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!

The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man
Part 4




I gazed into the mirror, frowning. My head was nicely shaped, but I looked like a torture victim with scars in my scalp, dark rings under my eyes, my lips still bruised, and the clean gown hanging off my pointy frame of bones. I was never pretty, but what I saw in the mirror was ghastly.

After three days of well-needed sleep, I was able to get up and move about. Narcissa held my arm as I moved to the marble bathroom, me praying to whatever god that I did not somehow fall. The bathroom was not outfitted to be fall-proof. Every edge and counter was a possible device to my untimely death. And considering how weak I was, my fears of bashing my head on the gorgeous green marble were doubled.

I had a proper bath, after nearly two weeks of Cleansing Charms, and it felt heavenly. I had a proper meal, and it nearly made me ill…but it was delicious going down. I was able to walk to one of the large windows and look over the gardens in the back of the Manor. But, for all that time, I had not left my room or gone outside into the air. It was March, and soon the Equinox would arrive. I usually celebrated at home with a few bottles of Ogden’s and a little toast for a mild spring in my garden. I had indulged myself at the last Solstice by having dinner out…

Narcissa sat with me during the day, bringing me books that I knew were banned by the Ministry, and we did not talk about Harry although I craved news. I missed my cottage, and the privacy. Malfoy had only been by once since I became able to see after myself, and then only to tell me that I was not allowed to return home for another week.

Healer Wiscombe came by in the mornings, amazed at how well I was healing. I said nothing. My nipple had healed, but there would always be a scar across the underside, one of several eternal reminders. The damage to my womb and clitoris was nearly healed, with no signs that it would tear open again. I would have to take potion treatments for the next few days to erase the trauma and nerve damage. The bruises were slow to fade, and my hair was slow to grow.

I grew tired of wearing nightgowns and lying in bed.

“May I enter, Miss Granger?”

I had retired to the bed again, curled up with my familiar and a book ‘Dark Shaman of the Amazonian Basin.’ It was late afternoon and the sun lit the white décor of the room with a fiery orange light. I glanced up to see Lucius Malfoy standing in the doorway, his face, as always, unreadable. He wore a pair of smoky grey trousers, fashionable boots, and a cream-coloured dress shirt, the shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows and the top button undone. His long silver hair was pulled into a ribbon and hanged over his left shoulder. Lucius Malfoy looked roguish and I bit my lip…

I nodded slowly, my eyes noticing that he had a book in right hand and his wand in his left. As he neared, I could just make out the discolouration of his inner left forearm… I still felt a heightened sense of caution around the Malfoy patriarch, but during my time in the Manor, he had not harmed me or verbally denigrated me…

Lucius Malfoy strode across the room and paused at the bedside, scrutinizing me with cold, pale eyes. With a swift movement, he sat in the chair Narcissa usually occupied. We stared at each other for several more silent moments, and I broke the stillness by marking and closing the book in my lap with a snap.

“I understand that you are healing quickly,” he said with that familiar arrogant air and turn of his voice.

“I can walk on my own, eat and bathe on my own,” I supplied, unsure as to why Lucius Malfoy would want to speak to me without Narcissa present.

“The pain is tolerable?”

It was not a question to lead to a concerned line of conversation, and I answered.

“It is minimal, now.”

“Ah…” he said, tilting his head to gaze down his nose at me, looking to the front of my gown and then to my shaved head.

I sighed and stroked Malfoy who slept contently in the bend my hip where I was turned towards the side of the bed.

“Is there something you wished to speak about, Mr. Malfoy?”

Cutting to the chase…I could tell he wanted to leave and forget I ever existed.

“I had come across a description of a curse in the library. Of course, it seems, now, whatever curse affected you has been countered, so I suppose I am a bit late…”

I detected a hint; a small hint of regret…and it shocked me.

Lucius Malfoy extended his arm to pass me the book he had been carrying. I paused; noticing the he still had his wand in his other hand. But, I took the book and opened it to where a red velvet ribbon mark rested between the parchment pages.

I read the words, realizing that it was German, and quickly translated in my mind. I blinked at the handwritten words, scribed in flowing script. The blood drained from my face as I read…and read.

“What is this book?” I breathed, unable to speak properly or tear my eyes away from the ink on the parchment.

“It is called ‘The Hanged Man,’ but its real name has been lost to time.”

I swallowed as I closed the book and let it fall to my lap with ‘Dark Shaman of the Amazonian Basin,’ but I wanted to throw across the room and far away from me.

“It is a memoir of a Dark Wizard who, as you read, preferred to sexually destroy his lovers and/or victims.”

The Marquis de Sade’s ‘120 Days of Sodom’ paled in depravity…

“The marked passage is about a curse that shares many similarities with what injuries you sustained. Your injuries are also reminiscent of Severus’ ‘Sectumsempra,’ and from my conclusions, what was done to you was a combination of the two…a spell uniquely Potter’s.”

I nodded slowly, my hands clenching so that I could feel my fingernails bite into my palms.

“Potter intended to literally mark you, Miss Granger, mark you so deeply that you would never be…”

Lucius paused and ran a hand over his mouth. I glanced at his movement to see that he was hiding the slight quivering of his lips. I furrowed my brow…even Lucius Malfoy, murderer, former Death Eater, was affected in some way. Whether it was disgust or some grander emotion, I could not tell.

“’The Hanged Man’ is a banned book, Miss Granger, and I think you know why. The curses and acts recounted on those pages are of the darkest magics known to Wizarding kind. I cannot say if Potter has encountered this book, but Merlin help us if he did. I have kept this book hidden from my family and my former associates…”

With a flick of his wand, the book floated from my lap back to his hand.

