Burns
At first there is nothing but ringing: a faint trill within her skull that rattles against her ears.
Other senses return slowly. Hermione can feel the coolness of whatever surface her cheek rests against, can smell the last vestiges of hotel soap on her skin and taste remnants of smoke on her tongue.
The light comes last. The backs of her eyelids glow red and Hermione recognizes that wherever she is, there is at least a light source nearby.
If she is dead, then the light is a good sign.
If she is not dead, then the light means either she is being held outdoors in the daytime or indoors under strong lighting. She doesn’t know what to make of either scenario.
The light continues to burn against her eyelids, and Hermione shifts. Her cheek scrapes against the hard surface below her, and she winces, pulling a hand up towards her face.
Her arm rises heavily, but then stops.
Hermione’s breath freezes.
Her hand cannot go higher than her hip, held to the ground by what feels to be ropes wrapped around her wrists. She twists her hand, moving her arm up and down. Rough fibers bite into the skin of her wrist, and her arm remains stubbornly bound.
“She’s moving.”
The voice comes from nearby, and Hermione jumps at the sound. Her eyes fly open, and she swallows a scream.
A woman squats in front of Hermione, her doughy face less than a finger’s length away. Hermione takes a sharp breath and pushes herself off the floor, crying out as she feels a second set of bindings dig into her ankles.
The woman’s face splits into an unpleasant smile, her small watery eyes nearly hidden in the fleshy folds. She tilts her head to the side and purses her lips, her gaze flickering over Hermione.
“I was hoping you’d wake soon,” she says.
Hermione scrambles backwards as much as she can with the ropes holding her limbs to the floor. The aches in her bones and burning against her skin hit with full force, and the severity of the predicament settles on Hermione.
She doesn’t know where she is, or why Alecto Carrow is grinning at her like a Cheshire cat, but she must find out.
She heaves a heavy exhale and leans back as far as she can, her head hitting the wall behind her as she turns and examines her surroundings.
“Where am I?” she asks, taking in the space around them. It is not Wendell and Monica Wilkins’ home, that much is clear. The room she sits in is nearly as large as the entire ground floor of the bungalow, and nearly empty. Stark white walls surround them, with a ceiling pitched high overhead.
A figure moves behind Alecto. Hermione cranes her neck to see Yaxley stepping towards her, his wand twirling between his fingers. “Don’t you worry about that, little Mudblood,” he smirks. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Hermione’s spine stiffens. She juts her chin out and forces her eyes upwards so she looks directly at Yaxley, ignoring Alecto Carrow’s flickering smile.
He didn’t kill her back at the house. She knew he wouldn’t. He as good as told her so.
The question then is: what will he do to her?
Hermione’s mind spins through the possibilities, lingering on each one for just a split second before moving on to the next, horrifying, prospect.
Torturing her. Keeping her as a hostage in order to extort the Ministry. Using her as bait to lure Harry into a trap. Killing her in some slower, more entertaining fashion than a curse.
Yaxley moves slowly, clearly still savoring his victory. His careful steps echo throughout the room, the click of his heels followed by the resounding thump of his weight coming down against the floorboards.
Hermione keeps her chin up, forcing her face into a neutral expression as she watches Yaxley approach. Her gaze flickers to the wand spinning lazily in his hand.
A wand. She needs a wand.
Yaxley comes to a stop just in front of her, and Hermione holds her breath. He bends down to balance on one knee and leans forward.
Hermione’s chest constricts as Yaxley fills her view. She bites her tongue, willing herself to remain unfazed.
Yaxley’s hair has been pulled back away from his face and his eyes glitter under the bright lighting of the room. His mouth twists into a tight smile as his gaze slides across Hermione’s face and then downward, trailing over her shoulders and her chest, down to her stomach and her legs.
Hermione brings her arms up as high as she can. She crosses them over her chest, straining against the ropes holding her to the floor.
“Oh, none of that,” Yaxley tuts, shaking his head. His wand comes up between them and he flicks it, his eyes not leaving her body.
Hermione’s arms drop to her sides as though suddenly filled with lead. She tries to bring them up again, pushing her muscles as hard as she can to move past the magical barrier. Her arms don’t budge. They sit uselessly at her hips, glued to her sides.
Yaxley’s smile deepens. “Now, let me see,” he says.
A hand raises, and Hermione can’t hold back her flinch as Yaxley presses his index finger against her cheek.
“There’s no need to fear,” he croons, dragging the finger down her cheek and over the curve of her jaw. “I’m just marveling at what a curiosity it is—what a pity it is—that such dirty blood was given such a lovely face. The world really is most unfair sometimes.”
Hermione’s chest constricts. Her stomach twists. She clenches her teeth and wills her eyes to remain open, to not let him see weakness. Yaxley holds her gaze, index finger traveling down her neck and over the collar of her shirt.
“Yaxley, you said I could have a go first,” Alecto whines.
“And so you shall,” Yaxley says over his shoulder. His hand drops from Hermione’s collarbone and he rocks back on his heels.
“Don’t worry,” he sneers, turning back to Hermione and curling his lip. “I would never dirty myself with the likes of you.”
Hermione lets out her breath. But a moment later all air is knocked from her lungs and her head thrown to the side as Yaxley’s palm lands against her cheek with a sharp crack.
Hermione hears a yelp escape her throat, can feel her cheek burn where he made contact.
“Do what you want, Alecto,” Yaxley shrugs as he returns to his full height and brushes his hands off against his robes. “Just make sure you leave her intact and with enough of her faculties that she won’t be completely useless to us.”
