Chapter Text
“ To be rendered powerless does not destroy your humanity. Your resilience is your humanity. The only people who lose their humanity are those who believe they have the right to render another human being powerless. They are the weak. To yield and not break, that is incredible strength. ”
― Hannah Gadsby
~*~
We. Are. Losing.
That’s all I can concentrate on. We're losing and it's hopeless. I dodge curse and jinx after curse and jinx. Somehow I keep getting back up every time I get knocked down. In this chaos enveloping the crumbling ancient castle, I can’t remember the last time I saw a familiar face. These literal children are fighting the darkest and most powerful of our kind and it’s heartbreaking. It's everything we'd been afraid of.
The member of the Order of the Phoenix I’d been deployed to the grounds with, Arthur Weasley, is nowhere to be seen. I can no longer tell who was part of our group and where they were, all figures in the dim light are indistinguishable from good and bad.
I duck behind a thick tree to hide from someone running past towards the Forbidden Forest. I’ve been stuck along the outer tree line, trying to make my way back towards Hogwarts. When their footsteps fade, I chance a peek around the corner just in time to see the Quidditch Pitch ignite with a deafening boom. The new golden glow lights the field, finally revealing an empty path for my escape. Tentatively I step out from my hiding spot once more.
Only a few yards away, a hooded figure stands from his crouched position, his height silhouetted against the flames.
“I thought that was you,” the man says with a sinister chuckle. I’m frozen as he moves closer, taking slow, sauntering steps. He removes his hood, a wicked smirk across his handsome face. “I believe you have something of mine.”
I grip the wand - his wand - in my hand tighter as I point it at him and shrug, desperate not to show my fear. “Well, that fucking sucks, doesn't it?”
Before he can say anything else, I throw a stunning spell at him. He easily reverses the spell and it flies back to me. Just in time, I duck behind the tree again, not bothering to look as it whizzes by me. I spin around to the other side of the tree to shoot beams of light like lasers from the tip of the wand. He quickly raises the length of his cloak to use it as a shield. The beams land on the black fabric and sizzle like the burning tip of a cigarette.
The second I take an advancing step out from behind the tree, he waves his wand and an invisible force pulls my feet out from under me. I hit the ground hard and the back of my head bounces off a protruding root from the tree. I don’t pass out from the blow, but my head definitely spins.
A familiar hysterical cackle comes bounding down the hill from the direction of the castle and I immediately force myself to sit up, despite how dizzy I feel.
The woman stops dead in her tracks when she spots me. She looks curiously from me to the other Death Eater who had just barely taken steps toward me..
“Surely you aren’t still dealing with this filth, Thom?” Bellatrix taunts, her eyes wide and wild as she stares at us. “The Dark Lord requires us in the Forest.”
He goes to her side. “You know how I take pleasure in tormenting them,” he purrs to her.
With her eyes on his, she points her wand at me, and the most excruciating pain I’ve ever felt in my life courses through my body. I don’t know how much time passes under the Cruciatus curse, but when it ends, my voice is hoarse and I’m lying on the ground again, turned onto my side. If I didn’t have two Death Eaters within arm’s reach, I would have passed out asleep right there, every part of my body aching and exhausted.
“ That is how you torment them!” she hisses, pulling out a dagger. My eyes widen in panic when I see her raise it, aiming it at me. With what little strength I have, I’m desperate to get to my feet, to get away. “And this is how you kill them.”
The force of the dagger in my side sends me back to the ground and the wand lands at their feet. My teeth grind together as I refuse to cry out in pain.
“As if you needed reminding,” she says coldly, brushing past him to disappear into the darkness of the forest.
The Death Eater pauses a moment, his eyes lingering on where I clutch at the blade embedded in my side. I can feel my warm blood quickly dampening my clothes as I stare back, my vision starting to blur. His eyes flicker to my face briefly before he simply picks up his wand and continues on after Bellatrix.
Alone, I feel my body finally give in to my exhaustion and I watch the fire burn in the distance until I pass out.
~*~
After months of brewing my Polyjuice potion, and the several trials to make sure it would last long enough, it’s finally perfect. When I look in the mirror hanging on the back of her office door, the middle-aged face of Rita Skeeter stares back at me.
“Let me go, you fat bitch!”
