The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man

Title: The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man
Author: moirasfate/ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Suspense, romance, angst
Warnings: Character Death, graphic violence, madness, non-consensual sexual acts, abuse, oral, M/F, and overall darkness. Dark!Harry included.
Summary: DH-EWE: Ten years after the fall of the Dark Lord, Hermione Granger leads of life of self-imposed obscurity, that is, until the day Headmistress Minerva McGonagall is murdered and a certain 'hero' is responsible.
Author's Notes: This fic is in 1st person POV, so take heed. It will eventually be a DM/HG, but there is a squicky scene that might make you think otherwise. There is some non-con in this fic, so if it squicks you, don't read it for Merlin's sake! Comments and ConCrit is welcomed!

Special thanks to kazfeist for taking on the task of perfecting this part! kazfeist, you have my eternal love and admiration!


Also, the HP Lexicon now lists Hermione's middle name as Jean and not Jane. You can read the Lexicon where it lists the whens and wheres the change was made, but I prefer Jane, so that name will be used.

More notes to come, I am sure.


Take warning of this part, this is squicky and not meant to be nice at all! SQUICK AHEAD!



The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man

Part 3



“Why are you hiding in there, come out, I won’t hurt you…”

I had been dreaming. Harry…

“Come on, kitty…Harry won’t hurt you…”

Hissing…

I tasted blood, and I opened my eyes. Moonlight still, Harry… I closed my eyes again until the rattle and breaking of dishware forced me to accept that I was not dreaming.

“Damn it!”

His voice came from the kitchen. I was on the bed, my hands tucked on my chest as if I were dead. I still could taste blood…and I felt some also caked in the lashes of my left eye. My coat was just visible near the door…but my wand was out of range. Portkey…damned Portkey, I could get to it if I were quiet.

“Here, kitty…Harry’ll give you a tin of fish…”

His voice was cloying, soft, almost gentle, but I knew better. I slid from the side the bed and noticed that my boots have been removed and set near the door.

Quiet…stealth…

“You’re not Crookshanks, are you? No, you are a new kitty…”

I cringed. Harry remembered Crooks…and he remembered Draco Malfoy, mistaking my familiar for the odious man. I crawled across the stone floor and nearly blacked out again as my head spun. I knew I had a concussion at the very least, but I knew I had to endure if I wanted to live, and I wanted to live…

“Are you Malfoy? Why would she call you that?”

I heard my familiar hiss again, and Harry’s chuckle.

My fingertips grasped the coat and I tugged, trying not to make a sound. When the coat was in my lap, I dug…dug….and came up with nothing, not a damned thing!

“What are you doing, Hermione?”

He was in the doorway with a can of half opened salmon in his left hand, Aberforth’s wand in the other. With a flick, the candles lit the room, and finally I could see Harry’s eyes. Those gorgeous emerald orbs were furious.

The coat and the salmon were suddenly on the floor, and Harry held me by the hair, lifting me to my feet, the stolen wand pressed into my throat. My arms were useless; my whole body was useless as I stared wide-eyed at the lunatic who had once been my best friend.

“Looking for that Portkey, weren’t you?”

Beyond Harry, on the counter of the island, was everything that had been in the pocket of my coat, the pineapple cake half eaten, obviously by the man who literally had my life in his hands.

“Is your cat Malfoy?”

It seemed like an absurd question, considering the circumstances.

“Yes…” I gasped, the pain of hairs being ripped from my scalp most irritating.

“Funny, Hermione…”

“I-I thought so…”

He smiled, but it was not reassuring as he pressed the wand tip deeper into the skin of my throat. And the smile faded as he pushed me back into the room, finally releasing my hair, but keeping the wand tip firmly pressed into my larynx.

“I have been looking for you.”

I blinked slowly. “Why’s that, Harry?”

“I wanted to see you…and Ron. Where’s Ron?”

I tried to swallow, but there was blood in my throat. “He’s working in Bali, Harry.”

Harry frowned, and the wand tip pulled back slightly. “Bali? Did his parents send him there?”

Confusion, and slowly I remembered what Arthur had said…

“Yes…until everything’s settled down a bit.”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

I sudden had tears in my eyes… “I couldn’t leave you, Harry. We still have to find the last one…”

Horcruxes… The recognition in Harry’s eyes made the tears flow, and suddenly the wand tip was gone from my throat and wiry arms bound my body as he embraced me. He started to wail into my shoulder, and I tried to raise my arms to touch him, but he slid down my body to kneel at my feet. I tensed as he pressed his face into my thighs, rubbing his filthy and unshaven cheeks into the sateen of my dress. My hands rose, and I considered Summoning my wand again…until his face moved so that his nose was just at the juncture of my thighs and his hands ran up my legs under my dress.

“Hermione…gods Hermione, I missed you…”

A sob escaped me, part in sorrow for the man who had once been the Boy Who Lived, and in part to the fact that his dirty fingers had found the waistband of my underpants.

Where was his wand? I tried not to move as my eyes cast about until I caught a glimpse of wood just near the door. I wondered if I could Summon it without his notice, hex him, and then run… I would rather have my wand, but a strange wand would have to do…

I stifled a shriek as Harry slid my underpants down my legs, and stiffened as he began gathering my skirt, lifting it slowly, trailing his rough cheek along my thigh.

