Chapter 2
Dark
Hermione woke up. Or at least she thought she was awake. She couldn’t see. There was pain, hot burning pain. And her arm throbbed, but she knew her arm throbbed even in her dreams. She slipped back into dreams of crucios on a dining room floor.
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She woke again sometime later. She was shivering cold, but most of her skin was hot to the touch. That’s right, burns. She had been badly burnt at Gringott’s with Harry and Ron when everything went wrong. She was laying on cold, damp, stone floor. She couldn’t see anything. It was darker than a moonless night. Not even starlight to see by. She tried rolling over, but the movement caused her skin to pull tight. Fresh, nauseating agony rolled over her and she vomited up her last meal at Shell Cottage and darkness took her again.
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When Hermione woke again, she was careful not to move. Lying in the dark she tried concentrating on the feeling of stone pressing into her back. She needed to think because that’s what she was good at. That’s what had saved her and her friends all of these years. Her friends, Harry and Ron. They made it out with the cup. Or at least she hoped they did. She was pretty certain they had. She knew it would have been near impossible for anyone to catch them on the back of the dragon.
She was cold. Colder than she thought she ought to be. She had been captured by Bellatrix and brought here. Wherever here was. Here was somewhere dark. Somewhere so dark there wasn’t even moonlight. So it must be somewhere windowless. Maybe somewhere underground she thought.
And she was in agony. Enough agony she was afraid to move. She began to panic. A heavy weight began to settle over her chest and she began her familiar exercise. Breathe in. Breathe out. Five things you can see. Except she couldn’t see anything. Her throat started to seize. She was going to die here. Alone in the dark. Her breathing grew more ragged. Or worse, she would live to be tortured unendingly by the sadist Bellatrix. She couldn’t breathe.
Suddenly there was light. A thin silvery, unnatural light. She knew that light. A patronus. Harry, Ron, they’ve come for me! Hope bloomed in her chest. She gingerly turned her head towards the light. But it wasn’t Harry’s stag that she saw or Ron’s terrier. No, it was a baby dragon. It sat there, tilted head, large round eyes eyeing her curiously and then stood, turned, walking out of her existence. I really am going to die she thought. I just hallucinated a baby Ukrainian Ironbelly.
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Hermione tried to swallow, but her tongue felt rough and too large in her throat. It was so dark and she had been stunned for an unknown amount of time. She couldn’t know for sure how much time had passed. But with what she knew about dehydration, in extreme cases, a person could go a week without water, but usually it was only three days. Hermione knew she was close to death. It was becoming increasingly harder and harder to hold onto a thought, as though a fog had settled over her mind. Her teeth chattered with cold, but when she pressed her fingers to her skin, she was too warm. The skin on her arm, around one of the nastier burns, was pulled tight and swollen. It felt scalding hot to the touch. And something was definitely oozing. An infection. She didn’t know too much about infections, but she knew without medical aid, the infection would spread into her blood and it would kill her. But it wouldn’t get a chance to, dehydration would take her first.
The weight settled back over her chest. Skipping over the five things you can see, she started her exercise. Breathe in. Breathe out. Four things you can touch. My jeans, the floor….. Hermione heard a “pop”. The death eaters had come for her. She started to panic at the same time as she tried to mentally fortify herself for what she was sure was upcoming torture.
“Oh Missus-” a tiny voice squeaked. “This is very bad. Master did not tell me Missus was being so bad.”
Hermione turned her head towards the sound, but it was too dark to make anything out. She tried to speak, but couldn’t. Instead, she opened and closed her mouth a few times and let out a croak.
The sound of fingers snapping and a glowing orb hovered up to the ceiling. Hermione blinked slowly at the sudden blinding light. Her eyelids felt like sandpaper. Trying to focus her eyes, she saw a house elf standing a few feet away, wringing it’s small hands nervously, bouncing from one foot to another. “Yes, missus is needing my help.” Another snap and a small jar appeared in the elf’s hand. “This is making Missus feel better. Master is asking this of me. Master is asking this of Mipsy. Mipsy is taking the risk. And now Mipsy is seeing why. Missus is not good.” she squeaks while applying the contents of the jar.
Hermione inhaled sharply when the elf got to her arm. If she could get her tongue and throat to move, she would have been screaming.
