Work Text:
The first thing she heard was two voices, whispering in a corner.
“We should be going. The Dark Lord could find us at any time.”
“Why? She needs to recover. This is safe.”
“Do you really think your warding is good enough?”
“Yes, I do.”
Hermione tried to clear what felt like layers of dust in her mind. It was difficult to wake up. Her mind still clung to sleep as if to say look what you’ve been missing. Despite not making a noise, she must have shifted, as she heard someone come over to her.
“Hermione?” Harry asked. “Are you waking up?” Concern laced his voice.
She opened her eyes in response to his question, flinching as Harry loomed too close to her. He took a step back, and she could see they were somewhere she didn’t recognize. “Where are we?”
“We found a wizarding village that’s been abandoned due to the war. We thought it would be a good place to hide since no one is expected to be here.”
“I can get the tent and we can move somewhere else.” She sat up and began looking for her coin purse, which held everything she owned. “Where are my things?”
“In the other room. Don’t worry about it now. Ron set all the wards. How are you feeling?”
“Like someone tortured me.” She stared at her arm, which was banaged.
Harry grimanced. “I’m sorry. I healed it the best I could, but you’ll always have a scar. Bella used a cursed knife.”
Hermione waved him off. “Where did Ron go? I heard you talking with him earlier.”
“He said he would take the first watch.”
“Oh.”
“Did you want to speak with him about something?” Harry gestured towards the door. “I can go get him for you.”
“No, no it’s fine. How long have I been asleep?”
“Over a day. Ron was getting worried you wouldn’t wake up at all,” Harry said jokingly, but Hermione could sense a current of fear underlying the statement.
“Well, I’m up now. Do you have anything prepared? I’m famished.”
“I can make you a sandwich.” Harry pointed out the door. “The bathroom is the door to the left, and the kitchen is downstairs. I’ll leave you to freshen up.”
Harry left the room, leaving her to her own devices. She got out of bed and stretched, feeling the scarred skin on her arm when she reached her hands over her head. On the chair was a change of clothes, and she took it with her to the loo. Once alone again, she inspected herself in the mirror. Other than her hair being wild and frizzy, she looked the same as she did a few short days ago, before she was tortured. She held up her bandaged arm and slowly began to unwind the cloth, curious to see the scar.
When she uncovered it, mudblood carved into her forever, she sat on the floor. Tears threatened to fall. It didn’t matter that she was a Prefect, or that she was “the brightest witch of her age.” Instead she was reduced to her blood status, as if that defined what made a good wizard or witch. To people like Bellatrix and the rest of the Death Eaters, she was lower than dirt. She wished she had her wand on her so she could conjure up a new set of bandages.
Wait. Where was her wand? She searched through the pile of clothes and didn’t see it. And it wasn’t on the bedside table in the room she woke up in. As much as she would love to clean herself up a bit more, finding her wand was more important. She marched out of the bathroom and down the stairs to the kitchen.
“Where is it?” She interrupted Harry and Ron’s Quidditch conversation. She sounded panicked, she knew she did. But this was her wand . She couldn’t do much without it.
“Where’s what?” Ron asked before taking a bite of his sandwich.
“Where’s my wand? You have my coin purse,” she pointed to the small bag on the table, “so where is my wand?”
“Hermione,” Harry began, holding out his arms in a calm down gesture, “why don’t you take a seat.”
She sat, slowly, into the only available seat with a sandwich in front of it. “I need my wand, Harry.”
“I know. I have it right here.” He reached into his hoodie pocket and withdrew the wand, setting it on the table. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to use it, however.” Her beautiful vine wand was marred. A long crack laid across the entire thing, and the dragon heartstring could be seen in some places. It reminded her of Ron’s wand in second year. Hers would also have to be held together by spellotape.
She picked it up, spinning it around to take in all the damage. Hermione didn’t know if she could even cast this wand without it breaking more. “What happened to it?” she asked mournfully.
“I don’t know. Ron and I were in the dungeons while you were upstairs.”
“That type of damage can happen when a spell hits a wand from the side. I read about it in McGunthery’s Guide to Duelling . It’s really rare, though. Only really powerful spells can destroy a wand like that.”
“Did the book say anything about how to fix it, or if a wand can even be fixed?” Hermione eagerly asked Ron.
“Um… I don’t remember. You can always try casting a low level spell and see what happens.” Ron said, shrugging. “Thanks for the meal, mate. I’m going to go back on watch.” he stood up and left the room, taking his mug of tea with him.
“Do you want to try casting a Lumos to see what happens?”
“Not really. But I think it’s better to know for science.” She held onto her wand and raised it up. “Lumos!” she clearly stated. The wand tip glowed, but it was quickly heating up in her hand. She dropped the wand and shook out her hand. “Ow!”
“Are you okay? Let me see.” Harry reached for her injured hand. “It’s not too bad, only a little red. Do you have any burn salve in there?” He pointed to the coin purse.
“No, I’ll be fine,” Hermione replied, pulling her hand back. “I guess I can’t use my wand.”
“The war’s almost over. I’m sure Ollivander will be able to fix it for you.”
“Sometimes I wish I could be that optimistic.” Hermione took a bite of her sandwich before continuing. “We’ve been at it for months, and the only thing we did was destroy the locket. The diadem has been lost for centuries, and the cup is hidden somewhere in Gringotts. The easiest target may as well be He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named snake, Nagini.”
“I wish I found you sooner on Christmas Eve. Maybe I could’ve killed her then, so we only had two Horcruxes to find instead of three.”
Harry appeared visibly ill, paling at the reminder. “I think you saved me just in the knick of time.”
Ron came back into the kitchen with his cup, a smirk on his face. “I must say, I didn’t think it would be that easy to get you to talk. Are you always so trustworthy?”
Hermione was now on high alert. “What do you mean, Ron? I thought your jealousy was because of the locket.”
“She didn’t even ask a security question!” Ron guffawed. “She just instinctively trusted us.”
“I can’t believe we played Potter and Weasley so well. That, or little Miss Brightest Witch isn’t as smart as she thinks.” ‘Harry’ replied.
“What’s going on?”
“The Dark Lord has deemed you useful, for some reason,” ‘Ron’ said with disdain. “We’ve been tasked to watch over you and get information. I thought we would be stuck with you for at least a week, but it’s been less than two days.”
“So, this is how this is going to go. You will tell us the information our Lord wants to know in a timely fashion. In exchange, you can live out the rest of the war with basic amenities. After the war, you will be given any low-level ministry position you’d like. If you don’t wish to further our Lord’s agenda, that’s okay too. I know Bella is itching to have another session with you.” ‘Harry’ smiled like he was offering something mundane, such as to clean the dishes in exchange for weeding out the garden, not choosing between imprisonment and torture.
“So, what do you choose?”