“Harry…what are you…” I gasped as the cool air hit my inner thighs and my…

“Hermione…Hermione…” he wept into my leg.

I couldn’t hold back anymore, and I squirmed, nearly falling over at Harry’s tight embrace of my legs. And when his nose brushed against the course hairs of my…damn it…my centre, I tried to jump away. I did not get far, and Harry threw me onto the bed, snarling like a wild animal.

“You know…you know…” he breathed, his hair falling into his face, a rough hand pushing it away thoughtlessly. “You know, Hermione, these coy tricks may work on Ron…but I’m getting tired of it!”

Merlin’s arse! Why hadn’t I kept a backup wand?

“Accio!”

It was out of sheer panic, but Aberforth’s wand streaked toward me…I had not meant to vocalize! When it was nearly in my hand, the wand was swatted away, and it clattered against the floor, snapping and blowing red sparks as it flew into the kitchen.

“No! No, Hermione, we don’t play that way, now!”

Fear, unshakeable fear, Voldemort, or the thought of him had never made me shake as badly as I did before Harry Potter. And the fear quickly turned to revulsion as he launched himself upon me, pinning me down to my own bed, his face hovering above mine, leering. He held my wrists tightly above my head, and his knees insinuated themselves between mine…and I knew I was trapped.

Why did I not take that offer of protective custody?

Your silly Gryffindor pride, Severus Snape said clearly.

I groaned as Harry lowered his face toward mine and the scent of him overwhelmed my senses. He was filthy, sweaty, and I tried not to gag.

“You are going to help me, Hermione…”

I turned my face away, I could not look into those eyes.

“You’re going to help me find it…”

Harry’s words meant nothing to me, I was not listening. All I could think about were defensive spells, something that would give me time to run to the emergency Portkey resting on the island countertop. How he had known it was a Portkey, I did not have the time to ponder. It was a wooden spindle with red thread, innocuous, and decidedly 'unmagical' by its appearance. But I could just see it on the countertop…and I could Summon it wandlessly if my hands were free.

Harry shifted and I cried out as he forced my wrists together in one of his large hands, crushing the tiny bones. It felt as if I had thousands of shards of glass for wrist bones.

“You’re not listening to me, Hermione. Pay attention, or I’ll…” he hissed, but trailed off, angling his nose down to my throat and inhaling deeply.

I tensed and squeezed my eyes shut. Harry and I had never been intimate, not in the manner that led to physicality, and to have him on me, smelling my neck, pressing me down into my own bed made me feel more and more violated. This Harry was not my Harry. My Harry would never hurt me; my Harry would never make me bleed.

“You’ll what?” I whispered, trying not to sound as rattled as I truly was… “Kill me?”

He groaned, and his tongue licked out to taste my pulse point. I shivered.

“Like you killed Minerva?”

“No, no, Hermione…not like that…” he whispered, his left hand moving along my collarbone to the front of my wrinkled dress. With a mighty wrench, the sateen ripped down to the cinched belt, exposing my black bra.

Tears blinded me again. If I could keep him calm…if only…

“But…but you’ll kill me?” I sobbed, unable to stop myself.

Harry said nothing, lowering his face to my chest so that his tangled hair fell against my face. The black locks smelled like mud and wood smoke, dirty, and I turned my head to the side of my arm, burying my nose in the intact sleeve of Minerva’s dress.

He listened to my rapid heartbeat for a few moments, his grubby fingers tracing circles into my ribs. When he was no longer satisfied with that, he undid the front clasp of my bra and ripped at the lace until it was torn beyond repair. I tried not cry out, tried not to breathe as he rubbed his grubby cheek against my breasts, inhaling deeply as if to imprint every scent of my body into his tattered mind. Harry hummed contently as he ran his chapped lips over the tips of my nipples. I had to bite my lip from making a noise that would betray my fear…and my forced arousal. No one, not even Ron, had ever touched me that way…

And then Ginny Potter’s face swam into my mind’s eye. Merlin…how could Harry have become so unhinged?

“I won’t kill you Hermione…not me…but you’ll die with me…and we’ll be together forever. Ron too…we’ll all be together. Mum and Dad, Sirius and Remus, Dumbledore and McGonagall…all of us together forever…”

I took a breath, my chest was heaving from panic. Harry seemed to relish the fear, and as his mouth closed over my left nipple, I croaked.

“What about Ginny?”

Harry said nothing, his tongue twisting around my nipple causing my thighs to quiver involuntarily. Teeth dug into the flesh, and I screamed, my body trying to dislodge my attacker who was no longer the Harry Potter I knew. I could smell my own blood again, and see it running down the side of my left breast onto the bed. I thrashed my legs, and finally Harry pulled away, twisted version of a boyish smile on his bloody lips.

“H-Harry…please…” I whispered through my tears…and immediately regretted my words. It had been a plea for mercy, but I knew that was not what he heard.

“I’ll make you see, Hermione. I’ll make you mine, and then you won’t have a choice…”

The skirts of the dress were pushed up again, and if it were not for Harry’s inhumanly strong hold on my obviously broken wrists and his weight upon my hip, I would have fought tooth and nail. As it was, to my fear, anger, and embarrassment, I could not move enough to bite or scratch. I was going to be raped and murdered in my own bed…

Minerva…Merlin…someone, gods, help me…

“You…will...help…me…” he grunted, and I screamed.