“And I had intend to destroy it, as I should have when I first became aware of it. However, this book might prove useful in countering Potter…but as it is, the book is dangerous and should be, at the very least, sealed.”

A hissed incantation burst from Lucius Malfoy’s lips, and I gasped as the book glowed a terrible shade of red and the pages seemed to melt together, making it impossible for anyone to open it. I swallowed as Lucius Malfoy met my eyes, a ferocity visible in those silver orbs. He passed the book back to me, and I hesitated to touch it, but quickly placed it aside on the bed. It would take time to navigate past the spell Lucius had placed upon the book, but I knew that if I would need it, Merlin forbid, I would find a way…

“What my wife has not told you, Miss Granger, is that Potter has killed twice since your arrival here. The day Draco questioned you was the third murder, and yesterday the fourth. We feared you would be the fifth from the injuries you sustained.”

I closed my eyes. I could feel blood in my palms. Sweet Nimue…

“If your life was in danger before, it is doubly so, now.”

I was weeping silently, too tired to let my true grief pour out of me as it should. My body quaked, but Lucius did not move. I did not expect him sympathize, it did not seem to be in his nature. But, in a comforting way, I felt strengthened by Lucius’ coldness. It reminded me that I was very much the same as he. I had become weak by no fault of my own.

I swallowed my tears, and let the shivers pass away until I was completely still. I had to keep it together.

I wiped at my tears, hastily, and opened my eyes to meet Lucius’ gaze evenly.

“I need my wand, Mr. Malfoy.”

I could not say why I uttered those words, but I felt incredibly naked without my wand. If danger were coming, I would need it, and by Merlin, I would not let it go.

“I will speak to Draco.”

“I would rather speak to him myself…I need information, Mr. Malfoy, and I doubt that your son would appreciate you leaking that information to me. I hope you have told him about the book you just sealed?”

Ice, sarcasm, strength…it was coming back to my voice. All I needed was my power, and Horace would literally initiate me as a honorary Slytherin House member.

“He is aware.”

“I would like to speak with him as soon as possible. I am still under confinement, of a sort, so I trust you will relay my wishes?”

An eyebrow arched, and I narrowed my eyes. I had once been afraid of this man, but I had been a girl, then.

Lucius’ lips curled into what I construed as a smile, but it seemed strained. “I can do that, Miss Granger, and as for confinement, you are free to move about my home as you see fit.”

I blinked once, the permission given to me seemingly lightening the weight on my shoulders as if I had indeed been confined to just the bedroom and adjoining bathroom. Odd…

He rose from the chair and straightened his trousers, his hair falling from his shoulder to spill down his back. “I know you will not mention your knowledge of that book to anyone outside this house, Miss Granger, it would not do for my tattered reputation, or yours, if the Ministry learned that I had owned it at one time.”

There was a veiled threat in those words, but I could only smirk.

“I borrow books from Horace Slughorn, Mr. Malfoy, I’ll say nothing, if you’ll say nothing…”

The expression on Lucius Malfoy’s face was one I knew I would treasure. Shock, and then respect, only an ounce or so, but something I had never expected from Lucius Malfoy.

“I’ll have Draco pop in as soon as he can,” he said, the temperature of his tone warming a few degrees.

And in only about three Lucius Malfoy sized strides, I was alone with my familiar and my thoughts. I opened my palms with a wince, and sighed. I slipped the now sealed copy of ‘The Hanged Man’ under the pillow with the other book I had been reading. With a wince, I extracted myself from the bed, which had been my home for nearly two weeks, and padded slowly to the bathroom.

Gazing into the large mirror over the basin of the sink, I tried to smile at myself, but my gaunt and battered face could only manage a sneer. I washed my hands and studied the crescent shaped marks in my palm. I wished I had my wand. I had to make do with a bottle of healing salve I found in a small chest set into the wall, and soon I only had more scars.

I was still unsettled. I leaned against the counter of the sink, my hands resting on the marble surface, staring into my own familiar eyes. Honey-coloured eyes, long lashes, and dark circles underneath…and in those eyes I fell, thinking.

‘The Hanged Man,’ by its own title, had various meanings. The Tarot card, part of the Major Arcana… Maybe I should not have walked out of Divination after all. Odin on the World Tree, Jesus Christ on the Cross, two men, two trees… What had that card meant?

Sacrifice…acceptance…waiting…new points of view…truth…alignment…

I blinked. I could almost formulate something… Damn. There was something beyond the reach of my mind, and it infuriated me. I was grasping at smoke. There had to be a motive, a reason to it…to Harry’s madness, the murders, and his need to find the Resurrection Stone. It could not be as simple as wanting to see those who had died that were dear to him, it was never so simple for Harry. But then again, Harry was mad.

I sighed, finding that my lips were quivering again. I pushed from the counter, taking a few steps backward to sit on the edge of the bathtub, still staring at my own face in the mirror.

‘The Hanged Man….’ The passage had shaken me, so perverse, so vile…but I had to keep that information fresh, it was pertinent.

‘To engrave ones name into the womb of the one most important…so that she never forget to whom she would serve for all her days. That womb would be at the disposal of a master who would fill it with seed, or tear it out and force the woman to devour it as punishment.’

My stomach churned.

‘To drink the blood of the fount is to drink power…’

My heart seemed to squeeze in my chest and I clutched the front of my soft gown.

‘To make her scream in pain and in lust, she will serve to the very end the master of her innermost heart…’

I wanted to scream.

The curse had not been exactly that, but similar, both just as Dark and terrible. It simply was impossible for me to believe that my best friend, my Harry, would ever do something to me, something that would scar my very soul! How I wanted to hate him…

For so many years I had wanted love, what young girl did not want love? I loved Viktor Krum spontaneously and all too shortly, a mere infatuation. I loved Ron, but I could not be his lover. I loved Harry, he was like my brother, or the closest thing I could imagine to be a brother. Even during the time Ron left us while we were searching for the Horcruxes, I would hold Harry much like a mother would hold a child, or an older sister would hold a little brother.