“Sorry, Missus. Mipsy is not meaning to hurt Missus. Mipsy is trying to help.” Another pop and the wound was no longer oozing. “Mipsy must be cleaning this would for Missus.” Another pop and Hermione’s wound was being wrapped. Another pop and the wound was being unwrapped. “Sorry Missus. Mipsy is remembering she can’t leave any trace. No one can know Master sent Mipsy to help Missus.” Hermione did not recognize this elf? Who had sent help? Harry and Ron? The Order?
“This is for the pain. Can Missus sit up? No? Ok, Mipsy is helping Missus drink the potion.” Hermione spluttered and coughed. Potion dripping out the side of her mouth, she lay on the floor as the elf tipped the potion into her mouth.
After a while Hermione felt well enough to roll over and push herself up into a sitting position.
“Missus is feeling better? Missus is no longer in pain? Mipsy has done her job.”
Hermione’s head was spinning from the movement. “Wa-” she moved her tongue in a swallowing motion and tried again “W-Water.”
With a pop, a glass of water appeared in her hand. Hermione gulped it. It was life. It was everything, she couldn’t get enough. Her stomach heaved and she vomited it all down herself. Heaving and heaving long after nothing was left in her.
She felt the elf’s hand on her arm. “Here Missus. Try again, but much slower. Just a sip. That’s it.” A pop and the vomit vanished from her lap.
Hermione scooted back, pressing herself against the stone wall. “Why are you here?”
“Master is sending us.”
“Who is your Master?”
“Mipsy is not to be saying. Another sip, slowly please Missus.” holding the cup to Hermione’s lips.
Hermione swallowed “Why?”
“Master is knowing Missus needs help and he is not being to come himself. A little more if you please.”
“Who?”
“Mipsy is being told not to tell you. Mipsy is wanting to tell Missus, but Mipsy can not.” She looked wide-eyed and sad. “Mipsy is telling Master to come get Missus right away and he is saying he can not. Master is sending Mipsy instead. And Mipsy is helping Missus.” Tears started to well up in her owlishly round eyes. “Mipsy was not knowing how bad Missus is.”
Hermione took the cup of water for herself. Taking a small, even sip. She was too tired. The relief from her burns combined with the ability to see, and quench her thirst was too overwhelming. She felt her eyes start to burn, if she could cry, she would.
“Mipsy is not able to come back. Master is saying it is too risky. But Mipsy is sending food. And Mipsy is sending water.” with one last pop, Mipsy and the water were gone.
Hermione slumped to the floor and slept.
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The sounds of a door clanging open vibrated through the stone. Hermione sat up. Squinting her eyes, she could see Peter Pettigrew, wand held lit above his head and a bucket held in his silver hand. His tongue darted out over his lips “Water for the Potter bait.” Dropping the bucket. The door clanged shut leaving Hermione in the dark.
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Food and medicine appeared at what felt like random times. She couldn’t be sure of the passage of time in the unending dark. She tried straining her eyes to see anything, the food, medicine, or her hands. She really wanted to see her hands. Holding them close to her eyes. Pulling them back further. Opening and closing her eyes to varying degrees, but she never could make out even an outline.
After a while, she gave up her futile attempts to see anything. Each time the medicine arrived, she would crawl around on her hands and knees feeling around gingerly. The first time, she knocked it over and spilled half of the contents. After that, she was careful not to spill it again. She guessed the medicine stayed for about five minutes before popping back out of her existence again. So she would crawl quickly, but carefully over, apply the salve and then settle in again until she heard the next pop.
Hermione sat with herself in the unyielding dark. She cursed herself for thinking she could be unyielding. The only real thing unyielding was the darkness of her cell.
Eventually, only food appeared. Her arm had healed and the medicine stopped appearing. It was just Hermione in the dark, with the occasional pop sounding the arrival of food. Hermione was going mad. She wished the dehydration had taken her.
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Once again, the sound of a door clanging open vibrating through the stone. Hermione scrambled to her feet, pressing her back to the wall, prepared to lunge. Prepared to fight. Peter Pettigrew stood there again. “Aguamenta” and her bucket was once again filled with water. “Bread for the Potter bait” tossing a loaf of bread down. The door clanged shut leaving Hermione in the darkness.
