Chapter Text
**November**
There is only a thin strip of light that reaches Hermione’s place in the cellar. It’s how she marks the passing of each day, but as the winter draws close, it’s getting harder to keep track. Daylight is a scarce commodity at this time of year and sometimes, more often of late, Hermione has allowed herself to sleep the whole day through.
Today is one of those days. There is no natural light to help her tell the time and she wakes up to the glow of a single candle that has been placed in the middle of the room. Her muscles are tight where she has been sleeping so tightly curled into a ball; her only protection against the chill that permeates her surroundings. The cellar is bitterly cold and in the flickering light, her breath leaves her body in a small cloud, hanging in the air before disappearing into nothing. Much like she has. If Harry was the Boy Who Lived, then what does that make Hermione? The Girl Who Was Forgotten?
She’s given up hope of being rescued now. The world has ceased to exist outside this cell and any dream that she might have had about her own existence has long since been buried.
No one is coming for her now.
After months of very little food, it’s getting harder to force her body to cooperate, and she stumbles awkwardly as she makes her way across the uneven stone floor to the back corner of the room. The toilet is barely functional, but its seat is in good order, and it’s a relief to sit down. She allows herself a moment to relish the comfort of something that is not frigid stone.
But the room is much colder on this side and it’s this fact that has her hurrying to pull up her underwear, painfully grateful for the self-cleaning charms she had applied to her clothes before capture. They are looking a bit threadbare now and in hindsight, perhaps she should have attempted a charm to prevent them from wear and tear, but at least they don’t smell. Not that it matters. Hermione has not spoken to anyone but the Malfoy’s house elf for months.
Speaking of which, where is Spinky anyway?
Hermione walks slowly - painfully - to the gate-like door that separates her from the rest of the manor, calling through the gap. “Spinky?”
The house elf is as lonely as she is these days, so it’s no surprise when she materialises in front of the iron bars.
“Yous called Spinky?”
Hermione nods, and she tries to smile though her efforts are weak. “I don’t suppose you’re going to let me out today?”
Spinky shakes her head, her long ears drooping slightly. “Master is still alive, Miss. Maybe tomorrow.”
It was a long shot at best. She’s been asking Spinky the same question for what feels like forever, but even though the manor is abandoned and neither of them have seen another person for months, Spinky’s hands are tied.
“Is it time for food then?” Hermione wonders hopefully. Her stomach no longer rumbles, but there is a persistent, gnawing ache that reminds her that she is in desperate need of sustenance.
Spinky clicks her fingers and what passes as a meal appears by Hermione’s feet. They both know it’s not enough.
“I’m dying, Spinky,” Hermione hears herself confess because she can no longer filter her words. It’s not exactly a secret, but she doesn’t want to make the house elf feel any worse than she already does.
“Spinky knows,” Spinky admits, large eyes shining. “Yous need more food but my commands are still in place. Unless Master dies or comes back to tell me differently, I am bound by his last instructions.”
“It’s not your fault,” Hermione reassures, sinking down to the floor with a defeated sigh. “I know you would give me more if you could.”
But, it’s impossible. Lucius’s last instructions were to feed her a bowl of broth once a day. The Malfoy patriarch and the rest of the Death Eaters have not been seen since the day after Harry and Ron were rescued and that was months ago now. Six long months to be precise, and Hermione knows that without more food, she won’t survive much longer. She’s already too thin, each bone of her body sharply visible through paper-like skin, and even the simple task of walking to the toilet leaves her exhausted. If things don’t change soon, then she won’t make it at all. Won’t ever get to go outside one last time, or see her friends.
Spinky turns to leave, but Hermione calls her back. “Is there… is there any news?”
“No more than Spinky already told yous,” Spinky replies, shaking her head. With a loud crack, the elf disappears and Hermione turns her attention to the bowl of broth next to her. Despite her many days of near-starvation, her appetite has almost vanished entirely, but she knows from experience that it’s better to try and swallow it down hot. If she leaves it to go cold, it congeals slightly and that is far worse than the flavour.
She leans against the bars to eat, too tired to go back to her usual spot. The heat from the bowl is the only comfort she gets these days now the November chill has made its way inside the manor.
There is no magic in this cellar. Proficient without a wand, she’s tried casting every spell she can think of, but the dampening wards around her cell are too strong to overcome. She’s nothing if not stubborn though and forces herself to go through one more round before she allows herself the luxury of eating.
