Shocking
Chapter 18: Shocking
Fawley had been gone nearly an hour now. Every second that ticked by put Hermione more and more on edge. Whatever he was cooking up was taking time to plan out and that didn’t bode well for her. The less controlled, and more rushed Fawley was, the more likely he’d be to make a mistake. Unfortunately for her, there was absolutely nothing she could do about her situation, and losing total control had her grinding her teeth and picking at her skin nervously.
So she counted.
Every second. Every minute.
She counted.
Every tile. Every panel on the walls. Each flicker of the light overhead.
The anticipation was slowly eating away at her. Two hours passed, then three. Her stomach made its own rhythm grumbling, keeping her awake even in the moments she considered trying to sleep.
There were no windows, but with how frequently her eyelids were drooping and jerking awake, it had to be nearly half a day gone by. Finally, the door creaked open and her jailer entered, pulling a large, tan, metal cart on rusty castors to the center of the room. A few books lay stacked on top, but Hermione’s vision was so blurry from lack of sleep she couldn’t quite read the titles.
An electronic beeping sounded, and Fawley raised his wrist with a smile. “Perfect timing! Sorry for the delay, Hermione, but we needed to make sure you had a full eight hours of no food or substances. Wouldn't want you asphyxiating and getting pneumonia!”
His cheery voice didn’t match the dread-filled words that left his lips, and Hermione shuddered at the thoughts of prospective courses of action he could have in store for her. Fawley tugged open one of the drawers on the cart and pulled out a thick roll of cotton. “Open up,” he sing-songed, his grin turned sinister.
…
“Ronnie!” Charlie beamed brightly at his little brother. “What are you doing here? And who’s your friend?” he added when he noticed Neville follow Ron into the small tavern all the dragon-reserve employees seemed to frequent.
Ron accepted his brother’s tight hug before introducing Neville. “Charlie, this is Neville Longbottom—“
“The snake-slayer!” Charlie thrust his fist into the air triumphantly. “I know who y’are, I just like riling up a little brother when I can. So what brings you both so far from home? Can’t imagine it’s just to see little old me.”
Charlie’s lopsided grin faded as he recognized the somber looks the two younger men before him wore. “What’s happened? Is it mum? Dad? Ginny?!”
“No!” Ron quickly shook his head, not wanting his brother to jump off the deep end just yet. “It’s, well it’s Hermione.”
Charlie eyed them carefully, knowing just how much that particular witch meant to not just the two boys in front of him, but his entire family. “Tell me what happened.”
So they regaled him with the shortened version of how Augusta Longbottom had been attacked, and how Hermione and Draco had come back from the dead, and finally, how she had come to be missing.
“So we need to find this Ukraine property? Should be easy enough. We could have an Ironbelly take us—she’d be the most familiar with the geography, and large enough to carry all three of us easily.”
“Alright fine. For Hermione,” Ron agreed.
Charlie ordered them each a pint and bowls of stew. None of them had eaten and it would be a rougher ride than anything he and Neville were used to, they would need their strength. They ate in relative silence, each mentally preparing for not only the journey, but what they might find when they got there.
“We’ll have to wear our packs crossbody so we can hold onto each other,” Charlie instructed, pulling his own bag over his head to demonstrate. “I’ll ride in front to help steer, Neville you bring up the rear since you’ve got some super strength now to hold on.”
Ron and Neville nodded, taking their positions as they approached the Ironbelly. She seemed calmer, more relaxed than when Ron had last seen her, but maybe it had more to do with the fact that she was in a dragon reserve and among her kind compared to being tortured and kept in the bowels of Gringotts…
The flight was cold and windy. Ron gripped onto the shoulders of Charlie’s dragon hide coat til his knuckles blanched white after nearly slipping off as the mist made the dragon’s scales slippery. Neville, true to his new make up, didn’t move and inch, and helped to keep Ron stable on the beast’s back.
Once they made it through the last of the Carpathian Mountains, the mist subsided somewhat, and the air warmed from the sun’s growing heat. They focused on the western side of Ukraine to start their search—avoiding the major cities like Kyiv and Kharkiv. The intel had noted the property would be remote, so they searched for anything that looked significantly farther from any other buildings or communities.
After searching a few smaller outbuildings, Ron pointed for Charlie to land at a larger, flat-roofed building near the outskirts of Uhniv. It wasn’t exactly what they’d been looking for, but Ron’s gut started to churn the moment he laid eyes on it.
