Chapter 10
Hermione followed closely behind Draco and Lucius as they walked Septimus back to his tent. She hardly paid attention to anything around her, she was so absorbed in her own thoughts.
The fact that Draco was a wizard didn’t matter in Hermione’s particular situation. Or did it? Her conscience questioned her. He had to be roughly her age, probably a bit older. The only way a wizard that age could think he was a squib was if he were being abused, seriously abused. Not just physically either, it took immense emotional and mental trauma to bury magic that deep into someone's psyche.
The puzzle pieces were slowly starting to put themselves together, although Hermione was far from seeing the full picture yet. Lucius was Draco’s father, and somehow he had beaten his son’s magic so deep within him that it no longer manifested itself in any way, as far as she knew from her brief time with them. Lucius frequently used the Imperius Curse to control Draco, both during battle and to do his bidding. She thought the latter was a little over the top; Draco clearly didn’t have any outward intentions of disobeying his father.
Outward intentions. Hermione’s mind stuck on that phrase for a moment. Of course, Draco couldn’t have any intentions at all, inward or outward. Lucius was, aside from many other less flattering things, clearly an accomplished Legilimens. He would certainly not hesitate to invade his own son’s mind any time he felt compelled. I’m going to have to be extra careful when I try to help-
Hermione stopped that thought. She couldn’t help him. She needed to focus on getting away from this camp, away from Lucius, far enough away to apparate herself back to the stones.
She couldn’t deny her newfound healer heart though. There were still dozens of injured men surrounding her, and there was a young man mere feet in front of her who had been so taken advantage of, so mistreated, that his magic might have suffered permanent damage.
She could try to help, maybe.
They had arrived at a small tent in the sea of ramshackle tents. This one didn’t have waves of magic rolling off of it like the Malfoy tent did, but she could still detect some minor wards and repelling charms to keep the muggles out. It must be magically expanded to a certain degree too because Lucius entered the tent with Septimus and the canvas didn’t move an inch.
Lucius must have communicated through the curse to Draco because the second the two other wizards were out of sight he turned back to her and grabbed her upper arm. “We’re to go back to the tent now,” he said in a monotone voice.
“Lead the way,” she mumbled, knowing it didn’t matter what her response was. She wished she knew a way to break through the Imperius Curse, but she supposed that’s why it was one of the Unforgivables; there was no way to break it. She wished she had just kept her cool instead of begging Draco to help free her, then Lucius wouldn’t have put him under the curse. She could’ve asked to cast the diagnostic, she could’ve told him what he was, they could’ve… what? What could they have done? Hermione couldn’t tell him, Lucius would find out. She doubted she would ever get another unsupervised or uncursed moment with Draco now.
They were coming up on the Malfoy tent now and Hermione wondered what Draco was going to do once he completed his task of delivering her. He didn’t hold the tent flap for her this time, instead shoving her through rather roughly. She knew it would be pointless to try to argue or resist. He followed her through silently.
“Aye, Master Draco, Master Lucius told me ye’d be here soon, come wi’ me to yer chambers, sir,” Peeper hurried over to them as soon as they entered and took Draco’s hand, instantly disapparating the two of them away. For just a moment, as soon as their hands touched, the milky glaze on Draco’s eyes disappeared. Odd, Hermione thought, I wonder if that’s Lucius letting go or some override of elf magic. She knew elf magic was immensely powerful but it was almost always stuck behind the barricade of slavery.
Hermione was alone again She sighed; she was getting awfully sick of being stuck here with no answers and no one to question. It struck her suddenly that she hadn’t actually tried leaving the tent yet. Between being supervised and consumed with curiosity about her surroundings, it hadn’t even occurred to her. Slowly, she began to approach the entrance of the tent. It could not possibly be that easy.
It wasn’t.
As she neared the entrance she felt the air grow thick; it was like trying to walk through a pool of molasses. When she was less than a foot away she could barely breathe, she felt like a rubber band was wrapped around her chest. Hermione gave up on that idea and slowly backed away until the air felt normal again.
