The Hanging Tree
Hermione (Present)
When Hermione eased her door open a crack, she expected to see a flash of fiery red hair – Ron Weasley, leaning against the wall with that nervous grin of his. But the corridor was mercifully empty, bathed in the dim glow of the castle's ever burning torches.
A sigh escaped her lips. Earlier, after bidding goodnight to Pita, Hermione had found sleep elusive. Her unfamiliar four poster bed felt strangely cold and vast. For hours, her mind had been consumed by thoughts of the Forbidden Forest, its shadowy depths beckoning her with a promise of comfort and peace. Ginny had suggested asking Ron to accompany her, but Hermione relished the idea of exploring alone. She craved solitude, the chance to lose herself in the mystery of the ancient woods without distraction.
Now, with the corridor empty, a thrill of anticipation coursed through her. She padded back to her wardrobe, the floorboards cold beneath her bare feet. Pushing aside the skirts and neatly folded jumpers, she found what she was looking for: a thick, hooded cloak, the deep navy fabric perfect for concealing her amongst the trees. She quickly slipped it over her nightgown.
With a final glance around the room, she slipped out into the hallway, closing the door silently behind her. An almost unnatural hush had fallen over the castle. Moonlight streamed through the arched windows, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Every portrait she passed seemed to be slumbering peacefully, their painted eyes closed.
As she made her way down the winding staircases and through the deserted corridors, the air grew heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine needles the closer she got to the gardens. With each step, her heart beat a little faster, a mixture of excitement and fear swirling within her.
Her boots crunched rhythmically against the fallen leaves, a comforting sound that echoed through the stillness as she entered the Forbidden Forest. The air, crisp and cool, filled her lungs with the invigorating scent of home. It was strangely familiar, reminding her of the woods in the seventh ring, where she'd spent countless hours exploring hidden trails and building imaginary worlds with Pita. But here, the magic was palpable, a tangible energy that thrummed beneath her fingertips and whispered secrets on the breeze.
She wandered deeper into the forest, her path guided by instinct rather than any conscious decision. Towering trees, their branches gnarled and twisted with age, formed a dense canopy overhead, filtering the moonlight into shimmering shards. Eventually, drawn by an unseen force, she found herself at the base of an ancient oak, its roots spreading like gnarled fingers across the forest floor. Sinking onto a bed of moss, she closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the forest wash over her. The gentle gurgle of a nearby stream, the distant hoot of an owl, the rustle of leaves in the night breeze – these were the sounds of home, grounding her in the present moment.
Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed through the trees, followed by the murmur of hushed voices. Her eyes flew open, her senses on high alert. She rose to her feet, pulling the hood of her cloak tighter around her face, concealing her distinctive curly hair. Silently, she moved towards the sound, her boots barely disturbing the forest floor.
She emerged into a small clearing, bathed in the ethereal glow of the moon. Two figures, cloaked and hooded like herself, moved with practiced stealth towards a dark opening in the hillside – a cave, its entrance draped in shadows. Intrigued, she watched as they disappeared into its depths. With a quick glance around the clearing to ensure she was alone, she made a decision. Curiosity propelled her forward. She moved towards the cave, her footsteps silent as a whisper.
The air inside was thick and heavy, with the faint scent of damp stone and something...else. Something ancient and unknown. She could hear the muffled sound of voices, but the words were indistinguishable. Then, abruptly, silence. An unsettling quiet that prickled her skin with goosebumps.
Deeper she ventured, her hand brushing against the rough walls of the cave. The darkness was absolute, broken only by the faintest glimmer of moonlight reflecting off a smooth surface in the distance. As she drew closer, she realized it was a wall of polished obsidian, cold and impenetrable. Set within the obsidian, was a small, ornate frame holding a painting of a phoenix, its wings outstretched in flight. Intrigued, she reached out to touch it...
...and the world dissolved around her.
One moment she was in the damp, earthy confines of the cave, the next she was standing in an open field. A bonfire blazed in the distance, casting a flickering orange glow against the inky blackness of the night sky. Smoke curled upwards, forming strange shapes against the stars. Disoriented, she turned in a slow circle, her heart pounding in her chest. The palace, the forest, the cave – all gone. She was stranded in an unknown place with no idea how to return.