Apparently, the Ironbelly could sense the same thing as she circled, but landed a ways off from where Charlie tried to steer her. Boots on the ground again, Ron took point, leading his two comrades in their flanked positions, fanning out as they approached the edges of the wards.
The magic crackled as they approached, but it hadn’t been revived in years, it was weak.
“Reckon we wouldn’t be able to even see the place if they were fresh,” Charlie commented as he dismantled them easily, explaining the steps to breaking simple wards as he went for their benefit. “Hardly any magic left in ‘em. We should be good to move in.”
Ron led them forward, cautious to check for any traps or traces of guards in the area. Thankfully they didn’t encounter any, just an unforgiving terrain as they trekked to the building. It was a two story, cement block building; simple in design, just a perfectly long rectangle with white paint chipping on each corner.
“Can we just go in the front door?” Neville asked uncertainty, showing a bit of his timid old self Ron had once known.
Charlie shrugged and marched ahead, pushing the large metal doors open with a shove. They banged against the walls on either side, and all three wizards froze in anticipation of spellfire or for a trap to be sprung. Again, nothing came.
“What happened here?” Ron whispered as they took in the disarray.
…
Hermione, naturally, did not open up at Fawley’s command. In fact, she had determined she’d bite every single one of his perfectly manicured fingers off before she complied with whatever this was. It would involve pain—that’s the only realistic reason she would be gagged.
“Now Hermione, love, if you don’t behave, I’ll have to use more force and I don’t think you want that now do you?” He chastised.
She narrowed her eyes at him, her refusal clear.
“Petrificus totalus!” he said, pointing his wand at her face. Hermione felt her body practically turn to stone followed by Fawley’s fingers prying her jaw apart. She had no muscle control to resist and he shoved the cotton device between her teeth, nearly choking her. The cotton was so thick it only took ten seconds before her saliva had mostly dried up and panic set in.
“Much better,” he smiled at his handiwork, returning to the cart and opening more drawers and cabinets. Unable to turn her head anymore, her eyes were fixed straight ahead, the anticipation of what was to come next insurmountable.
There was pressure on both of her temples—he had placed something around her head. It wasn’t uncomfortable per se, but not knowing what it was had her heart thrumming far past its usual rate.
She heard a few clicks, like he was flicking on older metal switches, and with the last one, the hum of electricity came to life.
…
“Malfoy, could your big head take up any more room?” Ginny elbowed her way past Draco as he tumbled out of the Floo. “Nice place.”
Draco rolled his eyes but smirked. “Yes, well, I’m sure everything looks like a nice place compared—Ow!“
“Draco Lucius Malfoy, that is not how we treat our guests!” Narcissa scolded, grabbing him by the ear and tugging hard, continuing her stride without interruption, leading Ginny out of the foyer.
Ginny let her pull ahead just enough to stick her tongue out at Draco behind Narcissa’s back.
“And guests will be expected to behave, Miss Weasley.” Narcissa called out crisply. It was Ginny’s turn to pout with Draco’s triumphant grin returning.
“So where do we start?” she asked, attempting to get back into Mrs. Malfoy’s good graces.
Draco was released in front of the overly plush ottoman and he promptly sat down with Ginny joining him. “With tea, of course!”
“TEA?!” Draco bellowed, nearly tumbling off the ottoman. “Mother! The woman I love is missing, and you want to have TEA?! Are you out of your mind?”
Ginny patted his shoulder, “Aww, Malfoy, that was really sweet.”
“Thank you,” he grumbled without moving his eyes from his mother.
“We’re having tea so I can swirl up the gossiping ladies in town and see what they know, darling. How did you not get that?” his mother asked worriedly. “I should think you’d know my ways by now.”
Narcissa swept out of the room brusquely. “Get Ginevra ready!” she called over her shoulder.
Ginny at least had the good sense to look nervous.
…
Her teeth clamped down against the cotton, her jaw locked as her eyes rolled back in her head. Again. Electricity scorched its way through her skull and down her spine. The pain was tremendous—ten fold even from being frozen in the body-bind. The current had nowhere to go so it just kept circulating through every nerve in her system.
“Now, Hermione, I’ll ask you again. Are you ready to tell me how Malfoy sunk his nasty claws into you?” Fawley cooed, brushing a stray curl from her sweat-laden forehead.
She couldn’t respond. He knew that. She knew that. There was no winning. Tears flowed down her cheeks in a silent plea for mercy.
“Shhhh, shhhh,” he wiped her tears away gently, almost like a lover would. “We’ll just have to turn it up a bit more, sweetheart.”
