All My War Is Done

June 1998

When Hermione woke up, she knew that it all hadn't been a bad dream. What she did not know however, was how much worse it was going to get.

They were in what appeared to be a dungeon -- dark, dank, and quite empty except for themselves. Harry and Ron were both still unconscious, and... Hermione squinted, her pounding head making her eyes swim. Was that Ginny in the corner? Ron, Harry, and probably herself as well, were filthy and definitely had various bumps and bruises. She wasn't a mediwizard, but she was fairly sure she had a cracked rib or two, and it felt like her right wrist was sprained. Remembering how her head had throbbed when she first woke up, she felt around for any open cuts or particularly tender spots; there seemed to be a nasty lump on the back of her head, but no blood.

Wanting a closer look at everyone, she attempted to stand up, but the creaking of her sinews and bones kept Hermione on the ground. Resorting to a crawl, she dragged herself over the cold, rough stones to Ron and checked his breathing first -- strong and steady. Crossing the need for CPR off her mental list, she scrutinized the rest of him and swallowed hard when she saw the twisted angle of his leg.

Oh no. Same leg, too. They must have thrown us down the stairs to the dungeon.

Being careful not to jar him for other injuries she couldn't easily see, she inspected him as best she could. With the exception of some blossoming bruises, the broken leg seemed to be the only major injury. Lots of dirt from the floor of the cell, but there weren't even any bumps on his head. She kissed him gently, took a deep breath, and pulled herself over to Harry.

The easiest thing to spot was that his spectacles had cracked and that he had blood on his face. Not immediately seeing the source, Hermione picked delicately through his matted black hair and spotted a long, deep gash running from behind his left ear almost to the middle of the back of his head; thankfully, it appeared to have clotted already. A sudden thought occurred to her, and she lifted up his right trouser leg only to be greeted by the empty holster strapped to his shin.

Bugger. They took his spare wand.

She pored over the rest of him, and when she began to inspect his chest Harry gave a sudden yelp of pain and sat up gasping.

"Bloody hell, 'Mione, what are you doing?" he yelled, pushing her hand off of his collarbone.

"Finding one of your injuries, apparently," she retorted. "Let's have a closer look, come on."

Obediently, Harry unbuttoned his shirt and gingerly pulled it off his shoulder. She leaned in, squinting in the faint light, and made out some bumps near his neck right where his collarbone should jut out. The ugly dark purple bruise was already obvious, even in the darkness.

"You've definitely cracked your collarbone, possibly broken it. I'd move as little as possible."

"Yes, thank you for mentioning that, Hermione, I don't think the searing pain would have stopped me."

"You've been friends with Ron too long, he's rubbing off on you," she snapped back. "At least he's still unconscious. I'd hate to hear what he would say to me if I touched that leg of his."

Harry's only response was to look at her darkly, the torchlight making his eyes bright in his dirty face behind his broken spectacles. Hermione, used to seeing him retreat into himself, said, "Now, can you feel any other sore or painful areas? Maybe something we can't immediately see?"

"No."

"Good, then you're probably not going to die any time soon, at least not from your injuries."

Harry started to chuckle at the morbid truth of that statement, but a coughing sound emanated from Ron and they both turned to see him trying to pull himself into a sitting position. Hermione made her way back over to him as fast as she could.

"Hey there, handsome, how are you feeling?" she asked as she brushed some stray hair from his forehead.

"Broken." His voice was hoarse and pained, but strong.

"Yes, well, you're not too far off. I would avoid looking at your leg, darling, if I were you."

Ron grimaced and rolled his eyes, the pain of a broken leg far too familiar for his comfort.

"Now excuse me for bit, sweetheart, as there's someone else unconscious over there," she said as she made her way as quick as she could to the crumpled body in the corner. "Bloody Baron, it's Snape!"

As Hermione stared at the formerly missing potions master, she pondered over how she had thought he was Ginny. Recalling her pounding head and blurry vision in the dim torch light when she had first woken up it failed to surprise her, especially since they were both tall and Ginny had been in black from head to toe the last time they had seen her. Now that Hermione was closer, she could see that one of his eyes was swollen shut, his lower lip was split, and through the huge rips in his black cable jumper she could see the distinctive marks created by the Cruciatus curse.

"They've been torturing him."

Harry scrambled over to the corner. "Are you sure he's still breathing?"

"I can't see his chest moving, but he's definitely warm."

"It's obvious they were expecting us," Ron interrupted from the middle of the cell. "I wouldn't put it past them to have kept him alive until we showed up, then dump his body in here to mess with our heads. Classic intimidation techniques."

Harry and Hermione both turned around to gape at Ron. He shrugged and held his hands up in defense. "What? I have five older brothers, two of whom are Fred and George!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to Snape as Harry snickered. "He's got a point, 'Mione. Remember that time when--"

"Harry. Snape is unconscious, possibly dying. Work with me here."

"Right, sorry."

She hurriedly felt for a pulse, wincing at the sharp twinge in her wrist when she did so. Long seconds went by without any sign of life except the heat still radiating from his body, and her panic increased.

"Come on Professor, you've lasted this long, you can't give up now. There's a hero's welcome waiting for you back at Hogwarts; you've been waiting your whole life for people to respect you, and now they do!"