Those were the types of loves I knew. And I knew they loved me in return, but it had not been enough.

My hand slid down my front to my belly, to my womb, and I wondered if I could still have children. Had Harry’s curse made it impossible for me to have a child if I wanted one? Merlin, I could hate him if he had done something like that…

I felt as if I had done something terrible wrong, but the feeling passed as I looked more closely at myself in the mirror.

I had only wanted my privacy. I did not want to leave the Wizarding world, the Muggle world was far too foreign to me, now. I could have easily given up, though. Maybe if I had, I would not be in this situation… No, he would have found me in the Muggle world just as easily.

We cannot run from our past.

No, my dear woman, you cannot…Severus Snape said, and for the first time, I could feel his presence inhabiting a part of my thoughts.

“Please do not be my conscience ,” I begged…with a smile, noticing that my eyes had seemed to change for a moment, to darken.

He did not answer, and I did not expect him to…he was there and he was not there.

I wished he had loved me. I wished so many things, but they would never come true. I wished, from time to time, that I had died fighting Voldemort, but I had not. Someone always had to live with the memory of those times, and I was one of those people. So was Harry…and it was obvious what it did to him…

Am I insane as well? I was the one hearing Severus Snape’s voice in my head…

I chuckled, feeling my laughter in my belly just under my hand.

I most definitely am not normal, I couldn’t be.

“What are you doing, Granger?”

I nearly fell backward into the empty tub. I tore my eyes away from my reflection to the source of the voice, the voice that had called me a ‘filthy little Mudblood,’ in Second Year. But there was no scrawny, pale boy in the door way, but a wide shouldered, tall, albeit pale, man. I took a breath and let the hand on my belly fall to my hip.

“Thinking…”

“You’ve been thinking for hours in there…isn’t your arse numb from sitting on the edge of the tub?”

He was teasing me, but he was right, my bum was tingling.

Hours? I stood unsteadily, smoothing my gown down, feeling cold after being encased in the marble bathroom. I glimpsed my reflection one last time, and lamented my lack of hair…I really did look terrible.

Malfoy stepped aside to let me pass into the darkened bedroom, the sun was starting to set on what I assumed was the other side of the Manor. I shuffled across the rug to my usual place on the bed, finding that my familiar had disappeared as he usually did…probably to lurk near the kitchens. Tucking my bare feet into the soft sheet of the bed, I settled on my left side, the posture I usually took when conversing with someone at the bedside. Malfoy, however, did not come to sit in the chair by the bedside, but sat on the edge of the bed, near my feet, leaning back into the footboard, his hands folded on the clad knee of dark grey trousers. He had worn a similar suit the day of Minerva’s funeral. In fact, my more recent memories of the man had him dressed in only dark grey suits, sometimes with thin pinstripes, sometimes not. The tie was always a dark shade of green silk, and the cufflinks, making his outfit seem almost too formal or too antiquated, were emeralds.

He looked terrible. Despite the impeccable cut of his suit, one tail of his dress shirt was not tucked in, and there was a dark spot of something damp on the lapel of his coat. His hair was untidy, the platinum spikes having lost some of their height, and his mouth was set into a grim line.

“Did you find your cufflink?” I asked, happy to break the silence between us, his eyes staring at my shorn head with an obvious distaste.

“I did not lose it.”

I sighed, “After I got sick all over you in the greenhouses I noticed you had lost a cufflink. They’re emeralds, aren’t they?”

Malfoy pursed his lips before saying, “I did not lose it.”

I did not want to argue, but I knew he was either wrong, or had more than one set of emerald cufflinks. Knowing Malfoy, he had several sets.

“But you…” I began.

“I did not lose it, I knew exactly where it went…because I put it there.”

My face surely was comical, but Malfoy did not laugh, instead he raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms before his chest.

“I put it in the pocket of your cloak when you fainted. The tracking device I mentioned?”

Hint, hint, I could almost hear him say…

“Oh,” was all I could manage.

“Father mentioned that you wanted your wand. I can retrieve it for you tomorrow, if you don’t mind waiting another day.”

“I’m just glad it wasn’t destroyed.”

“Yes. Well, Father also informed me that you wanted to speak to me.”

I nodded slowly. I needed to know more…

“About the Elder wand…”

Malfoy interrupted again, but I kept calm, and listened.

“We confirmed your theory, Granger. Potter has it.”

I had hoped I had been wrong.

“He covered his movements quite well, which makes some in the department believe Potter is not as ‘insane’ as many would like to think. I believe that with the Elder Wand he Confounded the portraits for several minutes so that he would not been seen in the Headmistress’s office. I have spoken to Albus Dumbledore’s portrait, and the theory is viable.

The curse used to kill the Headmistress…is Dark in nature, and obscure. The type of curse is mentioned only in one place…”

“’The Hanged Man…’” I answered in a distant whisper. My sight was set in a dark place, and I could see it…

Ginny had fled to the Burrow after Harry had lashed out…Ron beating on Harry’s study door…and Harry sitting on the rug before a raging fire with ‘The Hanged Man’ open on his lap…

It was only a thought, but it seemed possible…

“How do you know of it?”

My sight pulled backward into my brain proper. The anger of the question had startled me, and I knew I had said too much. I hesitantly glanced at Malfoy, who was still sitting on the foot of the bed, leaning back into the footboard, his arms crossed before his chest, but his eyes blazing and his hands clutching at his forearms, white knuckled.

