His Mistress

-- CHAPTER TWELVE --

On Death's Door

Hermione Apparated home and was met by Crookshanks, who immediately tried to jump onto her shoulder. "Not now, Crookshanks," she said, pushing the ginger cat away. It looked at her inscrutably, sniffed at her hand, and then hissed. Hermione silently cursed her pet's part-Kneazle origins, which accounted for its unusual intelligence and an ability to detect untrustworthy people.

It must have sensed the residue of Dark magic left on her from the use of the Killing curse ... Hermione turned away from the unreadable gaze of her cat's yellow eyes. The last thing she needed to worry about right now was whether a cat condemned her for being a murderer.

She quickly poured the contents of a vial of an all-purpose antidote, which she always kept at hand, into a glass of water and swallowed it.

As an Auror, poisoning was an almost normal occurrence, and it wasn't the first time Hermione found herself the victim of some harmful potion. No wonder Mad-Eye Moody only drank from his flask. There were days when Hermione seriously thought to take the paranoid ex-Auror's example.

The antidote she took was potent and almost always worked. But this time, Hermione sensed no effect. If anything, the symptoms seemed to intensify with every minute. She was feeling so cold, it felt as though she was freezing, and the pain in her stomach was starting to become unbearable. Drops of cold sweat were running down her forehead, and her vision blurred ... she felt like she was about to lose consciousness.

She struggled to think clearly. If it was that serious ... she had better go to St Mungo's hospital. Merlin knew what that damned witch had put in her goblet ...

Stumbling, Hermione pulled some random robes from the closet - it happened to be her Auror uniform - and changed into the red robes, leaving her dress on a chair.

As though in a dream, she paused to scribble a few words on a clipboard on the nearby table ... an action that would later save her life.

She knew she couldn't Apparate in this state - she risked splinching herself. It was a wonder she had managed to Apparate home correctly, but she did not want to risk it again.

Hermione stepped into the cold outside, though she didn't really feel it, because she was freezing from the inside ... She pulled out her wand and flung it out in the air in front of her.

The purple Knight Bus appeared out of nowhere and skidded to a halt directly in front of Hermione.

"Not feeling well - to St Mungo's," she told the rambunctious wizard in a purple uniform, who had leapt down on to the pavement and started the usual welcoming speech.

The conductor - Stan Shunpike, she could recall his name - took one look at her pale, sweaty face, and seemed to understand instantly.

"'Ere, get on," he said quickly, helping Hermione up the steps and into the base level deck, past wizards and witches in nightdresses who were dozing on brass bedsteads. A few ones that were more awake ogled at her, no doubt recognising the red Auror uniform.

*

On the third floor of St Mungo's hospital, Hermione was questioned about how she was feeling and had to undergo a quick examination. She described her condition as well as she could, though she could not even think clearly in this state. She was administered a few antidotes, but when not one of them had the slightest effect, the Healers were starting to look worried.

A Mediwitch led her through a corridor and into another ward. Hermione's eyes fell upon a plaque on the door, and she had the time to read the inscription before she was ushered inside the 'Dangerous' Norma Macrae Ward: Noxious Poisoning Cases. There was a card under it, on which was written in an untidy scrawl: Healer-in-Charge: Hyades Scott. Trainee Healer: Walter Forbes.

Hermione had an ominous feeling as she entered the small, poorly lit ward. Noxious Poisoning Cases. Noxious. As in synonym of lethal. Deadly. So this was it, there was no hope left. She was going to die.

She did not notice much of her surroundings, only that the room was dark and less-than-inviting.

Hermione turned to the wizard in lime-green robes. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded. "Am I to conclude there is no hope left?"

The Healer looked uneasy. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, the fact that I have been transferred to the Noxious Poisoning Cases ward, for instance ... and your attitude seems far too solemn ..." Hermione sighed. "Healer Scott, please tell me ... I am going to die, correct?" she said bluntly.

"No, no, it's nothing like that," the Healer said hurriedly. "That was one nasty substance you ingested, but I'm sure we'll find an antidote yet ..."

From the evasive tone, Hermione got the impression the Healer knew there was no antidote to it, and was trying to make her last moments a bit more comfortable - if that was possible, with the pain she was feeling.

Hermione sneered. "Do not lie to me, Mr Scott. I am not going to scream in denial if you tell me the truth."

The truth, which she had already guessed. The triumphant gleam in Narcissa Malfoy's icy blue eyes spoke for itself.

