Lover of the Light

Chapter Twenty: Bleeding Out

His view was that of a steaming cup of tea. He could see the tea-leaves accumulating at the bottom, forming into shapes and piles that he wanted to go all Professor Trelawney on in order to get some sense of clue. He would resort to Divination if he had to and then laugh at the irony of it if it brought all the answers to the things he needed clarity on.

She'd frown if she knew he contemplated on using tea-leaves to find her. She wouldn't believe it for a second that something as ridiculous and illogical as Divination could give them insight to her whereabouts—that made him smirk into the cup. She'd surely slap him beside the head, frown some more, and then go off on a rant about the lacking history of the Seer trade and how her rescuing was most definitely brought upon excellent sleuthing work.

He usually hated when she droned on and on, always on her quest to prove that she was most definitely right, but he knew that if he had her back, if for a single moment he could see her, be in her presence, he'd hear her all his life with no interruption at all.

"I can't believe it's been two weeks since they took 'Mione." Shifting Draco from his tragic musings of the Brightest Witch of the Age, the blonde's ears picked up the annoying mutter of Ron Weasley from across the room. "And we're nowhere near finding her."

"Very optimistic, Ron," grunted Potter at his redheaded sidekick. "The Aurors are trying."

Weasley furrowed his brows. "Since when do you trust the Ministry's capability? Two weeks and they haven't been able to find Hermione Granger? Something's off, mate."

"They're trying," repeated the Golden Boy. "I'm trying. Do you think I'd let them take this lightly, Ron? Kingsley, for that matter? Everyone's doing everything they can to find her!"

Weasley turned red as usual. Spineless git. "That's not what I meant, Harry. Honestly. I'm just...It's just frustrating."

"I know it's frustrating!" Potter stood from his seat and glared down at the Weasel. Draco felt like smirking again; Saint Potter lost his temper quicker than the crabbiest of women. How he managed to keep the Weasel King, Weaslette, and Hermione loyally by his side was beyond him. "I know how important this is!"

With a dramatic rolling of his eyes, Zabini snorted with distaste. "Oh, shut up." He stood up from his single armchair, zeroing his eyes on the two Gryffindors invading his headquarters. "My house is no place for squabbling like an old married couple. Sit down and shut up, or get out!"

Potter released his sidekick from his glare to turn it upon the dark-skinned Slytherin. "Well, why are we here? I doubt it really was for tea and pastries, Zabini."

"Trust me, Potter, that the only way I'd ever invite you to my property it'd be to feed you and Weasley to the guard dogs," the heir to the Zabini throne snapped. "My father requested you two here because the Minister has found a new lead on Hermione's case this morning. I don't know why'd he want to get you involved—being that the pair of you are complete dimwits—but alas, here the two of you are."

Draco did smirk again as he took a drink out of his teacup that was laced with a little more than relaxing herbs. Blaise loved the dramatics, had a natural flare for them, but he'd become less and less of a true Slytherin since his mother's passing and Hermione's influence in his life. Draco was well aware of the fact that Deon Zabini could care less for the Dynamic Duo's presence in regard to anything with his daughter's case. He didn't believe for a second that Potter, Weasley, or the combination of them could bring back his daughter. Blaise, however, seemed to have faith in the Gryffindors. He'd let it slip the day before that he grudgingly trusted the two with his sister's life, and he knew they'd die for her just as surely as they'd go to the end of the world to find her.

Allowing himself the thought, Draco wished Blaise wasn't so accepting of the two. But things were changing now—they'd changed the moment that they took Hermione. It wasn't as obvious to the naked eye, but if one were to squint, as these two weeks have progressed, he could see Zabini bonding with the Gryffindors in silence over the same misery and worry.

"Shouldn't Nott be here, then?" Again, Weasley distracted Draco from his thoughts. "They have his brother, don't they? You'd think the Nott family would be just as involved in finding Hermione since the kid's with her."

Draco tightened his grip on his teacup. Unbeknownst to the Gryffindors, Nott and his mother had been present in the Zabini mansion two days ago to talk about the whereabouts of the two missing members of each family. Nott played an anguished brother just as much as he played the card of the deeply concerned fiancee. He'd offered up his help to the Zabini patriarch and the Minister, proclaiming that he cared for Hermione endlessly and that he'd do anything to get her back.