I tried to smile, “I’m a know-it-all, or have you forgotten?”

Malfoy seemed to relax, but his eyes were burning into me.

“This is no time for lies, Granger.”

I wasn’t so obvious, I knew. And then I felt it, a nudge just between my eye brows.

Careful there, Jane, I taught him better than Potter, Severus whispered.

“I was informed of a curse that was similar to what caused my condition; it was detailed in ‘The Hanged Man.’”

“My father told you.”

I said nothing. I wanted to tell Malfoy that Lucius was trying to help, and that the book was sealed, but there were surely other copies secreted away. Horace probably had a copy, everything else in his library was Dark…and I suddenly felt ill, knowing I had been reading such banned books as ‘The Hanged Man.’

“There was a curse in that book, then?”

Ah yes, divert course to something else…I did not want to feel Malfoy’s penetrating anger any longer. And I did not want him to find a weakness in my mind.

“An asphyxiation curse, one of three varieties. If you know of ‘The Hanged Man,’ you know that much of the spells detailed are of a sexual nature.”

The anger was ebbing in his voice, but his eyes remained on me, as if looking through me. Surely he was probing for a crack to see something he deemed important, but I had been violated enough…

“Some of the spells can be used to kill. The third degree asphyxiation curse was used on the Headmistress.”

I said nothing, expressed nothing. All I could feel was the emptiness left behind, having already poured my grief out for my friend. All that remained was a growing anger, and a growing hatred for the man who was, and was not, Harry Potter.

“And the latest victims?” I asked dryly, my eyes falling to one of Malfoy’s cufflinks.

Malfoy shifted and I knew that he hoped I hadn’t heard…

“You are not going to like what I have to say, Granger.”

I lifted my eyes to his…and the seriousness of what he was about to say steeled me to expect the worst.

“The day I questioned you, Sybill Trelawney was murdered at Hogwarts. The school is now closed.”

Trelawney? Gears in the darkest part of my mind began moving, in a dire need of oil.

“How?”

No whispers, no gasps, my voice came out stronger than it had been in weeks.

“Her skin was flayed, she bled to death…”

Sweet Nimue!

“Longbottom found her in the chair she used in her classroom, nude, surrounded by tea leaves and Tarot cards.”

“And the flesh?”

“In a pile at her feet. Only her trunk was flayed, not her limbs.”

I bit my lip. Only bits of information were making sense, but the rest was madness. Perhaps that was what it was meant to be, but I couldn’t overlook anything.

“Anything else, Malfoy? Any markings, any signs?”

Malfoy shook his head, and ran a hand over his face to replace it against his chest.

Surely there had been something…something to give a clue as to why Harry was… I closed my eyes, the sickness overwhelming my brain. What had Trelawney have to do with the Resurrection Stone? If anything, the barmy woman had more to do with the Prophecy we had found in the Department of Mysteries in our Fifth Year, and not much else. Trelawney was harmless.

“And the latest?”

Malfoy rose to his feet.

“I’ve told you too much, Granger…”

I pursed my lips and took a deep breath.

“Who, Malfoy?”

He turned away from me, his hands clenching into fists. He was trembling from anger, I could feel it roiling off his wide shoulders, Malfoy pulsed with it…

I straightened, lifting myself off the pillows I had laid against.

“Who?” I asked again, magic lacing my voice, making me frown. I had felt magic in my voice before, but never so strong. I had not intended it…

“George Weasley.”

The steely reserve shuddered briefly, but held. My face began to crumple, but I stopped it, and the tears. Tears could come later.

Malfoy turned to look over his shoulder, perhaps checking to see if I were in some emotional distress. When he apparently thought I was safe enough to approach, he returned to the spot at the foot of the bed, crossing his right leg over his left knee as well as crossing his arms again. I could sense that he was still angry, and, like me, had managed to contain his emotions behind a cool exterior.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Malfoy rolled his eyes and began. He had anticipated my question.

“Weasley was attacked in his own shop on Diagon Alley, late in the evening after closing. He was incapacitated, tortured, and hanged upside down after which his throat was slashed. He did not die immediately, his wife Angelina found him and tended to him, running to alert us. Weasley was taken to St. Mungo’s where he managed to live long enough to tell me what had happened and who was responsible. The nature of his wounds caused his death. No potion or spell could stop the bleeding or close the wound…”

“But your counter…?”

“Did not work, I tried, Granger, believe me, I tried.”

Malfoy was not looking at me anymore, lost in his own memories. I studied his face, seeing the fuzziness of a glamour below his eyes, obviously trying to conceal the rings. I had rings under my eyes at that moment, and I had them often just out of the principle of my work, but I never hid them. Then again, I was not in a position of authority like Malfoy, and appearance meant a lot to men like that…

“So it was a different curse.”

“A variation from ‘The Hanged Man,’ once again. This time it was a variation of a lashing curse, another curse with degrees. This curse was of the highest degree…never meant to be used on any part of the body other than the back or buttocks. It is like the curse he used to brand your womb, but purposely crafted so that there is no known counter or potion that would staunch the bleeding or close the wound.

When Potter cursed you, he seemed to lack the ability to make the curse take full effect, thus my being able to counter it. Within the time between your attack and Weasley’s, Potter has gotten better…more efficient.”

I said nothing, looking down at my fists in my lap. I did not dig my fingernails into my palms, but my knuckles were white and my palms were thumping.

“Wh-What did George say?”

Malfoy sighed, disconcertedly. “I shouldn’t be telling you, Granger, but you need to know.”

“For my own safety?”

We met eyes again. “Yes.”

