VII
Hermione darted upright in a pool of her own sweat. Her left forearm seared in pain as the echoes of the knifework were brought back to her memory. Spots of green still blotted her vision as she tried to ground herself to the present. She wasn’t at Malfoy Manor. She was in a safe house. She wasn’t with Bellatrix.
Her equilibrium still threw her off-balance, and she vomited in the toilet just off her bedroom. She exhaled as she slumped against the tub.
It’d been years. Would it ever stop?
She let her head droop against the wall as she closed her eyes.
Bellatrix was dead. She watched her die. The Battle of Hogwarts had been a bloody affair. But no memory stands out that day quite like the memory of Bellatrix’s death. Harry and Voldemort surged into their own battle while Death Eaters attacked the rest of the Order. Violent curses flew in all directions. Hermione had been fighting next to Ginny. They stood back-to-back and defended one another against the onslaught. They were just children.
Bellatrix killed Susan Bones on Hermione’s right. She fell instantly as a large sweeping strike removed her head from her shoulders. Hermione swallowed a scream as she faced Bellatrix again. Her arm seared at the memory of it, and her wand trembled in her hands. She blocked the first two curses as Bellatrix wildly cackled.
“Let’s finish what we started, pet.”
The force behind Bellatrix’s curses was unlike anything Hermione had experienced before. Despite blocking them, the dark effects seemed to bleed out everywhere, pulling at any trace of goodness or light in the vicinity. She was like a dementor herself.
Behind Hermione, Ginny had been hit with a curse. She doubled over and fell, which caused Hermione to stumble. Bellatrix took the interruption to gain the upper hand on Hermione. She sent a barrage of curses down upon her to stun her. Hermione used the last of her strength to fend them off but was knocked to the ground. Her wand flew into Bellatrix’s hand.
Bellatrix’s laughter filled the space around them. She casually dropped the wand and approached Hermione as she transfigured her own wand into a knife like the one she’d used back in the Manor. Hermione’s mouth dried. She scrambled back on her hands but was backed against the crumbling wall.
A flash of blonde appeared at Bellatrix’s side. Malfoy. Before Bellatrix could even greet him, he stepped in front of her, blocking her path to Hermione. Hermione watched in shock as Draco’s wand pointed directly at Bellatrix’s chest. Her own eyes were wide with confusion as Draco muttered an unknown curse. Bellatrix’s heart flew out of her chest and into Draco’s free hand. His long fingers wrapped tightly around her heart, and he crushed it. Bellatrix’s shocked expression never left her face as she sank to her knees before him. He used the tip of his designer shoe to kick her onto her back and stood over her. He released the remaining pulp of what used to be her heart onto her corpse. He looked at Hermione and offered her wand back to her.
Her fingers closed around it.
“Look sharp, Granger,” he said with a nod.
She was speechless as he turned and began fighting Death Eaters around him and deflecting curses from the Order.
***
Hermione leaned against the counter of Nott’s Apothecary. He’d always been fair about trades with her. His exchange rate was generous. But she’d never brought him Stench of the Dead before.
“You are a frightening little thing, aren’t you?” he said as he mused over the bottle.
Hermione didn’t say anything as she stood with her arms crossed.
Nott exhaled and pocketed the vial.
“I’ll be paying you in dreamless droughts for the next century for the price I could sell this for,” he said.
“I want you to use it,” she said. “Don’t sell it.”
Nott’s wand flourished toward the door of his Apothecary, and the closed sign flipped over.
Hermione swallowed. Pansy assured her she could trust Nott. She said she trusted him more than anyone else—even her own husband. Nott knew the importance of discretion.
“I need you to brew a counter potion to Inferi. And no one can know about it.”
“There are already spells-”
“It’s not working. I need something permanent. Something that will keep them from reanimating.”
Nott’s mind spun as Hermione grew uneasy. It’d been a year of building trust. A year of testing the waters to see if Nott and Parkinson could really be helpful to her. Perhaps she’d been wrong. She turned to leave.
“You’ve got to give me more than a few days,” he called after her. “Always so damn impatient. Barging in here. Making demands. I’m not submissive in nature, you know.”
She grinned over her shoulder at him, and he tossed her a dreamless drought.
“Are you safe?” he asked.
She left without an answer.