Hermione frowns. She turns her shoulders, her face still stinging from Yaxley’s slap. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Alecto take out a wand, and she wonders—
Every thought explodes in her mind, and Hermione lets out a scream.
Pain, a fiery, cutting agony, wraps around her and squeezes until even her bones shriek. It is a thousand knives, it is roaring flames, it is every blade and every abusive element all raining down on her and tearing her apart.
Her bones are on fire and everything burns. The scar on her arm burns, her blood trying to burst through their vessels. The chain around her neck burns, scalding her.
She is falling, and her head smacks against the floor as she writhes. She can hear her own screams, her whimpers and cries.
Her body coils and flails. Every piece of her is being destroyed from the inside out.
The wave recedes as quickly as it had appeared, and Hermione draws an unsteady breath. She lies on the floor, her head heavy and body shaking. A crushing ache settles over her muscles as they spasm and still, her ankles and wrists raw from the friction of the ropes.
She hears footsteps approach but does not look up to meet them. The floor trembles beneath her with the force of the footfalls, and she can feel Yaxley step just next to her face.
“Did you enjoy that?” he asks, his voice coming closer as he leans over her. “Alecto gave you a taste of what you deserve.”
Hermione opens her eyes and picks her head slightly off the ground, her vision swimming with the effort. She bites back bile.
“Just kill me if that’s what you’re planning to do.”
Yaxley lets out a short laugh, though he does not smile. “I’m afraid not.” He shakes his head, his wand again twirling between his fingers. “Not today, at least. You’ll be most valuable to us, you see. Imagine what I can do with the force of Harry Potter’s favorite Mudblood behind me.”
His hand comes down to cup her chin, fingers pressing painfully into her neck as he jerks her face up. “I intend to squeeze every last bit of worth out of you before you die, Mudblood. You’ve caused enough problems for me as it is.”
Yaxley’s hand drops from her face, and with a wave of his wand Hermione is sent crashing back onto the floor.
She lays still for a moment, curled in on herself. The chain around her neck is cool against her damp skin, no longer burning as it had been just minutes ago. She can’t know if the heat she felt was real or a figment of her torture-addled mind, but Hermione brings a hand up to the charm anyways. She strokes a finger over the back of the magpie, feels her chest twist as the bird warms and flaps against her collarbone in response.
She hopes George can feel it. She hopes he will know she is alive.
“Are you ready for more, Granger?” Alecto simpers. “I’ve plenty of spells I’d like to test while you’re here.”
“Leave her for now,” Yaxley barks. “I don’t want to risk damaging her.”
“Hmph,” Alecto grumbles. “I don’t see why we can’t just do one more—”
“I’ve told you,” Yaxley snaps with the air of one greatly exasperated with their present company. “The mudblood is key right now. With the Dark Lord gone and the British ministry trying to round all the followers up—”
“Yes, yes, I know, we have to stay hidden,” Alecto sighs. “But I don’t see—”
“It means we have to move quickly, you stupid woman,” Yaxley snarls. “If we’re to reclaim power we’ll have to take action soon before someone else does.”
Hermione stills as Yaxley’s words hit her. She bites her lip and brings her hand again to the charm around her neck, running her finger over the magpie again and again.
“And nobody knows she’s here?” Alecto asks, a trace of anxiety in her whisper.
A pause. “The Weasley boy knows I have her,” Yaxley says. “But I moved her just after he ran off with the muggles. They shouldn’t be able to find this place with all the enchantments. It’s unplottable and concealed from the street.”
Footsteps thunder against the floor.
“You hear that?” Yaxley stands beside Hermione once more, his words dripping over her. “Your little friend and your filthy parents can search every town in Australia, and can knock on every door they come across and they won’t be able to find you.”
Hermione grits her teeth. She clasps the charm one more time, flipping it around on its chain before pushing herself up to a seated position.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” she says. She squares her shoulders and tilts her head to meet Yaxley’s eye. “They’re capable of more than you’ve ever dreamed of.”
“Is that so?” Yaxley gives a cold smile.
“It is,” Hermione says. She breathes in, the old familiar anger and fear bubbling beneath her veins. She looks again at the wand hanging from Yaxley’s hand. “You think you’re so much better than us, but you’re just terrified that muggleborns and muggles may be more talented and more powerful than you ever were, and so you hide behind Voldemort and any other wizard who hates us to try and make yourself seem better. You’re pathetic. They’ll find a way to beat you, and you’ll never see it coming.”
The smile drops from Yaxley’s face, and his lips pull back from his teeth. “I won’t take that kind of impertinence from you,” he says coldly. “My mother used to tell me that if you can’t say anything worthwhile then don’t say anything at all.”
He brings his wand up and points it at Hermione. “Silencio.”
Hermione’s jaw clamps shut, her teeth smashing against each other. She opens her mouth, face hot, and finds no sound comes from her throat.
Yaxley tucks his wand into his pocket. “Muggles ought to be seen and not heard,” he scoffs. “I’ll leave you to think about that.”
Hermione watches Yaxley stalk away, still tense. He makes his way to the other side of the large room where Alecto has taken up residence and drops into one of the spindly chairs against the wall.
Hermione lets out a breath, closing her eyes and slumping against the wall. She shifts her hands, racking her brain for some way to break through the ropes and free herself. If she can get the ropes off, she can try to get to a wand. If she can get a wand—
The chain around her neck warms, and Hermione stops. She leans forward as surreptitiously as possible, curling her chest around her knees and bringing a hand up to the necklace.
The magpie charm pulses again, the wing fluttering. This time it is unmistakable.