I could see deep into those silver orbs, very deep. There was frustration there, and anger. I could see concern for himself, his family, his co-workers, and…

“Before Weasley died, the Healers were able to temporarily repair his vocal cords. Blood replenishers were pumping into him as fast as blood was spilling out, but he told me in not so many words that Potter was looking for Ronald. When Weasley could not tell Potter his brother’s location, he was tortured. I’ll spare you the specifics…”

“No!” I gulped. “No, I need to know, Malfoy.”

He sighed again and shifted so that both booted feet were squarely on the floor, and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, clasping his pale, long fingered hands before him.

“He was stripped nude and bound. His fingers and arms were broken methodically, then his feet and legs. I’ve heard it called ‘hobbling.’ It was not until later he was hoisted by his right ankle to hang, his head about four feet from the floor of his shop.

While he was hanging, Potter began questioning him about you. Where you were…who had taken you… Of course, Weasley did not know.

Before his throat was slashed, Potter said something that Weasley repeated over and over, right until the moment he died. He said that Potter envied him. Potter said that he would fix everything… ‘Don’t pity the dead.’ ‘Don’t pity the dead.’”

Malfoy stopped, his hands trembling, his left eye twitching.

I laid back into the pillows, unclenching my hands so that my sweaty palms rested against my legs.

‘Don’t pity the dead.’

‘You will help me find the Stone!’

I wondered if my logic were anywhere close to the truth. I had passed the point in thinking that I was simply having a nightmare…

“Where are the Weasleys?”

“We evacuated them outside the country. Ronald has been sent to stay with them, and explicitly instructed not to return to Britain. I’ve already had three Floo calls from that git, screaming at me to let him return, or to send you somewhere safe,” Malfoy drawled characteristically.

“Why haven’t you sent me somewhere?”

Malfoy’s sneer faded as he turned to regard me. “You are safe here. Besides, you were injured, I couldn’t risk worsening your condition by moving you.”

It made sense, but I felt much better.

“And moving you now might bring unwanted attention,” he added as if reading my thoughts.

I sighed. I wouldn’t leave the country by any means. Harry had to be caught and treated. Or imprisoned…although I loathed the thought. I wondered if there was anything of my old friend left, if there was still a gentle, loving part of him that would make him stop… I wondered what Ron was thinking…

“Where is he now?”

“We’re not certain down to a village, but we believe he’s moving south…”

To Wiltshire.

“So, you realize what might have to happen, don’t you Granger?”

I nodded. “I would really like to have my wand back, Malfoy.”

“First thing in the morning, Granger.”



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



I slept fitfully, vivid dreams assaulting me, making me wake up in screams. My familiar hid under the bed and would not come out when I called. No one came to my room, and I felt terribly alone. It had been years since I had slept so poorly. Finally, though, too exhausted to fight another nightmare, my brain allowed me to sleep without dreaming.

When I woke again, sunlight streamed in through the windows on either side of the bed; it was after dawn. I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes. Through my left eye, I saw something that made my spirits soar…my wand.

I had missed the stolen walnut wand. I still carried Bellatrix Lestrange’s wand ever since having been ‘snatched’ by Greyback…and taken to the very house I sat comfortably inside at that very moment. The walnut and dragon-string grew to suit me better than the vinewood and dragon-string…and Merlin forbid I should ever tell anyone whose wand I carried.

Atop a stack of clean clothes, my walnut wand seemed to gleam in the morning light and I crawled toward it. When I took it up in my hand, my entire body pulsed. Instant recognition. I had half a mind to hug my wand to my chest and stroke it as if I were stroking Malfoy the cat. I was the owner of this wand now; it had accepted me over Bellatrix Lestrange…

I rose from the bed, gathered up the pile of clothes, and with my wand headed toward the bathroom. Someone, most likely Malfoy, had brought a whole outfit from the cottage. I tried not to think about him going through the underwear drawer, but I knew he must have. Cotton underpants, black, my favourite bra, black, my favourite pair of denims, stone washed, my favourite silk camisole, grey, and my favourite jumper, loose knit grey wool…it was my usual outfit for home…down to the heavy grey wool socks. The only thing that was missing were my military boots and my hand-me-down coat.

I washed my face, and dabbed it dry with a thick, expensive towel. In the mirror, I looked almost like myself. The hair was a drastic difference, now a millimetre-long caramel brown fuzz on a scarred, but shapely scalp. The bruises were nearly gone, but the dark circles and sunken cheeks remained. I did not look very healthy, and Merlin forbid my parents should ever see me in this shape…they would think I had an eating disorder…

I brushed my teeth with the new toothbrush I found in the wall chest, and felt tears stinging my eyes.

I could have easily gone to my parents in Australia and let the Ministry handle this nightmare.

But what if Harry remembered me mentioning Australia?

I rinsed my mouth and wiped my tears away with my sleeve. I could not just run away because something horrible had happened to me…

Now clothed to move about, I immediately went to the bedroom door, cracking open to find a wood panelled corridor, dark and quiet. As I stepped over the threshold, I noticed a chair sitting next to the door. Touching the upholstered back of the chair, I could still feel the warmth of a recently vacated body. I wondered who…

I shifted my wand, which I kept in my sleeve, and decided to take the right side, the north, or what I assumed to be north passage. My feet sank into a rich carpet as I moved. I tried not to slink or creep, I was not trespassing, but, except for the bedroom I had just left, I did feel like an intruder.

Dim wall sconces lit the corridor, gleaming off dark wood panelling. There were a few paintings, but no portraits. I took note of the landscapes and still lives, as well as the number of doors I passed on either side of the corridor. I heard no movement behind any of the doors, no sounds of life. I was perhaps in a guest wing…I could not remember the layout of the Manor from the last, brief time I had been there. That had been nearly ten years before.

