Invictus

Author's Notes: Well, here it is. Please don't throw anything at me.
(Apart from reviews, that is. I answer them all on the review boards.)

Beta-read by the talented and insightful Hijja.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~ Invictus ~
by Chthonia

Part 6: Hope

It's painfully bright, and oh, so cold.

Too bright. The light hurts my eyes. I close them tight and wrap my arms around myself, shivering.

Where am I? What's he done to me?

There's a sharp leafy scent in the air that's vaguely familiar, like an old graveyard.

But you're not dead. Your head wouldn't hurt so much if you were dead.

And neither would my wrist. I must have fallen on it when I landed on this... grass.

Grass?

I'm outside!

I open my eyes a fraction. It's so bright. Everything glitters with frost.

I close my eyes again, but not before I've taken in the ivy-covered statue of an elegant woman on my right and a tall green hedge over to my left. The hedge could be the edge of a churchyard, I suppose – but it looks more like a maze with hedged walls, like the one at Hampton Court they took us to in Primary School.

At least, I hope it's like the one at Hampton Court, and not like the one on the Quidditch pitch last summer.

I take a deep breath of cold clean air, alive with the smell of grass and soil. So different from that sterile place he entombed me in... I place my hands flat on the frozen ground. The rich earthiness brings tears to my eyes.

Get a grip, Hermione. You'll freeze if you just sit there!

I peer around quickly, but there's nothing moving on the flat frosty lawn, and I can't see beyond it – there's a high stone wall behind me, in front of me is a dark wood, and to the right the ground slopes off so that all I can see is sky. Whatever this place is, it seems civilised enough. But then lots of people think that about him, too.

Am I free? Has the Order scared him into letting me go?

I wish I could believe that.

So what does he want me to do? Other than sitting here freezing to death, that is. Or waiting for something nasty to come after me.

It's so cold out here. I rub my arms in a futile effort to keep warm.

You should run for it now, while you have the chance.

On the other hand, if that's what he wants me to do, it's probably precisely what I don't want to do.

But if the Order is watching – and they have to be watching, he told me they're watching him – I need to move, to let them know I'm here, out in the open. Where they can rescue me.

In the open. I feel so exposed, as if the wide blue sky is pressing down on me... It almost feels safer crouching in the shadow of the statue.

It's quite a long shadow – it must be late in the afternoon. The ring is lying next to it, glinting in the grass a couple of metres away from me. For some reason the silver band seems less bright out here, even with the sun shining off it like that.

I wonder if I should pick it up? Perhaps it might come in useful.

Oh, come off it Hermione. What do you think this is – one of those stupid computer games?

Yeah, right, I can just imagine it – collect the magical artefacts, find a convenient stash of weapons, battle the monsters, and if you die one too many times, back to the edge of the maze with you. It doesn't work like that here. Here the dead stay dead, and the dragons are real. As are the dungeons.

Not to mention the evil magical objects. How do you know that ring isn't just making you see this inside your head?

I don't... but even if this is all an illusion, it's so good to be able to breathe fresh air! I'm going to freeze if I just sit here, though. My feet are going numb already.

I will have a better look at that ring. I crouch down on my hands and knees to peer at it more closely.

But a booted foot comes down on it.

I flinch away. He presses the toe of his boot up against my throat.

"Crawling in the dirt?" he sneers. "Well, I suppose that is your natural habitat."

I hate you. One day I'll show you how much I hate you...

I move back onto my knees, glaring up at him – but the sun is in my eyes and it's far too bright. I look down at the ground, rubbing my eyes.

He laughs. "Well, well, well. It rather looks as though my pet Mudblood has become a creature of the dark."

Bastard! I'm not his anything! I am Hermione Granger and I am not going to just sit here and take that!

I push myself to my feet and glance around.

He catches my chin and pulls my head round to face him. The sun is directly behind him, leaving his face in shadow but shining though his hair like some travesty of a halo.

"Now, I do hope you're not going to get all excitable just because we've had a change of scene. The same rules apply, Mudblood. As do the consequences of breaking them."

