Malfoy Manor

Phoenix Tears, Chapter Sixteen : Malfoy Manor

DISCLAIMER : The characters and many of the situations described in this story are the property of the incomparable J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this story, which exists as a work of tribute. Dialogue marked with an asterisk is quoted from the original HP stories.

"Good, eh?"* asked Ron as Potterwatch drew to an end.

Hearing the voices of so many of their friends had filled Hermione with delight.

"Brilliant,"* replied Harry.

"It's so brave of them,"* exclaimed Hermione happily. "If they were found . . ."*

"Well, they keep on the move, don't they? Like us."* Ron sounded almost ridiculously content. Hearing his brother, in particular, must have meant a lot.

"But did you hear what Fred said? He's Abroad!"* The fanatical light was back in Harry's eyes, and Hermione's heart dropped. Neither she nor Ron had to ask who 'he' was. "He's still looking for the Wand, I knew it!"*

"Harry..."*

"Come on, Hermione, why are you so determined not to admit it? Vol..."*

"HARRY, NO!"* she shouted over him, unsuccessfully trying to cut him off.

"...demort's after the Elder Wand!"*

As Harry spoke the Dark Lord's name, there was a loud bang from outside the tent: the wards were down.

"The name's Taboo!"* cried Ron, rebuke heavy in his voice. "I told you, Harry, I told you, we can't say it anymore...we've got to put the protection back around us...quickly...it's how they find..."*

Hermione had leapt to her feet, wand out, but as the Sneakoscope began to spin and whistle, its coloured lights flickering across the room, she froze and Ron broke off. His eyes met hers, and the two of them exchanged a panicked look. Pulling the Deluminator from his pocket, Ron clicked it, plunging the tent into darkness.

"Come out of there with your hands up!"* shouted a scratchy male voice from outside. "We know you're in there! You've got half a dozen wands pointing at you and we don't care who we curse!"*

With only seconds to spare, Hermione pointed her wand at Harry and cast a Stinging Hex directly into his face. He squawked with pain, and she bit down guiltily on her lower lip. Please let it be enough! she prayed, hoping against hope that they could talk or fight their way out of the current situation.

For a long moment...even as her skin crawled under the touch of Fenir's dirty fingers and his long yellow nails, and even as her mind threw up horrific images of his pointed teeth sinking into her skin...Hermione had dared to hope that she, Ron and Harry would get away. The Stinging Hex had, indeed, been enough to disguise Harry, and if the Snatchers hadn't recognised her, they might have made it out just fine.

But by the time they'd been Apparated halfway across the country and dragged bodily up the garden path of Malfoy Manor, any such hope had long since evaporated. After the darkness of the Manor estates, the light of the interior was blinding. For the first few feet, Hermione could make out nothing but the bright white and black chequered floor of the entrance passage. Even after they reached the drawing room, she continued to squint, combating both the glow of the open fire and the sparkle of an enormous chandelier.

From what she could see, the room was horrifically ostentatious, with thick plush carpets and aubergine walls. The fire burned in an elaborate marble fireplace, flanked by marble statues of two beautiful young nymphs, one either side of the fire, each bound hand and foot by slithering serpents and writhing as if in pain.

The Snatchers pushed their prisoners into the centre of the room with little concern for their comfort; only the tight bindings linking her to her friends kept Hermione from stumbling to her knees.

"What is this?"* asked Lucius Malfoy with all the outrage of the gentleman whose evening port was just disturbed by a band of filthy peasants. The expression on his face perfectly matched his tone of voice.

"They say they've got Potter,"* replied Narcissa disdainfully. "Draco, come here."*

Draco came, though his reluctance to do so was clear from the set of his shoulders and the uncomfortable look on his face. For the briefest second, he made eye contact with Hermione, but his gaze slipped immediately sideways.

Greyback wrenched the knot of prisoners over towards the brightest part of the room, directly underneath the chandelier. Hermione could no longer see Draco and his father, but as Draco moved closer, he came into view once more.

"Well, Draco?"* asked Lucius urgently. "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"*

Curiously, Draco was unwilling to look directly at Harry either, his gaze seemingly fixed about five inches left of where he should have been looking.

"I can't...I can't be sure,"* he said irresolutely.