Finally, at the end of the corridor was light, and sound. I had reached the central foyer of the Manor, and I knew I was not totally lost. Standing at a banister, I realized I was on the top floor, and far below were voices. I peeked down the adjacent wing, finding the corridor dark, and started down the stairs, pausing on the landing of the second floor. These corridors were brighter with lighter wood panelling and brighter sconces…and silenced portraits, who glared at my passing, lined the walls. The family wing, perhaps?

Down more steps, I came to the wide foyer with white marble flooring and large windows looking out across wide, rolling hills, dotted with clumps of forest. The sky was an incredible shade of blue, and large, billowing clouds ambled across the face of morning.

“Father…did you?”

Snippets of Malfoy’s voice came from down the main floor corridor to the right of the terminus of the stairs. I took two steps before stopping…I could hardly believe I was a guest in this ridiculously large house.

“Granger has…”

My name. I moved toward the source of Malfoy’s voice. My socks were a bit slick on the marble, but noiseless. Passing two different doors, hypothetically leading to two different rooms, I came to the last door on my left. A sliver of morning light came from a crack between the door and the jamb, and I passed through the light to press my back against the wall, my right ear closest to the door. I could faintly smell pipe smoke and coffee.

“She may be a Mud-Muggleborn, Draco, but she is not mentally deficient.”

Did Lucius Malfoy pay me a compliment?

“Granger is in shock, Father! Being nearly raped and murdered will do that to a person!” Malfoy snarled.

Malfoy was angry…no, that was an understatement of an adjective…he was seething.

“She seems strong enough to me, son. Her mind is of the calculative sort, she can compartmentalize her pain, her emotions, her needs…it also seems to me that she is as desperate as you are to stop Potter,” Lucius snapped back.

There was a sound of furniture moving, and I thought for a second there was a scuffle between father and son. I was wrong when I peeked through the bright crack to see Lucius Malfoy sitting in a plush green velvet armchair by a fireplace, his bare feet propped up on an ottoman, a pipe hanging from his mouth and a newspaper in his hands…a Bulgarian paper…he wore pyjamas, dark blue silk, with a matching smoking jacket overtop. Malfoy, on the other hand, must have plopped down in the adjacent chair for I could just see the back of his head, his cheek in his left palm as he lounged. He was not in pyjamas, but a black turtle neck, his wand holsters visible over the shirt. His feet were also propped up by the ankles, heavy black boots dangling off the corner. One long finger hooked through the handle of a large mug of steaming coffee.

I tried to see more of the room, but all I could see was a long black leather coat hanging over a chair behind a large writing desk situated centrally in the room, pushed back only slightly nearer the large casement windows. The sun was too bright to see more.

Quickly I slid back against the wall, relaxing so I could breathe properly.

“That may be, Father, but you are suggesting something that goes against the ethics of my department.”

“Oh damn those ethics, Draco. You have considered this long before I voiced the suggestion, admit it!”

A rustle of newspaper punctuated Lucius’ strong words and I clenched my teeth. The damn Death Eater was thinking of something…

“I cannot use Granger as bait, Father. These are not the old days. Besides, I have already run it past the Detective Superintendent…”

Bloody ferret!

“Then what do you propose to do, Draco? Potter is coming this direction, and Merlin knows who he’ll kill on his way.”

“He won’t find the Manor, and even if he did, he would never get through the wards.”

“Potter moved about Hogwarts pretty easily…he got through the Granger girl’s wards…”

Malfoy growled loud enough for even I to hear from outside the door.

“He is not all-powerful, Father. He’s deranged, and he will make a mistake.”

“He has the Elder Wand, son.”

Malfoy snorted. “Shall I repeat myself, Father?”

There was a pause, and I waited…and waited.

“What are you going to do with Granger?”

Malfoy sighed. “The DS wants to move her out of the country, but it would only exacerbate matters. It could lead Potter outside of Britain…”

“Then he can be some other Ministry’s problem…”

Malfoy sighed again. “It is not that simple, Father. The press is having a field day. My men are getting harassed, hell, I’m getting harassed by people in my own department. People are frightened, confused, and it doesn’t help that the Prophet is stirring the cauldron by adding their own wild speculations.”

“Every plan I have given you is out in the open, son. Without breaking a few policies, you may not stop him…” Lucius said gently, and I wondered what his face looked like at that moment. His words sounded almost tender…fatherly.

“That’s why I have been telling Granger everything…she knows Potter better than anyone. And after what he tried to do to her, I think it is obvious that she is somehow integral to whatever he is planning to do.”

Lucius snorted, “And you shouted at me for sharing ‘The Hanged Man’ with her!”

“Too much, too soon, Father…”

“That little Mud-Muggleborn would have found it eventually! Better from me than from someone else! I even sealed the damn thing; it would take days for her to get around the enchantment…decades for anyone else.”

Another long pause and my back ached, the wainscoting digging into my lower back.

“Son, all of this…Potter, ‘The Hanged Man,’ it feels so…it feels like the old days.”

Malfoy inhaled so deeply I could hear it from outside the door. “Only worse, Father. But we’re on the winning side this time.”

“Yes, this time…”

I could feel my face contorting into a scowl. But a movement out of the corner of my eye made me jump and nearly slip on the marble floor. Narcissa was fast approaching me, her brow knitted in confusion. As she neared, I pushed a finger over my lips as I silently began to put distance between myself and the door. When I was close enough, Narcissa grasped my hand and pulled me further away, down the other side of the Manor, glancing back to the cracked door.