Every word hangs as a cloud in the frozen air. It's weird, being out here with him. It's harder to nod my compliance when I'm standing in sunlight beneath the sky. It makes me feel my shame much more clearly, as if someone's going to come along any minute and see how I'm letting him boss me around. And he knows it, I can tell from the way he's holding me and watching me, even if I can't see his exact expression.

Is that why he brought me here? I hate him!

But... if someone did come along... we're outside! He can't hide me here! If the Order knows where I am...

"You're cold."

Oh, ten out of ten for observation.

"Of course I'm cold!"

He lets go of my chin but suddenly his wand is aiming straight between my eyes. I take a step backwards.

"You watch your mouth, Mudblood."

He jerks his wand to the side and the Flagellus hex cracks across my cheek. I blink away tears. He's looking at me with his head slightly tilted, as if daring me to reply. I stare back at him, but I'm not giving him a reason to do that again.

After a minute he moves the wand to point at my heart. Now it's not just the air temperature that's making me cold.

He smirks. "Now, if you were a good girl, you'd have nothing to worry about, would you?"

And if I believed that, I'd believe anything.

"But as you aren't... what would you say to another little flying lesson?"

Oh God... How high did he throw those poor people at the campsite last summer? And it's not just the height, it's... it's the space. Being surrounded by nothing but air...

"Hmm, I don't think you like the sound of that at all, do you? Of course, without that ceiling in the way I could show you what it's really like to fly..."

I hate you.

I feel sick.

He laughs. "Ah, such a pity we don't have time for that. Warme."

And it's as if there's a glow spreading from my heart up to the top of my head and down to the tips of my toes. I hadn't realised I was holding myself so tense against the cold: now I feel as if I'm melting. Even the icy fear in my stomach is thawing.

"Is that a little more comfortable?" he asks.

"Yes," I reply.

"Thank you," I add quickly.

He chuckles. "Good."

Bending down, he picks up the ring, wraps it, and hides it in a fold of his robe. "Now, I think it's time for you and I to take a little walk."

He points his wand at the ground.

"Viaturris."

The ground sort of shivers and a sandy path rolls out in front of us like a carpet. I blink. It looks as if it's been there forever, but there was no sign of it before, I'm sure there wasn't. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by things like this any more, not after four years at Hogwarts, but suddenly I really wish I was in a place where things didn't pop out of nowhere in defiance of all laws of physics.

But I'm not.

At that moment, a shadow flits across the grass. Something flying between me and the sun? I look up in sudden hope – they have been watching! They are going rescue me!

But it's just a bird – a crow, I think.

An Animagus?

Oh, don't be so stupid. As if he'd risk bringing you out here if there was any hope they could rescue you!

But Moody could see through anything, and he and Lupin did dismantle the Black's Sanguiclavis Charm, after all – surely they could get past anything he throws at them.

They're just waiting for the best moment. That must be it. I have to be ready.

I have to be ready. It'll be okay. It has to be.

"Ready, Mudblood?" he asks, making me jump. He makes a sarcastic flourish at the path. "After you."

The path leads straight towards the trees, their bare branches stabbing into the air like crooked bones. The wood is silent and still, almost as if it's waiting for something...

I shiver – and this time it's definitely not because of the cold.

"In there?"

"You're not spurning the opportunity to look around the grounds, are you?"

I stare at my feet. Why did I ask such a stupid question?

"Yes, on you go," he says. "Don't leave the path."

I'd rather be walking on the grass after days – weeks? – of touching nothing but stone. But the path is actually quite comfortable underfoot, and it feels real enough, not that I trust it. I just wish I didn't have to walk in front of him, where I can't see what he's doing... but at least he's following me, not just sending me alone into God-knows-what. I hope it's not just to get a better view if there's something nasty waiting to pounce.

As if he isn't the nastiest thing I've ever encountered...

As I step into the shadow of the first tree, a blood-curdling howl shatters the silence. I stop, trying to fight back the panic – but there's nothing to be seen.