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She lay there catatonic, mind drifting aimlessly. Which she supposed was better than spiraling, throat-clenching fear. The silver light of a patronus appeared in the corner. She turned her head to the source, it was the same little dragon, appearing just as it had before. “I am hallucinating. I really am going mad.” she said reaching out to examine her fingers for the first time since being in the cell. The patronus looked at her curiously, turned, and then disappeared through the wall, taking Hermione’s sight with it.
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Sometime later, Hermione was no longer attempting to gauge the passing of time, the little silver dragon appeared again. It sat on it’s haunches eyeing her sadly. Hermione reached out towards it. She wanted more than anything for the little dragon to be real. For anything but the stone against her back and the darkness to be real. The patronus stood as if to leave again. “Wait. Please.” Hermione blurted out. The dragon tilted its head. Desperation filled her voice, “Please don’t leave me. I can’t be alone. Please.” The patronus tilted its head to the other side, blinking its large round eyes at her. “Please. Please stay with me.” The patronus walked over slowly and curled up at her feet. She tentatively reached out to stroke its back, trying to confirm she wasn’t hallucinating. Her hand went right through, swirling the silvery light. At the sight of her hands, tears began to well in her eyes, one spilled over and began to run down her face. Reaching up to pull it away, she glanced down and saw the wetness on her fingertips. “Thank you” she whispered. Then she began to sob.
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The silver ukrainian ironbelly visited her often. It was literally and figuratively the only light in Hermione’s life. Sometimes when it came it would curl up at her feet and appear to snooze. Other times, like today, it would sit blinking at her while she talked. Today she was running her fingers over the floor in the shape of ancient runes, reciting the translations that she could remember from Spellman’s Syllabary. When she exhausted all of the runes she had committed to memory, she would start over from the beginning. “...additionally the box was marked with the graphorn ruin, which everyone knows represents the numerical two. So we can not say for sure if the box bearing the mark of Merlin was the only one of its kind. The graphorn ruin could mean it was simply referencing the number two, which could be argued that if there was a second box, then wouldn’t that mean there was a first of its kind? or it could mean that there were two OF something inside of the box. I could argue back and forth with myself forever about it. Ancient runes are fascinating in their possibilities.” She paused looking over at the silver dragon who rolled it’s eyes and laid down, pretending to sleep. Hermione huffed a grin “What? Am I boring you? You’re telling me you don’t find ancient runes to be riveting conversation?” The dragon opened one eye at a time and then bared its teeth at her in what Hermione had guessed was its version of a smile. She smiled back, bending over to run her hand through the silver light where its spine was. “You’re hilarious. Everyone loves ancient runes.” and she picked up where she had left off.
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Hermione sat miserably in the dark. The silver dragon had only stayed a few minutes before it jumped up startled and disappeared. She had been trying, through the process of elimination, to determine whose patronus it was. She listed the names of everyone she knew in her head and crossed them off if she could recall whether that person could produce a patronus and if so what animal form their patronus took. Even then, she couldn’t be sure if they had learned to cast a patronus in the past year. And she had once read that after big life events, a person’s patronus could take a different form than it had previously.
It was just as she had started listing names and known patronus’ in her head, that the clang of the door sounded and light came in. This time a lantern was clutched in Pettigrew’s silver hand, his wand, in his other hand, held out in front of him. “Up, Potter Bait.” he wheezed. “Time for fun.”
Hermione scrambled to her feet. She tried to sneer, “Wormtail.” Unfortunately, it came out sounding closer to a squeak and didn’t convey the menace she had intended.
“Don’t call me that.” he snapped. And then with a glint in his eye “Come. It’s time for the Potter bait to have some fun.”
“I am not going anywhere with you.” She was glad it came out with the bite she intended it to.
“Petrificus Totalus” Her arms and legs snapped together and before she could fall, a swish and flick of his wand “Wingardium Leviosa”. She hovered upright, toes a few inches from the ground, in a full body binding curse.
He turned to leave and her body floated after him. Her eyes darted from side to side, taking in as much of the hallway as she could. It was barren stone, the same as her cell. At the end of the hall was a flight of stairs. She felt a flicker of smugness, in her accurate guess that she had been kept underground, but it was quickly replaced by fear over where Wormtail was taking her. She floated up the stairs and out down a small hallway, past two doors and then a right. She recognized the grand staircase, ornate rugs, and gilded portraits from her nightmares. The slur in her arm began to throb as though in response to it’s surroundings. Malfoy Manor. She was being held prisoner in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor.