It doesn’t work, of course, though that is probably as much down to the effort she puts into it as much as the wards themselves. Resigned to her fate, she begins to eat.
**March**
Hermione has not moved from her spot near the toilet for the last three days. The journey across the small cellar is not worth the energy, despite the way she longs for the light. It’s March and she’s been locked up for ten months with only a house elf for company. Spinky might just have become the best friend she’s ever had by this point, and although Hermione is ready to greet Death like an old friend, she worries about the relatively young house elf here alone without company.
She’s waiting to die and they both know it. Oddly, her mind is quiet. During the first months she had so many questions and she had asked Spinky repeatedly. But the house elf is bound by layer upon layer of complicated instructions by Lucius, and is unable to break them in order to answer a simple question about the war or its outcome.
What happened when everyone left the manor? She knows the war must have ended, because there is no other reason she can think of to explain why no one has returned here - Death Eater or otherwise. The questions had continued… When will someone come and look for her? When will she be rescued? Is everybody she cares about alright?
But now, there is only silence. She knows the answer to some of her questions, and the others no longer matter. This is the end, and she’s ready for it. She accepts her fate with a deep-rooted and profound sense of relief.
“Spinky?”
The house elf appears, deep worry-lines visible on her brow. “Yes, Miss?”
“Are you allowed to bring me a quill and some parchment?”
Spinky tilts her head. “Spinky is not forbidden from doing so.”
And with that, the house elf clicks her fingers. Both items as well as a small pot of ink appear next to Hermione instantly.
“I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before,” Hermione mutters, reaching for the supplies.
“Spinky cannot leave the manor with them,” Spinky warns, ears twitching nervously. “Spinky must not aid a prisoner.”
“I know,” Hermione reassures. “But one day, maybe, someone will look for me. You can give my friends these letters and… and… and I will have the chance to say goodbye and to thank them.”
Sitting down on the cold floor next to her, Spinky dips the quill in obsidian ink and hands it to Hermione who takes it in trembling fingers. The effort is nearly too much in her weakened stake, but she’s determined to get her words down on the parchment.
Dear Harry and Ron,
By the time you read this, I will be dead. I am not sure why you never came to look for me or what you have been told about my fate, but I have been held prisoner at Malfoy Manor since you were rescued nearly 11 months ago.
The house elf here is constrained by the last instructions her Master gave her and cannot tell me about the war, but I like to think that you won. I imagine you fighting bravely in battle, and the war ending with you triumphantly standing over Voldemort’s body in the end. In a way, I’m almost glad I will never find out if this is not what happened.
I won’t bore you with details of my time here, but if you really need to know, then you can talk to Spinky, the house elf. Please don’t blame her for my death. She was bound by instructions that she couldn’t break and she has been the best friend I could have hoped for in my final moments.
I’m writing to say goodbye and I wanted to thank you. Hogwarts would not have been the same without you and I am so grateful for the years we spent as friends. The adventures we had were crazy, but I wouldn’t have changed a thing. Truly.
Thank you both so much. I have thought about you every single day that I was in here and for a long time, that was enough to give me hope.
I hope the future is kind to you both.
All my love,
Hermione.
P.s You were right, my priorities really were wrong. I would much rather be expelled than this.
“Thank you, Spinky. Will you make sure Harry Potter or Ronald Weasley get this if you can? Even if it’s in ten years time?”
Ears drooping, Spinky nods. “Yes, Miss.”
Hermione closes her eyes. Even the small effort required to write the letter has zapped every ounce of strength that she has and she slumps to the side until she is laying down, her knees curled up to her chest with her head laying on her arm. “What will you do once I’m gone?”
Spinky sits next to her stroking her hair and they both ignore the strands that fall out with every pass of the elf’s fingers. “What I have been instructed to do,” Spinky answers simply. “But Spinky will miss yous very much. Spinky thinks it might be quite lonely here without yous.”
“I’m sorry,” Hermione whispers, and her eyelids begin to sting.
“Spinky is sorry too.”
**April**
“Miss Hermione! Miss Hermione!”
The excitement in Spinky’s voice is tangible, but Hermione can do little more than open her eyes. “Spinky?” she chokes out, her tongue dry and swollen, and far too big for her mouth. There is dim light coming in through the cellar door on the opposite side of the room and she’s genuinely surprised to discover she has survived the night. Hermione had fallen asleep the day before, almost positive that she was not going to wake up this morning.