As she approached the fire, she saw a crowd gathered around it, over a hundred people, all cloaked and masked. Some wore simple cloth masks, while others were adorned with intricate silver designs, their expressions hidden in shadow. A man's voice, amplified by magic and distorted, echoed across the field, his words indecipherable. No one turned to acknowledge her presence, their attention fixed on the speaker. A sense of unease settled over her. What was this place? Who were these people? And why did she have the unsettling feeling that she had stumbled into something far bigger, and far more dangerous, than she could have ever imagined?
As she drew closer, the speaker's form sharpened into focus against the flickering backdrop of the bonfire. He was tall, cloaked in a long, black robe that billowed around him like shadows. But it was his mask that truly held her attention – a stark white skull, its empty sockets staring out at the crowd with an unnerving intensity.
Strands of dark hair escaped from beneath his hood, falling across the top of his mask. His voice, amplified across the field, was even more disturbing up close. It was a grating rasp, devoid of any human warmth, distorted and crackling as if filtered through some otherworldly device. She realized with a shiver that he must be using a spell to disguise his true voice, adding another layer of mystery to the situation.
The crowd, a sea of masked faces, seemed utterly captivated. Each person stood motionless, their heads bowed in a silent, unified nod. It was a scene that bordered on the cultish, and a prickle of fear ran down her spine. What dark purpose had drawn all these people to this secluded clearing in the dead of night?
"The king is becoming restless," the masked speaker rasped, his distorted voice cutting through the silence. "Resulting in more ruthlessness than ever. You must all continue to hone your Occlumency skills in case you are captured or questioned." His words hung in the air, heavy with a sense of urgency and danger. She felt a knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach. She wouldn’t say for certain, but she had a feeling this group of people were a part of the resistance movement - the Order of the Phoenix.
"There has been another vision," the speaker continued, gesturing towards a cloaked figure beside him. The woman, her face hidden by a silver mask, nodded silently and raised her gloved hands towards the sky. A shimmering light, like liquid moonlight, spilled from her fingertips, rising above the crowd into a swirling vortex of energy. Hermione watched, mesmerized, as an image began to form within the swirling light.
At first, the vision was blurry, the edges rippling like disturbed water. But gradually, it sharpened, becoming clear as day. It depicted a woman, her back turned towards the viewer, her hand outstretched towards the heavens. A torrent of blue flame, like liquid fire, erupted from her palm, surging upwards towards a shimmering dome that encased a sprawling kingdom. The fiery magic struck the shield with the force of a thousand lightning bolts, causing it to crackle and spark before imploding upon itself in a catastrophic shower of energy.
A collective gasp arose from the crowd. Some faces were lit with triumphant glee, others contorted in anguish, and still others were frozen in shock, their masks unable to conceal the horror etched upon their features. Hermione, however, was fixated on the woman in the vision. She tried to get a better look at her face, but it remained hidden. Then, her gaze fell upon the woman's back, exposed by an open-backed dress, and her breath hitched. Scars, a network of thin, silvery lines, crisscrossed the woman's back in a pattern that was both familiar and horrifying. Her eyes moved to the woman's hair – a wild, untamed mane of curls that floated around her as if imbued with magic.
The realization struck her like a physical blow, sending a wave of dizziness washing over her. She knew those scars. She knew that hair. The woman in the vision... was her. No. That couldn’t be right, she must be mistaken….that made absolutely no sense.
Panic clawed at her throat. She had to get out of there, and fast. This gathering, the ominous vision, the revelation of her own potential involvement – it was all too much to process. She needed time to think, to understand, and this was definitely not the place to do it. Slipping away unnoticed was her top priority; deciphering the meaning of the vision would have to wait.
With a deep breath, she turned and began to retrace her steps, moving as silently as a shadow through the crowd. No one seemed to notice her departure, their attention still riveted on the masked speaker. She prayed that by putting enough distance between herself and the gathering, she would eventually stumble upon a familiar path, a landmark, anything that would lead her back to the palace.
An hour later, however, her hope was dwindling. The forest, once enchanting, now felt like a labyrinth, its twisting paths and dense foliage conspiring to keep her trapped. She had tried following a stream, hoping it would lead her to a larger body of water and, eventually, civilization. But after what felt like miles of trudging through the undergrowth, the stream had only led her deeper into the woods.
Fatigue weighed heavily on her limbs. The initial thrill of exploration had given way to a gnawing fear. She was lost, alone, and surrounded by an unknown darkness. The vision of the fiery woman, her own doppelganger, flashed before her eyes, adding another layer of unease to her already troubled thoughts.