Doesn't mean that there's nothing there, though. Remember those Thestrals...

But somehow I don't think that was any kind of horse.

He pushes his wand into my back. "I don't remember telling you to stop, Mudblood. We'll be in here all day if you're going to freeze up every time you hear something squeak."

Squeak?

"You have a problem?" The wand digs in painfully between my shoulders.

What's going to be worse – him, or that?

"W-what was that?" Damn. Why can't I keep my voice steady?

His quiet laugh makes my hair stand on end. "Oh, there's quite a collection of interesting creatures in here," he says, "but most of them won't attack me. So aren't you lucky I'm with you?"

That's not exactly how I would put it.

I step forward – I'm almost surprised that my legs still support me. Not that I have a lot of choice, with his wand pressing into my back.

The pressure eases, and he lifts his wand away. He's still right behind me, though. Down there I'd hate that. Here, it's almost... reassuring, however much I hate him. I listen for the soft crunch of his boots as I go on.

Oddly enough, it isn't actually that dark now that we're under the trees. The bare branches leave plenty of room for shafts of sunlight to pierce down to the ground. The sky is a vivid blue shade that seems almost unnatural, after all that time surrounded by nothing but stone and darkness. Even the heavy damp smell of decaying leaves is wonderfully real.

There's not much noise, though. A wood shouldn't be this quiet, should it? Even if it is winter.

But cocooned as I am in his Warming Charm, it's hard to feel worried. As long as I can hear his footsteps behind me, I'm safe.

Safe? Safe? How can I feel safe? I'm not, I'm not, however relaxed I might feel. What sort of spell has he put on me anyhow?

I take a very deep breath, as quietly as I can, willing myself alert. This wood... we're surrounded by tall straight trees, with little undergrowth to block the view. And it all looks so familiar – no Whomping Willows, Irascible Ivy or even Biting Brambles in sight. I could be in one of the woods that my parents used to take me to.

I want to go home.

No point in thinking like that.

But... we're in Wiltshire, not the middle of nowhere, assuming these are the grounds of his stupid manor. If I could get away from him, if I could get off his land...

Yeah, and what are the chances of that?

But if I get behind cover before he can cast anything... It looks as if there are bushes up ahead. And if I can make it to the edge of the wood, if there is anyone from the Order watching, they'll be able to see me.

Oh, come off it! If the Order was watching they'd have rescued you from the lawn.

But maybe they just need more time to react. Now that they know I'm outside... they have to be watching. They watched Harry all last summer, and they know I'm here.

I have to try. It's the only chance I have. If it doesn't work it can't possibly be any worse than what he already has planned.

Where is he taking me, anyhow?

I have no idea, but I do know I don't want to find out.

So I run, ducking back past him on the left. It takes him a second to turn and aim – but by then I've dodged behind a bush. I run for the next one faster than I've ever run anywhere in my life.

He bellows out the Impediment Jinx. I twist away and the bush beside me jerks away violently with a great tearing of roots. I run, run, all that anger and hatred and fear transformed into one thing only: I'm out of that little stone room and I need to get away.

Suddenly the ground shudders and a chasm appears in front of me. I almost try to jump it – but the edges are moving apart and I'd never make it and I skid to a halt, shaking.

Where to now?

I spin round. I can hear him crashing through the bushes, but he's still out of sight. If I can just get behind that tree... but a pile of leaves in front of it quivers and moves in a way that a pile of leaves shouldn't be able to move. It's forming into a shapeless mass, rising up with an overwhelming smell of decay...

Oh God. I should have known that there'd be nothing normal about any wood he has anything to do with.

He's almost caught up with me as I start to run in the only direction left but then I see the bushes move and it's, it's not him, it's a ferret – no, a Jarvey – but swelled to the size of an Alsatian with glowing red eyes and long sharp teeth.

I scream. It lunges forward.

"Stupefy!"

Red light streams from behind me and hits the creature right between the eyes. It furrows the ground as it slides towards me, unconscious.