Through the feverish haze in her mind, Hermione caught only part of Healer Scott's reluctant answer to her question. But the few words were enough to confirm her suspicions.

"I'm sorry ... a deadly poison ... nothing to do ..."

Hermione let her head fall back on the bedstead, as though all her remaining energy had suddenly abandoned her.

The lights dimmed, and the Healer soon left the room ... Hermione was not aware of the time passing as she stared off into space, or into the dark depths of her mind consumed by fever ...

So this was it ... this was the end.

In the clarity of mind that comes with waiting for death, knowing it is inevitable, Hermione reviewed a lifetime's decisions. She recalled the surprise and excitement she had felt when she had received her Hogwarts letter, the hope of finally having found a world where she belonged ...

She remembered the troll advancing on her with its club raised, then Harry and Ron surging out of nowhere to defend her ... she remembered the Basilisk's glowing yellow eyes, reflected in the Clearwater girl's pocket mirror ... she remembered finding herself facing who she thought was a dangerous murderer, in the Shrieking Shack ... a hundred Dementors advancing on Harry and herself ... and fighting twelve Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries two years later.

All those times, she had been a step away from death ... she had resigned herself to die, so many times, only to be saved at the last second, when she had finally accepted her fate.

Then an entirely different set of memories came back to her, another phase of her life ...

The mysterious thrill she had felt the first time she had looked into the eyes of the man who would own her forever ... the relief, the sense of peace when he had claimed her at last ...

Being attacked by Dementors, on one of her Auror missions, being unable to gather a single happy thought to summon a Patronus, as Ron lay unconscious next to her, and finally calling upon the one memory she should have considered anything but happy ...

... and she recalled the joy with which she had accepted to join the very group of people she fought against, because that was the wish of the one she loved.

Hermione remembered Voldemort's cruel gaze as he used Legilimency on her to verify her loyalties, and the terrible moment when she had thought it was all over ... she recalled throwing the Crucio at Severus Snape; she remembered casting the Killing curse on a human being for the first time, and her delight at its success ... she found herself reliving the fear she had felt when she stared up at the Dark Mark in the sky for the first time, and the pride when she saw the same symbol burnt into her own skin ... the smugness, the sense of having finally been found worthy.

She recalled taunting her friends; she heard Ron snarl, Wouldn't put it past you, these days ... and the hateful look on Harry's face as she revealed to him who and what she was; she heard him shout, I HATE YOU! How she had laughed in her former best friend's face when he said he never thought she would 'sink so low' ... you mean so high, she had thought silently, her face expressing nothing but mockery ...

She remembered glancing at herself in the mirror, only to see brown eyes staring back at her through slits in a black mask ... the betrayed looks her parents had given her when she told them she had joined the Dark Forces, and the horror in her mother's eyes as she deliberately flaunted the sheer immorality of her actions ...

And she regretted nothing of it.

Surprisingly, Hermione did not regret turning to the Dark side. She felt no remorse for having joined the Death Eaters and all her subsequent actions: knowingly arranging the deaths of her colleagues, unscrupulously killing Muggles ... all in the short span of three months.

She would have expected imminent death would bring back her no-longer-existent conscience, but it didn't.

But there was one thing Hermione did regret, and she would have given anything to change it ... the one thing that was the reason she was here right now, in the St Mungo's ward for the condemned ... of course, she had been so naïve; she should have foreseen this all along. If only she could go back, she would not repeat the same mistake ... if only she had the chance ... she would destroy the person who was responsible for this.

When she had looked into Narcissa Malfoy's face in Diagon Alley ... if only she had known she was facing her would-be murderer.

Hermione regretted not taking the chance to annihilate that woman on the first possible occasion. She considered herself a true Death Eater now, no more only a spy - then why, oh, why hadn't she acted on the motto of the Dark Order? Obstacles exist to be eliminated ... why hadn't she eliminated this obstacle before it had the time to eliminate her?

She had been so careless ... how many times had she accused Harry of being reckless, when she herself acted just as irresponsibly ... would it take this for her to finally realise it? Would she have to learn from her own mistakes - which were, in this case, fatal?

Only when she was about to die did she finally admit to herself that she had been stupid. Difficult, that, to admit you are wrong, when you are Hermione Granger.

Oh, she had learnt the lesson, certainly. But would she ever have the opportunity to put it into practice? Obviously not. It was too late. She would never have the chance to rectify her errors. She did not have the time. She would die first.

