Twenty-two for Denial

Chapter 29: Twenty-two for Denial

Sound penetrated the layers of sleep first. Sharp, piercing noises like nails on chalkboard or cutlery scraped across a plate, the pitch so high she thought her ears might bleed.

So this was to be her torture. A melody so shrill she would be driven mad, promise anything to escape it. Her captors would be disappointed. She would not break so easily.

She lifted her eyelids slowly. Her bedroom was dim, yet a thousand needles pricked her eyes. The fireplace provided the only light, and standing before it, silhouetted by flames, stood the source of the noise. A singular creature, no larger than a child's doll. It stared into the fire and raised its fragile arms. The flames leapt at its command, an orchestra of fire that danced and twirled, conducted in perfect time to the wail of its screeching song.

She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again.

"Pitty," she croaked. Merciful silence filled the room.

The little elf jumped onto her bed, as graceful as a cat but with far less heft. She crept to the pillow and peered at Hermione, her eyes almost fearful.

"Pitty is sorry she woke you, miss."

"Is ... is anyone else here?"

"No, miss," she said. "Professor Snape left hours ago, and Pitty is to stay here until he returns."

"He's not coming back." Fear coiled around her throat, disjointed images from their last moments together. Before he had drugged her, stolen her memories. She closed her eyes. In some perverse sense, she supposed they were even now. Only his memories hadn't contained the secret to Muggle-born annihilation.

She struggled to pull herself upright. Fresh pain sliced through her head, made worse by the sight of Pitty hopping up and down atop the bedcovers.

"No, miss," trilled the elf. "Professor Snape said you must rest."

She swung her legs onto the floor and cradled her head in her hands. Even with her eyes closed, the room refused to hold still. It was impossible to determine how long the effects of the Draught of Living Death would last...she'd have to calculate the size of the dose in relation to her weight first, and the drumbeat in her head made even the simplest of equations daunting. Taking a different potion was out, as well. A variety of ingredients might counteract her symptoms, but without knowing the exact formula of Snape's potion, she might risk even worse complications.

"I need the toilet, Pitty." It was not strictly a lie. She needed a plan, as well. Perhaps a bit of walking would speed the potion from her system, would wake her sluggish brain.

The elf waved her hand over Hermione's abdomen and instantly, the need to relieve herself disappeared.

"Now you must rest, miss," Pitty said.

"I've rested enough," she said. "Professor Snape took something of mine, and I need to get it back."

A small green bottle materialised in the elf's hands.

"Pitty, no..."

"Pitty is sorry, miss. But Professor Snape gave Pitty a very important task. Pitty must take care of you, miss, and see to all your needs, and make sure you stay safe."

She shook her head and regretted it. Leave it to Snape to find the one house-elf in all of Hogwarts who not only tolerated her presence, but seemed to care for her with an almost fanatical devotion. Why had he even bothered? Unless ...

She frowned and held up her hand, stalled the bottle's path to her lips.

"Pitty, what, precisely, did Professor Snape tell you?"

"Professor Snape said you would sleep for a very long time, miss. But should you wake up, Pitty is to give you this potion to keep you safe. Professor Snape will return soon, after he attends to his very important business matter."

Her thoughts began to focus, sharpen. Behaviour that had seemed merely odd the day before was examined with new clarity. Something had happened after he'd left the quarters yesterday morning...something dire. All the signs had been there. He'd been worried, certain their time had run out. He'd wanted to spare her pain, but he'd been convinced there were no other options. Convinced it was better this way.

Remember the mare, he had said. The image of his new Patronus raced through her mind, followed by a streak of rage so hot beads of perspiration dotted her brow.

Whatever had happened, he had dismissed her as a hindrance, had left her behind and kept her in the dark...literally...by drugging her with a potion so she'd be unable to follow him.

She had thought her headache bad before, but now it pounded with each beat of her pulse. "Of all the convoluted, save-the-damsel, macho, grandstanding bollocks!" She pummelled the bed to punctuate her anger.

Pitty took two small steps back, her eyes as large as saucers.

"What makes him think he has any right to act without me?" she snapped.

Pitty shook her head.

"And with my sodding memories, no less! Do I look helpless? Incompetent?"

"No, miss."

"Oh, Pitty, when I finish with him, he shall wish for another fourteen years of snake-induced coma."

"Yes, miss."

"Where's my wand?" She glanced at the nightstand. "The kitchen!"