Through a different door and down a few steps, I found Narcissa had pulled me into a large kitchen, elves moving every which way, some preparing food, other washing dishes, some doing laundry in a room off to one side. The elves glanced up, as if waiting for Narcissa’s instruction. With a raised, pale hand, Narcissa seemed to wordlessly command the elves to go back to their work as she pulled me along the length of the kitchen. In the very back was a low nook, a booth large enough for two people to sit and not be noticed. A tiny window in the back of the nook opened onto a small kitchen herb garden, and the pane was open slightly, letting cool air into the near stifling kitchen.

“What did they say?” Narcissa said aloud, her voice almost lost in the din of the working kitchen.

I blinked at her…dressed in a long white dressing gown over a white silk shift, plain white slippers on her feet and her long blond hair plaited, falling over her right shoulder. She was radiant in the sunlight, and for the first time I appreciated how beautiful Narcissa Malfoy was, especially if she were an ally.

“I don’t…” I started.

Narcissa grasped both of my hands, tightly, her eyes wide with what I would have considered fear.

“I know Draco told you about Sibyll Trelawney and George Weasley…I know Lucius showed you that…that foul book…”

“Mrs. Malfoy…Narcissa…I…”

I was flustered.

“Hermione, please…please tell me what they said…”

I blinked rapidly. Something began crumbling inside, and suddenly I was sobbing.

“The Ministry…wants to send me away…” I sobbed, taking deep gulps of air between every odd number of words. “Malfoy said no…too much trouble…and Harry…Harry might come here…”

Narcissa wiped my tears away with a handkerchief she produced from her dressing gown, alternating between wiping my cheeks and caressing my shorn head. I missed my mother when she touched my face, and I missed my father when she touched my miserable excuse for hair.

“Shh, darling…he won’t find this place. You are safe here…” she cooed, her fingers tracing my sunken cheek. I knew she must have found me hideous, I found myself hideous…

“Lucius he…he said to use me as bait…”

Narcissa’s face immediately darkened. “Draco won’t let him.”

I gulped several more mouthfuls of air before answering.

“No…he said he wouldn’t.”

“Draco is not a monster, Her-Miss Granger. Lucius is not either, but he does have some monstrous ideas…”

I said nothing in reply, those dark gears beginning to turn again in my mind.

But it might work, little Jane Granger. Set a trap on your own terms, use yourself as bait, and catch the devil in a bag? Severus whispered evilly.

No. One time being tortured by my best friend was enough, Merlin knew what he would do if he had another chance at me. I did not think I could stand facing that kind of madness, not again.

“Was there anything else?” Narcissa asked, her concern prevalent in her soft voice.

“No…”

The tears had stopped, as had the sobs, and I could breathe in the breeze coming from the kitchen garden. Maybe, just maybe, there was something, one thing about Lucius’ idea that might work.

What was it Harry wanted me to do?

‘You will help me find the Stone!’

The Resurrection Stone. But why me…why did he need me to help him find it?

I could imagine Harry with the Elder Wand, Summoning the Stone and coming up with everything but…if it were not for the fact that my mental image was of the Harry that attacked me, the thought would have been comical.

I had had so little to do with the Resurrection Stone, and did not truly know of its existence until after it was gone. All I knew was the mentions of it by Beedle the Bard, as the book had been willed to me, all I knew were the connections, the coincidences…

I knew so little about the Stone, and I doubted anyone knew any more that I…through Harry’s recounting, through Dumbledore’s recounting…I only knew that the Stone could allow you to see people who have passed. The key word being ‘see.’

Unless…unless…

“Miss Granger?”

I bit my lip. I was gone again on some mental pathway, and had totally forgotten where I was and who was squeezing my hand. This was why I lived alone…

“I…I’m fine, Mrs. Malfoy, I just…”

“Talk it out, Miss Granger, if you need to.”

Her eyes were not grey or silver like Malfoy’s, but the palest shade of blue I could ever remember seeing. I had to pull myself together and tuck information into the filing cabinet of my mind.

“No, it would be nonsense…I need more information.”

Narcissa blinked at me and smiled wanly, I knew she could see through my evasion as if it were a glass pane, but she did not press me, and for that I was grateful.

“Breakfast first, and then to something to let your mind rest. If you are like me, you worry things too much.”

“I suppose,” I said with a hint of a laugh. I did worry things too much, but I had always been that way.

Narcissa summoned an elf, whispering softly, while I turned my attention to the small window of the nook, staring at the azure blue sky. Within moments, plates of eggs, bacon and toast popped onto the round table of the booth, along with halved grapefruits, coffee, juice, and jam. We ate slowly, not bothering with conversation, and I let myself enjoy a delicious breakfast, cleaning my plate as if I had not eaten in days. Sitting back with coffee, I noticed Narcissa preferred tea; I stared across the length of the kitchen. The fullness of activity put me at ease, it reminded me of breakfast at Hogwarts with students all around, talking and eating, laughing and cramming in time to finish a roll of parchment for some class or another.

I was deep into my soothing memory before I realized Malfoy was striding down the kitchen toward me, his face stern and his eyes piercing.

“Mother, Miss Granger, may I join you?”

I frowned over the rim of my cup as Narcissa Conjured a chair for Malfoy to sit on the outside of the nook. I took a sip of black coffee and let my eyes focus on a point beyond Malfoy’s face.

The filing cabinet opened entirely on its own…

‘The Hanged Man’ directed the course of my thoughts, and I felt at ease to traverse that path in the safety of this warm kitchen with Malfoy and his mother within arm’s reach.

Was there any way to ascertain that Harry had read the book? Of course, he could not get such a book while interred at St. Mungo’s. Where could he obtained such an evil book which was banned and blacklisted? Had he found it on his own before being committed? What had he been doing locked up in his study? Surely he was not just moping?

I felt my frown deepen as I took another sip of coffee. Distantly, I could hear Narcissa speaking, but I pushed her voice in with the noise of the kitchen…background, ambient sound.