The sharp snap of a twig jolted her from her thoughts, sending a shiver down her spine. She whirled around, her heart pounding, but found nothing but the dense, shadowy woods. Yet, the feeling of being watched lingered, prickling her skin with goosebumps. She had two choices: flee blindly into the darkness, or confront the unseen observer.
"Who's there?!" she shouted, trying to project an air of confidence she didn't feel. Her voice echoed through the trees, swallowed by the oppressive silence. Then, a faint glow flickered in the distance, drawing her attention. Before she could react, a jolt of magic slammed into her, and her body seized up, rigid as a statue. She crumpled to the ground with a thud, her muscles locked, her senses heightened yet frustratingly useless.
Two figures, cloaked and masked, emerged from the shadows and loomed over her. They exchanged hushed whispers, their voices too low for her to decipher. Then, with a practiced ease, they hoisted her stiff body and, with a sharp crack, vanished into thin air.
The world dissolved into a dizzying swirl of colors and sensations, and then solidified once more. She found herself lying on the cold ground inside a spacious tent, a fire crackling merrily in the center, casting dancing shadows across the canvas walls. She was still paralyzed, her body frozen in place. One of the figures muttered an incantation, and the feeling surged back into her limbs with a rush. She scrambled to her feet, her eyes darting around the tent, searching for other occupants. She could handle two assailants, but not an entire army.
A chair materialized out of thin air behind her. "Take a seat," a familiar distorted voice commanded, echoing through the tent.
She hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to refuse.
"Do I need to use magic," the voice continued, a hint of irritation seeping through the distortion, "or will you sit on your own?"
A figure stepped out from the shadows, the skeletal mask gleaming in the firelight. It was the speaker from the clearing. The leader, she surmised.
"You may go," he said, dismissing the two men that had brought her with a wave of his hand. They bowed silently and melted back into the darkness.
Hermione remained standing, her eyes locked on the skeletal mask. She watched as he slowly circled her, his movements deliberate, predatory.
"I know who you are..." he began, his voice a low rasp, "...but what I don't know... is why you are here."
"How do you know who I am?" She demanded, her voice trembling slightly.
"It's my job to know things," he replied cryptically, continuing his slow orbit.
"I am only going to ask one more time," he said, stopping in front of her. "Please have a seat."
"I'll stand, thank you," she retorted, her voice deceptively sweet, her eyes narrowed.
The masked figure flicked his wrist, and an invisible force slammed her into the chair. She struggled against the magical bonds, but it was futile; it felt like she was tied down with invisible ropes.
“Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” He cooed.
He was inches from her now, looming over her like a predator closing in on its prey. He reached out, his gloved fingers surprisingly gentle as they wrapped around a stray curl that had escaped from her hood. He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
His eyes, dark and intense beneath his mask, held hers captive. It was as if he was peering into the deepest recesses of her being, dissecting her thoughts, her memories, her fears. She had never felt so utterly exposed, so vulnerable, under the scrutiny of a single look. A shiver ran down her spine, and she instinctively tried to avert her gaze, but his grip on her chin was firm, unrelenting. The silence stretched between them, charged with an unspoken tension. His eyes, those windows to his hidden face, seemed to flicker with a mixture of curiosity and something else... something she couldn't quite decipher.
He finally released her chin, and slowly stepped away from her, conjured another chair and placed it opposite hers. He sat down, leaning back with an air of casual menace.
Before she could speak, a searing pain erupted in her skull, like a thousand white hot needles piercing her brain. She bit back a scream, her vision blurring.
The Skeleton Mask watched her, his dark brown eyes betraying nothing.
"Are you a spy for the king?" The words echoed in her mind, a chilling intrusion into her thoughts.
"NO!" she cried out, the word ripped from her throat against her will.
"How did you find us?" The question reverberated through her skull, intensifying the throbbing pain.
She writhed against the mental assault, desperately trying to shield her thoughts, but it was no use. The words were extracted from her like venom from a wound.
"I followed someone into a cave near the palace," she hissed, each word a struggle against the invasive force.
The Skeleton Mask tilted his head, his dark eyes boring into hers with an unnerving intensity. "Why were you in the forest?"
This time, she didn't even attempt resistance. The mental intrusion was exhausting, and she simply didn't have the energy to fight. "I missed home," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
He leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. He ran his fingers through his dark hair, then abruptly stood up, pacing before her like a caged animal.