Pitty ran from the room and returned seconds later, clutching her wand.

She supposed she should take a few minutes to formulate some sort of a plan. But he had left hours ago. What was taking so long? What if his plan...whatever the hell it was...had gone horribly wrong and Lucius had...

"Pitty, can you staff-trace Professor Snape and tell me where he is?"

"Yes, miss." She hesitated. "But Professor Snape said..."

"Professor Snape told you to take care of me, Pitty ... to look after my needs. I need you to tell me where he is."

The elf rocked back on her heels, clearly distraught, but then disappeared with a little pop.

Hermione staggered to the chest of drawers and traded her too-warm jumper for a plain white tee shirt. The effort left her dizzy, and although her stomach was quite empty, she heaved into her rubbish bin until her head felt as if it might split apart.

Her hand shook when she swiped it across her mouth. Across the room, Pitty stood just inside the doorway and wrung her tiny, elfin hands like dishrags.

"Did you find him?" she asked.

"Yes, miss. Professor Snape is in the same room where he was last time."

"And the blond man? Was he there again, as well?"

"Yes, miss."

She stood on legs made from rubber and stuck her wand into the back pocket of her jeans. "I need you to take me there, Pitty."

"Miss, you are not well," the elf protested. "You must stay here." The small green bottle appeared once more.

"I'm fine, Pitty. I know Professor Snape asked you to care for me, but there is far more at risk here than my safety."

"But Pitty must..."

"Haven't I been a good friend to you?"

Tears sprung to the elf's eyes.

She hated to play this card, but every second they delayed brought new, horrible scenarios to mind. She had to know what was happening at Arglist. "I need a friend now, Pitty. Desperately."

Pitty's little face crumpled. Her sobs filled the air with a noise far worse than her song, a shriek that would have made a banshee cover her ears.

"Help me, Pitty." She stretched out her hand. "Please."

"All right, miss," she cried at last.

She sighed her relief. Before the elf could take her finger, she asked, "Can you Apparate us into the building and allow me to navigate from there?" Her last escape from Arglist had been too close for comfort. Best to avoid the lab for now.

"Yes, miss."

"Excellent. Just squeeze my finger as soon as we're inside, okay?"

Pity nodded and wrapped her tiny hand around Hermione's finger.

She was prepared for the spinning, but not for the pressure that crushed against her skull. Pitty squeezed her finger, and she pushed aside the pain long enough to focus on her destination: Lucius's office, far enough from the lab so she'd have time to consider her next move.

Her feet were planted firmly on the thick carpet, yet the walls still spun around her. The room was unchanged from her last visit: the oversized wooden desk in the middle, the lord-of-the-manor furnishings, the purloined Vermeer on the wall.

"Thank you, Pitty." She pulled her finger from the elf's tight grip. "I shall return to Hogwarts soon."

Pitty nodded and vanished without a sound.

She walked to the painting and wondered if the Ministry couldn't at least arrest Lucius for possession of stolen artwork. The crime carried a stiff penalty in the Muggle world, surely there was something...

She whirled when a door opened behind her, fumbled for the wand in her back pocket. But she was too late.

"Expelliarmus! Stupefy!"

The curses shot across the office, almost too rapid for one man to have cast them both. Her wand tore from her fingers and sailed across the room. She tried to follow it, her hand reaching for the impossible, but the powerful stunning spell propelled her back. She slammed into the wall with enough force to rattle her teeth. Her neck snapped forward, then back. The sickening thump of her head against the wall made her gag. In cartoonish slow motion, she slid to the floor.

A swirl of black robes filled her vision, the hem of perfectly tailored trousers above custom, dragonskin boots. If she could have moved, she might have gathered the bile that had pooled in her mouth and spit on them. She cursed her carelessness, cursed Snape for drugging her, and cursed the potion for making her so weak she couldn't throw off the effects of one simple stunner. But mostly, she cursed Lucius and the cruel smile that spread across his face when he crouched before her.

"Well, well. What have we here?" Rough fingers grabbed her chin and tilted her head back until she was forced to meet his eyes. "Rennervate," he whispered.

She jerked her chin from his grasp, but his wand stabbed into her cheek and pinned her face against the wall.

"I have a rather special punishment for trespassers," he said. "On your feet."

He stood, and she attempted the same. He licked his lips when she couldn't quite disguise how much effort it took to find her legs. "You must be exhausted, my dear. All those memories you removed, just for me ..."

