Slow Grenade

Chapter Forty-Eight

Dear Draco...

Sat on her bed in Shell Cottage, Hermione had begun her usual writing ritual but found she couldn't manage it that day. She stared down at the parchment as her hand shook and a hot tear rolled down her cheek. She thought her heart had already entirely broken in two, apparently not.

The unwanted memories came flooding back.

"The name's Taboo!" Ron bellowed, leaping to his feet as a loud crack sounded outside the tent. "I told you, Harry, I told you, we can't say it anymore – it's how they find – "

"Come out of there with your hands up!" said a rasping voice through the darkness. "We know you're in there! You've got half a dozen wands pointed at you and we don't care who we curse!"

Pressing her fingers painfully against her temple she tried desperately not to remember entering the Manor, or the familiar drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy. But it was always the image of Draco's face that pulled her, kicking and screaming, back into the flashback.

"Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"

"I... maybe... yeah?"

Hermione dug her fingernails into her palm, willing herself back into the present. It didn't work.

Bellatrix Lestrange took a short silver knife out from under her robes and cut Hermione free from the other prisoners. Harry and Ron were led away by Greyback as Bellatrix dragged her by the hair into the middle of the room.

Pinned to the ground, the balls of her spine crunched painfully against the cold stone. Hermione searched frantically for Draco. It was the first time she had seen him for almost a year and he looked terrible. Dark circles were etched beneath his eyes and stood in stark contrast to his pallid face. His sharp features highlighted hollowed cheeks and she could tell he had lost a significant amount of weight.

Draco took a jerky step towards her and then Hermione saw him freeze in place. A cold sweat slithered across her skin and any hope she'd had left drained away, he would not be her salvation today.

Hot, putrid breath ghosted across her skin as Bellatrix screamed, "I know you stole my sword, Mudblood! What else did you take from my vault, what ELSE?"

Hermione writhed, shaking her head desperately. "We've not been in your vault... haven't taken anything."

"DO NOT LIE!" Bellatrix snarled, and spit sprayed across Hermione's face. "CRUICIO."

Hermione's screams echoed off the walls. It was pain beyond pain. Every muscle in her body stiffened with contractions and she felt as though she were being burnt alive.

"How did you get into my vault?" Bellatrix shrieked again. "Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?"

"We only met him tonight!" Hermione sobbed. "We've never been inside your vault... it isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!"

"A copy?" screeched Bellatrix. "Oh, a likely story!"

The wild haired woman retrieved her knife again and, this time, pointed it towards Hermione's inner arm. The cold blade whispered across her pale, bare skin, and goosebumps formed beneath the metal. Hermione delved deep into Draco's storm grey eyes, bracing herself for what was to come.

After the first slice she floated above her prone form, watching with detached interest as one letter after another marked her permanently to form a terrible word. She could see her body writhing in agony and blood pour from the injury.

"We can easily find out," came Lucius's voice. "Greyback, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!"

Hermione was graced with a few moments of reprieve from the torture and plummeted back into her body. Images of happier times fluttered into her mind and these snapshots of the past alleviated some of the pain.

"Well?" Bellatrix said to Griphook when he was thrust in front of her. "Is it the true sword?"

"No," said Griphook. "It is a fake."

"Are you sure?" she panted. "Quite sure?"

"Yes."

Bellatrix leered nastily at the goblin, "Good." And, with a casual flick of her wand, she slashed a deep cut into the goblin's face, and he dropped with a yell at her feet. She kicked him aside. "And now," she said, in a voice that burst with triumph, "we call the Dark Lord!"

Pushing back her sleeve, Bellatrix touched her forefinger to the Dark Mark.

"And I think," said Bellatrix, "we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her."

Hermione was vaguely aware of Harry and Ron pounding suddenly into the room and one of them screaming 'NO' over and over again.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry roared as Bellatrix's wand flew into his hand.

Ron yelled, "Stupefy!" and Lucius collapsed onto the hearth.

Jets of light flew around the room making Hermione feel dizzy and nauseous. She was pulled roughly to her feet and held upright by Bellatrix. Her head lolled slightly, she could barely keep her eyes open. Bellatrix pressed something painfully cold against her throat.

"STOP, OR SHE DIES!" she screamed. "Drop your wands or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is."

Ron and Harry stood rigidly, clutching their wands.

"I said, drop them!" Bellatrix screeched, pressing the blade into Hermione's throat. She could feel beads of blood drip down her sternum.

"All right!" Harry shouted, and he dropped his wand to the floor. Ron did the same. Both raised their hands to shoulder height.

"Good!" she leered. "Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!"

A loud grinding noise came suddenly from above, the crystal chandelier trembled violently and then, with a crack, it began to fall. Bellatrix was directly beneath it; dropping Hermione, she threw herself aside with a scream.

The chandelier crashed to the floor in an explosion of crystal and chains, falling on top of Hermione and the goblin, who still clutched the sword of Gryffindor. Glittering shards of crystal flew in all directions. Draco doubled over, his hands covering his bloody face.

Ron ran to pull Hermione from the wreckage. He held her tightly to his chest as he Disapparated and she finally let the darkness take her.