At least she had been happy, for a brief period of time. She had experienced genuine happiness; she knew what it was like to love someone and to be appreciated by him in return ... it was more than she had ever hoped for. To know true love ...

Love.

Love that would lead her to death's door.

Suddenly, Bellatrix Lestrange's face flashed in her mind, with the ever-present glint of ferocity, of fervent faith in her heavily lidded eyes. She did not give up so easily, Hermione thought abruptly. Bellatrix had spent thirteen years in Azkaban, with Dementors draining any positive emotion she could have, and yet ... and yet she had waited, her faith never wavering ... confident and sure the Dark Lord would return, as impossible as it must have sounded, when everyone thought he was dead ... Bellatrix had refused to accept her tragic destiny. Bellatrix had believed. It was not mere hope; no, it had been certainty.

Bellatrix had drawn strength from that faith; she had faced the worst horrors of her own mind, every minute of day and night, for thirteen years ... pulling strength from the assurance that the Dark Lord would return and take her away from that terrible place. Bellatrix had coped with the horror and pain of the present thanks to the hope - no, the knowledge - of a better future, a future where she would be reunited with her Master ... the one she loved, the one she lived for ... because it was inevitable. Her faith, so strong it was that not even Dementors could take it away. And Bellatrix's faith had not been mistaken. Bellatrix had been right.

Bellatrix, with whom Hermione had felt an almost instant kinship, an instantaneous understanding. Bellatrix, who was so much like herself.

Why do you doubt, Hermione? Why do you give up already?

Bellatrix. Her friend, her counterpart, her equivalent in everything but rank. Bellatrix, who had always been the Dark Lord's most loyal servant. Whose selfless loyalty was incomparable, unmatched. Bellatrix, whose devotion to Lord Voldemort could only be compared to ...

... Hermione's devotion to his second-in-command.

Do you really think he will let you die? called a voice in Hermione's head.

She hoped not.

Hope? Mere hope? Is that all the faith you have in him?

Hermione nearly jumped. Was it? Did she trust him so little, after all this time ... after everything?

Did she think Lucius wouldn't find a way to save her? Did she think it was beyond his power?

Before Hermione knew it, something ignited in her brown eyes ... it was the same glint of vehemence that was ever-present in the eyes of the only other woman to be part of the Dark Order.

"This is not the way it was meant to be," Hermione spoke aloud. And her voice unknowingly took on the harsh, convinced tone Bellatrix Lestrange had used in her darkest moments. "I refuse to accept it. I will not die."

Until the last minute she lived, until the last breath she took ... she would believe. Even if it was in vain. But it wouldn't be. She was sure. She was confident, as confident as Bellatrix had been of her Master's return.

"I will wait," Hermione whispered into the darkness.

*

Meanwhile, at Malfoy Manor ...

"Narcissa, come back here this instant - come back here, I say -" Lucius bawled after his wife, a furious expression on his face.

But the blond witch purposely ignored him. Sneering disdainfully, she turned her back to her husband and climbed the staircase that led to her private apartments.

Seeing that she did not obey him, he rushed after her with a thunderous clatter. He threw the door open with such force that it bounced back off the wall.

"What's the matter, Lucius?" Narcissa sounded annoyed.

He swept silently into the room, where Narcissa was sitting in an armchair, surrounded by lavender-coloured upholstery. The flowery scent of her perfume hung in the air.

Lucius shut the door behind him. "So!" he said, approaching his wife threateningly, "What's this I hear about you poisoning one of our guests?"

Narcissa paled slightly, though her eyebrows were knitted together in puzzlement. "What are you going on about?"

"Do not play games with me, Narcissa," Lucius said warningly. "You know exactly what I speak of."

Several emotions - mostly hatred and resentment - flickered across the blond woman's face before she managed to get her expression back under control and into a calm, disdainful look.

"But why do you care? Surely that Mudblood was of no great importance -" she started coolly.

"The Mudblood, as you say, is the Dark Lord's most valuable informant. What in Hades do you think you were doing? Are you insane?"

Narcissa sneered. "Oh, come on, Lucius, you don't really expect me to believe that is the reason you are so angry, do you? I am not that stupid."

Lucius froze. Well, what did he expect? He had known his wife would eventually get a clue as to what was going on.

"It does not matter why I am angry with you. I want to know what you did," he demanded.