I was being torn to shreds, and blood, I could feel it between my thighs, I could feel it inside me as Harry rammed three rough fingers inside my body. My fear had drawn every bit of bodily moisture and consciousness toward my brain, and the penetration was dry… But there was blood, dark, fragrant blood as he thrust his cold, blunt fingers into me. Every movement of his fingers brought screams, such loud screams that I thought there was someone else in the room, and it could not be me who was producing such a terrible noise.

It hurt…it hurt so much that I felt as if those fingers were clawing at my womb, tearing it out piece by piece. I could feel magic in my womb, a cold, terrible wave of magic…

“You will help me find the stone!” Harry roared back, pulling his hand away violently so that I shrieked in an absolute agony I could not remember feeling before then. Blood seemed to spray from me, and it dripped from his hand like liquid night.

Harry released my wrists, but knelt between my knees, peering down at my exposed and bloody body. He held his bloody hand close to his chest like a precious item, and licked his lips, eyes wide. I was close to unconsciousness, bleeding from my head, my breast, and now my most private of parts… I had no strength to move, and a part of my brain cursed me in Severus Snape’s voice, cursed me to calm down, cursed me to move…but I could not. All I could think of was a stupid thought…no one would ever want me now…not after this. I was damaged, absolutely damaged by the one man I had loved most of my life…my best friend…

“Tell me, Hermione, tell me…” he whispered, his body moving to bend down, his face coming nearer and nearer to the apex of my thighs.

I opened my mouth to say something, but I could not speak. It hurt to speak, it hurt to move.

His tongue lashed out first, almost to soothe the raw fresh, but then I screamed again, louder, as his mouth engulfed my wound and my clitoris, lapping at first, then biting like a devouring animal. My hands twitched, and my brain was beginning to shut down.

No, Hermione! Wake up, damn you! Fight him, fight him!

I wished Severus Snape were really there, he would have no qualms about killing this man who had once been Harry Potter. If Severus Snape were alive…surely he would rescue me from this hell.

I let go of the pain, and opened my eyes, which moved to the door, to the spindle. I reached out as best I could, mustering all my strength, and willed the spindle to my hand. If only I could just…

“Granger? Granger!

Fucking hell, I’m almost through!”

It was not Harry’s voice, but a male voice that I dimly recognized. A light flashed from the main room, and there was a resounding crack that made me shut my eyes, causing my arm to fall over the edge of the bed limply. I could only hear, no longer see, or feel.

The sound of a powerful spell whizzing over my body smelled like ozone, and there was a muffled shout. Glass shattered so loudly that it deafened me, and I knew that shards of that glass were in my right arm, grazing the right side of my face. There were roars of anger and pain, growing more and more distant, and I could smell the Forest.

“Sergeant, did you get the tracking mark?” that familiar voice asked in a frantic, irritated growl.

“No, sir, he moved too quickly. I think he saw it coming, or sensed it.”

“No matter, he won’t get far. Secure the wards, I want this cottage invisible, closed up…alert Forensics to get their arses over here!”

“Yes, sir, I’m on it.”

“And get Healer Wiscombe to the safe house!”

“Yes, sir.”

There were people, at least eight, in my home. I could smell the Floo, and hear more people coming through.

“Cordon off the bedroom after I get her moved.”

One voice, closer, that familiar voice that had called my name...

“Is it wise to move her, sir? We haven’t documented…”

“She needs a Healer, and safe place to recover! Potter might return, and Granger cannot be here if he does!” the voice just over me snapped.

I knew the voice, and my eyes opened a crack to gaze up into a stormy face with stormy eyes.

“Can you hear me, Granger?”

Malfoy, Draco…

“Y-yes…”

He leaned closer, his ear near my lips.

“I need to move you and get you out of this house. Do you understand?”

“Yes…” I whispered again.

“Sweet Merlin…” someone gasped with alarm from the door, but I could only see Malfoy as he wrapped me in my coat and gingerly lifted me from the bed. I cried out as he lifted my legs, the pain returning, and he paused, looking down at me with an expression I could not recognize.

My head lolled against his chest, and I could hear the violent tattoo of his heart. I could feel eyes upon me, strange eyes, and I could feel their pity. It made me want to vomit on Malfoy again.

Malfoy…gods…

“Easy now, don’t struggle,” he said, his arms clutching a bit more firmly.

“Malfoy…” I wheezed. “Where’s Malfoy? I think he hurt him…”

Malfoy paused just inside the kitchen. “What are you talking about, Granger, I’m right here…”

I sighed, but it came out as a gasp.

“Cat…my cat, Malfoy…”

I felt his body stiffen.

“Has anyone seen a cat around?” he called.

There were a few voices, but I could not hear what they were saying.

“Here, sir…”

A pitiful mewl made me more conscious of my surroundings, and soon Malfoy was in my arms, shivering as badly as I was, his tail as big as a Beater’s bat, his eyes a frightening shade of red and silver…

The human Malfoy muttered under his breath as he began moving again, every determined and heavy step jarring me painfully.

“Damn it all, Flint…Flint? Pull the comb from my back pocket, would you?”

I did not understand at first, but as Malfoy shifted me and my familiar in his arms, I understood immediately.