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down and relax, willing her fingertips to find the tiny heartbeat on his neck or even his wrists (which were much less reliable). She didn't dare give him CPR, not with those Cruciatus wounds on his chest; she might kill him in the process. Harry took her other hand, trying to ground her, and Ron, in an attempt to relieve the severity of the situation, joked, "Well, you know, not finding his pulse doesn't mean he's dead. We've always wondered if he even has a heart..."

Harry burst out laughing, one hand on his collarbone to keep from shaking it too much. Hermione desperately tried to keep from giggling as she kept searching for signs of life. All of a sudden, there it was, a weak thrumming under her fingers, and she gasped. "There it is. He's alive, and he does have a heart." Harry and Ron beamed at her while she slumped back against the wall, lightly hugging her sore ribs as she took stock of the situation.

"Brilliant, Hermione, absolutely brilliant."

"Thank you, Ron. All right... we're all injured in some form or another, but only Professor Snape seems to need any immediate medical attention. For the three of us, we can improvise some bandages from our clothing and splints from the pieces of used torch wood scattered here in the cell. The only thing that is really worrying me at the moment is where---"

"Well, well, well... look who's awake."

Three heads whipped around to see Draco Malfoy standing outside the bars, leering in at them. His pressed grey trousers and dark green raw silk shirt, under black robes with the Malfoy crest on his right breast, were a stark contrast to the dirty, bruised prisoners in front of him. The torchlight reflected brightly off of his platinum hair and made his grey eyes look hollow and empty.

"You lot never fail to amaze me. Did you honestly think we didn't have spies of our own? That we didn't know you were coming for the necklace? I've always thought you won by sheer dumb luck, now I'm sure of it. Pathetic, really."

"You think we were it, Malfoy?" Harry retorted snidely. "This was just a side excursion, to see if we could get the necklace before He brought it to us. The defence of Hogwarts will stand without Harry Potter, and even if I am in your vile excuse for a dungeon, Voldemort and I will get our fight. You're not allowed to kill me, are you? Because he wants another chance at that duel in the graveyard, he wants to take me down with my wand in hand, in front of all his followers. It's the same reason Snape's still alive after two betrayals... he wants to kill us both at the same time, when all you little Death Eaters have gathered to bow before His Snakiness."

Draco took a step forward, the torchlight shifting out of his eyes to make them glitter darkly. "The defence of Hogwarts will not stand, Potter. We know all about it, every booby trap, every posted guard. Your ridiculous Alliance has failed, and when it's all over, I'll make sure you're buried right next to your mum and dad so I can dance on all of your graves."

"Funny, Malfoy, I was thinking exactly--"

"BOYS!"

Harry and Ron started and turned to look at Hermione. Draco leaned casually against the bars of another cell and proclaimed icily, "The Mudblood speaks! Yes, please, let's stop this pissing contest right now and all turn our attention to the Lady of the Dungeon."

Hermione pointedly ignored the withering sarcasm and continued, "So sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but where is Ginny?"

Harry's eyes widened behind his cracked spectacles as he realized that he had forgotten all about Ginny. Hermione slid over to comfort Ron, who looked devastated that he hadn't noticed his sister was still not with them. Harry began to peer into the other cells in the dungeon until he heard Draco start to chortle. "You won't find her in here, Potter."

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HER, MALFOY?"

Draco winced, showing visible disgust at the crass volume. "Temper, temper, Potter. There's really never a need to shout." He gracefully lowered himself down into a crouch where he could be somewhat eye to eye with Harry and leaned into the bars. "Are you sure you want to know? I'll tell you, if you honestly think you can handle it..."

"Either tell us where my sister is or sod off, Malfoy," came Ron's surprisingly calm voice from where he had laid his head down in Hermione's lap. Draco stood up in one fluid motion and, with a smirk on his face, held out his hand to darkened stairwell.

"Very well. Virginia, darling, they're requesting to see you."

Ginny strolled into the dungeon, her heavy black boots clunking on the stones of the floor, herself absolutely smashing in a tight, low cut black cotton blouse with three-quarter length sleeves and formfitting green silk trousers that had tiny black dragons embroidered on them. Ron sat up in shock. The redhead walked right up to Draco, taking his hand, and he pulled her in... for a kiss. A very long, slow, intense kiss. Hermione, Ron, and Harry all gaped at the spectacle in front of them, not really processing what it meant. It was Ron who spoke first, his voice cradled in disbelief.

"Spies of our own..."

Draco and Ginny broke off, Ginny turning to settle her back against Draco's chest as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Hermione's heart sank when she saw the malicious smile on her dear friend's face, perfectly matched to his.

"I'd say I'm sorry, Potter, but I'm really not." Draco's smug look turned into Ginny's neck, placing soft kisses along her jawbone before he continued, "You have to admit, it's priceless. All these years together, you and I, vicious Quidditch rivals among other things, and the one time it really counts -- I'm the one who gets the Snitch."

Ginny laughed and pulled herself slightly out of Draco's embrace to turn and grin at him. "Darling, you made a pun!"

"Why, yes I did. Rather awful it was, too. But," he shrugged, "I just couldn't help myself. It was too perfect to pass up." He looked back at the prisoners, the warmth in his face for Ginny now gone as his attention returned to his erstwhile guests. "Besides, they'll all be dead soon anyway, and won't be able to tell anyone else about the lapse in my excellent wit. Come on, we've had our fun with them. Dinner won't be held for us."

And they turned to head back up the dungeon stairs, leaving the broken Gryffindors behind iron bars and cold as their captors' hearts.