"There is nothing you can do to save the filthy girl - you cannot find an antidote because you'll never know which one of the poisons I used!" she said triumphantly.

"Ah, won't I?" he hissed. "I will, for you will tell me."

"No, I will not," said Narcissa.

His cold grey eyes narrowed. "Did you say no? You dare defy me, woman?"

Narcissa stared defiantly at him. Lucius slapped her across the face. "Have you forgotten that you are my wife, and thus, honour-bound to obey me? Have you forgotten the long-standing traditions that set us apart from the disgraceful likes of the Weasleys?" he enquired.

"You broke your marriage vow," Narcissa replied steadily, bristling. "You betrayed me. You have no right to demand anything from me when you left me for a Mudblood and an Auror to boot!"

"So what if I did? I am the master and I do as I please! You, however, are a lady. Now tell me what you put in her drink!" he shouted.

There was a hint of fear in Narcissa's blue eyes, but the set of her jaw was resolute. "No."

His cold eyes were slits of fury. "YOU REFUSE TO OBEY ME, NARCISSA? I AM THE DARK LORD'S SECOND, ALL THE DEATH EATERS HEED MY COMMAND, YET MY OWN WIFE DARES DEFY ME?" he roared at her. He pulled out his wand. "Then I'll teach you to treat you husband with respect! Crucio!"

In the second before the curse hit her, the blond witch looked shocked. Then she collapsed, screaming in pain.

After some time, Lucius lifted the curse. Narcissa got to her feet shakily, staring at her husband in disbelief.

"What has she done to you?" she said, gasping for breath, "Look what you've become, Lucius! Using that curse on your own family - I thought being a Death Eater entailed torturing Muggles!"

"Family?" he repeated the word mockingly. "You never were worthy of the Malfoy name; I wonder how I could have failed to see it earlier."

Narcissa's blue eyes widened. "What lies has that girl told you? Crafty witch, that one, to pollute your mind like that!"

"Hermione merely opened my eyes to what I should have seen all along! You have always attempted to take charge; you strive to control me ... and I was stupid enough not to put you back in your place."

"Control you? I never ..." Narcissa trailed off, her eyes wide in simulated innocence. "It was for your own benefit - I was only trying to be of assistance!"

"To be a hindrance would be more accurate. Need I remind you that it was your decision to send Draco to Hogwarts, where he was too preoccupied by his childish rivalry with Harry Potter to actually learn anything? I listened to your highly flawed judgement, resulting in my heir becoming what he is today - a spoiled, good-for-nothing brat whose only concern is to waste substantial amounts of gold for the most puerile purposes ... it would not have been so if he had gone to Durmstrang, for he would never have met Potter and all that riff-raff Hogwarts is known to harbour, nor would he have grown up under the guidance of a Head of House who turned out to be nothing but a traitor."

His wife looked like she was about to retort, but Lucius did not give her the chance. "That is just one example of the occasions where I have listened to you, with highly vexing consequences," he continued. "Do not tell me you never deliberately attempted to influence me into acting accordingly to your wishes."

"Don't tell me she doesn't!" shouted Narcissa. "I remember what that reporter - Skeeter, was it? - said about her years ago. That girl's a devious wench who has nothing but ambition on her mind, and if she was two-timing both Harry Potter and Viktor Krum at fourteen ..." she broke off, looking disgusted.

"Do you truly believe everything you hear, Narcissa?" said Lucius. "Then I assure you, Skeeter really got her wires crossed ... in fact, Hermione is quite the opposite of you. She never argues with me, never criticised, never questions. She does not contest my authority as you have always done. She would be the ideal consort, the exemplary Malfoy wife ... but of course," he sneered, "you currently occupy that position, though you are doing a rather mediocre job at it."

"Are you saying she is worthier than I? She, a Mudblood!" Narcissa sounded very offended.

"Worthier than you, she certainly is. Not that she aspires to - ah - snatch your position ... no, not at all ... I daresay she is quite content with her current standing."

"I find that hard to believe, knowing you ... you are a cruel man, Lucius, you regard a woman as no more than some kind of - of servant! In all our time together, you never made me feel anything but pain!" Her voice grew very high-pitched by the last sentence.

"It is not my trouble if you never cooperated," he said coldly. "You should have known better than to attempt to take control."

"No witch in her right mind would put up with your domineering tendencies. Not even she, I am sure."