It'd been nauseating to hear and enraging to watch.

He knew that before Hermione's abduction she was still wearing Nott's ring, that her intention was still to marry him, but Draco's blood was boiling as he had to sit there and pretend that he simply was offering up his time and sympathy for Blaise's sake. He would've liked nothing more to stand up and let know exactly who Hermione was thinking about; who she wanted more than anything...

Yet, Nott was still the fiancee. Draco was the nobody.

"I could care less about the Notts," hissed Blaise, "or about Benjamin. My priority is to find my sister. We're not negotiating for the boy's sake."

The two Gryffindors eyed Zabini for a long moment. Both of them, as it was in their good-hearted nature, were trying to find a bluff in the Slytherin's comment.

They weren't going to find it.

"He's just a boy, Zabini," said Potter as he looked slightly appalled; a frown creasing his forehead. "He's a victim just as much as Hermione is—worse, actually. We don't even know why they took the boy."

"Whatever the Notts did to piss off the people that took him is not my concern, Potter," repeated Blaise. He wanted to stress the fact that he honestly could care less about why Theo's little brother was involved in all of this. He didn't want Benjamin to be involved, but he wasn't going to get into that subject with the Gryffindors or Malfoy. He just knew that he and his family were going to do anything in their power to get his sister back; they were scraping every last golden coin they had to buy Hermione's release, not the boy's.

Zabini watched as the Almighty Gryffindor threw him a disgusted look. For a moment everyone in the room knew that Potter was about to go into a rant about how every life counted—blah, blah, blah—but then his bespectacled eyes glazed over with something that made him look more concerned and frustrated than before.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Potter?"

He didn't respond. Outraged realization took over his features.

"You didn't poison their tea did you, Jovi?"

When his master called, Jovi the house-elf bowed his head from the corner he was standing obediently in. "No, Master Blaise." He peeked up from his bow, his giant eyes finding his Master. "Jovi wasn't given instructions to poison thems, Master. Jovi be sorry."

Weasley frowned at the house-elf and snorted.

Potter, however, ignored the creature and the smirks the Slytherins were giving it. "This is not going to be as easy as we thought," he muttered. "I'm not talking about finding her whereabouts, finding who took her, but...But if the Notts aren't mobilizing their assets to come up with ransom, if the Zabinis are just focused on getting Hermione back..."

"She's not going to leave him."

Finally making a sound, finally adding something to the tensed atmosphere of the room, the two Gryffindors and Blaise looked at Draco Malfoy. He voiced exactly what they'd all concluded the second Potter trailed off in his mutterings. And it was true. Hermione would never abandon Benjamin Nott. She'd fight their captors to the death in order to ensure that the boy was released along with her.

"For fuck sakes!" CRASH. "She would risk herself for a fucking boy that's nothing to her!"

Jovi shot out of his corner to hurry off and pick up the tea-set and plates of pastries that Blaise sent crashing in different directions when he kicked the table they were on.

"He's Nott's brother," stated Harry through his own share of indignation. "Benjamin is her future brother-in-law, a child...She'd definitely risk her life for him."

Blaise stomped on a teacup.

"She doesn't have it easy, does she?" Potter sat himself back on his seat. "She escapes that imprisonment and she's going to fall into another one upon her return. She's going to marry Nott. She's willingly going to trap herself despite the fact that she wants to be with another."

The room went silent again. Even the house-elf cleaning up the shattering of glass and crumbs of food paused to let the room sink in what the Chosen One had just said.

"You want her too, don't you?" He didn't even believe he was doing it, but Harry locked his emerald eyes with the silver ones he'd learned to hate for many years.

Draco was rigid on his own seat, cold on the exterior but his insides were scrambling. How the hell was he supposed to answer that? How the hell did Saint Potter pick up on something that was reserved only for Hermione and him? She loved her best friends, Draco was aware of that, but he knew that she'd never tell them what they had.

Blaise turned to his blonde friend and looked bewildered at what had left Potter's mouth. He stared at Malfoy and expected an answer; demanded it by the way he started frowning.