"Well... what am I supposed to do with you now?" he muttered to himself, more than to her. "You have no mental shields in place, no Occlumency training. Your mind is laid bare. Even an unskilled Legilimens could dissect every inch of that brain of yours... I can't very well send you back to the king with the new information you have obtained. You could jeopardize the entire resistance."
She knew she should be furious. He was doing precisely what usually drove her to lose her temper – restraining her against her will, invading her privacy. Yet, a strange sense of understanding tempered her anger. She didn't want to endanger the resistance, however unintentionally. She wanted no part in their rebellion, of course, especially considering the risk it posed to Pita. But she couldn't deny a grudging admiration for their cause, their bravery in the face of tyranny.
"I am not going to say anything," she whispered, and she meant it.
"Unfortunately," the masked man said calmly, "your vow of silence isn't enough."
"So what..." her voice wavered, "...are you going to kill me then?"
"Yes," he replied, his voice devoid of emotion.
Her eyes narrowed, and she felt a surge of magic, hot and defiant, rising within her.
"Unless..." he continued, "you submit to Occlumency training. We will start tomorrow. You will report back to me each night for training until I am satisfied.”
Confusion replaced fear. "Why not just kill me?"
"Because," he said, finally turning to face her, "I believe you are more valuable to us... alive."
"I can't be your spy," she protested. "The king has already had us submit to Veritaserum. He killed someone just a few days ago, and I'm sure that won't be his last attempt to discover traitors within the palace."
"I am not asking you to be a spy," he clarified, "not directly anyway. You are not an official member of the Order of the Phoenix. But you will visit me nightly, and you will learn to shield that mind of yours."
She weighed her options. She was trapped. Death or Occlumency training. It wasn't much of a choice, but it was the only one she had.
With a resigned sigh, she finally nodded. "Fine," she conceded, "I'll do it."
With a slow nod, he turned away, the skeletal mask obscuring any trace of emotion.
"10 pm, every night," he instructed, his voice firm yet oddly gentle. "If you fail to show, I will find you." The unspoken threat hung in the air.
As if on cue, the invisible bonds that had held her captive dissipated, and she cautiously rose from the chair. Her legs felt shaky, and she swayed slightly.
"You may go," he said, his voice echoing through the large empty tent.
"How do I get back to the castle?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"The men outside will take you back," he replied, gesturing towards the tent flap.
"Okay..." she said hesitantly, backing away slowly, as if afraid any sudden movement might shatter the fragile truce they had forged. She half expected him to change his mind, to imprison her once more, or worse.
But he remained silent, his masked face flickering in the firelight. She reached the tent flap and paused, a question burning on her tongue. Who was this man? What was his name? But the words caught in her throat.
Without another word, she slipped out into the night, leaving behind the warmth of the fire and the unsettling presence of the masked stranger. The two figures who had apprehended her earlier materialized from the shadows, their faces still hidden behind their masks. They didn't speak, but simply gestured for her to follow.
With a last glance back at the dimly lit tent, she turned and followed her silent escorts, her mind awhirl with questions. She had stumbled into a world of shadows and secrets, and there was no turning back.
*****
"Wanna go soak in the baths?" Ginny asked, lounging languidly in one of Hermione's plush armchairs.
Hermione, engrossed in a particularly dense historical account of goblin rebellions, barely looked up. "Baths?" she echoed, her mind still wrestling with the implications of her encounter with the Skeleton Mask.
They were having a rare moment of quiet respite. The tension within the castle was thick, everyone awaiting the king's announcement of the next challenge. The silence in Hermione's room was broken only by the crackling of the fire and the gentle clink of their wine glasses.
"Yeah," Ginny elaborated, "they're a few floors down. Giant steaming pools. I doubt anyone will be there right now. They're usually empty."
Hermione shrugged, the prospect of a relaxing soak was appealing "Sure," she agreed, setting her book aside.
The baths were more akin to a subterranean grotto than a traditional bathing chamber. Dark, moss-covered walls enclosed a vast cavern, the high, vaulted ceiling lost in shadows. The water, heated by some unseen magic, shimmered with an ethereal, aquamarine glow. As Ginny had predicted, they had the place to themselves.
They shed their robes, the soft fabric pooling on the stone floor, and slipped into the warm water. The steam rising from the surface obscured their nakedness, creating an illusion of privacy within the cavernous space. Hermione leaned back against the intricately carved stone wall, closing her eyes with a sigh of contentment. The tension that had been coiling in her muscles for days began to unravel. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so relaxed.