Portkey…





I was screaming roughly by the time I was laid down on a soft bed in some unknown place. Malfoy, the cat, lay near me, crying as I screamed, licking the tips of my right hand fingers from time to time with his rough tongue... My head was empty of all things except the pain and Malfoy’s terrible cries.

I knew there were people near me, but I had no idea who they could be. When I felt my clothing vanish from my skin, I screamed louder, suddenly cold, and vulnerable. And soon, my screams did not come, and I could feel magic in my throat. I had been Silenced.

“…possibly brain trauma…two severe concussions, possibly more than…”

A touch of something cold on my forehead stopped the ache there, but the rest of my body throbbed, and my screams remained as intense and as silent.

“Has she been raped?”

“No, but penetrated. The vaginal tearing is severe, but it can be repaired. I will administer several courses of antibiotics, there is saliva in her vaginal passage. Her clitoris can be saved, but it will require at the very least two weeks of bed rest…”

“You mean he…he tore it with his teeth?”

“Yes, sir. The right nipple as well…the damage to the glandular vessels is not as easily repaired, but with time and the proper potions, I am sure we can heal it.”

“Anything else?”

“Her wrists are broken in several places. Whatever he used to bind her was terrible…”

“His hand…it was his hand.”

“One hand, a human hand?”

“Yes, Wiscombe.”

“Merlin…”

“Anything else?”

“Well, uh…bruises mostly, from shoulder to thigh. And cuts from glass, did you say a window? Most are superficial and will heal in no time, but her wrists, her face, and hips will take longer. Then there is her mental health. She is in shock, which is to be expected… Wouldn’t it be better to take her to St. Mungo’s, Chief?”

“Potter escaped from St. Mungo’s, here is better. It is far from Scotland, and the wards around the property will keep her in and him out.”

“I understand, sir. I will begin treatments, if you’ll call Nurse Wronski in, we can start…”

I heard all of this, but I could not see. I could only push what I heard back into the depths of my brain to think about at another point in time. I submitted to the potions being poured down my throat and the uncomfortable prods to my genitalia. I lay very still as I began to feel flesh and bone knitting back together, but how much time had passed, I could not discern. The voices were no longer over me, but away from me, and I could only hear snatches of conversations. The people were unknown, and I wondered if Malfoy had left me to hunt down Harry.

“…a day to fully regain consciousness…”

“I need to take her statement, Wiscombe.”

Wiscombe was the Healer, and I knew the other voice, cold and stern, was Draco Malfoy. I felt safe when I heard his voice, and part of me felt ridiculous for that reaction.

Sometimes I felt gentle hands touch me, and soft fabric wrap around me, keeping the chill off my skin. Sometimes I felt my familiar’s cool nose against my knuckles and his fur against my toes.

And then, I was awake. Of course, I think I had been awake for a long while, but I could see again as if someone had removed a blindfold from my eyes. Malfoy was curled up at my side, and I realized I was laying on a large bed, larger than my bed at the cottage. It is a soft, warm bed, with a heavy white comforter pulled up to my chin. My hair had been…cut.

I frowned as I stared up at the underside of a canopy of folded cream silk. I could not feel my long hair about my shoulders, and slowly, I slid a hand up to find out why. My head had been shaved, and I felt sore spots on my scalp, knots, and scars…

I tried to sit up, but I could barely lift my head from the pillow. Where was I? What day was it?

“Be still, dear, I’ll call for Wiscombe,” a soft voice said from my bedside.

I froze as my eyes swivelled to see a pale woman sitting on a chair, reading a book by candlelight. It was a face I had not seen in years, a face I thought I would never have to see again.

She rose slowly, her white robes falling beautifully around small, bare feet. As she walked toward a door across the room, I marvelled at how beautiful her blonde hair was, the way it streamed down in back in a perfectly straight cascade of platinum. She glanced back and smiled before slipping into a bright corridor beyond, leaving the door ajar.

Narcissa Malfoy…why was she at my bedside?

The information I had tucked away was taken out again. Draco Malfoy had taken me from my home to this place, which I could only assume to be Malfoy Manor from what he had said to the Healer.

And then the information about my injuries came back.

I could not feel any pain as I lay in Malfoy Manor, but I had the distinct haziness in my mind that I was sure I was under the influence of a pain-reducing potion. I did feel sore, but it was tolerable. I was more concerned about the loss of my hair…and the state of my home and my job.

“Ah, Miss Granger, it is good to see you awake!”

Narcissa returned with a wiry older man with thick glasses and Ministry robes. Healer Wiscombe’s face was very amiable, and as he touched my hand softly, I knew immediately that I could trust this man.

“I am Ernest Wiscombe, and I have been treating you for the past week. I work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. If you don’t mind I would like to take a look at you, see how your injuries are healing.”

He kept his distance, and I could sense that he was waiting for permission to come nearer. Surely Wiscombe had been trained on how to approach victims of violent crime. I closed my eyes for a moment at that thought, but opened them quickly.

“I…” I started, but my voice came out as a croak.

“Ah, yes, the potions you have been taking have irritated your throat, and you have been unconscious for about a week. A little water might help…”

Narcissa was already passing me a glass with a straw, and I did not question her involvement, not until I had full capabilities of speech, at least. I took two large drinks and immediately felt better.

“I don’t mind…” I managed, my voice still very rough. “Do I have to undress?”

“No, my dear, I just need to pull back this blanket…and sweep my wand.”