Had there been an official record of Harry’s committal to St. Mungo’s? Ron…what did he remember?

What about Harry’s Healers? Were there records of treatment, therapy sessions?

I stopped. I was getting ahead of myself.

I focused on the possibility of Harry reading ‘The Hanged Man.’

“Granger!”

Fingers dug into my upper arms, shaking me. Luckily, there was no coffee left in my cup…

My eyes focused and all I could see was Malfoy’s stormy face. I blinked and set my coffee cup roughly on the tabletop, trying to shrug out of Malfoy’s painful hold.

“Snap out of it, Granger,” he growled, his jam laced breath hot against my cheeks.

“I’m fine, Malfoy. Kindly remove your hands,” I grit out.

Malfoy released me after carefully studying my face, pulling back to stand before the nook’s table and not leaning over it.

“Merlin, Granger, Mother was going send for Wiscombe again…” he muttered, falling back into his chair, running a hand through his spiked hair.

I took a breath and turned my attention to Narcissa who seemed stricken, her wide eyes moving from me to her son. I suddenly felt guilty and lowered my eyes to my empty coffee cup.

“If you’re going to go on some mental adventure, don’t do it over breakfast…it is rude.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but I knew, in all honesty, Malfoy was right.

Breakfast continued, though I kept silent and attentive to Narcissa’s light conversation. Malfoy spoke when he was spoken to, but I could feel his eyes upon me and little nudges between my eyes that were resisted easily.

“Well now, I’ll leave you two to your coffee, I need to speak to Lucius…”

I barely acknowledged Narcissa, only smiling absently as she left the nook. The earlier thoughts were beginning to move to the forefront of my mind.

“I know my mother’s conversation can be a bit trivial and silly, but she is trying, Granger.”

I tucked the thoughts away again, raising my head to watch Malfoy pour me another cup of coffee before filling his own from a fresh pot.

“She is a wonderful distraction.”

Malfoy smirked. “You think so?”

I nodded.

“She isn’t your mother, and you do not have to keep ignoring nicely phrased suggestions and veiled threats. But, for some reason she likes you, which is a bit disconcerting for me and Father.”

I took a small sip of coffee, trying not to scald my lips and tongue. Swallowing the strong drink, I smirked.

“She is one woman living in a house of two men…” I suggested.

Malfoy snorted over the rim of his cup. “She’s a Black.”

I could not say that I truly understood what her parentage had to do with anything, but I held my smirk.

“Are you going to tell me where you were?”

I nearly choked on a sip of coffee and reached for a napkin to dab at my lips.

“Wh-what?”

Malfoy grinned, which immediately put me on edge. I had rarely seen Malfoy grin, but when I did, it usually resulted in some type of nastiness. I especially remember Fifth Year when he was on the Inquisitorial Squad…

“That mental adventure you took while Mother was trying to talk with you. She thought you were having some sort of fit again…”

I felt blood heat my cheeks. I really felt guilty.

I scrambled to recompose myself, trying not to feel awkward.

“I…” I began, but paused, setting my coffee down. “You’re the Detective Chief Inspector.”

Malfoy quirked a pale eye brow, finishing his scalding coffee with a gulp, leaning forward in his chair to place his cup near mine.

“Astute observation, Granger…yes, I am the Detective Chief Inspector, and I need to get to work in an hour. So unless you have something to tell me, I’m going to be on my merry way to the Ministry.”

Cheeky ferret.

“I…you…”

Damn it, why wasn’t it coming out right?

“Do you have any records as to the events of Harry’s committal to St. Mungo’s? Reports about his house…his study?”

Malfoy stared at me as if I had grown hair in seconds…

“Somewhere in the files, maybe.”

“Maybe?” I asked, exasperation only a breath away from entering my tone of voice.

“Flint has been compiling everything related to Potter before he murdered McGonagall. We had to get documents from other departments and begin piecing it all together. Why would you want records about something like that?”

I sighed, my fingers playing along the rim of my coffee cup. “What was he doing between the time of his marriage and the day he was taken to St. Mungo’s? Maybe even before the wedding…” I said distantly, trying to remember something, anything…

“There may be some records, reports of the house, his mental state…but you realize that I cannot let you see those records, Granger”

“What?” I squeaked incredulously.

Malfoy leaned back in his chair, raising his arms to lace his fingers behind his head.

“You do not have the authority, you are not police…”

“I am an Unspeakable! My clearance is higher than yours will ever be!”

I was fuming. The ferret was not going to feed me this line of shite and expect me to swallow! I had access to every department if I wished it…

“This case pertains to you, among others, so Article 22 takes effect,” he muttered smugly.

Article 22, my fat arse. If we were standing in the halls of the Ministry I could squash him by merely breathing and wearing my Unspeakable robes.

My anger deflated. As it was, I was not an Unspeakable at that moment, and I was sitting in his kitchen. I had to think of another way of getting to that information. Ron, maybe could tell me, but how to contact him when he and his family are under protective custody? I could not ask Malfoy, obviously.

“Don’t even think about it, Granger.”

I closed my eyes and take a calming breath, opening my eyes again to glare at Malfoy.

“You might as well tell Potter where Ronald Weasley is…oh, and levitate a bright blinking sign over you head as well.”

The ferret was exaggerating.

“Well, I’m off…” he said, leaping up from the chair, strangely rejuvenated from the night before.

He turned and began walking…deliberately.

“Malfoy!”

I hadn’t meant to shout.

“Yes, Granger?”

“Check into it, will you? Books especially…and not just ‘The Hanged Man.’”

Malfoy continued walking, throwing a hand up, as if to wave, but didn’t. When I could no longer see the shock of platinum spikes, I cursed.