He turned away from her and fiddled with the knobs on the machine. “I’m going to have to try another treatment option if this time doesn’t work. I hope for your sake that it does,” he added grimly as he flipped the switch once more.
The shock ripped through her, and instead of the residual burning under her skin, everything went black.
…
“What is this place?” Neville murmured as they entered yet another locked room.
Ron scoffed, “I’ve lived with Hermione long enough to know it’s obviously a library.”
Charlie skimmed a finger across the spines, “These are bound in dragon hide.” He tipped one out of its resting spot, disturbing the heavy dust layers as he cracked it open and flipped through the musty pages. “They’re journals.”
Neville pulled a random journal off the shelf nearest him and thumbed through it. “They’re patient logs…this one was a Muggle, she was sixteen…they…they documented how many times they could cast a Cruciatus on her before she died.”
“WHAT?!” Ron bellowed. “Let me see one of those!” He yanked a book off the wall and ripped it open to the middle. “This is sick! Who—who would do something like this?!”
The three wizards skimmed through several journals, all documenting experiments on Muggles, Muggleborns, and even a few less savory half bloods.
“These are all from the 30’s,” Neville noted.
“The most recent I’ve got is 1942,” Charlie added.
Ron sighed before closing his twelfth journal. “They always die.”
“I hate to say it, but I think that was the purpose of the experiments,” Charlie grimaced. “All of mine were signed off on by Dr. Harold S. Fawley, I’d dare to assume yours were as well?”
Ron and Neville nodded their confirmations.
“We need to get this back to Harry and Kingsley. Even if Sullivan Fawley wasn’t involved in this particular travesty, I’m sure the ICW would be interested in knowing about this,” Charlie said firmly, collecting a few journals and casting a stasis charm over the room so it wouldn’t be disturbed further until it could be properly investigated.
…
“Lady Malfoy! How lovely it is to see you out in society again!” A shriveled old woman in pink taffeta cried as she leaned over the table to take a third tea cake. “What with the accusations against your family, I rather thought we’d seen the last of you.”
Narcissa’s graceful smile never wavered. “Of course, Lady Vieux. However, both the Malfoy and Black families have a way of persevering, don’t you think?”
“Yes, quite,” the old woman said with disdain.
Tea was served and after several minutes of general chatter, someone finally noticed the singular redhead in the room.
“Oh this is a dear friend of our family’s! I present to you Miss Ginevra Westley. She’s traveling through Europe for the summer and asked to begin her tour with us in our French home, here. Isn’t she lovely?” Narcissa doted on Ginny, and the girl tried her best to hold back a cringe every time her full name was used.
“Westley? I don’t think I’ve heard of them—“ Lady Legrande commented between sips of her overly sweetened tea. The woman was tall enough to rival most men and had rather imposing and birdlike features.
Ginny gave a demure smile, holding back her many sarcastic retorts. Malfoy had made it quite clear that any of her usual antics would shut these old bags’ traps tighter than a permanent sticking charm, and they’d never get anything useful to find Hermione.
“They were rather neutral this time around, much like the Greengrasses and the Fawleys. Did you know Ellen Fawley? A shame what happened to the family,” Narcissa clicked her tongue disapprovingly.
“You mean Ellen de Valois? Yes, dear, such a shame. The poor girl was practically sold off to that skittish inventor. I’ll never know what her father saw in him, but either way it led her to an early grave,” Lady Legrande poised herself for the tale, waiting for the questions to come forth as she sipped her tea.
A witch slightly younger than Narcissa, entranced by the prompt, encouraged her to continue, “Didn’t Death Eaters blow up the house?” Her eyes flitted nervously to Narcissa, worried she might have offended the woman.
“Ha!” Lady Lagrande scoffed. “There were beautifully set anti-Death Eater wards all around the property. I saw them once myself.” She mulled the thought over, swirling the remaining tea leaves around the bottom of her cup before setting it down dramatically. “I think it was one of his nasty inventions that killed them all. Maybe he set it off on purpose—murder-suicide—or maybe it was an accident… He’s always been a bit unstable, that man.”
…
“Hermione. Hermione, love, it’s time to wake up,” a dreamy voice called.
She was so lost in the darkness—it felt thick, viscous. She tried to pull herself free of its hold, but the more she struggled, the more it pulled her down.
“Come on, sweetheart, I know you can do it,” he called again.
Hermione tugged harder, fighting with everything she had to reach the tiny speck of light before her. She was nearly there—just one more shove and she could grab hold of it.
