EXIT

36. DIRTY GREY

36. DIRTY GREY

When I come to, I don't allow myself to grunt, moan or stretch out my aching limbs. All I do is blink.

The first blink reveals an unconscious Ronald Weasley in a pool of blood, the scarlet hue clashing unfavorably with his fiery red hair.

The next blink confirms the suspicion that flashed through my mind just before the Stunner knocked me out. Bellatrix, Rabastan and Rodolphus. Fuck. They're standing in front of the tea table, deep in whispered conversation.

The last blink gives me a glimpse of Granger kneeling on the floor a few feet away with her back to me. Her hands are tied behind her back, her feet are bound at the ankles and she appears to have been Silencio'd. The rhythmic rise and fall of her upper body gives me the idea that she's screaming at the top of her lungs. And with rage.

"The traitor is awake," Rabastan says, causing Bellatrix to spin around.

A moment later, her wand is trained on me.

I give up pretending to still be unconscious and open my eyes to give her a hateful look. She cackles. Unfortunately, the sound is all too familiar to me. There's no doubt that she was the one who stunned me.

"My Lord," she calls out and quickly turns to the side. With a flick of her wand, the contents of the cauldron I noticed earlier begin to bubble. "Your most faithful servant is among the living again."

I use the few seconds she's distracted to let my gaze wander. No sign of Potter. I sincerely hope that he is not already dead, but still safely hidden under his Invisibility Cloak.

My breath hitches as a figure emerges from one of the darker sections of the library and slowly walks towards us.

The Dark Lord is still a terrifying presence, even if his increasingly dwindling powers have left their mark on him in recent years. His face is almost translucent pale, with the skin stretched taut across his cheekbones and jawline, his posture is hunched and his steps are unsteady, but his red eyes still spit fire.

"Crucio," he says almost gently.

First my body tenses, then, as if of its own accord, it curls up into a ball on the old carpet I'm lying on and lapses into spasmodic convulsions. The pain is unbearable and I'm not occluded, yet I don't allow myself to make a sound. No scream, no groan, no gasp. I endure it stoically until my vision blurs and I feel like I can't breathe.

When the pain finally subsides, I take a wheezing breath. My gaze darts to Granger, who has meanwhile turned around on her knees and is staring at me with wide eyes. Tears are running down her cheeks. Her lips are still moving, but she has stopped screaming, I can see that clearly. I think I know what she's trying to tell me. I'm sorry. Hold on. I'm with you. Giving up is not an option. That or something similar.

The Dark Lord sinks into one of the wing chairs in front of the fireplace and briefly closes his eyes. The curse took a lot out of him. He is no longer used to torturing himself — for that, he has his minions.

"Where's the boy?" he hisses before opening his eyes.

Gathering all my strength, I struggle to my knees. Only now do I notice that I'm also bound hand and foot. Splendid.

A drop of sweat trickles down my temple. Or maybe it's blood, I have no idea. I halfheartedly rub my cheek against my shoulder, then straighten up.

"How did you know we were coming?" I ask as demandingly as my hoarse voice and dry mouth allow.

"You're not in a position to ask questions, blood traitor," Rodolphus sneers.

He's standing right behind Granger, holding his wand to her neck. With every word he says, he taps the tip of it against her skin. An implicit threat.