Dead silence. For a second.

"You stupid, stupid girl! Didn't I tell you not to leave the path?"

I tried, I had to try...

I nod wordlessly, staring at the ground.

"And didn't you think I had a reason for that?"

I must be getting used to his tirades – he doesn't sound as vicious as usual. He's spitting out his words just like he always does, but he almost sounds like my friend's dad telling her little brother to get off the road.

I turn and look at him. Same steely eyes, same hard mouth, same haughty arrogance.

Behind him, the leaf-shape is floating back down to the ground like a deflating balloon, and there's no sign of that chasm at all. Was I imagining it?

I wrap my arms around myself, shaking. From shock – and with cold. God, it's cold. I must have broken that spell of his when I ran. Or maybe he did. I meet his eyes, trying not to look as desperate as I feel.

"What?" he snaps. The spite is back with a vengeance. If I thought I heard anything else before, I must have been imagining that, as well.

I don't want to ask... but I'm going to freeze if he doesn't recast that spell. I look at the ground. There's a misshapen purple toadstool edging towards my toe. I move my foot away.

"Please... I'm cold."

"Why, so you are. And there I was, thinking it was just fear that was making you tremble like that."

Bastard! Can't he see that I'm freezing? I hate him!

"Now, Mudblood," he sneers, "why should I help you when you won't even follow one simple instruction? It's not as if we have a long way to go. Or are you too soft to cope with a little walk?"

I glare at him. He points imperiously back towards the path.

I follow his directions, shuddering slightly as I pass the unconscious creature sprawled on the ground. That much was real, then.

But where is the path? I can't see it at all. All I can do is follow his terse directions, clinging to his voice as if it's a lifeline.

A lifeline? A lifeline that could pull you under at any moment...

What else can I do, though?

Suddenly the path is beneath my feet again – but when I look back to where we entered the wood, there's no sign of it at all. He smirks at my obvious confusion.

"Well, there's no longer any need for that part of it, is there? We're going this way." He points in the direction we were going in before.

I start walking. What choice do I have? If I don't walk I'm going to freeze anyway – I can't feel my feet at all. I try to send them warmth, the way Viktor told me about once, but it doesn't seem to make much difference. The rest of me feels a little warmer – though whether from magic or just from running, I have no idea.

He's walking beside me now, striding slightly faster than is quite comfortable for me. It feels strange just to be walking with him like this, almost as if this were a normal Sunday afternoon walk. But it's not. I'd never choose to walk anywhere with him, and even though those silent trees look benign enough... I shudder. I'll never look at a beech wood the same way again.

Between the soft thuds of his footsteps, I catch a faint hissing sound. Behind us. It must be the path, boiling away or sinking into the ground or whatever it does. It has to be the path.

Don't look back. DON'T look back.

And don't look to the left where his long cloak is brushing against my leg, and don't look down at my feet that must be white with cold. Every step is agony.

I think there's a clearing up ahead. Perhaps that's where he's taking me? If I can only make it that far, perhaps he'll let me be warm again.

But if that is where he's taking you...

I don't care. I just want to get out of this horrible wood.

And we emerge into the sunshine. I almost feel relieved – until I see what the path leads to.

A black tower... a folly, I suppose, a Dark wizard's version of those silly Greek temples on normal country estates. But foolish is hardly the first word that springs to mind. It's narrow and maybe ten storeys high, though that's hard to judge – if there are any windows, I can't see them. The top is jagged, as if part of it has been snapped off.

I don't like the look of it at all.

I scan the sky. Is there anyone out there? They must be able to see us here! Now would be a really good time to do something. For Moody and Tonks to come swooping down and give him what he deserves...

But nothing happens. There's nothing to hear except the sound of every footstep that takes us closer to that dark tower, nothing to see except for the way it looms over us like a broken fang.

It's not until we're about to walk into its shadow that I realise that I can't see our shadows. As if we're not here... Unnatural. Horrible.

But I'm sure there were shadows back by the statue.