By this stage, Hermione was willing Draco to look her in the eye. Harry did look a little strange. The Stinging Jinx had swollen his features into a near unrecognisable parody of his own face, and his hair was much longer than it had ever been before. Still, there was no way that Draco could fail to recognise him, Ron or Hermione...particularly not all three of them together when the latter two had no jinx to disguise their faces. What is he playing at?

Even without Draco's help, Lucius was fast convincing himself of the veracity of the identification. It wasn't long until Greyback and the Malfoys senior turned their attention to her.

"What about the Mudblood, then?"* asked Greyback, snarling the insult from deep in the back of his throat.

Hermione shivered as the werewolf twisted the group of prisoners on their axis. She found herself forced into the brightest patch of light, the gazes of each of her enemies raking her face.

"Wait,"* exclaimed Narcissa, throwing up one hand in a dramatic gesture of surprise. "Yes...yes, she was in Madam Malkin's with Potter! I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"*

During the microsecond in which Draco obeyed his mother and turned his eyes towards Hermione, his expression was anguished. "I . . . maybe . . . yeah."* Each word of his less-than-adamant statement was more uncertain sounding than the last.

"But then,"* shouted Lucius, the pitch of his voice rising with excitement, "that's the Weasley boy! It's them, Potter's friends...Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name...?"*

"Yeah,"* replied Draco noncommittally, turning his back and taking several steps in the direction of the fireplace, "it could be."*

Hope stirred in Hermione's heart. Draco was definitely unhappy about turning them in. And in her current situation, she was ready to grasp at straws. When the door to her left opened, however, the small blossom of hope withered instantly.

Bellatrix Lestrange, madwoman and murderer, stood in the doorway; her ravaged beauty struck Hermione like a Bludger to the stomach.

"What is this? What's happened, Cissy?"* Stalking towards the prisoners, she eyed them disdainfully. When she got to Hermione, however, she stopped, brows furrowing with surprise. "But surely," she commented with dawning delight, "this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?"*

On Bellatrix's lips, the use of Hermione's patronym alone was an insult, but it brought to mind several vivid memories of Snape: Snape calling her "Granger," Snape joking in the Hospital Wing about Bellatrix's wickedness. They brought with them a flare of hope and a flash of anxiety. Automatically, Hermione slammed up her Occlumency shields. Somehow, for some reason, she remembered that Bellatrix had some skill with Legilimency. How? The answer came to her quickly: Harry had overheard Draco and Snape discussing it. At Slughorn's Christmas party, noted Hermione inanely. Goddamn it, concentrate, Granger! she rebuked herself at once, forcing her attention back to the scuffle that had broken out between Lucius and Bellatrix, each intent on calling the Dark Lord themselves.

"I shall summon him, Bella!"* Lucius was shouting.

Hermione turned her attention back towards Draco, who was standing near the fire, nervously watching the commotion. Once again, she willed him to make eye contact. Come on, Draco. If he noticed her staring, he successfully ignored her.

Bellatrix had reached screeching pitch, her voice raked like fingernails down a blackboard. " . . . what do I want with gold? I seek only the honour of his...of..."*

She broke off so abruptly that it seemed she'd been struck by a Silencing Charm. Hermione snapped her head sideways to see what had happened. Bellatrix's manic gaze was fixed on the point where the other Snatchers stood. With Lucius poised to summon Lord Voldemort...sleeve torn back and the shocking contrast of his black Dark Mark and his pale skin visible to the entire room...Bellatrix drew a deep shuddering breath and began to scream once more.

"STOP!"* she shrieked. "Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!"*

Her scream was so forceful that Lucius froze with surprise. Bellatrix stalked towards the hapless young man who had attracted her attention. He was, Hermione noticed with dawning comprehension, holding the sword.

"What is that?"* she inquired menacingly, emphasising every word.

The Snatcher wasn't smart enough to obey at once, and soon all of the Snatchers but Greyback had been knocked unconscious by Bellatrix and were dragged outside by Draco Malfoy. Bellatrix had the sword, along with Greyback's wand, and she was muttering to herself as she turned Gryffindor's weapon over in her hands. "If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed."*

Hermione tried to grab hold of Harry's hand and give it a comforting squeeze. She was so closely tied to Ron, Harry and Dean, however, that it could have been anyone's hand.

