i will never be too well
Mattheo did not want to return to the castle but he couldn't risk not being able to accompany Hermione next year so he reluctantly agreed to return to Dumbledore's castle of catastrophe. He was sure Mia would wake soon despite Narcissa’s insistence that it would be a while yet before her body healed and she regained consciousness.
He could feel it just as he felt the rising tide of his powers growing underneath his skin, itching and clawing to get back to her. She would wake and he needed to be there with her. She would be scared, disoriented and surrounded by strangers and enemies. Despite his earlier anger at her dismissal and the subsequent icing out of their friendship, she mattered more to him than anyone. He could put his pride and hurt aside, at least until she got better. Until she knew and understood who they were to each other. Two halves to a whole, never meant to be separated for long.
His inability to change his current circumstances without facing consequences left him vexed and short tempered. Even the Slytherin Trio was keeping their distance, afraid Mattheo might erupt at the slightest provocation. He needed an outlet for the violence swirling in him as he walked through the corridors, students ambling along as if nothing of importance had occurred. As if the best among them wasn't hurt. They hadn't noticed at all. Too swept up in whispers of the break-in at the ministry that was plastered on this morning's Daily Prophet.
As if some God above had summoned him as a gift to Mattheo, just as he came out into the courtyard, he spotted the bespeckled bastard.
Surprisingly enough, it didn't take long for Potter to come charging up the walkway, hands clenched at his sides, stopping a meter in front of him. “What did you do to her? Where is Hermione?”
Mattheo was outraged at the accusation, he should be the one accosting Potter, not the other way around. “I know Gryffindors are supposed to be brave but you're just daft. Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“I’m Hermione’s best-”
“I’m going to stop you before you make an arse out of yourself in front of the entire castle. You are nothing. Regardless of whatever you’ve been told or led to believe for the last few years, you are a bug. A parasite that has spread around Wizarding Britain like a plague. You're a figurehead for those more powerful than you. A champion for the people while everyone does all the work for you behind the scenes.”
Harry was flush with rage now and Mattheo looked forward to whatever he had to say in defense of himself. He had all the ammunition he needed to verbally annihilate the poor sod and was looking forward to the opportunity to finally use it. This unkempt, brash, and lazy wizard was unworthy of Hermione’s time let alone friendship. He had no qualms with educating him on that fact.
“What the fuck are you on about? You just got here, you have no idea what I’ve been through, what I’ve fought against every time your daddy decides to have a go at me. I dont give a fuck about the rest of this shit right now. I want to know where my best friend of five years is! I asked you where Hermione is and I want an answer, now!”
Mattheo began stalking around Potter. “Your best friend is being held back behind you Potter. The ginger looks ready to have a go at me, do you think it's for Hermione’s sake or your own? If Hermione is your best friend why did you leave her alone, and defenseless? Do you think you would have survived this long against my father without her? You probably wouldn't have passed year one without her helping you and that empty headed brute with your classes and you repaid her with distrust and abandonment.”
“She was hurt, there were still Death Eaters everywhere, people were still fighting. I had to…” Potter stuttered.
He had obviously realized that either his excuse was lacking or that he had given precedence to something or someone else and that wouldn't help him, not now. Mattheo studied Harry as he thought through things silently.
“By your own admission there were Death Eaters still running rampant through the Ministry and you left a muggleborn witch alone and incapacitated. With friends like you and the ginger, who needs enemies?”
Weasley had decided that he was done staying on the sidelines and yelled, “Harry stop wasting your breath asking him where Hermione is, she’s probably living posh and being passed around as a Death Eater slag.”
Mattheo hadn’t turned his gaze from Harry but the widening of his eyes told him that he knew his best friend had made a grievous error. When all was said and done, Mattheo didn't even remember grabbing his wand or his walk over to Ronald but within a blink of an eye he had the boy lying on the floor writhing in pain as their other friends yelled around them.
He paid them no mind as he crouched low, got on one knee and bent to whisper in Weasley's ear, “If I ever hear that you’ve slandered Hermione again, I will kill you and it won’t be a quick avada.”
Mattheo stood up and brushed off his robes. With a wave of his wand he canceled the curse and turned away towards the Slytherin common room. His smile was cruel when glanced one last time behind him and yelled, “Don’t forget what I’ve said Weasley. I won’t warn you twice.”
Slowly, as he passed Harry on his way back to the Slytherin common room Mattheo murmured, “She is alive and safe, no thanks to you.”
—--------------------
Hermione
Her whole body hurt, aches and pains in places she didn't remember hurting. She didn't remember much of anything, vague recollections of crystal-filled hallways and masked men.
She tried to focus on what she could feel as her mind swirled; the softest sheets she’d ever felt against her struggling fingertips, she couldn't open her eyes, her eyelids far too heavy to muster the strength to open but she could hear the soft murmurings of a voice. A brush of fingertips against her brow sent her pulse racing and panic surged through her bones. Her breath became labored as she struggled to move her body, images flashing of her lying on the floor, rancid breath, frozen. Cold. So cold.
The hand retreated, but she was too far gone, and the anxiety had given way to slumber once more.