"We're friends," responded Draco with a practiced ease. "Granger and I are going to be in each others lives for a long time, there was no other way around our presence than to create a truce. We did it for Zabini, really."

But that wasn't the truth at all. Everyone was aware that Draco and Hermione kissed. They all knew that things had shifted among the two; that there was something more than just a friendship that came out of the blue. Only Ron and Harry knew that Hermione had been confused about her feelings for Malfoy. And if she had found an answer to them, that they never got to ask her. Blaise was the only one aware that Draco had craved Hermione's forgiveness before the truth of her being a Zabini came to light. He was the only one that knew that his view of her had long ago changed and developed into something more.

Something tied Draco and Hermione, and it wasn't a truce.

"I rather it was you than Nott." For a third time, Weasley pulled Draco away from his silent musings and hesitant emotions. The redhead met his eyes, and the Slytherin saw a sincerity in them that made him feel uncomfortable. "Nott's a good enough bloke, I suppose, but it's you that she wants to be with. If there's something we all want for Hermione, it's happiness. She deserves it. And somehow you've become that for her."

Draco wanted to curse the Weasel. This time it wasn't as filled with hate, but more due to the fact that he hated the feeling of acceptance the Gryffindor was giving him. He didn't want it. He didn't want to let his notion of Weasley being a nothing to crack because he was basically handing the torch of his first love to his nemesis.

"You can't help who you fall for. Sometimes it's the person you least expect. Fighting it does nothing, you always end up with whom you're destined to be with," Ron said casually as he shrugged and reached for his fork to take a piece of his third slice of pie.

As fate would have it, the doors to Blaise's living room opened and in came Button the house-elf with a guest that was not expected.

"Mister Nott is heres for you, Master Blaise," mumbled the creature as she bowed.

Theodore Nott invaded the moment and reminded them all—reminded Draco—that it didn't really matter how he felt. Hermione belonged to Nott.

                                                        XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A teardrop landed on Benjamin Nott's forehead and it didn't stir him. He laid with his arms resting at his sides, peaceful breathing moving his chest up and down gently, and with no expression on his features as he slept. Behind those closed eyelids, shut away from reality, he was off in a world filled with adventure that he was allowed to conquer on his own.

"I'm sorry," whispered a brunette leaning over him as she tucked him beneath the warm sheets of the bed inside their prison. More tears escaped her, making their way down her cheeks, but she rubbed them away with the back of her left hand as she used her right to caress the boy's dark hair.

It'd been sixteen days into their captivity. Every passing day, every passing second, Hermione cried over Benjamin Nott when he slept and couldn't see her suffering. Guilt created the painful emotions, the knot in her throat that tore away the tears from her strength and exposed them. She didn't know why the boy was held hostage with her, but she could only guess it was to insure her behavior or for the purpose to have the Notts pressure the Zabinis into paying the ransom for their release...

But that wasn't going to happen.

More than two weeks had gone by and Hermione was absolutely certain that the original Zabini family was not going to pay the ransom. There was no way that Domenico Zabini was going to hand half of his fortune and territories to save the daughter of his shamed and disinherited son. The man's grudge towards Deon was more powerful than any sense of family. Hermione was sure of that, too; just as she was certain that she meant nothing to them. Blaise was their only grandchild, a product of the woman Domenico had found suitable for his son and his family. Hermione was the unwanted one. She was the one born from Deon and Allegra's betrayal.

Her tears of guilt transformed into tears of anger as she stepped away from the bed and paced roughly to a corner at the end of the room that was serving as her prison cell. Her hands balled into fists and she wanted to shout at the top of her lungs and release all her frustrations in one blaring scream. She couldn't wake Benjamin from his sleep, from his only peace, so she instead punched the wall in front of her.

She was being held hostage by her relatives, for heavens sake. Abri and Giancarlo Vivaldi kidnapped their cousin's only child. The original Zabini family were keeping their money locked tightly in their vaults because it surely must be more important to them than Hermione's life.

What the hell was wrong with the world?!