Spinky appears in front of her, a potion in her hand. “Mr Malfoy is dead!” she announces gleefully. “Yous is free now, Miss. Yous must drink this!”
Ah, she’s hallucinating. She must be.
Is this the afterlife?
“Drink this,” Spinky demands more forcefully, a vial shoved under her nose that immediately makes her mouth water. “Drink it!”
Hermione doesn’t have the strength to sit up, but she lets her mouth fall open. Spinky seems to understand, brow wrinkling as she tilts the vial; liquorice flavour flooding across her tongue. She swallows, and licks her lips. “More,” Hermione requests urgently. She’s not sure what the potion is, but she can already feel it working.
“It’s a restorative potion,” Spinky informs her, as if she knows what Hermione is thinking. “I stole it from Mr Malfoy’s cupboard.”
She notes the use of Lucius’ name rather than the usual ‘Master’. With enough strength now singing through her veins, she is able to sit up and take the vial from narrow fingers. The potion might have been taken from Malfoy’s private supplies, but she recognises the seal in the wax as Snape’s. The old professor might be a murderer, but if there is one thing she trusts in this life, it’s Snape’s skill with potions. She swallows down the rest of it in one gulp, stretching out her legs as her muscles begin to burn with relief.
“It’s working, Miss?”
“It’s working,” Hermione confirms, with what might be her first smile in months. It feels strange, like the skin on her face is not used to stretching that much. “I’m starting to feel better already.”
Spinky takes her hand and with a click of her fingers, they are both upstairs. Hermione looks around, her curious eyes taking in the parts of the manor that she’s not seen before. She peers into one room and shudders. At the end of the room is the door to the cellar, and the floor in the middle of the space is where Bellatrix tortured her.
“Let’s close this one for now,” Hermione suggests, her knees shaking from the effort of walking. She feels better than she did, but she’s weak and has very little muscle left on her body after months of slow starvation. Bellatrix would probably be pleased to know just how much she has suffered here at Malfoy manor, even without the insane witch’s help.
“What are you going to do now?” Spinky wonders, fingers winding into the fabric of the pillowcase she is wearing. Her already large eyes are wide and shining, and Hermione smiles gently.
“I’m not going anywhere just yet,” Hermione says firmly. “I need to get my strength up, I can tell you that much. But, I’m not quite sure what is waiting for me outside of here and even if I was, I’m not ready to face it yet.”
“Mistress is not here. Mistress hasn’t given me instructions.”
“Mrs Malfoy? Is she your new… has she taken over from…”
Spinky nods. “Mistress has always been kind to Spinky. Now that Mr Malfoy is dead, Spinky will be treated kindly when Mistress returns.”
Hermione allows herself to be led into the kitchen. “But where is Narcissa? Where is everyone, for that matter?”
She’s ushered into a seat before Spinky will answer. “Sit down, Miss. Spinky will tell yous everything now that she is free of her commands, but first, Spinky thinks she will cook yous a nice dinner.”
It’s impossible not to smile. Hermione sits patiently while Spinky potters around the kitchen making them both food. It’s been nearly a year of no useful information and a few more minutes won’t hurt, though Hermione can’t help but wonder what she is about to find out. She’s asked the questions many times, but the Malfoy’s elf has not been allowed to give her any answers about anything outside of the house.
A part of her is scared. What if Harry is dead? Or Ron? Or any of the people she once held dear? What if the war isn’t really over? She assumes it is. No one has returned to the manor, but Spinky could always sense that Lucius was still alive. Well, up until today, that is. But now, Lucius is dead and Narcissa is… where? On the run and in hiding somewhere the Ministry has failed to find her yet? Or has she been caught, destined to spend the rest of her days in Azkaban?
Either way, it seems unlikely that Narcissa will be returning to the manor any time soon if she hasn’t done so in nearly a year. The faint outlines of a plan begin to form and she looks across the kitchen to where the elf is asking them both a sandwich. Simple or not, her mouth waters and her stomach growls for the first time in weeks. Hermione needs food and rest, and a place to put herself back together while she heals from her time here at the manor.
“Spinky?”
“Yes, Miss?”
“Are you absolutely sure no one has been here since last May?”
“No one,” Spinky confirms, nodding her head. “Just yous and me.”
“And the wards around the manor will keep people out, unless Narcissa herself changes them to let someone in? Well, now that Malfoy is dead?”
Spinky looks at her curiously. “That’s right, Miss.”
For the first time in far too long, Hermione grins widely. “Then I think I know what we need to do.”