Beauty and the Beast

She raced through the corridors, shouting and crying, whilst ducking to avoid the curses. It was green. Everything was green, and that meant one thing. It was the killing curse.

Hermione’s heart pounded at an uncontrollable rate. She searched desperately for her friends, for Ron, but found no allies. Hogwarts had been massacred. The Second Wizarding War was drawing to an end, and her guess was that it had been a lost cause.

The young woman fell to the floor; slamming down hard and feeling her nose break from the impact.

A Death Eater pointed his wand against the back of her skull. She closed her eyes and prayed, for anything, to come to her rescue. Her wand had fell from her grasp and rolled off several feet from what she was. There was no hope.

“Well, well, well.” The voice was unfamiliar, probably a low-rank if she had to guess. “Looks like we’ve got Potter’s bitch in the palm of our hands. What shall we do?”

“Kill her,” ordered the other, younger.

Hermione tried to fight back the tears. She would not go down a sobbing mess. She would fight, with or without her wand. In a split-second, the Head Girl swung her legs around, tripping the first Death Eater and snatching his wand before taking cover.

The second Death Eater shot curse after curse, nearly grazing the skin of her left cheek. She ducked just in time and delivered a stunning spell straight to his chest. He fell in a heap of cloak and without hesitation she delivered the same blow to the other.

“Well done, Granger.”

The young woman turned around, and came face to face with her sworn enemy. He was without his usual bodyguards and looked quite battered from whatever was going on in the lower levels.

She felt her stomach twist as he lifted her wand from the floor. “I suppose this is your wand,” he deduced. “Unless it really is that spiky twig in your hand.”

“Give it back,” she ordered, holding out her free hand, whilst pointing the ‘spiky twig’ at him with the other. “Now.”

He tossed it in the air and caught it, repeatedly. “I don’t think I will. Not so easily, of course.”

“Give it back, Malfoy.”

“Ooo,” he mocked. “Say my name some more.”

“Don’t make me hurt you.”

Malfoy snorted with laughter. He took a few steps closer to her, exposing the flesh of his neck. “Go ahead,” he dared. “Cut it open. Watch me bleed. It’s the closest to being Pureblood you’ll ever get.”

“You’re sick,” she spat, making motion to grab her wand from his grasp.

Before the deed could be done, there was a shout down the corridor, from behind. “There she is!” screamed a pair of Death Eaters, undoubtedly talking about her. The Head Girl spun around to deflect whatever curses they sent her way, and froze in shock as Malfoy shoved her out of the way – albeit ungracefully – and stunned his supposed allies.

He looked back at her for a moment, a brief moment, and dropped her wand. She didn’t know what to do or say.

Hermione gasped for breath, as she awoke. Her muscles ached with the exhaustion of someone much older and much weaker. She felt along her chest and moaned in pain. Everything hurt. Every part. Every inch. Everything. Several soundless moments came and went before she did so much as open her eyes.

“Wh – What…” Hermione glanced at her surroundings. She was in a bedroom, but it wasn’t her own and it definitely wasn’t any sort of facility at St. Mungo’s. The décor was old and dated, as though it had recently been cleaned. “What is going on…?”

That’s when it occurred to her.

“Miss,” whispered a voice in the corner.

Hermione turned around, darting her gaze in every direction before she located the source of the whisper. It was a house-elf, quite a tiny one at that. “Do – Do you know where I am?”

The house-elf nodded. “Master ordered me to help you.”

“Master? Who is your master?” It can’t have been Nott. She had seen him die before her eyes. “Where the hell am I? Tell me! Where is Nott? What happened to his body? What is this place?”

She went into full panic mode, recalling the last few moments before she passed out. “The Mutant! That thing! It killed Nott!”

“Please, Miss,” urged the tiny creature. “Please be calm. You are safe here. There is nothing to fear, Miss.”

“I can’t calm down!” she cried. “Nott is dead!”

The house-elf plopped onto the bed, grabbing Hermione by the shoulders with a surprising amount of strength. “But you are not dead,” the house-elf indicated, in a way that spoke a thousand words. “Please. Stay calm. Let me help you.”

Hermione tried to fight it, but she couldn’t. The tears rolled down her cheeks and fell to the plush, white covers. In the minute she had been awake, she’d gathered one detail. She was a prisoner.

“Master is waiting,” explained the house-elf, in a squeaky voice. “Let Minnie help. Please, Miss.”