How could greed, money, power, and resentment overshadow the magnitude of family? How do people manage to hurt someone that shares the same blood with them without a hint of remorse? Where's all the compassion? Where's all the sense of connection?

Purebloods had no sense of what was right and humane, that was the thing. They were monsters growing larger and more animalistic from their hunger for gold and power.

"That's hardly fair."

Whirling around, Hermione's reflexes made her body form a stance of battle. Her heart dropped when her mind caught up with her fight-or-flight instincts, reminding her that she was wandless and only had nonverbal spells as her arsenal. Nonverbal spells that'd grown weak every passing day along with her body and mind.

"Not all Purebloods care for money and power." A voice echoed off the walls of the room; hushed and laced with haughty attitude. "There are some that have never had it and wouldn't know what to do with it if it fell on their dirty laps. Those are the Purebloods that are tightly knitted and noble."

Hermione's back was straight and she was to her full height when she registered that no one was inside the room other than her and the sleeping Benjamin. The voice that was speaking, the one that startled her, was coming from a portrait hung on the wall that she previously punched. It hung in an angle, crooked because of the disturbance caused by her fist.

It was a woman in the portrait. She had wavy, shoulder-length black hair, slightly tanned skin that was visible from a pearly-colored dress, and eyes that were a toasted honey. She looked at the girl through a narrowed gaze; silently quizzing her up.

Hermione recognized the features immediately. The woman in the portrait was Sienna Vivaldi. It was Allegra's deceased sister.

"Like the Weasleys. You're familiar with them, are you not?" Sienna kept her honey-colored eyes daggered into the girl's deep brown ones. "They've been mongrels for generations and it's done them well."

Hermione glared, losing her surprise. "Don't call them that," she spat. "The Weasleys are incredible people. So very different from the likes of you."

The woman raised a painted brow.

"You were in this," it came out as a statement, but sounded like appalled questioning. Hermione's glare decreased in intensity to show her outrage, to gape at the woman that was biologically her aunt. "How could you do this to Allegra? How could you possibly be involved in her daughter's kidnapping? You know how much she's suffered!"

Sienna rolled her eyes. She paid Hermione no mind as the little boy on the bed stirred. She waited until he turned to his side, assuring herself that the brunette's shouts had not shaken him awake before she spoke again.

"Let's not begin to point fingers, cara," said Sienna with a very obvious hint of attitude. "In regards to Allegra's suffering, you and Deon are the ones to blame. He damned her to a life under the Dark Lord's rule, he made her give up her child. And you, well...We both know how fond of my sister you are. You're just the perfect, loving daughter."

"I am not to blame," hissed Hermione, though she felt a pang of regret that even the dead woman knew she wasn't particularly warm to her biological mother yet. "I had a mother, a family—I was pulled away from all of it. How else was I supposed to react?"

"You were supposed to give her a chance. Aren't you praised for being forgiving, Hermione Granger? You should have been able to see from the start that my sister is kind, loving, and honest. You instead chose to punish her for something that was out of her grasp."

The brunette held her tongue for a moment. This was not the place nor the time to start feeling guilty about the past few months as a Zabini. Hermione was aware, after all, that her efforts of accepting that title had just led her into discovering love and affection for her half-brother. Her developments with Mister and Mrs. Zabini was still a slow progress.

"I'd say you deserved a few good, old-fashion whippings for being a brat, but I wouldn't agree upon a full-blown attack and kidnapping to straighten you out," stated Sienna with a sass that Hermione was starting to think was just a part of her personality.

"Then why are you here?"

Sienna looked instantly annoyed. "Dio mio, I thought you were intelligent," she huffed. "Why would I assist Abri and Giancarlo in stealing money from the Zabinis? I'm dead. You can't necessarily buy mansions and jewels inside a portrait, can you? No, i miei cugini trapped me in this ghastly place when I overheard their plans to take you weeks ago."

Hermione's brows furrowed. "You had no idea they were this vile?"

"Oh, they were always vile. They're Vivaldis, after all," laughed the painted woman. "Within our family history, Aria, you'll come to see that money and power is stronger than any blood tie. No Vivaldi has died from natural causes in the past two hundred years."