"The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself . . ."* continued Bellatrix. "But if he finds out . . . I must . . . I must know . . . ."*

What must she know? What mustn't he find out? Hermione tried to parse the insane woman's words, but there wasn't enough information to make sense of them. She glanced around what she could see of the room; no-one else seemed to know what Bellatrix was talking about, either.

"The prisoners must be placed in the cellar,"* ordered Bellatrix suddenly, "while I think what to do!"*

"This is my house, Bella,"* retorted Lucius, "you don't give orders in my..."*

"Do it!"* she shrieked, interrupting her brother-in-law. "You have no idea of the danger we are in!"* She was so close to the edge that sparks flew from the end of her wand, singing the carpet rather badly. Lucius stared at the burn mark, horrified.

It was Narcissa who finally broke the stalemate. "Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback,"* she commanded in her thin, cold voice.

"Wait!"* interpolated Bellatrix. "All except . . . except for the Mudblood."*

A wave of nausea washed over Hermione.

"No!"* cried Ron. "You can have me, keep me!"*

Hermione was anxiously flailing for his hand with hers, but couldn't manage to catch hold of him. Her heart ached at his willingness to take her place, but better it was her. She, at least, could use Occlumency. Bellatrix took the opportunity to slap Ron across the face...capitalising on the bruising where the Snatchers had hit him earlier.

"If she dies under questioning, I'll take you next,"* she promised maliciously. "Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book."*

Hermione failed to hear the rest of what Bellatrix said; the words "dies under questioning" echoed terrifyingly through her head. She couldn't help but notice, however, when Bellatrix drew a delicate silver dagger from under her robes. How odd that she might kill me with such a beautiful piece of workmanship. Hermione realised that she was suffering from shock. You need to get a grip, Granger, she berated herself. As Bellatrix sliced through the ropes that held her tied to the other prisoners, Hermione strengthened her Occlumency shields.

Greyback forced the other prisoners from the room, and Bellatrix grabbed hold of Hermione's hair and yanked at it, dragging her directly under the chandelier. Panic had seized Hermione, though she did her best to funnel the energy of it back into her shields. Draco, she noticed suddenly, had his father by one arm and was whispering urgently into his ear. A look of slight concern wavered on Lucius' face, but only momentarily. He shook his arm free and turned away from his son. Hermione didn't know whether to feel better or worse because of Draco's involvement...better because someone in the room seemed to be on her side, or worse because if Draco was bothered, events promised to be rather terrible indeed.

Hermione could hear Ron shouting her name over and over; as he disappeared down the hall, the volume faded, though his anguish increased.

"Your boyfriend seems a little distressed," crooned Bellatrix into Hermione's ear, stroking the flat blade of her dagger down Hermione's cheek. "And with good reason. Certainly, by the time I'm done with you, he won't ever want to fuck you again."

Hermione could not repress a shudder as the cool metal of Bellatrix's knife pressed against her cheek.

"I'm going to ask you a question, little Mudblood; I suggest you answer it honestly. Where did you get this sword?"

Hermione swallowed and steeled herself, though she couldn't control the shake in her voice. "We-we found it," she stuttered.

"Wrong answer!" snarled Bellatrix. She flicked lightly at the lobe of Hermione's ear with her dagger as she withdrew it, only to point her wand at her instead. "This, little Mudblood, is what my displeasure feels like: Crucio!"

Though Bellatrix merely whispered the word, the fire that blossomed along Hermione's nerve endings threatened to tear her apart. Never before had Hermione felt such pain, and her Occlumency shields, which she'd primed in anticipation of the attack, did nothing, for the pain was within her; her own body was on fire.

Only once the pain stopped did Hermione realise she'd been screaming. Her throat was raw, and her limbs were trembling. Come on, Granger, get up! she urged, pushing up against the floor and managing to pull herself to her knees. Bellatrix would not break her.

"Aunt Bella!" exclaimed Draco, who had inched closer. Hermione had to suppress an hysterical urge to giggle when she noticed the familiar tones of the Malfoy whinge. "If this is the Granger girl, then Snape..."