She said nothing, just turned her head, as if disgusted. It wasn't an act, and it allowed her time to search for her wand. She spotted it at last, next to the open door. Perfect. If she could just cross the distance, distract him somehow ...

She held her breath. Accio wand, she thought. It might have twitched, but she'd need it to do a lot more than that if she had any hope of escape. Nonverbal spells were obviously pointless. Not only had her silent summoning failed, the spell had consumed energy she could scarcely afford to waste.

She flinched when cold fingers wrapped around her arm. Her attempts to pull free did nothing...balance eluded her, and she stumbled as if drunk.

"You obviously need to rest." He gestured towards his desk. "Have a seat."

"I'll pass, thanks." She would not repeat the mistake she had made in April.

"It wasn't a request," he said, and her stomach sank. "I want you to sit on my desk, just as you did the last time you were here."

"And I want you to go to Hell."

His laughter was cold, frozen by madness. She should have held her tongue.

In a pleasant tone, almost conversational, he said, "Crucio."

Pain unlike any she had felt in fifteen years ripped through her, twisting and turning while a thousand razor-sharp teeth tried to tear her flesh from her bones. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor. He ended the spell within seconds, but she was left panting for breath in the last position she ever wanted to be: on her hands and knees, at his feet.

"Grovelling already?" He grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her upright. She hated to grant him any satisfaction, yet she could not stifle her cry.

He jerked her back against him. With his hand still coiled in her hair, he pulled her head back, farther than her neck could comfortably stretch. Warm lips brushed her ear. She tried to twist her body away, tried to claw at his hands and pry open his fingers. He clamped an arm around her stomach and tugged her back again. Struggle seemed pointless, but the alternative could not be borne. He held her tighter and laughed, then slid his tongue inside her ear. Each stroke of moist heat turned her stomach, and she doubled her efforts to break free. Her fingernails dug a trench along his hand just as he drew her earlobe into his mouth and sucked on it. Triumph did not last, could not match the revenge he exacted when he bit down hard. The delicate flesh tore. Her eyes watered and although she stilled at once, she refused to cry out this time.

He pulled his lips away and panted into her ear, each breath like the roar of a hurricane. The hand in her hair loosened enough for her to see the long red trail he left on her shoulder after he wiped his mouth on her shirt.

"Shall we try again?" he said. "My desk. Now." He released her hair and shoved her into the centre of the room.

She stumbled towards the desk, her gaze locked on her wand. She wasn't likely to get another chance at it. She surged towards the door. Fear propelled her, gave her more speed than she would have thought possible. Just a few more steps, and she'd taste freedom.

"Accio wand!" she shouted as she neared the door.

The wand jumped off the floor and flew towards her. She reached her hand into the air, but something was wrong...the arc was too high. The wood streaked over her head. Even as she leapt for it, she saw the door slam shut before her. By the time she spun around, Lucius had snatched her wand from the air. She watched him tuck it inside his breast pocket and swallowed bitter defeat.

When he lifted his gaze, the look in his eyes made her knees shake.

She braced for the worst.

"Imperio."

The throbbing in her head stopped, and sweet, glorious oblivion took over. Fear vanished. There was just happiness and a sly little voice to guide her movements. She strolled to the desk and wanted nothing more than to perch upon its edge.

It was like floating atop the waves without a care in the world, like the peace she'd felt at Snape's strange, healing song.

Snape.

The voice quickly chased the thought from her mind. She spread her legs into a wide vee, but the hands that skimmed her thighs were all wrong, the hips that ground against her too cruel. Sharp teeth bruised her neck, and she knew other lips should be kissing her.

Her own small voice raised its timid hand at last and asked why she would allow Lucius to touch her this way. The carefree feeling began to fade, although the sly voice grew louder, more demanding. She ignored it at last, pushed it aside in favour of grim acknowledgement. With cognition came the return of sensation, the return of that tribute to agony masquerading as her head. She yelled aloud when pain and frustration surged through her body.

He raised his head and seemed unconcerned with her fists beating against his chest. "That didn't last long," he said. "But no matter...I prefer my fillies with a bit of spirit. Makes it so much more rewarding to watch them break."

Her thoughts flew to Snape and his mare. Determination returned. She had to find a way out of this...it couldn't be as hopeless as it felt. She wouldn't allow it to be.

Her attempts to shove him away were met with the same annoyance he might show a pesky fly. He batted her hands aside, then pinned her wrists to the desk above her head.