"Your great-grandfather...Abri told Allegra that—"

"She poisoned him, of course; made it look like his heart gave out. I can't blame her, the old crone had it coming. I would've done it myself if I was alive, but that bit is his fault, too." The brunette looked disgusted at her, but she paid no mind to it. "She did away with the old man when she realized that the gold in the family vaults was thinning out by the hour. Abri did her investigations well and found what our bisnonno was wasting her inheritance on and quickly took it upon herself to remedy it."

"That's horrible."

Sienna smirked. "And that's without you knowing that Cristiano is still alive. Bisnonno was willing to give up everything the Vivaldis had to free Abri's brother from the servitude he sold him to. It's been twenty-five years, Abri has learned to live without her older brother. She cares not for his freedom, but for the money."

Hermione's face did not relieve itself from its horrified expression.

"Giancarlo doesn't know Cristiano is alive," and suddenly Sienna was whispering. "Abri kept that to herself. Her two brothers had a relationship alike the one I have with Allegra. They loved each other beyond the norm of a pureblood family and she never really understood that. When Cristiano was sold, Giancarlo lost himself and she used it to her advantage. He became cold and without his own thought. He just follows Abri because a part of him is afraid to be alone."

There was a type of glitter in the woman's gaze that Hermione could identify as sympathy. Sienna must've felt saddened to witness her cousin lose his humanity over the loss of his sibling. She must've related to it to some degree; remembering how Allegra looked, felt, thought, and was when she found out that her only sister was never coming back to her. It was heartbreaking to know that your happiness can be buried along with the body of the departed.

"It doesn't change anything, however," continued the woman as she cleared her throat, regaining herself and looking cold and calculated. "There's something in the nightstand by the bed, first drawer. Get to it."

At the tone of the order, Hermione rushed towards the only nightstand beside the bed. She yanked on the wooden knob and stuck her hand in. She threw out useless scraps of paper, lipstick tubes, and thin books. When she saw the raw underside of the drawer, the only thing resting upon it was a metallic, shiny letter-opener. It was long, light gold on the blade, and with an antique, gem-made handle. It had eccentric details, all the tiny specs of precious stones forming a story—but Hermione doubted it was there for her appraisal.

"Sienna—"

"Grab the boy and get out."

"Sienna, I—"

"Concentrate on your nonverbals, Aria. Your magic is strong. You can unlock the door."

"But, Sienna—"

"Head down three flights of stairs. Go into the room at the very end and through the Floo Network there. I've managed to have it connected without Abri or Giancarlo knowing."

"Sienna—"

"You'll have to hurry—"

"I can't do this!" shouted Hermione, interrupting the portrait. Her brown eyes were wide, fingers holding on to the letter-opener like it was contaminated. "I can't stab someone! I can't...I won't expose Benjamin like this! I've tried the Floo already, Sienna. There's no way out of here."

"You have no choice!" snarled the dead woman at her niece. "You've got one more day before Abri loses her patience and she kills you with her bare hands! She's angry and mental; she won't finish you off with a spell."

Tears sprang into the girl's eyes once again. One hand went to her forehead, an automatic reflex when she felt the sense to yank her hair out from all the uncontrolled emotions, all the choices to go or to stay.

"She's going to kill the boy first." Sienna was cool, barely any emotion on her brushed features. "She'll torture you with guilt first, Aria. Escaping is the only chance of his survival, of yours."

Before Hermione could attempt to protest, to find another way around the ordeal, a small hand pulled on the hem of her jumper.

Benjamin was sitting on the edge of the mattress now, wide awake and looking so small with his own tears. His bottom lip was shaking as he tried to control himself. "You can leave me, 'Mione," he said in a low voice, so broken. "You go."

"Never," cried Hermione indignantly.

"You're of more value than I am. Just...Just tell Theodore it wasn't his fault."

Whatever that could possibly mean, Hermione didn't stop and analyze it. She stepped back from the boy, letting his hold on her fall, and she clutched onto the letter-opener with all her might. There were voices in her head now: all yelling and pulling at her senses. Faces started forming, too. She could see Blaise, Theo, the Grangers, Harry, Ron, Allegra, Draco...