For the next hour, they laughed and chatted, passing the bottle of wine back and forth, the gentle sloshing of the liquid echoing through the cavern. Hermione relished the warmth spreading through her limbs, the slight buzz of the wine, and the easy camaraderie with Ginny. It was a welcome distraction from the looming dread of her impending meeting with the Skeleton Mask.
She took a deep breath and submerged herself completely, letting the water envelop her like a comforting embrace. When she resurfaced, gasping for air, she was startled by the expression on Ginny's face. Her friend's eyes were wide with alarm, her face tight, as if she had seen a ghost. Before Hermione could ask what was wrong, Ginny raised a trembling finger to her lips, silencing her. She then slowly sank down, until only her fiery red hair remained visible above the waterline. Hermione, her senses now on high alert, followed suit.
The sound of approaching voices and clinking glasses reached them before the figures came into view. Peeking cautiously over the edge of the pool, Hermione saw two shirtless men with toned, muscular backs on the other side of the cavern, towels slung low around their hips. She recognized the Prince's shock of platinum blonde hair. Judging by Ginny's reaction, the dark haired wizard must be Theo.
Ginny swam silently towards Hermione, who was huddled in a shadowed corner of the pool, her body submerged.
"We need to sneak out of here before they see us," Ginny whispered frantically, her cheeks flushed from a combination of wine and the heat of the baths. "I don't think I can handle another run in with Theo right now."
"Okay..." Hermione agreed, her eyes scanning the cavern for an escape route. The door they had entered through was out of the question; it would require walking directly past Draco and Theo. Their robes and towels were a considerable distance away, but Ginny's wand was lying on the opposite ledge of the pool.
"If we get to your wand, can you apparate us out?" Hermione whispered.
"No," Ginny replied, "most people can't apparate within the castle. But I can use a Disillusionment Charm. But if I swim towards my wand, they'll spot me..."
Hermione, remembering the hurt in Ginny's eyes after her previous encounter with Theo, was determined to prevent a repeat of that pain.
"Okay," she said decisively, "I'm going to distract them. You get to your wand and hide yourself."
"Are you sure?" Ginny's eyes darted nervously between Hermione and the two men.
"Yes," Hermione affirmed, steeling her nerves.
Ginny mouthed a silent "thank you" as Hermione pulled herself out of the pool, the warm water cascading down her naked body. Ignoring the two men, she walked purposefully towards her discarded robe. She could feel their stares burning into her back, and she swore she heard Draco clear his throat. Water droplets clung to her skin, and her wet footsteps echoed through the cavern, amplifying her presence. It was a bold move, but she was determined to protect her friend.
Hermione fastened the robe around her waist and wrung the water from her hair. She turned towards Theo and the prince, her robe clinging to her damp skin.
"Oh, hello," she greeted them, her voice steady and calm.
Theo, his face split by a wide grin, couldn't seem to decide whether to look at Hermione or Draco. Draco, meanwhile, stood frozen, his mouth agape in surprise. Theo nudged him in the ribs with his elbow, bringing him back to reality.
Draco snapped his mouth shut and cleared his throat, "Hello," he finally managed to reply, his voice a bit hoarse.
Hermione gracefully approached the edge of the pool and perched on the ledge, dipping her feet into the warm, inviting water. The steam rising from the surface created an ethereal atmosphere around them.
"Are you alone?" Theo inquired, his eyes scanning the cavernous space, a flicker of hope in them. Hermione knew he was longing to catch a glimpse of Ginny.
"Yes," she answered smoothly, her gaze meeting his.
The excitement drained from Theo's face as he leaned back against the wall, a sigh escaping his lips. Draco, however, seemed to recover his composure quickly. He extended the whiskey bottle towards her, a playful smirk curving his lips.
"Whiskey?" he offered.
"Not tonight," she declined with a wink, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
Draco's smile widened. "Too bad."
Her gaze briefly flickered to his outstretched arm, taking in the toned muscles and the strength they hinted at. He was undeniably fit. One of Draco's eyebrows shot up, as if he had read her thoughts, and a faint blush crept onto her cheeks.
Theo, who had been lost in his own thoughts, suddenly straightened up. "I think I'm going to head out," he announced with a weary sigh.
Draco, his eyes still fixed on Hermione, nodded in acknowledgement.