Her breathing was becoming labored. Coming in short gasps, she struggled to calm herself. Everything was too bright and colorful after the darkness of her cell. She needed to be unyielding. Prepare herself. She floated left and into a formal dining room. A long black dining table around it with seats for twelve. Ten death eaters sat and at the head of the table sat Voldemort himself.
“Ah, Wormtail.”
Bowing or cowering, Hermione could not tell. “My Lord. I have fetched the mudblood bait as asked.”
“Leave us Wormtail.”
“y-YEs My Lord.” Pettigrew turned to hurry out “Thank you, My Lord.”
Hermione’s eyes darted around, taking in the room. Ten death eaters sat as though at a formal dinner party. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking, with self-deprecating humor, that she was on the menu. She recognized some of them. Snape sat tall, facial expressions subdued to Voldemort’s left. Next to him, she was surprised to see the pale blonde hair and silver eyes of Draco Malfoy. His jaw was clenched and he visibly relaxed it into a bored expression. Next to Draco sat Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. If possible they looked even worse than the last time she had seen them at Malfoy Manor. She was shocked to see Theodore Nott sitting next to Narcissa, under the table, his leg bounced maniacally. From what she could remember of Theo from school, he did not seem like the type to take the dark mark. Towards the end of the table, she recognized the Carrow siblings, who she had last heard were professors terrorizing students at Hogwarts. She didn’t recognize the last three but felt a small relief at Bellatrix’s absence. She was sure that anything she could expect here would be worse off for Bellatrix’s presence.
Voldemort began “I am sure you are wondering why I have gathered you all here this evening. I have gathered you here for a party. A birthday party.”
“Your birthday, my Lord?” drawled Snape.
“Severus, every day my followers celebrate me. No, I have brought you here to celebrate another.”
“Who, my Lord?”
“Harry Potter. I have brought you and our mudblood guest here in celebration.”
A few gasps and a widening of eyes around the table. Harry’s Birthday? That couldn’t be right. Had she already been here for three months? She was last at Shell Cottage on May 1st. Three months in the dark. Why had no one come for her?
“But, my Lord. Why would we celebrate him? He is nothing worth celebrating.” sneered Amycus Carrow from down the table.
“Well stated Amycus. But I think you will find this celebration to your liking. I have brought Potter’s mudblood friend here to play. And then I will send the memory of our guest’s fun here to the Order. Potter, stupidly heroic as he is, will come for the mudblood. And in doing so, will fall into my trap.”
“Brilliant as always, My Lord.” exclaimed Amycus bowing his head. “I offer my service. My memory to be sent to the Order.”
With a lazy wave of Voldemort’s hand, Hermione floated up and over the table. She hovered in the middle, toes skimming its smooth surface. Another wave of his hand and she rotated 90 degrees, coming to a stop once horizontal. With a snap of his fingers, she dropped to the table below her.
She was lying, face up, staring at the chandelier, panic blurring her vision. On either side, at the edge of her vision, she could see Snape and Draco Malfoy. Malfoy glanced down nervously at her, swallowed, and when he glanced up, a cool mask in its place. She latched onto that, like a dingy in the middle of a stormy ocean. What was that look on his face?
Hermione felt the full body bind on her release, before she could think to move, dark ropes began to twist around her wrists and ankles stretching her arms and legs out to either side and binding her to the table. Thrashing she tried to escape, she couldn’t just lay here helpless. A scream ripped from her throat. The Carrow sister cackled, “Oh, she will be fun. Thank you my Lord for this delectable treat. May I have the honor of starting?”
“Patience, Alecto.” he hissed. “Am I not benevolent? You will have your turn.”
Alecto bowed her head, locking eyes with Hermione, and bared her teeth in a grin.
Hermione tried pulling at just her right wrist, if she could just get one arm free, she would have a chance. A chance at what? She was the focus of the Dark Lord and ten death eaters. Tears started to burn in her eyes, desperation lowering her to begging. She turned her head to Snape. “Please, Professor, help me. Please.”
Snape looked down at her sourly, “Do not look to me for help. For years I have suffered teaching mudblood filth like you. Know it all swots, who think they are deserving. No, I think this is a just reward.”