“Minnie,” repeated Hermione, wiping the tears from her face. “Is – Is that your name?”

The house-elf nodded, cheering up. “Minnie is very pleased to meet you.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile through her sadness. She still had a tender spot for house-elves. “You wouldn’t happen to have my wand, would you?”

Minnie shook her tiny head. “Master does not allow wand magic.”

Hermione frowned. Master was beginning to sound like a right dick. “Wh - What does your Master want from me?”

The house-elf gestured to an emerald green dress draped over the foot of the bed. She had never seen something so exquisite. Hermione didn’t know what to say. “Er…”

“Master would like you to join him for supper,” explained Minnie, retrieving the dress for her. “Minnie has prepared a bath in the other room. Would you like Minnie to help you wash?”

“No,” retorted the brunette. “I’m not wearing that and I’m not joining your Master for supper, not until I know what’s going on.”

“You are Master’s guest,” Minnie said simply. “You must accept Master’s generosity.”

“Generosity?” she repeated. “I’m his prisoner.”

Minnie’s face fell. “You will not join Master for supper?”

“Absolutely not. I demand answers. I demand freedom.”

The house-elf looked crestfallen.

Hermione felt terrible about it, for reasons she did not know, but she couldn’t change her mind. She had no idea what was waiting for her at supper, or whom. “I want you tell your Master something.” The former Head Girl bent closer. “I want you to tell your Master that my friends will find me. It doesn’t matter where I am, who he is or why I’m here. My friends will find me and bring me home.”

Two Hours Later

Night had fallen. Hermione was still awake, terrified. She had heard dozens of slams and shouts and bangs, knowing her defiance hadn’t gone unnoticed, but it had to be done. She would not surrender.

Instead, her mind drifted to thoughts of Nott. In the short time they’d known one another, she’d grown fond of her former classmate. He sacrificed himself for her safety, and that was something she wouldn’t soon forget. Hermione hugged her knees, shaking beneath the covers of the giant king-size bed. It took every bit of courage she had left not to cry.

Tears were for the weak.

“Miss?”

There was a faint voice from the door, which Hermione had since barricaded with every piece of furniture she was strong enough to move. The young woman stayed silent.

“Miss?” repeated the voice, sounding vaguely like Minnie. “M – Master would like to speak to you.”

Hermione’s muscles tensed up. A ball of panic stirred in and around her heart. She hugged her knees closer, trying to block out the voices.

She heard mumbling on the other side. One voice definitely belonged to Minnie, whilst the other remained foreign to her ears. It was deep, animalistic and laced with anger.

Something shattered on the other side, and for a moment Hermione panicked, thinking Minnie had gotten hurt, but her worries vanished. “Miss? Master has agreed to set you free.”

Hermione shot up from the bed, astonished. She made her way to the door, pushed past the furniture, and pressed an ear against the mahogany. “Is – Is that true?”

“Yes,” confirmed the house-elf. “Under the condition that you join him for supper.”

The same fear tugged at her heartstrings. “What if I object?”

More sounds. Louder. Minnie cleared her tiny throat. “Master would like to know what he could do to change your mind.”

Hermione opened her mouth, ready to say nothing but something else came out, without her consent. “I want to speak to your Master,” she found herself saying. “Alone.” It was all so fast. “And I want him to tell me the truth about where I am.”

This time there was silence. She heard no voices. Instead, a pair of footsteps sounded from the other side, light and fast like the pitter-patter of rain. Hermione assumed they belonged to Minnie, and that her wish had been granted.

“Hello?” she asked, pressing her entire body against the door. “Is anyone there?”

Silence.

“I – I will happily join you for supper, but, first, I require a few answers.”

Silence.

Hermione took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself. “Where am I?”

At first, there was more silence, but then she heard something from the other side. It was breathing; harsh breathing, and it resembled that of a beast-like creature.

“Where you have always been,” spoke a menacing, growl-like voice. “Malfoy Manor.”

Her worst fears had been confirmed. Hermione wasn’t so daft to think a mysterious stranger had rescued her from the attack and taken her to his home. The pieces had finally fallen into place.

She wanted to cry, to shout, to jump from the window and sprint home, but Malfoy Manor had been built with magic from the ground up. It was impossible to escape, not without the owner’s permission.

Hermione tried to steady her heart, as the next question crawled up her throat and pried its way through her pursed lips. “Who – Who are you?”

“The one you came for,” spoke that same, nightmarish voice. “I am the Mutant.”