She cried at night because she knew time had run out. She cried not because it was her life on the line, but Benjamin's. She cried because she had regrets. There was still so much she never got to say, so much that was going to be left unspoken. She cried because she'd give up her life to insure that Benjamin's life didn't end short. He was just a boy, he had so much to explore and see. She cried because she knew that the only way out was going to be bloody and messy.

She just couldn't continue hoping for rescue.

An incantation repeated in her mind. Her blurred gaze focused on the door and she imagined the sparks of her wand touching it; ending the enchantment in the picks of the lock. It quietly opened, exposing the silence and danger from the outside hall of their prison cell.

With a quick, deep inhale, Hermione whipped around to the little boy. She looked down at him, grabbing his small hands with hers and gripped tightly. "Whatever happens, Benjamin, you make your way into the Floo, you understand me?"

"'Mione, I can't—"

"I can't, either. That's why we're doing it together." She squeezed his fingers once more. "Let's go."

Benjamin hopped off the bed and the brunette turned to the woman in the portrait. Both locked eyes, and for a brief moment, perhaps the trickery of her tears, Hermione swore she saw Allegra looking back at her. She knew that the sisters had an uncanny resemblance, Allegra had practically glowed with pride when she mentioned it, and that somehow brought her a bit of comfort. She somehow connected safety with Mrs. Zabini and she found herself longing to be in her presence again. Sienna had been right, Hermione owed her biological mother a chance. A proper, wholehearted one.

"Buona fortuna, mia nipote," was what followed the hostages out of the imprisoned bedroom.

There was a window at the end of the hall that dimly lit the way. Hermione held onto the little boy's hand, the other holding the sharp object as if it was her wand as they tiptoed about. She was on high alert, paying no attention to the elements that composed the house as she contemplated the ways she could defend herself from a threat without having to resort to mortal wounds.

Benjamin, however, was keen to the place. He saw dusty, old pictures hung on the unkempt,scratched walls. They held a few familiar faces; ones that hadn't changed with age. The clue to where they were was on the walls, but he didn't point them out to the brunette.

"'Mione," whispered the boy as the older girl peered around the corner of the hall before she led them down the first flight of stairs they had to descend, "there's something I've got to tell you."

Hermione thought of another nonverbal: it made their footsteps lighter so the staircase wouldn't creak and give away their sneaking. "It's okay to be scared," she replied in a distracted murmur.

They were at another corridor, about to head down another level. There was giant portrait of a beautiful, dark-haired girl on the wall right behind Hermione's head. If she just turned, she'd see it and realize where their captors had them.

"It's not that," Benjamin whispered again, flicking his eyes from the portrait to the brunette's back. "It's just...I know why I'm here. I know why they took me."

Hermione heard a door open and she quickly slammed the little boy against the wall; her body protecting his. She didn't reply or heard Benjamin's previous statement, she was too distracted by her sight and hearing going hyperactive. She began breathing hard, panicking, when the floor below and the floor above them creaked in unison. There was no telling where the door opened.

Where were Abri and Giancarlo? Sienna hadn't mentioned where they'd be. Hermione and Benjamin could've walked into a trap and get themselves killed sooner.

"I'm not here because of you, 'Mione," the boy couldn't stop himself from speaking.

The brunette closed her eyes. The creaking was mixing together again. Her heart was racing now. She really hoped it was the echo of the old house that was playing a trick on her.

"They took me because—ANGH!"

Hermione felt the boy's hand torn away from the clutch of her fingers in one hard yank. She turned around, eyes wide, and saw the golden gaze of Abri Vivaldi sharply staring back at her.

"And where are you going?" Her words were so sweet, like she was talking to a puppy in training. It contrasted with the glaze of insanity in her orbs and the way she was practically sustaining Benjamin's weight, keeping his feet off the ground, by a grip to his neck. "You mustn't roam people's houses without permission, Aria. It's rude of you, cara."

Tears built and burned behind Hermione's sockets. They wanted release, they wanted to roll down her cheeks and show her weakness and fear—and she wanted to let them. She wanted the woman to see that she was done, that she gave up, but a part of her was screaming in protest. It was a part of her that was still very much Hermione Granger: War Heroine.