Voldemort stood smiling, “Well said, my friend. We have many reasons to celebrate tonight.” Gesturing to Theo, “We have a new member among us. And because I am a kind ruler, I have brought him a reward.” He looked down at Hermione and then back up addressing the room “I have brought him vengeance. Vengeance on the filth who dared spill his father’s magically pure blood. Welcome, Theodore. At my side, this will be the first of your many rewards. Avenge your father.”
Theodore sat, pale and trembling. “Thank you, my Lord. y-You are most generous.” His eyes darted down to Hermione’s splayed form and swallowed hard, glancing away.
“Let the entertainment begin.” Voldemort sat, Nagini the snake slithering up and around his chair. He reached down to stroke the scales along her head. “Theodore.”
Theo stood, glancing up and down the table. Seeming to look everywhere but at her, he pulled his wand from the pocket of his robe. Fumbling it slightly he pointed it toward her, clenching hard. “Crucio”. Hermione braced, screwing her eyes shut, for the pain she knew was coming. Nothing. Hermione felt nothing.
Amycus cackled, “First time, boy? I would think your father would have taught you this. It doesn’t work if you don’t mean it.”
Theodore rubbed his wand between the palm of his hand and fingers. Readjusting his aim, he locked eyes with Hermione. She didn’t see anger there. She thought he was afraid. “Crucio”. Holding his eyes, nothing. He swallowed, lowering his wand and turning his head.
“My, Lord. Allow me.” Her eyes snapped to Malfoy. “Allow me to teach Theodore how to properly seek revenge. I would love nothing more than to teach Granger a lesson.” He looked down at her, cold gray eyes unblinking.
“My patience is wearing thin. Don’t disappoint me, Draco.”
Without standing, without warning, Malfoy turned his wand on her, “Crucio.”
Her bones were on fire. Her skin melting away. She was back on the floor of the manor, Bellatrix screaming “How did you get into my vault!”, carving mudblood into her arm. Hermione thrashed against her bonds, screams ripping from her throat. And then it was gone. Chest heaving, trying to catch her breath.
“Again.”
“Crucio.”
She can hear herself screaming. Every bone in her body is breaking. Forming back together and breaking again. Time ceases to exist. How long has it been like this? Minutes? Hours? Days? All she knows is pain. All she’s ever known is pain, the feeling of her bones cracking. Her very being cracking. Distantly, she thinks she can hear someone screaming. Is it her screaming?
And then as suddenly as it started, its gone.
“Again.”
“My Lord,” Malfoy said hesitantly. “I am afraid she is going to break. We don’t want to break our bait.”
“Again.”
“Crucio.”
Flames. Flames are licking her skin. She is being burned alive. She distantly felt her eyes roll into the back of her head. Felt herself bite her tongue and tasted blood. She wanted to die. All she wanted was for it to end. Anything for the pain to stop.
“Enough” Voldemort’s cruel voice. “Draco you have done well. You will teach Theodore. You will not like the outcome if you fail me again.”
“My Lord.” Malfoy bowed his head.
“Nagini” Voldemort hissed. The snake began to uncoil itself from his chair and slither onto the table. “Let this be a message to Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.” he sneered. “We have your precious mudblood. And this is but a taste of the horrors to become her.” The snake began to move its way down her body. She held her breath, afraid to move. Dark magic was rolling off of the snake, seeping into her, infecting and corrupting her magic. Hermione had felt that dark magic once before, each time she took her turn wearing Salazar Slytherin’s locket. “Draco, give our guest another taste of our displeasure.”
“Crucio” Familiar pain flared through her. Her throat was raw and yet screams ripped from her. It ended quickly this time. When she opened her eyes, the snake had turned and was now poised to strike, above her. Voldemort looked down, red glinting behind his eyes, and addressed her for the first time. “More? Or Shall we feed you to Nagini?”
Hermione’s lips curled up, a short laugh bursting out. From the outside eye, it would appear she had gone mad. And maybe she had because Hermione knew what the sixth horcrux was and there was nothing she could do about it.
“Potter better hurry. The mudblood is already breaking.” he grinned. With a crack he apparated in black smoke. Voldemort was gone.