I turn to the real Rita Skeeter, her tight blond curls askew and her red lipstick smeared across her cheek. She struggles against the ropes magically binding her to her chair. I replace my wand with her own, sliding mine into my purse with an undetectable extension charm.
“ Silencio ,” I whisper, pointing her wand at her mouth. She openly gapes at me, still trying to voice her protest. After rummaging through her purse for her makeup, I manage to replicate her thin arched brows and apply the red lipstick exactly as she has it. As I do this, I let her wand hover behind my head, curling my new blond locks to match hers. Finally I slide her half-moon glasses onto my face, replacing my own large wire-framed ones. I transfigure my clothes, baggy on her, into the exact acid green dress she’s wearing, the fit snug. The only thing I dread wearing are the heels.
The last thing I do before leaving the office is put her into a full body-bind curse. When I close the door to the room, I flip the sign to read Out of Office.
Looking like Rita, getting into the Ministry of Magic is easy. Working directly under her as an intern for the Daily Prophet , I discovered that it wouldn’t be a shock to see her walking around. She often lurked, trying to ascertain any information about… anything. As long as it was juicy she could spin it any way she fucking pleased. It was a talent really.
I try not to look like I’m just wandering through the halls of the ministry. My nose is buried in a notebook, the matching acid green Quick-Notes quill clenched tight in my hand. I’m extremely glad I took a double dose of the Draught of Peace before descending in the decrepit red phone booth into the Atrium.
Luckily, I manage to find Umbridge’s office easily on Level One. Her door sports two plaques that read her name and HEAD OF THE MUGGLEBORN REGISTRATION COMMISSION, respectively. An eyeball swirls in its socket between them. I’m about to knock on the door when I hear a voice behind me.
"Skeeter, did you have an appointment?” a balding man says. He’s standing in front of rows of workers at desks, magically assembling pamphlets. He looks a little disheveled. They all do.
I put on a coy smile and approach the man, taking my time to answer him. Next to him is a pile of those pamphlets. I arch my brow when I read the title, Mudbloods and the Dangers They Pose to a Peaceful Pureblood Society , and slip one into the crook of my arm.
“Is she not in?” I say, finally dragging my eyes back to him. A smile remains plastered to my lips as I hope I’ve mastered her accent.
“She just left for the courtrooms.”
“Ah! Lovely.” I don’t bother to thank him, and head in the direction of the elevators, my mind scrambling for the route to get there. When the elevator voice announces the Atrium, I get off, looking to ask someone in guest services how to get there. Hopefully Skeeter’s never been to the courtrooms.
Just as I get to the horrid Magic is Might fountain, there’s a commotion behind me, coming from the elevators. Three people burst through the crowd of dark robed wizards, one of them looking very much like Harry Potter. He has the exact object I’m looking for, dangling from his hand as they run.
The quill, notepad, and pamphlet get shoved into my purse so I can pull out my own wand. I hold it up to my eyeline, thankful that Skeeter is far-sighted, as I point my wand directly at the golden locket.
“ Materiei vestigium ,” I whisper and a green blinking light that only I can see shoots out from the tip. It flies through the frenzied crowd to land right on the object as he and his companions jump into one of the fireplaces and escape.
~*~
The blinking green light on my wand had been growing steady the further I walked into the Forest of Dean. The sunlight had been slowly dissipating for hours now. I’d have to perform the illumination spell before too long.
I get to a clearing, the sound of rushing water nearby. The blinking speeds up, going so fast the light remains constant, but pulsing. I walk further into the clearing, confused. There’s nothing here.
Well, nothing that I could see .
“Well fuck,” I mutter into the darkness. I trust my tracking spell. It has to be here somewhere. Maybe it’s been hidden? Placed here to keep safe? “Lumos.”
I begin circling the clearing, pointing the light from my wand anywhere suspicious. There are plenty of crevices here to hide a locket. In the crook of a tree or buried in the leaves? That would take forever to search, though. Maybe if I focused on the darkness from it, I could find it here. Like I did in Diagon Alley.
I close my eyes and inhale deeply, trying to focus. The memory of the feeling is front and center. It’s like my mind is sniffing out the source of a scent. It’s close. My feet follow where my senses direct me, making a beeline for where the darkness is.