"I am too," Hermione declared, rising to her feet.
Draco's eyes darted between hers, his smile faltering. "Stay for a bit," he pleaded, his voice soft and surprisingly vulnerable. "Please."
She hesitated. She didn't particularly want to be alone with him, but there was something in his eyes, a sincerity that held her captive.
"Okay," she agreed softly, settling back onto the ledge.
Theo emerged from the pool, water cascading down his body. Hermione averted her gaze as he bid them both farewell and vanished into the darkness, leaving her alone with the prince.
"How are you feeling?" Draco inquired, sinking deeper into the water, respecting her space.
"I'm fine," she replied, her eyes fixed on the gently rippling water. "More than fine, actually... I can't even begin to thank you..." she trailed off, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Thank me?" he questioned, his voice laced with curiosity.
"For what you did for Pita," she explained, finally meeting his gaze. "For getting her out of the seventh ring, for giving us a way to communicate."
A sad smile touched his lips as he nodded. "You're welcome... she is a very sweet kid."
"She is," she agreed, a genuine smile gracing her own features.
A shiver ran down her spine as the coolness of the air hit her wet skin.
"If you want to get back in, I won't look," Draco offered, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Hermione tilted her head, feigning exasperation, but she couldn't deny the allure of the warm water. With a slight nod, she accepted his offer.
He rose from the pool, water clinging to his lean hips. Hermione allowed her eyes to trace the lines of his sculpted torso before he turned away, revealing his broad, glistening back. He covered his eyes with his hand, but she could practically feel his smile radiating towards her.
She slipped out of her robe and slowly sank back into the water, immersing herself in its warmth.
"Okay, you can turn around," she announced.
Draco turned, his eyes still shielded by his hand. He peeked through his fingers before letting his hand fall away completely. He was still smiling, and she had to admit, his boyish charm was quite endearing.
He moved towards the underwater bench where she was now seated, maintaining a respectful distance. Hermione leaned back against the ledge, closing her eyes as the soothing warmth enveloped her. She was surprised by how relaxed she felt in his presence.
"You're a good friend," Draco's voice broke the silence.
She opened her eyes and turned to him, her eyebrows raised in question.
"For what you did for Ginny just now," he clarified.
"How did you...?" she began, but then the realization hit her.
"I could hear her thoughts as she left the room," he explained.
"Oh. Right," she said, "Powerful Legilimens... I forgot."
He nodded in confirmation.
"I thought one had to cast a spell to perform Legilimency?" she inquired, curiosity piqued.
"I don't," he replied simply.
Oh. Can you hear me now? she thought to herself, testing his abilities.
Yes, he responded directly into her mind, causing a shiver to run down her spine.
Interesting... well, would you mind staying out of my mind? she thought back, a touch of firmness in her mental tone.
But I love it in here, he retorted playfully, a smirk curling his lips.
She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, a silent warning.
Fine, he conceded, feigning a pout. But only if I can ask you some questions.
She rolled her eyes. Fine, I will answer yours if you answer some of mine.
Deal, he responded. She could almost feel him withdrawing from her mind, and she was surprised to find that she almost missed the sensation of their magic intertwined. It had been a subtle tingling, but strangely pleasant.
He licked his lips, and her eyes were drawn to the movement.
"What makes you happy?" he asked, his voice breaking the silence that had settled between them.
"Easy, Pita," she responded without hesitation.
"That I already knew, what else?" he pressed.
She pondered for a moment. "Reading and being in the woods," she finally answered.
His eyebrows rose in surprise. "What do you like to read? Did you teach yourself?"
"Ah ah ah, it's my turn to ask you a question," she interjected playfully.
He smiled and dipped his head in acknowledgement. She found herself slowly inching closer to him.
"Who do you love most in this world?" she asked, her voice soft.
"My mother," he replied instantly, his answer unwavering.
She nodded, a warmth spreading through her chest. She found herself wanting to ask him more, to delve deeper into the person behind the princely facade.
"What do you like to read?" he asked.
"Anything really... there wasn't much to choose from in the seventh ring, so anything I could get my hands on..." she trailed off.
"Do you think you'll find a wife during this selection?" She asked, her voice taking on a more serious tone.
He paused, considering his answer carefully. "This might come as a surprise, but I didn't want this... I didn't want to meet my future wife this way, didn't want any part of the selection."
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. She hadn't expected such honesty.
"Have you given much thought to marriage?" he asked, his gaze searching hers.