It was the same part of her, the same one filled with years of experience, that made her pick up a leg and kick forward with all her might.

In a blink she watched her foot impact against the woman's knee in a strong blow, making her stumble back and release the boy from the choke-hold she had him in. Hermione reacted quickly once more, yanking Benjamin by a skinny, fragile arm, and forcing them both to run down.

A roar of outrage echoed around the house, making the walls vibrate with fury. It didn't take long before a glimmer of red light shot right at the running figures.

Hermione duck down on time, covering the boy with a cage of her arms and back from the fragments of marble that freed itself from a corner where it formed a wall.

"Keep running, Ben!"

Another jet came close to them; except it ricocheted off a vase and into a statue of what appeared to be the goddess Venus. The statue shattered: Hermione pushed Benjamin around the corner of the next staircase they needed to climb down. A haggard chunk of statue flew past the brunette's left cheek; slicing her skin and eyebrow along the way.

"EXPULSO!"

They were still running down the halls, close to the final staircase and third floor Sienna had wanted them to get to. The walls around them were exploding and Hermione couldn't chance to turn around and defend themselves from Abri by using a weak nonverbal. Instead, she focused her magic and chanted 'Glisseo' in her head.

The third staircase turned into a smooth ramp. Hermione gripped onto Benjamin's elbow and both slid down. Not before a hex got her on the shoulder and made her crash into a corner of their destined hall.

It was all the adrenaline pumping her blood that made her get back up onto her feet, but she did hiss in pain. Her arm was broken. She could feel the bone out of its place, ragged edge touching her skin and wanting to poke out.

"Over here, 'Mione!"

There was no window to light the hall, her head was spinning, but Hermione managed to make out a door at the end of the dusty hall. Benjamin was standing in front of it, yanking and pulling on the knob.

"It's locked!"

They were trapped.

"INCENDIO!"

They were at a dead-end hall and Abri was behind them; shooting of jets of fire that were attaching themselves to the wallpaper of the spaces around them and burning down in vertical and horizontal strips.

Once again, Hermione used her nonverbal abilities and focused on the door. It didn't take more than two seconds before all of the boy's twisting on the knob worked and the door flew open.

"Into the Floo!" Hermione managed a voice to yell at the boy as she staggered forward.

Her blinking was becoming sluggish, but her heart was beating in overdrive when she saw Benjamin Nott reach a little hand into an open box by the fireplace, pulling out a handful of glittering powder that was their way out of where they were being kept. He was so close to throwing it in, a look of anticipation on his childish features, but they were wiped away and replaced by shock when a flash of purple light wrapped around him and he fell to the floor.

Hermione screamed.

She screamed in fear, she screamed because she knew what nasty curse it was that enveloped him, and she screamed because something pierced her head and yanked on her knotted curls.

"You're not going anywhere!"

Hermione's head bounced against the hard floor of the room. It added to her dizziness, it added to her pain, and it added to her disorientation. Her eyelids were becoming heavy, demanding unconsciousness. Pressure grew in every atom of her body.

Abri was straddling the teenage girl, eyes wild and ablaze with fury. The gold in her orbs turned from honey and into the orangish tint of flames. There was something completely whole about her, Hermione could see that even through the blackness that wanted to engulf her. When describing insane people, some say that their eyes give it away; that their eyes make you realize that mentally they're not entirely there. But Abri was. Abri was fully aware of what she was doing.

Her hunger for money was what drove her into killing her great-grandfather. Her hunger for money is what had made her leave her older brother as a slave to another family. Her hunger for money made her recruit her other brother so they could hunt down their cousin's only daughter. Her hunger for money was what had driven her to kidnapping a teenage girl and a little, innocent boy.

And it was that same coherent, very potent hunger for money that made Abri raise her wand and point it at the girl. A familiar purple light shot out of it.

Hermione remembered the curse very well from when she was being persecuted by an unknown figure, but the fire that was eating her from the inside still felt new. It still burned and ate her inside out like it was the first time she was being tortured by it. It still made her scream, squirm, and cry. It still made it difficult to breathe, it still made it hard to focus on anything else but her bones turning to ashes right underneath her skin.