"Oh, really?" he scoffed. "She realises what an honour it is that I deign even touch her. She never denies me. Her only wish is to please me, and she does ... like you never did."

Narcissa looked horrified, but it seemed she could not stop herself from asking the question to which she did not want to know the answer. "How many times have you slept with her, then?" she enquired with the morbid curiosity of a practised gossiper.

"Why, Narcissa, one would almost think you are jealous," he drawled, smirking.

He grasped his wife's chin and pulled her head up, forcing her to look into his eyes, which were glinting in cruel amusement. Narcissa cringed and backed away.

"How could you do this to me, Lucius? How could you, when I was faithful to you all these years -" she sounded almost tearful.

"Fortunate for you, or I would not have hesitated to remove you from the way - dishonour or not - as you are but an inconvenience."

The blond woman flinched, and a very hateful look appeared in her eyes. "Crafty woman, that Mudblood ... she has seduced you so adeptly -"

"Her, seduce me?" He let out a condescending laugh. "I would say it is quite the other way around. She is an Auror, you know, yet she never attempted to talk me into changing sides. To the contrary - she joined the Dark Lord on my insistence."

"I never thought you would sink as low as to actually care about a Mudblood," spat Narcissa.

"Dear, dear, Hermione was right - you Blacks truly are intractable," said Lucius. "How many times need I tell you that your opinion is of no importance to me? The old days when I let you influence me are over, Narcissa. Now tell - me - which - poison - you - used!"

"No," she said, her voice shaking.

He slapped her again, with such force that she lost her balance and fell, hitting her head on the corner of a table in the process. She crumpled to the floor, where she lay bleeding from the head, but still conscious. Her face was twisted with pain, yet she glared up at him obstinately. "I won't tell. Never," she muttered, waves of pain shooting through her head as she moved her jaw to speak.

Lucius smiled coldly. "Very good, very good ... have it your way. Imperio!"

And Narcissa felt her mind empty of all thought ... the anger, the pain, the hatred - it all vanished ... tell me which poison you put in Hermione's drink ... tell me ... just say it ...

"Essence of Pharaonic Serpent's venom mixed with cyanide."

The words burst from Narcissa's mouth involuntarily, and the dream-like state was lifted abruptly. The horrendous pain in her head returned, as did the ache left by the after-effects of the Cruciatus curse, along with the realisation that her trouble had been all for nothing. And the realisation that she meant nothing to her husband anymore, if he had no qualms about using the Imperius curse on her ... she curled up on the floor, tears running down her cheeks.

"I should have known," Lucius said softly. "How predictable of you to use the slowest and most painful method of death you could find. It tends to slip my mind that you are Bellatrix's sister ... just as you repeatedly disregard the fact that I am the Dark Lord's uppermost follower."

For the first time, Lucius could see fear in his wife's eyes. Fear that should have been there all along. He had neglected to use his position as the Dark Lord's second to obtain deference from his wife and son before - but no longer. He fully intended to make use of his power from now on.

He smiled triumphantly at the woman he had once regarded as an equal. "Worry not, Narcissa, I will ensure you do not disregard it ever again - and if you do, I will not fail to remind you as frequently as necessary. But as tempted as I am to just leave you here ..."

"You wouldn't," she said weakly, panic mingling with the pain in her eyes. "I am your wife!"

"Unfortunately. If it weren't dishonour in our society to kill one's family, I would have left you to die as you deserve."

With one last disgusted look at his wife, Lucius left the room.

"Coddy!"

The house-elf appeared in the doorframe, took one look at Narcissa's bleeding form, and gasped, looking fearfully at his irate master.

"Clean up this ... mess," Lucius commanded, gesturing at his sobbing wife on the floor. "Give her a Healing Draught and make sure she does not leave her rooms until my return."

"Yes, Master," the house-elf said, hurrying to tend to the unfortunate lady of the manor.

Lucius walked down the stairs and into a corridor, emerging in the drawing room, which still bore the Christmas decorations. He stood by the wall on which was fixed a silver plaque representing the Malfoy coat of arms.

He placed his hand on the crest on the wall. "As Head of the House of Malfoy, I demand entrance to the secret chamber."

The wall glowed for a second. To the left of the crest, a narrow staircase materialized, leading into an opening that had appeared in the floor.

Lucius stepped into the dark room where greenish gas lamps flared to life instantly, revealing the chamber that housed the largest collection of poisons and Dark artefacts in the wizarding world.