I have to come to a complete halt when I bump into something and stumble backwards. When I open my eyes, nothing’s there. I hold my hand up, attempting to advance again. I hear a muffled Stupefy before the spell hits me and my body tumbles to the ground.
~*~
When I come to, I’m tied to a tree, wandless. Three people are standing around me, wands pointed at my face. My eyes focus on Harry Potter, the locket is around his neck. I’ve found what I had been looking for.
“Is that a Horcrux?” I demand. They had wanted it, and broke into the ministry for it. They have to know what it is. Harry Potter and his friends glance at each other.
“It might be,” the redheaded boy says. His arm’s in a sling. “What’s it to you?”
“I’m hunting them.”
“Hunting them?”
“Yes.” I nod toward the locket. “You got it from that pink woman in the ministry a couple days ago? Umbridge?”
“Do you work for the ministry?” Harry asks.
“No, but I was there,” I say, trying to sound as honest as possible. I need them to trust me. We’re on the same side. “Trying to do the same thing.”
They look at each other again. The girl, who I recognize now as Hermione Granger, opens up my backpack, which had transfigured back from the purse I’d used as Rita Skeeter. She begins to dig through it.
“What do you want it for?”
“I want to destroy it.”
Harry falters, his wand lowering briefly before his eyes harden and he raises it again. “Why do you want to destroy it, exactly?”
“What does it matter why I want to destroy it? You know who it belongs to.” They still don’t lower their wands. Not that I blame them. I look at my backpack. “ Accio .”
Hermione gives a startled little gasp when a small shield-shaped wooden plaque shoots up into her hand. She pulls it out further, dropping my bag, and they point their illuminated wands at it. The wood is heavily charred with burn marks surrounding a splintered hole in the middle, traces of molten gold glisten under the light. Under the black burns letters could barely be made out: AWARDED TO T.M. RIDDLE FOR SPECIAL SERVICES TO HOGWARTS.
“How’d the bloody hell you get that?” the red-head demands.
“You’ve seen it before?” she asks him.
He nods. “Yeah, Filch made me polish the metal piece on it four times – kept saying it wasn’t clean enough.”
“I think that was because you vomited slugs all over it, Ron,” Harry says.
The red-headed boy – Ron – shook his head to brush off his annoyance. “Point is, I remember this thing from Hogwarts. I also remember it not being where it was supposed to be the last time we were in there.”
“When Angelina was locked in the trophy room?” Hermione gasps. “I remember that.”
They look at me and I shrug. “Look, I don’t know about all that. I’ve never been to Hogwarts.”
“Then how did you get this?”
“I found it hidden in my friend’s room,” my voice cracks. I haven’t talked about her in so long. I clear my throat. “There were some pretty good Disillusionment and Notice-Me-Not charms on it, but it was almost like someone wanted me to find it. You’d think something as important as that would have been hidden a lot better… But I could sense the darkness and found it.”
“Did your friend put it there?” she asks.
I look down. “I don’t think so. She was a No-Maj.”
“No-Maj?” says Ron.
“No magic?” I explain. “You call them muggles here.”
“So what you’re saying is that your muggle friend had this from a school neither of you have ever been to?” says Harry. I grimace and nod. “Why’s it look like this?”
“Because I stabbed it with a basilisk fang I got from the Dark Arts professor at Ilvermorny.”
There’s sudden hope in all of their expressions and Harry asks, “Do you still have it?”
I shake my head. “The fang was so old it’s a miracle it even worked. It splintered apart the moment I stabbed it and couldn’t be fixed. Then the professor suggested I go see Albus Dumbledore to see if he knew anything more about Horcruxes, but when I got here… He had just died.”
"And how did you know about the locket?” Hermione asks.
“I saw a guy sell it to Umbridge in Knockturn Alley,” I say and then stare at the glistening locket around Harry’s neck. “The darkness coming from it is the same as that plaque. So I knew they were connected.”
“You’re not from around here,” Harry says. “Why do you care so much about destroying it?”
I give a twisted smile. “You mean, besides the fact that the wizard who created it is a fucking psychopath?” My smile fades and I sigh. “The process for creating one involves killing someone. My best friend is dead because of him. I don’t know why he chose her, but he came all the way to the US to do it. It’s only fair I come all the way here to return the favor. Or at least help somehow.”