"Fuck Snape," replied Bellatrix, silencing him with an outstretched arm. She didn't bother to turn towards him. "If you're squeamish, look away."

The mention of Snape had set Hermione's heart racing. She brutally squashed each of her reactions. Though her Occlumentic shields held firm, she buried every thought of Snape that came to mind in the library books of her brain. There was absolutely no way that she would betray Snape to this maniac; no hint of his espionage would reach Bellatrix from her, nor any sign of her desperation to see him.

Having dismissed Draco, Bellatrix leaned her face down close to Hermione's. "I'm going to ask you again!"* she shrieked, the sudden volume and vehemence startling her victim. "Where did you get this sword? Where?"*

"We found it..."* gasped Hermione. Bellatrix was looking her directly in the eye, and Hermione was acutely aware of the mounting Legilmentic pressure pushing against her shields. "We found it...PLEASE!"*

"Crucio!" shouted Bellatrix angrily, and for the next couple of minutes, Hermione knew nothing but indescribable pain.

As the pain faded, and her surroundings came back into focus, Hermione knew a small, fierce flame of triumph. Bellatrix had yet to break through her defences, and the crazy woman's irritation was showing.

"You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it!"* she shrieked. Hermione knew that Bellatrix couldn't be sure she wasn't telling the truth, but the very presence of her Occlumentic shields was enough to cast doubt on her words. "You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!"*

"I am," lied Hermione, with an almost savage delight at her ability to do so. Before she succumbed yet again to the pain blossoming along her nervous system, she tried in vain to place the ringing tone and oddly declamatory phrasing of Bellatrix's final words. For some strange reason, it reminded her of Harry.

This time, it took longer for Hermione to return to full awareness. The pain, if anything, was worse, and she was unable to push herself back up from the ground. The best she could do was rub ineffectively at the thin thread of drool that hung from her mouth. Both she and Bellatrix were aware that Hermione's Occlumentic shields were too strong to be easily broken, though by now Hermione had started to worry about how long her body itself would hold up. Resolutely, she pushed away all thought of Neville's parents; she'd rather be dead than brain damaged. Get a grip, Granger. Pressing her eyes closed for a moment, she delved deep. She had resources Bellatrix couldn't touch.

When she finally managed to force her eyes open, Hermione froze in shock. Standing in the open doorway...dressed only in a long white nightshirt, decoratively smocked and layered with ruffles...was Jocelyn Smith. Her mouth was open in surprise, and one hand hung by her face, suspended in the act of rubbing at her bleary eyes. In the long second during which their eyes met, Hermione knew Jocelyn was horrified. She knew Jocelyn was about to scream her name and run towards her, yet Draco moved first.

In two strides, he crossed to the door. Covering Jocelyn's mouth with one hand, he swept the young girl off the ground. Even as she began to struggle, he carried her from the room, impervious to her flailing limbs and a spirited attempt to kick his legs out from under him.

Meanwhile, Hermione's fortitude was pushing Bellatrix even further towards incoherence, and in her fury, she seemed oblivious to the brief appearance of a second Muggle-born witch.

"What else did you take?"* she ranted. "What else have you got? Tell me the truth, or I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!"*

As if to emphasise her point, she leant down and pressed the tip of her dagger against Hermione's breastbone. Thankfully, it snagged on the underwire of her bra, rather than slicing through into the already scarred skin across her chest.

"I am telling the truth," Hermione ground out, looking directly up into Bellatrix's face and forcefully clearing her mind.

"It's not working, Bella!" exclaimed Draco, stepping back into the room...alone.

Hermione watched the snarl on Bellatrix's face deepen viciously. She spun on her heel and glared at Lucius Malfoy.

"How disappointed you must be in Draco," she sneered. "He cares more about the concerns of his teacher than he does for his family."

"Draco knows his place!" retorted Lucius quickly, though an edge of uncertainty undercut his words.

"Severus saved my life!" replied Draco defensively. "Family honour requires that I respect..."

He was cut off by a silencing charm launched by his aunt.

"Once we turn in Potter," Bellatrix stated, "Snape's position will mean nothing." She waved her wand towards Draco again, and the young man flinched.