Is it because we're on the path, then? I couldn't see it in the woods, after all. But that would mean... that no one could see us. Even if they were up there.

Which they're not.

Unless they're concealed as well? If I could just get off the path for a moment, they'd be able to see me.

But surely Moody would be able to see me anyway, if he was there.

Just do it! It's only grass after all.

But that's what I thought about the wood. And he's far too close to me and he'll be more prepared this time and... we're at the end of the path.

He casts his eye briefly up the wall, and then moves his wand in an elegant and complex pattern. I've not really noticed the fluidity of his movements before – but then, most of the time I've seen him use his wand, I've been on the other end of it...

Please, if you're out there, do something now...

The black wall in front of us ripples and- I almost turn and bolt, and I don't care what's in the woods, I don't want to watch this but he steps behind me and I'm trapped face to face with the huge black serpent that's emerging from the stone.

It's stone. It's magic. It's not real, it's not real, it's not real.

But it has a black tongue that flickers out, at me, at him – sniffing, it must be some kind of security device, though why he can't just walk into his own sodding tower I don't know – then the thing withdraws into the stone and opens its mouth wide and wider until there's a gap big enough to walk through. If you avoid the two-foot long fangs, that is.

I'm not going in there.

"You'll have to excuse the entrance," he says dryly. "This place was built by my great-grandfather... he always did have a rather melodramatic streak."

Like he cares what I think?

And somehow I don't think he's brought me here just to impress me with his ancestor's taste in intimidating entranceways. I don't care who built the damn thing, I am not walking into it.

He lays his wand against my neck.

I don't care. I'm not going in.

"Now, Mudblood," he murmurs, "don't make me use Imperius. You know how I hate that."

The edge in his voice turns my bowels to ice. But I can't go through that hole. I can't even see what's on the other side!

"You know," he continues, "I'm really beginning to think I've been far too nice to you up till now. There are all sorts of spells we haven't even touched on yet. So unless you want me to demonstrate... hmm, lets say the Putrefaction Hex... right now – and I really don't think you do – I suggest that you move."

I find myself stepping forward into the inky blackness almost before I realise I've decided to comply.

But there is a little dim light in here, when my eyes have adjusted. It filters into the circular room through narrow slit-like windows. There are no other doors.

Another prison.

How could I have just walked in here? He's going to do something unspeakable, I know it!

You've known that since the first moment you saw him down there. And there's never been anything you could do about it.

That doesn't help.

At least it's a bit warmer in here.

I walk over to one of the windows – he hasn't told me not to and I can't just stand here feeling my panic rising until I go mad or scream or do something else that he'll tear me apart for.

Outside, a broad swathe of grass slopes down to a lake. Across the water there's an imposing sandstone mansion – the infamous Malfoy Manor, I suppose. From this distance I can make out a portico and formally laid out gardens.

Funny, I'd expected something more gothic. That place doesn't really look much different from any of the other stately homes in Wiltshire.

Wish I could say the same about the inhabitants. How do they keep an estate this size hidden, anyhow? Must be Unplottable, rather than Muggle-repelling. They've certainly got the money for it.

His boots echo on the stone behind me. The sound makes the back of my neck prickle.

"What are you staring at?" he asks brusquely.

I hate him! How can someone so brutal live in such a tranquil-looking place?

I fix my eyes on the view. The sun is starting to set, making the stone and the water glow a rich dark pink.

"Y-your house."

"My Manor, Mudblood."

Unbelievable. I turn and stare at him, but his face is hidden in shadow. He's got the money and influence to have anything he wants – what difference does it make to him what I say?

Whatever. I turn back to the window, clinging to that sweet vision of normality at the close of a winter day.

"Yes, take a good look," he says softly. "You won't be seeing the sun again."

What am I doing? He's... he's going to kill me. Or worse. And I'm looking at the view?

I bolt for the door, but before I've taken two steps my feet are glued to the floor and I barely avoid pitching forward onto my hands.

He laughs. Icy rivulets of fear run down my neck and pool in my stomach.