"Not until recently, no," she admitted with a chuckle.
His mouth parted slightly, his eyes widening in surprise.
"What?" she asked, tilting her head inquisitively.
He cleared his throat, his eyes refocusing. "Nothing... it's just... I've never heard you laugh before....I like it."
She wasn't sure if it was the wine, or the intensity of his gaze, but a blush crept up her neck. She was acutely aware of their proximity, of the fact that if she reached out, she could touch him. She averted her gaze for a moment, flustered by the intensity of the moment.
She shook her head slightly, a smile playing on her lips.
"What?" he asked, trying to suppress his own smile.
"Nothing... you're just... different than I expected," she confessed, her honesty taking her by surprise. She was enjoying his company, finding herself drawn to his unexpected vulnerability. It felt like she had known him for much longer than a few days.
He remained silent, his eyes fixed on her, as if trying to decipher her thoughts.
"Well, I should probably be heading back, it's getting late," she said, omitting the part about her upcoming Occlumency lesson with the leader of the resistance.
"Can I walk you back?" he offered gently.
"Sure," she agreed. "But turn around so I can get out of here."
*********
Sweat beaded on her forehead and stung her eyes. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the arms of the chair, her body rigid with tension. Trapped under the piercing gaze of the Skeleton Mask, she felt a violation far deeper than any physical touch. The mask, a chilling symbol of death, seemed to amplify the invasive power of his Legilimency. He cleaved into her mind with brutal force, tearing through her memories and defenses with an aggression that bordered on sadistic. Pain lanced through her, a thousand tiny knives peeling back layers of her mind, exposing her most vulnerable secrets. Images from her past flashed before her eyes, a chaotic montage of fear, pain, and loss.
Just an hour ago, she had arrived at the familiar field. She had been led to the imposing tent, it's dark silhouette looming against the twilight sky. Without a word, he had directed her to the chair, his masked face ominous. There were no greetings, no pleasantries, only the immediate onslaught of his mental assault.
She fought the urge to lash out, to headbutt him, to do anything to break free from his invasive grasp. She writhed and squirmed, her body rebelling against the violation.
"ENOUGH!" she screamed, her voice raw with pain and frustration.
It will be enough when I say it is, his voice echoed in her mind, chillingly calm despite the hint of strained exertion. You can do better than this. The words were laced with a cruel disappointment that fueled her anger.
Rage simmered beneath her skin, a burning inferno that threatened to consume her. It was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on anything but her desire to hurt him, to make him pay for the agony he was inflicting.
He pressed harder, pulling forth more memories. Her arrival in the seventh ring as a terrified child, her first brutal lashing, the discovery of Pita, the bloody brawls in the ring – all of her most private moments, laid bare for him to see, to judge.
She screamed again, her voice a guttural cry of frustration, but he showed no mercy.
Then, he unearthed a memory she had desperately tried to bury. The memory felt so real - she could feel the hot breath on her neck, the chilling sensation of a zipper being undone, her small hands fighting back against a force far stronger than her own.
Tears streamed down her face, the echo of past pain reverberating through her body.
"NO! STOP!" she screamed at the Skeleton Mask, her voice cracking with despair. "GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"
But the memory continued to unfold, playing out before her eyes with agonizing clarity. She saw his eyes darken beneath his mask as he witnessed the scene, an impassive observer of her childhood trauma. She felt trapped, reliving the horror, the helplessness, the violation. It was as if she was back there, a small, terrified girl, pinned beneath the weight of a disgusting man who had stolen her innocence.
A sob tore from her throat, and finally, he retreated from her mind. She gasped for breath, her body trembling with the aftershocks of the assault. Tears streamed down her face, and she hated herself for her weakness.
"We're done for the day," he murmured, his voice a distant echo as he turned away from her. His dark hair was a mess, but the skeleton mask still obscured his features. He moved with a weariness that suggested the ordeal had taken its toll on him as well.
"Fuck you," she spat, the words barely a whisper, laced with venom. She pushed herself to her feet, her body stiff and sore.
He didn't acknowledge her insult, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames in the small fire pit that crackled in the center of the tent. The dancing shadows cast an eerie glow on his masked face, making him seem even more remote and unreadable.
She stalked towards the tent flap, eager to escape him, to breathe fresh air.
"Who was that?" His voice, though quiet, cut through the silence, stopping her in her tracks.