I nodded as Wiscombe slowly pulled back the comforter and I saw that I was dressed in a light white nightdress with short sleeves, vee neck, and long hem. I laid very still as Wiscombe ran his wand from the tips of my toes up to my head and down again, pausing over my chest, then my thighs. Lastly, he swept his wand over my head a few times and nodded to himself, gently replacing the comforter over my body.

“Very good. You are healing nicely. Your wrists are healed, and the wounds to your head have closed nicely…”

“And…and my breast, my…” I whispered, my lips quivering.

“Healing well. No infections, and within a week or two, you’ll be healed completely.”

“No permanent damage?” I whispered, glancing to Narcissa who was looking down at her hands in her lap.

Wiscombe’s amiable face tightened and he took a breath. “It is too early to say. Initially, we believed the damage to be superficial, but there was also damage to your cervix. The type of damage was magical in nature, and I’m still unsure as to what the real cause was, or how it could have happened…”

I shivered, and before I could stop my words, “It felt like he was trying to dig my womb out with claws…I have never felt anything like it…”

Wiscombe nodded. “When he is caught, perhaps he will tell us.”

I blinked, and turned to look at Narcissa who regarded me gravely.

“For the time being, I will let you rest. DCI Malfoy will be here in the morning, as will be a few other people who would like to see you, Miss Granger.”

I nodded slowly…trying to process more information. Wiscombe bowed to Narcissa and turned to go, when I remembered…

“My hair…Mr. Wiscombe, was it necessary that my head be shaved?”

Wiscombe smiled sadly in the little bit of candlelight that lit the room. “You were worse off than we had expected, Miss Granger. Your determination to live fooled us…you had a skull fracture, and we did not think you would regain consciousness. The hair was a small price to pay for healing you. It will grow. And surely when you are well enough, you can Charm it.”

I smirked as Wiscombe bowed to me, this time, and left the room. I lay for a long while, thinking, and then began to move. Narcissa was at my side immediately, and I silently let her help me to sit up slightly. It felt good to be able to sit, although I did not have anything to do after sitting up.

“Has Malfoy been fed?” I asked suddenly, turning to look at Narcissa Malfoy. Needless to say, she appeared puzzled.

“Pardon?”

I stifled a laugh. “My cat,” I said pointing at the balled grey animal near my side.

“Ah, yes. The elves have been tending him…Malfoy…” Narcissa said with a furrowed brow. “We did not know what it was called.”

I smiled, although it hurt slightly. “He is a half-Kneazle. And I never meant any disrespect by naming him Malfoy…I did not think I would be meeting your family again.”

“Why did you name him that?”

There was no ice in her voice, which surprised me, there was only curiosity.

“His eyes. And, he reminded me of Malfoy…a bit snobbish.”

“For Draco, I see…”

Silence fell again, and I watched Narcissa move to take up her book. I sighed. I did not like this at all…

“Why am I here? I assume that this is Malfoy Manor.”

Narcissa paused, her pale hand resting on the cover of a leather bound book on the bedside table.

“This is a safe house for Draco’s department. It was part of the Ministry agreement with our family. We were exonerated of war crimes in return for our cooperation with Ministry affairs. And when Draco was made Detective Chief Inspector, he began using the Manor as a safe house.”

I noted the sorrow in Narcissa’s voice, but what that sorrow stemmed from was unclear.

“Why are you here, Mrs. Malfoy?” I asked softly, folding my hands on my sore legs.

“I…I have some experience with potions and Healing. I never was certified, so my methods are unorthodox. Mr. Wiscombe cannot always be here…and I…”

Her voice was penitent, and I understood. She had been watching over me, caring for me. The Pureblood/Mudblood dichotomy had been fading from our world ever since the War, and I could only assume that Narcissa was trying her best to fit in.

“Lucius maintains the wards, and helps Draco and his men with strategy. With Potter’s escape, the Manor has become an unofficial headquarters for such meetings,” Narcissa explained, pulling her wand from her sleeve to light the rest of the candles in the room, making it a bit cheerier.

“Why here and not the Ministry?”

“Leaks in the department. Leaks to the press. The Detective Superintendent knows that Draco is basing his investigation here, and there have been no problems with this arrangement. Potter’s escape has been a sensitive matter from the beginning. But there are other cases, other criminals to be caught and prosecuted…Draco was given Potter’s case because Draco knows Potter…and Draco is a very talented officer…”

Narcissa smiled, albeit smugly, but not at me. I wanted to know more, not about Harry, but about Malfoy. How he had gotten into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, how he had risen so quickly through the ranks…but Narcissa quickly changed the subject.

“I know I should not ask this…but, how are you feeling?”

I knew she did not mean physically…

“Numb.”

“That is to be expected, I suppose.”

I nodded. “I suppose,” I repeated, “There are so many things to think about that I don’t know where to start…”

“From the beginning seems the most logical approach…”

I snorted a laugh and saw that Narcissa was smiling kindly. It was strange to me, to have Narcissa Malfoy smiling at me, but it heartened me.




I awoke to find Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy standing at the foot of my bed, Lucius holding a tray of breakfast and Narcissa holding two phials of potion. I thought I was dreaming…

“Good morning, Miss Granger,” Lucius said softly, his face made of stone.

I sat up slowly, wincing at the soreness in my back and hips. “Good morning?”