"Please," but she heard herself plead, heard herself cry. "Please, stop!"

Abri aligned her face a few centimeters away from the girl's. She stared right into her brown eyes and didn't flinch at the anguish and desperation in them. "I did everything right," she snarled, losing the sweet facade, "unlike Allegra. I built the Vivaldi fortune—I did it! She was a disgrace to the name, she deserved to live the miserable life she got!"

The purple light flashed again and Hermione's sobs pierced the air once more.

"So tell me why she gets all the money?!" Abri dug her sharp nails into the girl's cut cheek; pulling the sliced skin. "Not only was that stupid, old man wasting all our fortune on finding Cristiano, but he was going to leave whatever was left to him and Allegra!"

As another screech escaped her mouth, Hermione managed to raise a hand and find her right pocket. During the run, she'd managed to stash the letter-opener in it. She had forgotten about it from the curse eating her away, but the more weight the demented woman put on her, Hermione felt the sharp object against her covered thigh.

"I worked for our family all of my life! No one deserved that fortune more than I did! But I was willing to forgive. I was willing to keep half of what was supposed to go to Cristiano and Allegra could've kept her measly half as an apology from our bisnonno. All I required was for her to sacrifice something, too. All she had to do was convince Deon and the Zabinis to give up half of what they—"

Whatever determination and strength Hermione had was used in vain. Her her arm up had shot up, a firm grip on the handle of the letter-opener, but it hadn't slid into Abri's flesh. The woman saw it on time. And like it was nothing, she took it from her grasp and stared down at her.

"You have just as much fight in you as Sienna did," said Abri very delicately at her relative. She leaned in another centimeter; her nose almost touching the girl's. "And if you remember the story," as smooth as Abri's whisper, the blade of the letter-opener went into Hermione's chest, "that didn't keep your aunt alive."

A strangled, surprised gasp was released by the victim.

With a grander distance between the two now, Abri pulled out the blade and still managed to stare back casually. There was no remorse on her face. Her evil came in believing she was right.

She raised the sharp object again. "Addio, tesoro."

Halfway down her motion to sink the blade back into Hermione's chest, it was blown away from Abri's hold.

"Cristiano is alive?" The echo of severity in the voice reflected off every line of expression on Giancarlo's face as he glared at his sister. "Mi hai mentito!"

"Sienna is the one lying," hissed Abri to her brother. "We've known for years that—"

A flash of light from Giancarlo's wand silenced Abri. Just as the letter-opener had, the woman flew across the room and landed into something. The man marched forward in angry strides, wand still out and pointed it forward as a shrill shriek sounded off somewhere else.

Hermione wanted to lie there and just give in to the darkness. She could feel blood oozing out from different places of her, draining her from energy and strength, but then she remembered Benjamin. He was unconscious by the fireplace. She had to get to him. She had to get him to safety, she'd promised.

She turned herself over, biting her lip as her broken arm held some of the pressure of her sagging body. With her right arm, the one that wasn't about to pop out a bone, she raised her body a few inches off the ground and began to crawl. It wasn't until she reached the boy's body that she found strength to stand up.

As she did, as her feet and knees shook, as she buried her hand into the box by the fireplace and pulled out a handful of Floo Powder, Hermione saw a row of pictures on the mantel of the fireplace. They were all of Allegra and Sienna; all transcending from childhood to teenage years. She managed half a spin and she looked around the room. It was dusty and dim, but it resembled closely the room Allegra had built her in the Zabini mansion.

"ARGH!"

Abri's crazed howl shook Hermione away from the revelation. There was a clutter of broken walls, furniture, and thick debris invading the atmosphere of the room, but Hermione saw the woman emerge a victor. She looked possessed; torn and reflecting that madness from within.

With her right hand, Hermione hurriedly reached and pulled on Benjamin's collar. She threw the Floo Powder into the fireplace. Tall, green flames rose up to engulf her and the boy. Hermione would've wanted to say that the last thing she saw was the destroyed room and Abri's fury, but it wasn't so. The last thing she saw was a curse flying out of Abri's wand and feeling it stop her heart.

That's when the darkness finally won.