I can use it on him.” The first wave of vomit spilled past the minister’s hands and Hermione stepped them all around it.



Kingsley backed up and asked, “What have you done to him?”



“Oh nothing, it’s just a muggle poison. I have the antidote right here!” She raised a small bottle with the label peeled off clutched in her fist and Kingsley’s eyes focused on it.



The old nurse came around the corner in time to see the trio hold the minister as far away from themselves as they could when he vomited again. “Minister!” She bustled forward until Hermione re-established her hold on the minister’s wand to his temple.



“We will give him to you to treat when we get our wands.”



The old woman looked to Kingsley for direction while the minister sagged in their arms with a long, aching moan. Getting the slightest nod from Kingsley, the old woman ran into her office and retrieved the three wands, and Ron leaned around the protective barrier of the minister to take them from the woman’s hands.



“Thank you.” He said quietly, and passed each of them their wands.



The magic tingled through their fingers and Harry quickly added, “Give us our original clothes and accessories back as well, please.”



The mediwitch appeared to silently plea with Kingsley to do something, but he shrugged and she bustled back into the office. Upon gathering all of their things, Hermione whispered a location to the boys and they all thrust the minister forward together and apparated to freedom.



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A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you!



1. catysmom

2. meankitty69

2. openthedoor

3. sslover

3. Queen Celestia

4. Sureves Epans

4. Perservero

5. Jen618

5. Johanna3030

6. Sampdoria



You are such a special group, so consistent and appreciative. Just know that you are appreciated in return. I really couldn’t do it without you all. You make me feel loved. I would also like to extend an additional thank you to Pookah, doodle, and jocy. Oh, and Queen Celestia, feel free to use the double wand thingy.