“Draco will be here in an hour, Miss Granger. Are you well enough to take breakfast?”

I blinked at the older man. He had barely aged since the last time I had seen him, and I regarded him with caution.

“I believe so…”

Narcissa cleared her throat, aware that Lucius was staring at me, and not moving to place a tray for me to begin eating. When he finally moved, he skirted Malfoy’s sleeping body and gently placed the tray across my lap, moving away slowly, but still staring at my face. I suddenly wondered how bad I really looked.

“Have some toast and tea before taking these,” Narcissa said, placing the phials on the tray as well, but sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling warmly at me.

“Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy. I am sorry to be an imposition…”

“Tush, we rarely have visitors, but for you to be brought here in such a state…”

“Lucius!” Narcissa hissed, throwing an icy glare of reproach in her husband’s direction.

I had not been offended, but did note that the senior Malfoy’s drawl had not been one of sympathy or welcome.

“Enjoy your breakfast, Miss Granger,” Lucius Malfoy finished, bowing stiffly, and making his way quickly to the door.

“I made him come, Miss Granger. He has been avoiding anything to do with you, and I felt he should at least greet you…” Narcissa said softly, her eyes moving to her folded hands.

I bit my lip, and stared down at the toast on a china plate. “He has every reason to hate me…as do you and your son…”

Narcissa chuckled suddenly, and I watched as she laid a hand on her heart.

“My dear girl! Draco told me you had shut yourself away, but for you to be so ignorant… We don’t hate you! Quite the contrary, because of you we were spared a great deal of embarrassment.”

“I…I don’t understand,” I stuttered.

“You have forgotten, haven’t you?”

I frowned.

“At Hogwarts, after it was all over, we Malfoys were sitting on the edge of the celebration, but you…you sweet girl…you asked if we would join you. The Weasleys and Potter had separated from the rest of the families, and you said you had been left out. You sat with us and brought food and drink. You talked earnestly with us, telling us to start being truthful about our involvement with the Dark Lord. You hinted about what you knew…the Unbreakable Vow I made with Severus…Draco’s inability to murder Dumbledore… And then you turned to Lucius and called him a foul name…oh, what was it?”

“Pig,” I supplied with sigh.

“Yes. No one had ever called him something so simple, so base in his life!” Narcissa laughed, and I began to wonder at her sanity…

“Surely I didn’t change the course of Lucius Malfoy’s life by calling him a pig?” I asked sarcastically.

“No, but it started something. For years Lucius had been labouring under a delusion. While I sought to align myself with the winning side, the right side, Lucius was so sure that he would revolutionize the world. Mind, Lucius is old-fashioned to a fault, and he is single minded…it was not just the Last Battle to make him realize how wrong he had been and for how long. It was merely the final straw for him. We barely made it out of the War with a sickle to our name, a home to live in, or a family to call Malfoy.”

I nodded. Lucius Malfoy was no saint, but as far as I knew, he was not aspiring to become the next Dark Lord. I remembered how he had searched frantically for Malfoy that day when Voldemort fell…

“Now, eat. There is a pain-reducing potion and a Pepperup. After Draco leaves, we’ll see about getting you on your feet?”

I nodded again, and began eating. It was a difficult process after not having anything solid in my stomach for a week, but I ate. Narcissa watched like a nosy nurse, and made sure I drank my potions. When she cleared everything away, she cast a few Charms, and my face was scrubbed, my gown switched and my linens cleaned. I felt quite better by the time a knock sounded on the door and Malfoy entered with Arthur Weasley and Healer Wiscombe. Narcissa rose and whispered to Malfoy before taking a seat in her bedside chair, nodding coolly to Arthur.

Conjuring two stools, Malfoy and Arthur sat down closest to the side of the bed while Healer Wiscombe stood next to Narcissa.

“I suppose a ‘good morning’ is in order,” I said, breaking the proverbial ice. The way that Draco Malfoy stared at my face was unnerving. Arthur was looking anywhere but my face, it seemed. Again, I wished I had a mirror.

“Morning, Granger. How are you feeling?” Malfoy said, trying to dash the mechanistic quality in his voice. I could tell he was not a morning person.

“Sore. And a bit bald. Otherwise, I’ll manage.”

Arthur closed his eyes and I sighed. “I’m fine, Arthur,” I added.

It was then Arthur Weasley regarded me with tired, red-rimmed eyes. It was obvious he was having a rough time, and why wouldn’t he?

“I’m here to take your official statement, Granger. You do not mind that Arthur Weasley and Healer Wiscombe act as witnesses?”

I could not say that it made me comfortable, especially Arthur’s presence, but the need to convey the events of that night were far more important, as well as the connections I had made the night before with Narcissa as a sounding board.

“I will consent.”

“Good.”

With that, Malfoy pulled a notepad and a Dicto-Quill from a pocket in his coat, and again I saw his wand in his chest holster.

Malfoy spoke into the Quill, noting the location, date and time, as well as the people present at the interview. Then the first series of questions came, all perfunctory, all common knowledge to Malfoy, some of it answered after Minerva’s funeral. When and where did I meet Harry Potter? When did I first learn of his mental state? Had I any contact with him before his escape from St. Mungo’s? And finally, and the real kicker: Why did I refuse protective custody?