There's a hideous shrieking and scraping of stone. I clench my fists in despair – the snake-mouth door is closing. But the floor is shaking slightly too. The light is too dim to see properly, but I'm sure there's something moving there. Another snake? I hear a soft whimper. Mine.

"That's right, Mudblood," he says. "The only place you're going... is down."

I can just make out the black hole in the dark grey floor. It looks horribly like the snake-pit in that Indiana Jones film.

Oh God if you're out there if anyone's out there please please please help me now...

But it's the Devil that rules here. No one can help me. No one's going to rescue me.

I feel a slight tingle in the soles of my feet. I can move them now. But that's the last thing I want to do.

I hear his sharp exasperated sigh, echoing round the room as if it's coming from the darkness itself.

I can't. But I have to. If that's where he wants me to go, I know I don't have any choice.

I take a step towards the gap in the floor, pushing myself through the terror that feels as if it's solidified in front of me. Another step. And another.

"Just a little further, Mudblood," he hisses in my ear. "Down you go."

For a moment I can't make myself move. But I won't give him the satisfaction of pushing me, even if he... even if... especially if!

I step forwards into the hole.

And stumble as my foot makes contact with something solid. I scrabble to regain my balance but I'm running headlong down a flight of stairs, unable to stop myself...

"IMPEDIMENTA!"

It jerks me backwards. I fall heavily, banging the back of my thigh on the edge of one of the steps. But I'm still sliding down... I twist onto my front and grab out with my hands, scrabbling then coming to a stop, breathing heavily.

The steps don't go down very far, I'm sure I caught sight of the bottom in the spell-light. What is this place? I don't think I saw any snakes...

"Do try to be less clumsy," he sneers down at me. "Are you trying to break your leg?"

Bastard! Why didn't he tell me there were steps?

He starts to descend towards me.

He's not just leaving me here? I'm not sure whether to be relieved or worried.

But then the stone slab rumbles and shrieks back into place above us, and any relief is drowned in rising terror.

Where are we why has he brought me here what's he going to do?

"Lumos."

The light he casts is very dim. I glance down behind me but I can only just about see to the bottom of the stairs. I look back at him. With a slight movement of his fingers he beckons me to rise.

But my limbs seem have turned to jelly.

"I-"

He silences me with a frown.

"Not a word, little one. I don't want to hear the slightest sound out of you."

He's speaking very quietly. There's no echo, no resonance from the stone corridor below.

Oh God, what is this place?

Somehow I get to my feet. Somehow I make it down the stairs without falling again. Somehow the cold dread clenching my stomach doesn't stop me from breathing.

The air is dry and tastes of nothing.

Three round arches gape in front of us, like the empty black holes of a skull. He points silently at the middle one. I walk towards it, concentrating on placing my feet as noiselessly as I can. Because it's better than thinking about how it makes no difference if I provoke him now. There is no hope down here.

There is always hope...

I push that treacherous thought away.

I can hear him walking behind me. A subdued click on the flagstones. Measured breathing. All sounds fall flat in the motionless air.

The air feels thick, somehow, as if I wouldn't be able to see through it even if the light from his wand wasn't getting fainter and fainter. I can barely even make out the dark mouths of the corridors he directs me past, can hardly see that the one we're following leads to... a dead end.

I wish there were a better word for that.

"Nox."

Why did he put out the light?

There's a clinking sound above me, the soft scraping sound of metal on rusted metal. I can't quite suppress a sharp intake of breath. The noise stops.

Something cold touches the side of my neck.

I'm too petrified to move a muscle, except for breathing too fast, too fast. He must be able to hear that in this confined space.

His wand, his wand, it's only his wand.

Only?

"Scared, my little one?"

I nod, very slightly. Then I realise he can't see me, and even if he could I'm shaking so much he probably wouldn't have noticed the movement anyway. But then, he doesn't really need me to answer.

"And so you should be. But don't worry, we don't have long to wait now."

He's just trying to frighten you. Think – it's the only chance you've got!