~*~
The first thing I’m conscious of are the lights. They’re so bright. I try squinting to see, but that isn’t enough. I try to lift my arm to hover my hand over my eyes, but my arm feels like jelly. The second thing I’m conscious of are the voices. I only catch snippets in between bouts of sleep.
“…why’d you even bother? She’s as good as dead…”
“…I did the spell… she’s not much to look at, but I just couldn’t pass up the chance at 5,000 galleons…”
“… no one even knows who she is…”
“… don’t think no one will care…”
The next time I wake fully, I’m in what seems to be a makeshift hospital, no doubt to treat the survivors of the battle. There isn’t anyone I recognize. Most of the beds are empty, though clearly had been occupied at some point.
The dagger in my side has been removed. I try moving, sitting up even, but it’s useless. No doubt my lethargy is due to blood loss and the lingering effects of the Cruciatus.
I remember how Ron’s sister-in-law, Fleur, had treated Hermione after we had escaped the Malfoys. A hot bath and a massaging of the most damaged muscles is the most that can be done. If only I’d paid more attention during the Special Ed Healing classes at Ilvermorny. Maybe I would’ve been able to help her and myself.
I lie awake waiting for someone to come until I don’t have the will to keep my eyes open any longer. I fall asleep wondering if Harry, Ron, and Hermione had made it. If the only ones I’d come to care for had survived.
~*~
His wand is still shoved against my throat as a strong grip wraps around my elbow, tugging me forward down the large hall.
“Make sure she’s thoroughly interrogated, Thomus!” the wild-haired, crazy eyed witch orders. Looking back, I make eye contact with Harry and Ron before they’re taken out of sight through a dark doorway.
We stop abruptly and I’m pulled through a pair of double doors into an office. He shoves me so hard I stumble to my knees on the floor, but I immediately turn to face him, shuffling away until my back hits the front of the desk in the middle of the room. I hear the door lock as I’m scanning the room for possible weapons, keeping him in my peripheral vision.
“Look at me.”
It’s a command. An order. His voice is deep and I’m reluctant to give in, my teeth clenched in dread. This man could do anything dark and twisted in the name of ‘interrogation’. I put all my focus into reenforcing my Occlumency walls before giving in to his command.
The moment our eyes meet, I find he’s already prepped with bombs to tear those walls down to force himself in. I shove forward dumb useless memories; doing my makeup, laughing with my friends at Ilvermorny, a scene from my favorite movie – nothing to pique his interests, but just enough to keep him distracted and searching.
Slowly, while I let the endless queue of memories play on the television in my mind, I follow the connection and fade into his own. His mind gives no resistance as I drift like a ghost from scene to scene, watching through his eyes. A tall blond boy with a long narrow face trips him, and the boy snickers before offering him a hand. Another scene – the man holding a very fair-haired girl by the throat, and Bellatrix is pointing her wand at a cowering fair-haired man, screaming threats at him. Another memory, the man and Bellatrix are sharing a heated kiss in a dark corner, away from the crowd of masked Death Eaters. They break apart when an oily black haired man sweeps into the room.
A girl screaming in the distance drops me out of his head, and I fall back to reality like dead weight.
Hermione.
The man’s shaking his head as if to clear it and I scramble to my feet, quickly putting the large imposing desk between us. I finally bring my eyes to meet his cold blue ones, his thin mouth in a sneer as he glares at me.
“Fancy trick,” he bites out. “For a Mudblood.”
I don’t hold back the smirk that curls my lips, even if it’s just false bravado. “If you’re intimidated, just say that.”
“This game you think you’re playing,” he says, tilting his head and pointing his wand at me. “You’re going to lose.”
I brace my hands on the desk, leaning forward, all mirth gone from my face. “I’m not playing a game.”
“You are now,” he says, inching forward. “And I make the rules.”
Just as Hermione screams again, I see his wand start to move.
My right hand rushes up, and before he can finish the spell, his wand is flying out of his hand towards my outstretched one. He lunges, trying to recapture it. His fingers smack it out of the air and it goes sailing across the room behind piles of books on the floor.
We make eye contact for a split second before we both dive for it. He reaches the corner first and is hastily toppling piles over when I doze full force into his side with my shoulder.