“I refused because I believed that I was safe. I live in seclusion with many wards protecting the location of my home. Ten layers of wards protect from outside intrusions, and the Floo is warded as well,” I answered.

“Yes, a five layer ward which I had to dismantle under the authority of Article 43 of the Code of Magical Law Enforcement Apprehension Procedures.”

What Malfoy said meant nothing to me…

“Article 43 says that an officer has the legal authority to break anti-Apparition and Floo wards of a private residence in the pursuit of a criminal who is in the midst of committing a crime. In your case, assault, and attempted rape, Miss Granger.”

I frowned, “But how did you know that…”

“A simple tracking device let me locate your home, and when I stuck my head through the Floo, I could see Potter through the bedroom door.”

I bit my lip, what tracking device?

“May I proceed, Miss Granger?” Malfoy said, meeting my eyes for the first time that morning. I nodded with a sigh, I filed my questions for later.

“Would you please recount the events from the time you returned home to the point that the detectives entered your home?”

I paused, and glanced at Arthur whose eyes had moved to my face. This would be hard, perhaps the hardest part, but I closed my eyes and began.

It seemed to take forever, trying to fit in every detail I remembered, every little thing Harry said to me. I dared not open my eyes, I could not bear to see Arthur’s face.

And then I remembered Harry’s voice: ‘You will help me find the stone!’

My eyes snapped open, and I began to choke. Something felt wrong. I could still Harry’s voice and his words repeating over and over and over… What was happening?

Healer Wiscombe was on me immediately, as was Narcissa, trying to hold my arms down as Wiscombe poured a potion down my throat. The pain…the pain was horrible. I could feel it in my wrists, in my head, in my breast, in my womb…

“Out! All of you!” Healer Wiscombe roared to Malfoy and Arthur.

I coughed at the bitterness of the potion, and I convulsed involuntarily from the pain in my womb. It felt as though my insides were about to explode…and my brain…it was imploding.

No you don’t, Hermione Jane Granger…Severus Snape roared in the blackness of mind. And suddenly, I could breathe, I could see, and the pain subsided as did the convulsions. I had frightened my familiar so that he cowered under a sideboard near the bathroom door, Narcissa’s hair was out of place, and sweat was pouring down Wiscombe’s face.

“What was that? Wiscombe!” Narcissa wailed, moving to wipe something from my forehead.

I lay very still on my back as Narcissa threw back the blankets to gasp.

Blood…I could smell it, I could feel it.

“Merlin…fetch Lucius, Narcissa. I need to examine her. Quickly, woman!”

I was helpless, and tears streamed from the corners of my eyes. What was happening to me?

The blood was Vanished, as were all the soiled linens. I could just see that my left breast was bleeding again, but the damage was not the same. I could hear frantic footfalls, but time had seemed to bend around me…

“The wounds reopened, enough to make her bleed as much as the night she arrived,” Wiscombe said to Narcissa, I had not noticed her return to the room. “The damage has basically healed, but still…it is as if someone cut at the newly healed flesh, just enough to cause this…”

“How? How is that possible?” Narcissa asked in a rushed whisper, but fell silent as the door flew open, and Lucius Malfoy entered as if a devil were on the heels of his boots. Wiscombe threw a sheet over my body, as if I were a cadaver…I wanted to scream!

“Dark magic, my dear. You feel it, do you not?”

Narcissa nodded slowly, her eyes meeting mine and softening. She ran a finger along my cheek and turned to Lucius again.

“It could be any number of curses, Lucius. How can we know which one it is for certain?”

Lucius gazed down at me, and I could see the pity and disgust in his eyes. He had his wand out, as if ready to duel some unseen monster.

“That is Draco’s job, ‘Cissa. Let him continue the interview. Whatever Miss Granger remembers might be a clue. I will return to the library, I must consult with…” he said softly his voice trailing off to a distance, and even his eyes softened slightly before he turned away, and addressed Wiscombe, not bothering to finish his sentence. “She needs to be able to speak, Wiscombe. She is the only survivor so far…”

I blinked, and glanced at Narcissa who shook her head. What had he meant exactly?

Wiscombe sighed, and with a quick apology to me, sealed the oozing wounds on my head and breast. With a complicated series of waves of his wand over my belly, the bleeding stopped. Another potion was poured down my throat and a fresh gown was reapplied.

A good hour had passed before Malfoy and Arthur returned to the room, Arthur’s face ashen, and Malfoy’s face expressing his frustration. Before Malfoy could ask his next question, I spoke. I knew I had to say it before I was somehow unable.

“He wants the Stone.”

It did not sound right to me, but it was my voice. I knew I had to say it…

“What stone?”

“The Resurrection Stone, one of the three Deathly Hallows.”

Narcissa’s hand went to her mouth, and Malfoy’s eyes widened.

“He had it…”

“…and lost it in the Forest almost ten years ago,” Malfoy finished.

I felt faint, but I continued.

“I can only imagine why he wants it back, after he gave it up, along with the…”

Lightning struck in my mind, and Severus Snape’s laughter filled my brain.

“Albus…Merlin’s balls! The Elder wand…gods, I am so stupid!”

Narcissa pushed past Malfoy to sit on the side of the bed, a wet rag pressed against the largest laceration on my bare scalp.