“Hermione! WAKE UP!” Fawley shouted, shaking her shoulders.
Her eyes snapped open, the too-bright lights blinding her as she adjusted to consciousness.
“There you are, darling,” he laid her back against the pillow gently. “You gave me quite the scare, you know. You really shouldn’t do that again.” His gentleness gone, replaced with a taciturn glare, causing her to shrink back.
“Now, love, are you ready to join the Light?” he asked expectantly.
“I—I am with the Light—with Harry,” she rasped out, and he quickly offered her a sip of water.
“Unfortunately, you turned from our side for some time while Draco Malfoy and his family brainwashed you. Not to worry, memory loss is a side effect of electroshock. One time, I forgot a whole year, though I suppose that’s one way to feel younger,” he chuckled to himself as though commenting about a silly anecdote at a pub.
“No. No. I wasn’t brainwashed!” She struggled against the restraints.
Fawley sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as Harry so often did, and Hermione was struck by her own stupidity. She just needed to play along and she couldn’t keep her stupid mouth shut!
“I’m sorry, Hermione, but you need to be punished for this foolish attempt at protecting not only your attackers, but our enemies. Perhaps this will clear your mind of their influence…Crucio!”
Hermione convulsed on the bed, her mind no longer in control of her body. Every nerve was on fire, the flames mounting higher and higher until she was suffocating on them. Then it stopped.
“I’ll ask you again, are you ready to denounce the Malfoy family and all our Death Eater enemies?” Fawley asked bluntly.
Tears tracked down her cheeks in a steady stream. “Draco,” she whispered in a desperate plea for help. No one could hear her, but Fawley. And again the pain came.
“Crucio!”
Her limbs contorted and she screamed in agony.
“Are you ready to denounce the Malfoy family and all our Death Eater enemies?!” He shouted in her face, spittle flying onto her cheek.
The curse had stopped but her cries did not. So it began again.
“Crucio!”
“Crucio!”
“Crucio!”
Hermione’s voice died down and she was pulled into the darkness again.
“Let’s have a little chat, shall we?” Bellatrix cooed, “girl-to-girl.”
Hermione’s eyes were tearing up, Bellatrix’s hand still yanking firmly at her scalp. “Please,” she whimpered.
“Where did you get the sword?” Bellatrix demanded, the short silver knife pressed firmly against her throat.
“We found it!” Hermione choked out, her fear bubbling over. She knew the woman holding her hostage would kill her without a second thought…actually maybe she would…
“Don’t lie to me! Crucio!”
“NO!” Hermione tried to scream but the dream…the memory pulled her further and further in until she just laid there sobbing as she writhed in pain.
Finally, braving the half-seconds between curses, she found silver eyes boring into hers. She could hear him in her mind. “Granger, I’m coming for you. Don’t you dare give up.” The sultry voice repeated over and over again, until she knew it to be true in heart. Draco would never leave her like this. He would come for her. He’d protect her. She just had to protect herself long enough for him to find her. “Stay alive, love. I’m coming.”
The darkness took over and the dream was no more. But now she had something to hold onto—hope.
…
Draco skulked off to bed for the night after barely touching his food. The tea party had been relatively unproductive. So it wasn’t Death Eaters that killed the Fawleys, what use was that information? He’d let Potter and the Minister know in the morning before he and the Weaselette returned to Britain. He just needed to stew in his own disappointment for a while.
Dropping onto the duvet, he didn’t even bother to kick his shoes off before he let sleep overtake him. It had been so long since he’d slept. Aside from the attack in the hospital rendering him unconscious, he hadn’t willingly slept since before the potion had put them under.
His dreams were restless—the moments before Hermione was taken replayed in slow motion before him on repeat. He tried to find a clue, anything really, to help them find her. It was no use, he’d been too injured to really see what was going on and the room mostly spun the moment he was hit with the curse.
The ceiling of St. Mungo’s twisted and circled overhead, slowly changing its shape and colors. It morphed into a room he knew so well, familiar and disgusting all at once. The drawing room at Malfoy Manor. His own home.
The scene he despised more than anything in the world materialized before him, the love of his life whimpering on the rug before him as his own aunt tortured her to the brink of death.
He froze in fear, silently begging her to open her eyes—to find his.
Finally her brown eyes fluttered open, landing on his. “Granger, I’m coming for you. Don’t you dare give up.”
She gave no indication she understood, but he just knew she’d heard him. “Stay alive, love. I’m coming.”