Wandering

All charactors belong to JKR, not me, no money is being made!


So many days these bitter walls have enclosed me, the cold stone relentlessly piercing through the remnants of my cloak. My wand is gone, my potions torn from their hiding places, and yet I remain. How many nights must this go on? Night after night of the endless badgering of the dimwitted fools who blindly serve their master, the same master who is done with me, and I with him. It is of no surprise that I am discovered and now at the mercy of those who once called me ‘brother.’ However, I did not anticipate their lengthy retention of my life. It seems the beating of my heart brings them much joy. I am their reward; their plaything, and I cannot escape it. They will come for me soon; The cursed sun is setting and the stagnant air of this pit grows cooler. Perhaps this will be the night of my release. Then this parchment will lay forgotten in this wretched tomb and for once, my cursed soul will be at peace. For no hell can be greater than the one I walk now.

The parchment trembled in her hands. How long had it been since she was greeted with that spindly writing? It had been weeks since she had seen another soul without a white mask, and her contact with the Order had been broken even longer. How she found herself in the shallow belly of the earth she did not know. She had seen the mound of grassy expanse and noted the barred windows, as though it were a bunker of sorts. What drew her in was the screaming. Surely they were not all Death Eaters inside; someone was being tortured and she doubted it was one of their own.

“Nox,” she whispered, extinguishing the wand light as voices drew near. Her heart quickened and she silently scrambled back into a corner, tucking behind a small rock that jutted up from the ground. The hallway torches lit the small room, illuminating two men that dragged a third between them.

“Merlin…Merlin, brother…why did you do this to yourself? Surely you knew the Dark Lord would not grant you death?” one of the men inquired with a shockingly sympathetic voice, pushing open the barred door. They lowered the silent man between them to the ground and turned heel, locking the door with a flick of their wands. The torches extinguished, leaving her submerged in inky darkness.

The man on the stone ground did not stir. She skirted around her hiding space and crawled slowly toward him with her wand drawn. She paused inches from his still form, straining her ears for the sounds of footsteps. Only the sound of her racing heart met her ears, and she illuminated her wand.

“Oh Merlin,” she breathed as she took in the pathetic scene before her. Familiar raven hair fell in greasy sheets over a pale white face and a proud, hooked nose. Now that nose looked quite broken; deep purple and red clashed violently with the ashen white of his skin. His eyes were so swollen that she could just barely make out the lashes protruding past the raised flesh.

His body was curled on its side. His once regal attire was now reduced to shreds. He smelled of blood, and she was wary to investigate his wounds further without rousing him. Something deep in her soul broke to see him like this, and his private words written only to himself did nothing other than deepen that ache.

Carefully, she reached out to him, placing her hand gently atop of his. “Professor?” she called softly. He grimaced and slowly parted his swollen lids. She watched his endless eyes darting back and forth across her face. He opened his mouth to speak, but shuttered instead as a thin trail of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. Her eyes watered and she wiped the thin red line away with her sleeve.

“Hermione.”

Never had he called her by her given name, despite months and months of correspondence, he would never so much as write it down. It set her in a panic – she frantically pulled the cloak away from his body to search out the ailments that had reduced him to a mere shadow of his former self. He groaned in protest, but could do little to stop her as she rolled him on his back, taking in the endless bruising that covered his lank frame. Long, deep gouges tore across his flesh, silently weeping thick red tears down his sides. His breath caught in the middle of every inhalation, hinting of the damage to his ribs. She terminated the light from the tip of her wand and began to cast the healing spells in the dark.

She worked until a cold hand wrapped around her wrist. She froze in place and listened to his ragged breathing. “Miss Granger, why do you…take away my…chance to die?” he whispered.

She did not answer him as she firmly pulled her arm from his grasp. “Hush. I want you to take this. You are freezing.” She draped her traveling cloak around him and illuminated the room again. She would need to get him to his feet and out of the cell before the sun rose. He shivered visibly and she gently lifted his head to her lap despite his protests, and allowed him to rest before they fled.