There was a loud crack from behind her and she heard her least favorite voice in the world. “Where exactly do ye think yer goin’, witch? I told ye, ye are not to leave this tent. I will always know.”
Hermione turned around to see Lucius standing directly behind her, gray eyes blazing with rage. “I wouldn’t be a very good captive if I didn’t try to break free at least once, would I?” she replied with feigned sarcasm.
Her captor continued to stare at her for another long moment before barking out a harsh “Ha!” in her face. “Ye are amusing, I’ll give ye that,” Lucius continued with a wicked grin, “might be worth keeping ye around for that purpose alone, I’ve ne’er met a woman with such audacity.” He phrased it like a compliment but Hermione was positive it was not intended that way. His mood swings were giving her whiplash.
“Audacity,” she repeated, “that’s rather rich coming from the man who kidnapped me.” She didn’t know why she kept going toe to toe with Lucius but it made her feel strong. It reminded her of a sparring match; carefully watching each other and trying to anticipate the other's next move, circling like two predators.
He raised an eyebrow in her direction but chose to ignore her comment this time. He turned to the table where Hermione noticed that someone, presumably Peeper, had tidied up all of the papers and laid out an array of food. Her mouth watered instantly as she watched Lucius pick up a chicken leg and take a chunk out of it. She hadn’t eaten in days but her adrenaline had prevented her from feeling most of those side effects until this moment.
“Hungry, girl?” Lucius asked with a full mouth as chicken grease dribbled out of the corner of his lips. Gross.
“I am actually, I probably won’t be very entertaining for you if I die of starvation,” Hermione replied. He nodded his head slightly in the direction of the table, as if inviting her to eat as well, all while continuing to devour his chicken thigh. She hesitantly reached out to the table, half expecting to be electrocuted or set on fire by some kind of ward. When nothing happened she quickly snatched a piece of chicken from the same plate Lucius had and began to eat.
Now who’s gross, she thought in mild disgust as she felt the grease drip down her chin too. Oh well, she couldn’t worry about that now. She really was starving.
When she had finished pulling every scrap of meat off the bones she could, she looked up to see Lucius watching her. She wished he’d stop doing that.
Finally he broke the awkward silence. “We’ll be packing up over the next day or two, I’ve received orders to move down into England. Ye and Draco need to stay away from the tent while Peeper makes the final preparations to move,” he said quickly but assertively. “How we handle that situation is entirely up to ye, and how eager ye are to escape.”
“Up to me? What exactly do you mean by that?” Hermione asked apprehensively.
“Ye see, witch, I ken plenty of curses and wards that I could use to tether ye to me, or ye could make it easy and stop yer schemin’ to run. I might even consider allowing Draco to be around ye uncursed, although I may just place a tongue binding curse on him to prevent yer curious mind from interfering with my plans.” As he spoke he stalked towards Hermione, emphasizing the last words with a menacing look.
“Don’t think I don’t see the way ye look at my son, eyes popped out of yer head as if ye’ve never seen a man before,” Lucius continued on but Hermione quickly put a stop to his musing.
“I absolutely have not. I’ll have you know I’m engaged and if I don’t come home soon, my fiance will come looking for me!” She knew it was a weak threat; no one was coming after her and Lucius would soon realize it.
“Regardless of how ye feel, I’ve seen his curiosity about ye and I will not tolerate any interference. I am here to accomplish a goal and Draco is vital for it, for now. A witch from Gods knows where is no’ going to be the one to stop me.” With that threat still hanging in the air, Lucius summoned Peeper and in turn had the house elf retrieve Draco. Before Hermione could say anything else or protest, Lucius’ wand was pointed at his son’s throat. There was a flash of light and Draco clapped his hands over his mouth as his eyes bulged out of his head. An instant later his hands dropped, his mouth popped open, and he took a deep, shuddering breath.