She whirled around to face him, her anger flaring anew. "What?" she hissed, her voice raw with suppressed fury.
"The man that... hurt you?" he clarified, his gaze still fixed on the fire, as if reluctant to meet her eyes.
"He's a soldier... Dolohov... is his name, I believe," she replied, her voice tight with disgust. The mere mention of his name sent a wave of nausea through her. Since the assault, she had seen him frequently, a looming figure of cruelty who seemed to relish in inflicting pain on the vulnerable residents of the seventh ring.
He simply nodded.
Hermione, unable to bear his presence any longer, turned and fled the tent, the heavy flap falling closed behind her like a guillotine.
As she stumbled out into the cool night air, she felt a wave of relief wash over her. But beneath the relief, a deep unease lingered.
****
She awoke with a throbbing headache. She rose from the plush bed, each movement sending a jolt of pain through her head, making her wince. She dressed slowly.
A soft knock at the door startled her, sending another spike of pain through her skull.
"Come in," she called out, her voice hoarse.
The door creaked open, revealing Ginny.
"Breakfast?" Ginny asked softly.
"Yes, please," Hermione responded, pressing her hands to her temples in a futile attempt to quell the throbbing.
"You okay?" Ginny pressed, her brow furrowed.
"Yes, just too much wine yesterday," Hermione lied, forcing a weak smile.
They made their way through the corridors of the castle, heading in a direction Hermione hadn't explored before.
"Where is breakfast being held today?" she asked, curiosity piqued.
"My house," Ginny replied, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.
Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes widening in surprise. "Your house?" she echoed, her voice laced with disbelief.
"There's a certain little girl who has been begging to see you," Ginny explained, her eyes sparkling with warmth.
Hermione felt tears prick her eyes.
"Are you sure this is okay?" she asked, still hesitant.
"Yeah, it was actually the prince's idea," Ginny revealed.
Hermione's heart squeezed in response.
Ginny reached out and clasped her hand, her touch reassuring. Together, they left the confines of the castle, heading towards the apparition point, a sense of anticipation hanging in the air.
As they stepped through the grand palace gates, a sense of freedom washing over them, Ginny came to an abrupt halt. Her mouth fell open in a silent gasp, her eyes widening in disbelief. Hermione, following her friend's stunned gaze, turned towards the source of her astonishment.
Towering over them, its gnarled branches reaching towards the sky like grasping claws, stood an immense tree. It dwarfed everything around it, its trunk thicker than any Hermione had ever seen. The bark was a blend of intricate patterns, swirling knots and deep grooves that spoke of centuries of growth. Its leaves, a vibrant shade of emerald green despite the season, rustled in the gentle breeze, casting shadows on the ground below. It seemed to pulsate with an ancient energy, a silent guardian watching over the grounds. An aura of mystery clung to it.
"What is it?" Hermione whispered, her voice barely audible.
Ginny remained frozen, her breath caught in her throat, unable to articulate the horror that gripped her. Her trembling finger pointed towards the monstrous tree, her eyes wide with a fear that mirrored the dread creeping into Hermione's own heart. It was then that Hermione noticed it – A man, his lifeless form swaying gently in the breeze, hung from a thick rope noosed around his neck. His eyes were wide open, staring blankly into the void, the color drained from his face. He was clad in the familiar uniform of a palace soldier, his once proud attire now covered in dirt and grime.
Ginny finally found her voice. "He... he wasn’t there earlier," she stammered, her voice trembling.
Hermione examined the dead man's face. It was a gruesome sight. His features were distorted, swollen and bruised, bearing the marks of a savage beating. Blood crusted around his nose and mouth, and one eye was swollen shut. It was difficult to discern his true identity at first, but a chilling familiarity crept over her. Suddenly, a scream tore from her throat, a raw, primal sound of terror and recognition.
It was him.
The man who had haunted her nightmares for years, the man who had stolen her innocence, her childhood, her sense of safety. The man whose face had been forever seared into her memory.
Dolohov.
Seeing him swaying like a grotesque pendulum from the ancient tree, triggered a profound shift within her. It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from her soul, a shackle broken. The fear that had haunted her for years, the fear that had kept her trapped in a cycle of pain and vulnerability, began to dissipate like mist in the morning sun.
She felt a part of herself, the child she had been before the horrors of the seventh ring, reawaken. It was as if that little girl, who had been forced to grow up too fast, who had been robbed of her innocence and joy, could finally breathe again, could finally smile again.