"Being a Death Eater doesn't seem to agree with you, Malfoy," thought Hermione.

Only when all of the room's occupants swung their gazes towards her did Hermione realise that she had spoken aloud. Shit. She was losing control. Get a grip, Granger! With an inordinate effort, she strengthened her mental shields once more. She couldn't but notice, however, that the implications of her slip were evident to Bellatrix, too, for the madwoman pointed her wand directly at her once again.

"What else did you take?"* she screeched. "What else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"*

The pain was so awful that when it finally stopped, Hermione caught herself sobbing with relief. Over her tears, she thought she could hear Ron, still shouting her name.

And where, she wondered, where the hell is Jocelyn and what is she doing here?

"How did you get into my vault?"* snarled Bellatrix, fisting a hand into Hermione's hair and twisting her neck awkwardly so that once again Hermione's eyes stared into the crazed pupils of her tormentor. "Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?"*

"We only met him tonight!"* panted Hermione, trying to let the sincerity of that particular statement shine through without actually lowering any of her mental defences. "We've never been inside your vault . . . It isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!"*

"A copy?"* Bellatrix let go of Hermione's head and it thudded painfully back onto the floor. "Oh, a likely story!"*

"But we can find out easily!"* interrupted Lucius. "Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!"*

Hermione's slim hope that Bellatrix might leave her alone while Draco fetched Griphook proved to be unfounded. Almost lazily, the awful woman Crucioed her repeatedly, giving her not quite enough time to recover any sense of equanimity between agonising intervals of pain. Deep inside, Hermione began to wonder how long it would take for her to die.

"What was that?"* Hermione had heard nothing, but Lucius sounded genuinely worried. "Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar? Draco...no, call Wormtail! Make him go and check!"*

Draco had only just returned from his own trip down below, half dragging the goblin along behind him. As soon as Wormtail scurried away, Bellatrix raised her wand once more. Hermione could have kissed Lucius Malfoy's boot when he caught at her hand and stopped her.

"Hold on a moment," he ordered, "I want to listen."

No-one in the room spoke for several blessedly-pain-free moments. Hermione used the time to take stock of her physical aches. Am I already brain damaged? she wondered. How would I even tell?

There were several muffled thumps from below where she lay. Let Harry and Ron be okay, prayed Hermione, worried by the noises.

"What is it, Wormtail?"* shouted Lucius immediately.

"Nothing! All fine!"* came the reply.

Lucius' shoulders sagged visibly with relief; Bellatrix grimaced and pulled her hand from Lucius' grip. Vindictively, she Crucioed Hermione as soon as her hand was free.

This time, Hermione almost didn't make the return trip to consciousness. For long moments, she fought against the blackness that threatened to swamp her. Her eyelids seemed impossibly heavy. Vaguely, Hermione became aware that Bellatrix had begun to interrogate Griphook. The room around her was fading in and out of focus, and there was an awful roaring noise in her ears.

"Well?"* asked Bellatrix. "Is it the true sword?"*

Hermione did her best to concentrate on the goblin, willing him to confirm her story. He was turning the sword over in his hand, examining the hilt carefully.

"No,"* replied Griphook finally. "It is a fake."*

As relief rolled over Hermione, her eyes slid back into her head. She struggled against the sensation. Must stay awake. Must open my eyes. By the time she managed to focus on the scene unfolding above her prone body, Griphook had been thrown to the floor as well. Bellatrix crowed her delight as she summoned her master.

A pointed, patent leather boot nudged Hermione's aching ribs as Bellatrix graced her battered victim with a last, gloating farewell: "And I think, we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her."*

Horror curdled her insides. Hermione wanted to scream, to howl, to kick, to crawl away...but her mistreated body was incapable of anything beyond the nausea that washed over her. Oddly, though, the sounds of her silent scream resounded through the room. Only belatedly did Hermione realise the sound came from Ron.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"*

As Ron barrelled into the drawing room, wand outstretched and screaming with rage, several things happened. Spells flew from all directions: one disarmed Bellatrix, one stunned Lucius, another tripped Greyback, sending him sprawling. The last thought Hermione had, before she lost consciousness, was amazement that Draco had missed Harry by such a large margin that his trip jinx had struck the werewolf by mistake.