“Fuck!” he exclaims as I tackle him. He stumbles onto his side, his arm swinging wildly at me. A backhand goes across my face, cutting my lip on my teeth and losing my glasses amongst the books. I shove my way towards the wand anyway. My focus isn’t on me getting the wand, but on him not getting it.
Finally, I see the wand, and just as I can barely pull it between my fingers, two strong arms wrap themselves around my waist and yank me back. The wand goes flying again as we fall – him onto the floor, and me on top. The desperate move knocks the breath out of him and I use it to my advantage. I elbow him in the ribs, forcing him to release his hold. Then I roll onto my knees and immediately spot the wand just above his head. He hasn’t noticed it yet because he’s still writhing under me.
Holding my breath, I quickly crawl over him until I can snatch up the wand. When I sit up, I’m straddling his hips. I lean on my right hand, holding him down by his shoulder, his own wand shoved up under his jaw. The only sound to be heard is our panting from the tussle.
“Ha ha,” I tease, smirking. “I win.”
If looks could kill, his glare would make me spontaneously combust. He struggles against my hold, his hips thrusting up, trying to throw off my balance. I press my considerable weight down on him more, not unafraid to use it to my advantage in situations like this. He nearly succeeds in tossing me off when he plants his feet and grabs my hips, a deep grunt coming from his chest. I rise on my knees briefly, letting him squirm under me before sitting heavily on him again.
When he thrusts up again, I realize I’d situated myself over -
A loud crash of shattering glass comes from the distance, the sound honing in my focus. Before he can struggle any further, I stun him.
I scramble to my feet, quickly forgetting about the stunned man on the floor. Giving the door a quick Alohomora, I slide out, going in the direction of the noise. Just as I get to the large room, a body whizzes past me to the floor with a loud thwump .
“Stupid elf!” Bellatrix screams. “You could’ve killed me!”
I see Harry, Ron, and Hermione with the others standing by the banister across the room. Pieces of glass and broken metal lay in a heap between us. I take a few steps towards them, only being noticed when I step on a piece of glass.
Bellatrix whirls, her hair a wild cloud around her head, her arm flinging a dagger aimed straight for me. Before I’ve had time to think, my wandless hand is up, and the knife stalls in mid-air. I let it drop and briskly walk towards my friends, my wand hand now up.
"Dobby never meant to kill,” says the elf as I reach them. “Dobby only meant to maim or seriously injure.”
Behind my back, I hear the beginning of a spell, and I turn in time to see the elf snap the blond witch’s wand into his own grasp.
“How dare you take a witch’s wand?” Bellatrix shrieks. “How dare you defy your masters!”
“Dobby has no master,” the elf declares. “Dobby is a free elf! And Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!”
Dobby reaches for everyone’s hand, and we Disapparate.
~*~
I struggle to tell how much time has passed. It felt like it could have been days, but all of the hard sleep left me unsure. The converted hospital room has no windows, and the Healers that came in periodically refused to speak to me.
I can only assume the worst outcome has happened. From my vantage point on the grounds, it seemed like we were losing, so it wouldn’t be a stretch to believe we lost. Harry Potter must be dead, who knows how many others. I’m shocked I’m still alive.
When I’m able to sit and stand on my own, men who are obviously Death Eaters come to escort me. Their staring makes me instantly uncomfortable because I’m only wearing a one size too small hospital gown. The hallway they lead me down is long, the stumble of my bare feet lightly echoing against the super reflective black tiles. Our destination is a restroom with a few shower stalls.
“Wash,” one of them says. They don’t leave, but they turn their backs. I take a quick moment to breathe, trying to pretend I’m alone.
After I turn on the water, I gingerly remove the old gown, careful not to pull at my wound. I peel back a corner of the light bandaging. There’s deep bruising, but the gash where the knife had been buried to the hilt has been closed, simply a red scab now.
Resealing the bandage, I notice a small, messy signature on my left forearm. G. Goyle in black ink. Confused, I rub it under the water, but it doesn’t budge. A tattoo?
“Hey,” I ask, raising my voice above the sound of the shower. It’s dry and scratchy from disuse. “Why’s this guy’s name on my arm?”
“Because, Mudblood, I own you,” the younger Death Eater replies. He sounds smug about it too.
The other one nudges him with his elbow. “Shut up, you twat,” he says. “We’re not telling ‘em anything.”