Speaking around Malfoy’s mother, I met his eyes. I had to speak quickly, the pain was beginning to return. “You have to check Albus’ tomb, Malfoy! It would explain so much! It would explain how he got past the portraits in the office and into Minerva’s room…”

I paused, feeling Narcissa begin to cry as blood stained the front of my gown. I had to ignore it, I had to ignore Arthur’s ashen face and Malfoy’s scrutinizing eyes.

“He got past Aberforth…through the portrait and into the Room of Requirement. He had to sneak to Albus’ tomb and with Aberforth’s wand blow it open… He had the Elder wand the whole time. He had it on him…hidden in his clothes maybe; that had to be the only way he got past my wards…”

I grew faint, Narcissa weeping, trying to keep blood from running into my eyes. Wiscombe was ready to move, ready to tell Malfoy and Arthur to leave…

“If he has the wand…you will not be able to find him. Ron…or I, maybe…no one else.”

“But why would he do this to you, if he thought he needed you?” Arthur asked, weeping, distraught.

“I don’t know…why did he kill Minerva? Aberforth? It doesn’t make any sense… Just promise me…promise you will not call Ron back! They will kill each other, Arthur…” I rasped.

“Miss Granger, you need to lie back now…” Wiscombe started.

I slapped his hands away, and met Malfoy’s eyes again. “Find the curse that killed Minerva, Malfoy…it is a clue…”

Malfoy grabbed his Dicto-Quill and tablet, and shoved them into his pocket. I fell to the bed, watching as Malfoy pushed Arthur Weasley from the room.

It felt as if my last moments were upon me…and I wanted to laugh. My life had made so much sense a month before. I had been healthy, plain, simple, Jane Granger. I lived alone with my cat, I wrote short stories, and worked in my garden. I had regular tea with Rubeus Hagrid and Minerva McGonagall. I talked to Albus Dumbledore’s portrait, and I swapped rare potions ingredients for banned books with Horace Slughorn. Those were my only friends…there were no lovers. There were no lovers because I had loved a man who was dead, and he never would have loved me…the insufferable little know-it-all.

What good is falling in love anyway?

It is the difference between hope and hopelessness, Miss Granger.

I had forgotten when I started to hear his voice in my head.

Wiscombe fussed over me, healing spells sinking into my skin, but having little effect. Narcissa wept, but she summoned elves to bring phials of various potions from her stores. Activity centred over me, around me, and I closed my eyes. This was not dying, not really; I’d been closer before. More potions, some poured down my throat, others applied to my skin. Hours and hours passed, and I let my body go numb. The pain was only an itch…

“Get out.”

My nose wriggled, there was a new voice and new warmth.

“Get out, both of you!”

The activity stopped, and the warmth of the bodies that had been hovering over me faded away. It was cold without those bodies hovering, and I opened my eyes just a crack. Draco Malfoy stood over me, looking from my bare toes to my bare chest to my bare head.

“Potter used a hex against me in Sixth Year, one he had gleaned from Severus. Do you remember what it was?”

If I had had the energy, I would have grabbed the nearest bit of cloth to hide myself, but as it was, I had no strength to even answer. His eyes skimmed over my body, coldly. I could see my own blood reflected in those eerie silver orbs.

“’Sectumsempra,’ a particularly nasty spell, as it only could be having been created by my former Head of House. It is worse than a regular cutting spell, far more damaging. And it cannot be healed by conventional means. However, this spell, the spell that is keeping you from healing, is not exactly ‘Sectumsempra,’ but very similar.”

His voice was soft, and in no way condescending. And when he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his cool eyes were a balm to the pain that was beginning to creep back into my consciousness.

“Potter has become quite creative during his years in the loony bin. And if he has the Elder Wand, any type of spell is possible.”

I tried to open my mouth to speak, but gritted my teeth instead. The convulsions began anew, and I shuddered uncontrollably. Malfoy sighed, and put a cool hand on my forehead, the sticky contact of his palm and my bloody skin making me itch.

“I can try the counter-curse, but I don’t know if it will have any effect,” he sighed, drawing his wand from his chest holster, removing his hand from my forehead.

“Close your eyes, Granger.”

I complied, it was the only thing I could do.

Words, deep and masculine, flowed over me as Malfoy seemed to sing an indistinct song to soothe my body. I knew of ‘Sectumsempra,’ but not the counter. I remembered deriding Harry for using any of the advice in the Prince’s potions book. I remembered Malfoy…and how miserable he had been that year. I could not, however, hate Severus for creating ‘Sectumsempra,’ I could never hate him.

Phoenix song, it was like phoenix song, but obviously not. The song went on and on until one deep and final note came from depths of Malfoy’s chest.

At the touch of his hand on my shoulder, I opened my eyes to meet his. The pity I saw in those orbs horrified me, angered me.

“We’ll see in a few hours, but the bleeding has stopped for now.”

I blinked slowly, feeling as if I had just run a marathon. “Mal…” I started, but thought better of it as he stood and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the blood off his palm.

“Don’t mention this to anyone. Got it, Granger?” he said with his back to me.

I did not speak. He turned and pulled a sheet over me, but did not meet my eye again. Silently, he walked across the large bedroom and slipped through the door, passing Wiscombe and Narcissa as they entered. My eyes followed him until I could no longer see him. Tears, strangely wrought tears, filled my eyes, and I laid back a bit more in the bed, and let sleep steal my pain and worries.