She opened her eyes noting the canopied bed frame, the first hint that something was off but she ignored it as she shuffled her body into a sitting position. She briefly glanced around the room. it reminded her of what she pictured the Slytherin bedrooms to look like, emerald green silk and ornate furnishings. It wasn't until she noticed a figure slumped asleep in a chair in the corner. It was dark and she couldn't see clearly, but she knew it wasn't Harry or Ron.
Fear gripped her as his head snapped in her direction. Who was this man? Where was she? How did she get here? Her wand, where was her wand?
She opened her mouth to speak but her throat ached, dry and parched from lack of water. He got up, emerging from the shadows and held out a conjured glass of water for her.
Hermione’s heart once again began beating like a war drum. She needed to get away. She needed her wand. WHERE WAS HER WAND?!
The air in the room became oppressively hot, sweat rolled down the back of her neck while she scrambled to get as far away from the man as possible. She could only assume it was Tom Riddle. the resemblance between him and his son uncanny. Though his eyes were placating and his gestures meant to calm her, it wasn't long before lack of oxygen began to blur the edges of her vision.
“Breathe Khalida, you need to breathe!” he urged her.
She’d been taken prisoner, they must've captured her at the Ministry. Now, he was here. In her room. In a place that she was unfamiliar with. Offered her water. Called her Khalida.
His voice seemed to drift away from her, harder to hear from the racket of her brain.
One second she was in her mind, desperately trying to organize her library, papers and books strewn across the room, hastily checking documents before trying to shove them away again. The next, she was back on the bed with Narcissa Malfoy stood over her, tears glistening like the pearls on her necklace.
“Here, dear, take small sips, you must be parched,” Mrs Malfoy spoke softly.
Hermione didn't have her wand, there was no way for her to test the water without it so she eyed the glass and Mrs Malfoy suspiciously, arching a brow in question.
“On my honor, it's just water,” Mrs Malfoy responded to her questioning glare.
Hermione reluctantly grabbed the crystal glass, sniffing the water before she took a small sip. Just enough to sit on her tongue for a moment, before she drank half the glass.
“I didn't know Death Eaters and their associates worried about things like honor Mrs Malfoy,” she drawled. She knew she shouldn't antagonize the woman but Hermione couldn't help herself.
Mrs Malfoy seemed unfazed by her taunt, and sat in the chair at Hermione’s bedside, folded her hands primly in her lap and looked up at Hermione, concern shining through her eyes. “I’m sure you have some questions. I hope I can give you some peace of mind before you can get answers from others.”
Hermione resisted the urge to rapid-fire questions and took another sip of water, looking up expectantly at the witch.
“You were… attacked at the Ministry.” her mouth twisted into a grimace and eyes alight with anger. But that didn't make sense to Hermione, why would Mrs Malfoy care if some muggleborn witch who stole her magic was attacked?
“You were grievously injured by both attacks, and my husband along with others brought you here. It was the only way we could save your life. I know you want to ask why, but I can't be the one to answer that for you.”
Silence stretched between them. Narcissa hadn't explained anything Hermione hadn’t already deduced herself.
“I can assure you that no one here wishes you any harm”
Suddenly, Hermione couldn't help but laugh, it was a hysterical, unhinged noise that sounded foreign to her ears. “No one wishes me harm?” She couldn’t stop, barely breathing enough to fuel another before tears streamed down her face and the laughing broke away into sobs.
“Haven’t you caused enough already?”
Mrs Malfoy reached across, one hand covering her mouth as if Hermione’s torment had infected her too, and the other reaching for her in comfort but Hermione scooted away. Practically shoving the offending limb away from her.
“You don't get to touch me. Stay away. I want to be alone.”
“I just need to check your vitals Hermione, you've been through a lot in the past few days. Then there is the matter of… uhh…” This dignified pureblood woman was befuddled. Hermione was sure she was probably one of the only wixen in Britain that had seen her so unpolished.
“Just do what you need to do and get out, please,” her voice ended with a whine.
She watched from the corner of her eye as Mrs Malfoy ran diagnostics, eyes becoming unfocused as memories of the Ministry flickered in her mind.
********TRIGGER WARNING*********
A throat clearing brought her attention back. “I need to know if you’ve been taking the potion, if not I have an emergency contraceptive potion here for you to take.”
The potion?
Contraceptive? Why would she need…?
Then it was back. Scrambling hands, vile murmurings, pain. Blood. So much blood. She thought she would die. She wanted to die then. Curled up in a bed of silken sheets with the Malfoy matriarch caring for her.
It was too much, and the ghost of his hands were crawling on her skin. She couldn't move. Logically, she knew she wasn't there but her mind was not on the same page as the ravaged occlumency of her mind shoved every awful moment to the forefront of her mind.
**********END TRIGGER WARNING************
She screamed. But no sound came out.
She thrashed but her limbs refused to move.
Yelling. Crashing. Sounds of spellfire from the hallway.
Harry walked away. Why did he walk away?
She was drifting away.
She was a wisp on the wind.
Anywhere but here.
Anyone but me.
She was nothing.
No one.