His free hand snaked beneath her shirt and pulled aside her bra. "Do you have any idea how often I've imagined you on this desk, naked beneath me, screaming for mercy while I took you again and again?"

He smiled when her body trembled.

"It can't be near as often as I've imagined you in Azkaban, rotting in darkness, screaming for a Dementor's Kiss," she said.

His response was swift. He wrapped his fingers around her throat while the hand beneath her shirt assaulted her breast. She would have yelped if she could have breathed.

This is bad, this is bad, this is bad.

His fingers squeezed harder until darkness coloured the edges of her vision. The thought of what he might do to her if she lost consciousness gave her sudden clarity.

She had to have her wand. And there was only one place to get it.

"Please." She had no voice, so she mouthed the word and tried to pull his fingers from her throat.

He eased his grip enough to allow speech.

"Please," she whispered, her voice like gravel. "I'll do whatever you want."

"Yes," he said, "yes, you will." His hand slid from her throat and down her chest.

She closed her eyes and cleared her mind of everything except the small pocket where he had stashed her wand. The desk became her stage. She'd prefer torture to the entertainment this audience demanded, but she slipped into her role as if her life depended on it. And perhaps it did.

She slid her arms up his chest, careful to avoid the wand for now, and circled his neck. He was easier to fool than she would have thought. He met her lips without hesitation, biting her tongue in his haste to plunge inside her mouth. If he guessed her shudder was filled with revulsion, not desire, he did not seem to care.

Her fingers slipped beneath his robes, that much closer to her goal. She panicked when he stilled, but he raised his head and swept the contents of his desk onto the floor, then shoved her into the centre and clambered between her legs. He pushed up her shirt, and she arched her back, hoping to distract him. It worked.

Her little finger hooked the satin-lined pocket, and she plunged her hand inside. The wand was halfway removed before he realised what she had done. His roar of rage convinced her to act swiftly and make it count. They fought for control of the wand. She wrapped both her hands around the cold wood...one at the top, one at the bottom...and held on tighter than she'd ever held on to anything in her life. Lucius clutched the shaft between her hands. She tried to wrench it away and prayed it wouldn't snap.

He rose to his knees and jerked the wand from side to side, using his greater leverage to slide her back and forth across his desk. Her hands grew slick with sweat, but still she held fast.

He angled the wand towards her face and shouted, "Stupefy!"

She ducked without a moment to spare. His spell blasted a hole in the desk and showered her face with splintered wood. She doubted she'd be so lucky a second time. With a mighty effort, she twisted her body and pulled the wand to one side, as hard as she dared.

Her momentum was impressive. Lucius followed the wand's path over the side of the desk but did not ease his grip, even when he dropped to the floor. Nothing could have made her release the wand, so she had little choice but to follow him. She tumbled onto his chest, her fall braced by his body. Despite the scuffle, her fingers still clutched the slippery wood. She scrambled to her feet and pulled her wand with all her might. But Lucius rose to his feet, as well, and the tug-o-war continued.

It ended as quickly as it had started.

If she hadn't been so focused on wresting the wand from his hands, she might have wondered why he'd released the prize so suddenly. But her heart sang with triumph, and a spell sprang to her lips. She never saw his fist until it slammed into her temple.

The world went black.

She wasn't sure how long she stayed in the endless void of her unconsciousness. When she opened her eyes, colour had returned. She wished it hadn't. The walls oozed an unnaturally bright shade of yellow. She lay in a heap on the floor, but the plush carpet looked different now, stained with a fluorescence that burned her eyes and squeezed her stomach. Her head felt hot, as if a fire had ignited where fist had met skull. Heat pulsed across her face.

Over the buzz of a thousand angry bees, she heard Lucius whisper a spell, felt her arms pulled behind her, wrists bound at the touch of his wand. He hauled her to her feet and shoved her facedown onto his desk. Just when she thought things couldn't get any worse...when her brain froze at the words he whispered into her ear, the promise of things he would do to her...just when her darkest of nights couldn't get any darker, darkness itself spoke from the doorway.

"How long does it take to fetch a bloody drink?" asked Snape.

Thank you for all the wonderful reviews...I cannot express how much I appreciate feedback on this story. Three chapters (and a hefty epilogue) remain, and I can barely contain my excitement! My thanks, as always, to Karelia and Little Beloved for their beta assistance, and to Melenka for alpha-reading suggestions.