A flurry of activity around her. The Carrow brother pulled a blue strand of memory from his mind and bottled it. Theodore was quick to make his exit after Voldemort’s. A hand on her arm, jerking her from the table, and pulling her hard across the room. She was in the hallway before she realized that it was Draco Malfoy pulling her behind him. His all-black suit and robes contrasted shockingly with his pale skin and blonde hair. She tried pulling her arm from his grasp. Whirling around he tightened his hold on her. “Not here Granger,” he said lowly. He turned to go again and she dug her heels into the ground defiantly, pulling back on her arm again “Let me go” she said. He jerked her close, looming over her. Bringing his face down close enough she noticed the dark circles and tightness around his eyes. He hissed, “Move before Alecto comes looking for her turn.”
He turned back, pulling her up next to him, walking faster and faster until they reached her cell. He pushed her in roughly. She tripped careening towards the floor. He caught her arm, wrenching her shoulder. She gasped, “Let me go Malfoy.”
Instead, he brought her closer “Why has no one come for you?” panic lacing his voice. “It’s been three months and no one from your bloody Order has attempted a rescue.”
Finally ripping her arm from his hold, she glared at him.
His mask of cool calm indifference gone, he looked angry. “Why haven’t Potter and the Weasle come for you?”
“Is that what you want? You want them to come here and fall into your trap?” she screeched.
Quiet yelling “I want someone to try. Where are they?”
“I would never tell you- death eater.” she spat out the last two words.
Clenching his fists out in front of him, like he wanted to grab her, but stopped himself. Shaking his fists, “Someone has to come for you. Who is coming for you?”
She stared back at him defiantly, hoping it wasn’t true, but knowing all the same it was. “No one,” she whispered.
The door clanged shut. Hermione was left standing alone in the dark. She ran her fingers over the slur throbbing on her arm. “Happy Birthday, Harry,” she whispered.
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Her little dragon friend hadn’t come to visit her since Harry’s birthday. She couldn’t know for sure how long it had been, but she didn’t think he had ever gone so long without visiting her. She had grown to rely on him and his absence was dreadful. At times, it felt as though the dark was pressing in on her eyes. The pressure mounting and mounting. She would rip her eyes out. They were useless here anyway. She oscillated between wishing anyone would come for her and hoping that none of her friends fell for the trap.
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Hermione’s mind had always been praised for its quickness. Now it was void of thought, as though she was adrift in a sea of darkness. She found herself desperate for the sound of another voice. Her mind took her back to her last day at Shell Cottage on the beach with her friends. She tries to remember their voices. To remember the way the sun warmed her face. More than anything Hermione wished to see the sun.
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She heard the sound of the door clanging open as light flooded into the cell. Hermione was blinded. Blinking rapidly, she knew who it was before she could clear the black spots in her vision. “Aha. Found you.” Bellatrix crooned. Hermione pressed back and then surged forward towards the door. “Ah, ah, ah.” Bellatrix caught Hermione by the hair and threw her back into the cell. “None of that.”
Hermione scrambled back along the floor, as Bellatrix crouched down next to her, baring her teeth. “It was three months after you were taken from me before I heard rumors of where you were being kept.” Her black curls framed her cruel face. “Another month until my Lord left the country.” Bellatrix reached out, stroking Hermione’s tangled hair. “And three hours to break through these hideous wards around this cell.” She curled her fingers through the hair at the base of Hermione’s head.
Hermione was wrenched up by her hair, feet glued magically to the floor. “P-p-please” she sobbed out.
“Langlock.” chimed Bellatrix amusedly. Hermione’s tongue glued to the roof of your mouth. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to interrupt?”
Tears blurred her eyes when she saw the little silver dragon blink into existence behind Bellatrix and just as quickly back out again. She was going to die here.
“You call yourself a muggle-born.” Bellatrix tapped her wand against the palm of her other hand and a small, shallow cut bloomed along Hermione’s arm. “You believe yourself to be the same as me. Dare to steal from me. Steal my wand.” Tap, tap, tap of the wand. Cuts blooming with each tap. “Vermin- dare to wield magic” Tap, tap, tap. “An aberration that needs to be corrected.” Each word corresponding with a tap of her wand. “But you are nothing but a bug to be crushed beneath my boot.” Tears streamed down Hermione’s as Bellatrix raised her wand. She closed her eyes, braced for what she knew was her death. Hermione sucked in her last breath. A flash of green light. Nothing. Her heart still beat wildly in her chest. She opened her eyes to see Bellatrix crumpled, face down on the stone floor. Standing in the door, wand held high, a masked death eater.