“A tongue binding curse, son. Make sure ye hold yer tongue,” Lucius threatened. “Ye said ye need more healing ingredients, witch?” He addressed Hermione again, and she nodded silently. “Draco, ye may escort her while she forages. Dinna let her run, if she does it will be yer punishment. A flogging, perhaps, or maybe Crucio if ye do let her get away.” Draco visibly paled at that warning. Lucius glanced at Hermione, it was like he knew he had her in a quandary. She was a healer for Merlin’s sake, she couldn’t let Draco be tortured for her. Any escape plans she had were slowly fading.
They turned to leave the tent together. Draco lengthened his steps to beat Hermione to the entrance and held open the tent door for her. So this is actually the kind of person he is, she thought, he’s actually quite sweet. How someone like him could have been fathered by someone like Lucius, Hermione would never understand.
When they were a fair distance away from the tent Hermione turned her face up to meet Draco’s eyes; she thought maybe a small part of her wanted to ensure they weren’t milky. “I’m sorry your father cursed you, I wanted to tell him he didn’t have to, that I wouldn’t interfere, but he didn’t even give me the chance,” Hermione apologized sincerely. She did feel bad, Draco was being cursed regularly and it could’ve only increased since her arrival.
“Dinna fash, miss. Unfortunately it’s not an irregular occurrence, although this tongue business is a new one,” Draco admitted. “His typical spell of choice is Imperio, because then he doesna have to think about me in particular. Sometimes Crucio when he’s angry.”
The way he said it all so matter-of-factly made her want to hug him. No one should be so familiar with the Unforgivable Curses. She wanted so badly to tell him what she knew, that he was a wizard and his father was even more evil than Draco thought him to be. But she couldn’t, not yet at least. Hermione knew if Lucius were as cunning as he thought he was, he would be combing through Draco’s memories later today to see if she tried to do anything she shouldn’t have. She needed to gain at least a grain of trust from Lucius before she told Draco what she knew, he had to think she was never going to attempt to run.
That thought reminded her that they were leaving here, which meant they were leaving the stones. They were leaving behind her only chance of getting back to her time. She had to make a choice, and quickly. If she stayed here and decided to help Draco and perhaps uncover what Lucius’ plans were, she might forfeit a chance to ever get back to the life she had begun to love so much.
She could run, she could do it right now. Draco may be a wizard but he had no wand, he had no way of stopping her if she could outrun him. Could she outrun him though? The multiple layers of dress made things a bit more difficult, and she was sure he was very used to maneuvering in his simple kilt. She looked around at their surroundings. They were rounding the short side of the battle field, heading back in the direction she had come from originally. How far were the stones from here? She tried to remember, but the details were hazy in the aftermath of the time travel.
Hermione glanced at Draco again. He was eyeing her, not quite suspiciously but certainly as if he were expecting something. His hand was on the hilt of his sword. His eyes looked uncertain; uncertain if she were going to make a run for it, maybe even uncertain if he would be able to do anything about it if she did.
No. She couldn’t do that to him. As she looked at his eyes and the uncertainty they held, she remembered the fear in the same eyes as his father had cast the Imperius curse on him, she remembered the defeat in them after he had killed all those people unwillingly and unknowingly on the battlefield, she remembered how different he was when those eyes were milky and glassed over. Hermione couldn’t send him back to be whipped and potentially crucio’d. Whatever Ron and all of her friends and family were suffering at home without her, it was nothing compared to the suffering happening before her eyes.
“So, I think I saw a couple of leaping toadstool patches on my way to the camp, over here if I recall,” Hermione said with a friendly smile at Draco, gesturing off to the left.
His steps faltered but only for a moment, and he removed his hand from his sword. He returned her smile and with a bow, gestured Hermione forward, “after you my lady. I dinna have the slightest idea what yer lookin’ for.”
She could help him. She didn’t know how but she would figure something out. She would help to free Draco from the shackles Lucius placed on him, and then she could return home guilt free.
Hermione turned her back in the direction of the stones and began foraging, with Draco close by her side.