Oh, fuck. This is bad.
While I wash away the dirt and grime, I do my best to Occlude my panic and anxiety. He said them , so that must mean there are others. Is this part of what I’d overheard the men talking about regarding galleons? I wish I knew what this really meant, but I’m not feeling brave enough to ask anything else.
I quickly towel off. The warm water and crappy shampoo made the bright pink color of my shoulder length hair run and stain the white towel. I pull on the fresh hospital gown they had waiting. It’s also too tight, so I fold an arm over my chest and pinch the material closed at my side.
Once done, they lead me across the hall to a room with an exam table in the middle and order me to lay on it. Then they leave and return with two Healers.
“We’ll test it on this one, too,” one of the Death Eaters says. I see the older looking Healer nod. She pulls out her wand and does a diagnostic charm on my wound.
“Are you pregnant?” she asks as she looks over the results.
“No,” I reply.
“Your wound is healing nicely. You should be able to take the bandage off in another day or so.” Her voice cracks a couple times as she speaks and her eyes keep bouncing to the Death Eaters standing by the door. I nod in acknowledgement.
She runs another diagnostic spell, a general one this time. It hovers over my body, blinking with lights that I couldn’t remember the meaning of. She looks to the other, younger healer. “Has she been getting food along with the rest of them?”
The young healer shakes her head. “No, she’s mostly been unconscious since they brought her in.”
“Dolohov, when she joins the others, ensure she eats. Her nutrition levels are low,” she says to the men. The older one, I’m assuming is Dolohov, scoffs.
“I will do no such thing,” Dolohov says. “From the looks of her she could obviously stand to miss a meal or two, I think.”
The healer clenches her jaw and I feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment.
“Do the other spell,” G. Goyle says, his tone eager.
I watch as the young Healer mutters a spell and a warm feeling washes over me, beginning at the tip of my head and toes, meeting in the middle over my stomach. There’s a little pressure, and a glowing white light floats up from my belly button.
“Fuck yeah,” exclaims the young Death Eater.
“Don’t get too excited, Goyle,” says Dolohov. “I couldn’t name a single person who’d pay 5,000 galleons for her, even if she is a virgin. You’d be lucky to get 2,000.”
“I’m sure I can show off her potential,” Goyle grumbles. “She’s got a mouth, doesn’t she?”
I grit my teeth to hide my scowl. I’m both shocked and offended. What the actual fuck are they talking about?
“Give her the suppressant, too,” Dolohov orders. “One dose should do it, she’s just a Mudblood.”
The younger witch helps me up, holding my hand and the older one passes me an uncapped vial. I hesitate, sniffing it apprehensively. Minty.
“I’ll shove it down your throat if you don’t take it,” the older Death Eater warns.
The young witch smiles and nods reassuringly. I take deep breaths before tipping the vial into my mouth. A chill spreads through me, smothering the hum of my magic like fire in the rain. Tears prick my eyes at the sudden feeling of loss .
“Now the last one,” Dolohov orders. The healers both hesitate this time. “We talked about this. We’re doing this to all of them, regardless of your experience with the procedure.”
The younger witch looks resigned. “Lie back,” she says to me.
The older one holds her wand up again, standing near my hips. She presses her hand on my waist, the opposite side of the wound. When she points her wand over my pelvis, realization hits me as to what’s about to happen. With no magic, my Occlumency isn’t present anymore and my panic and fear have sprung forward with full force. My chest constricts and I clench my fists when I feel my hands tremble. I contemplate announcing I have no-maj contraception birth control, an IUD. But as my eyes bounce around the room to my captors, I realize it won’t matter.
My eyes widen and I gasp as she mutters a spell and twists her wand over my left side, severing a fallopian tube. She leans across me to the right side, blocking Dolohov’s view. Her wand taps my hip and she pinches me hard. I gasp again, confused.
The Healer turns to him. “Finished.”
He nods and Goyle steps forward, pulling the lump of my poorly Scourgified clothes from his robes. Oh, thank god.
The witches and Death Eaters turn their back to me to do paperwork as I dress, thinking. I’m terribly relieved they defied their orders. Maybe not everyone’s on their side, there’s still people silently fighting.
This act of defiance gave me hope. Maybe the fight isn’t over.
Maybe it’s just begun.