But what chance could I possibly have now?

He moves his wand away from my neck. I hear him breathe in.

"Incendio."

I flinch – but a light flares behind me. An orange light, casting long flickering shadows over the rough-hewn walls. I daren't look round, but can just about see the empty iron bracket out of the corner of my eye. And there's no mistaking that smell of smoke.

I can only think of one reason why a pureblood wizard would choose to use a real, non-magical torch. And it's not a reason I want to think about...

"Not far now, Mudblood," he says. "On you go."

Somehow, I manage to walk forwards. He lingers behind.

Why?

It sounds as if he's scraping something against the wall.

What for?

I can't think I don't want to think I-

Think!

But getting out of this would take a miracle, and I've never believed in those. There's nothing I can do... I blink back tears. I don't want to die, but I am not going to give him the satisfaction of watching me snivel.

As I reach the blank wall in front of me... it moves. It's sliding up into the roof of the passage with a quiet whisper. That seems wrong, somehow. Those tortured shrieks made by the slab up in the tower-room would have been far more appropriate.

There's a breath of air on my cheek, cool and fresh but smelling faintly of... boiled vegetables? It feels like there's quite a large space there, but it's too dark to see inside.

He's coming towards me. The light he's carrying starts to spill into... there.

I don't want to look.

I turn away from the empty doorway. He's bearing down on me, torch held high. It gives a fiery glow to his hair and throws shadows across his face that hide his expression and break up his features so that he looks eerily different. A complete stranger... but not.

He stops when he reaches me. There's none of the usual mockery showing on his face, just grim satisfaction.

I don't understand him. Surely there must be some trace of humanity in there, surely there must be some way to make him see me as a person.

You don't want to do this, whatever you're going to do, you don't really, you don't you don't

But he just looks down at me, and his lip curls in that familiar, hateful sneer.

"Aren't you going to ask me why you're here?"

No. Yes. What's the point? Think! I don't want to...

"No? But you've always been so full of questions before. Could it be that you've actually learned something during your time with me?"

I look down at the polished stone floor. If I've learned anything, it's not to expect answers unless he wants to give them.

"Well, Mudblood, this is where you have the privilege of repaying me for all my hospitality."

All his... what?

"Yes – hospitality," he hisses. "And I'm not just talking about the last few weeks. Why you and your kind think you have a right to come and live off the wealth that we real wizards have built up over generations is completely beyond me."

He smiles – it's so... predatory it would freeze me to the bone if I wasn't numb with terror already.

"Ah yes, this day has been far too long in coming... but here we are at last. Won't you come in?"

I... can't think. But what difference would it make if I could?

I glance over my shoulder. In the dim light the curved walls of the room beyond are just about visible. And... there's a stone shelf running round the wall, glinting with a neat row of bottles. In the middle of the floor there's a black stone... table?

I'm as firmly rooted to the floor as it is.

"Don't just stand there, Mudblood," he says, softly, dangerously.

I close my eyes. I can't do this any more. Can't go on. Can hardly stand up. He'll do what he's going to do whether I make it easy for him or not.

"Wake up, little one," he says in that same low voice. But I'm not here any more. I refuse to be here.

I only flinch slightly when he touches his wand to my belly, only shiver a little when he runs it lightly up to my throat. There's no spell, after all. I know he's not going to work magic here unless... unless...

I look at him. How could I not look at him?

"Just remember," he tells me with his terrible calm certainty, "that whatever you think I'm going to do to you, I can always make it worse, hmm?"

It's the voice that makes me move, more than the threat – after all, his mere presence is a threat. But there's something about his voice that seems to bypass my will to resist, driving me forward like an automaton.

"To the left. Stand by the bench." There's no cushioning softness now – his words are clipped, like Professor Snape firing off instructions for a potion he hopes will be beyond us.

No point in wondering what...

Yes, it is more of a bench than a table – but even more like a low, narrow bed with a solid stone headboard.

Or a grave.

His voice cracks through the silence. "Stupefy!"

I fall forward, and see no more.