Chapter 51: Chapter 51:
Hermione hurried down the street. She wasn't sure how long she had left before Malfoy found her, and she refused to leave here emptyhanded. This was the opportunity she'd been praying for; a chance to learn something about him; a hidden advantage or a weak spot she could exploit.
A few minutes into her search, something caught her eye at the far edge of the street. One hundred, maybe two hundred feet away. It was only small, a single flame from a lonely lantern, but she followed it.
The light led her to a market square, and it wasn't until Hermione rounded another corner that she realised the lantern wasn't as lonely as she originally thought. There were a hundred or so tiny flames all clustered together, and they weren't really lanterns at all. They were torches held by cloaked figures.
Hermione's initial reaction was to draw her wand, years of sending hexes at cloaked figures had bled that instinct into her. Instead, she made herself push forward to stand at the back of the mob, because this was one of Malfoy's memories, and maybe there was a way she could use this against him.
The cloaked figures were gathered around a tall, grand building with stone pillars and a huge clock at the top. It had a triangle-shaped roof with dozens of figures carved into the stone, and two lion sculptures - turned to face one another- guarded the steps to the council house.
Every member of the crowd concealed their faces behind black or gold metal masks.
Voldemort stood in front of the large double doors at the top of the steps, and all the whispers silenced when he raised his hands - and the elder wand - in the air.
"Welcome, my friends," Voldemort cooed. "Thank you for joining me on this fine evening. I'm sure you're all very eager to learn why I called you all here."
Hermione wove through the ghost-like figures in the crowd, ignoring the violent hammering of her heart. 'They're not real,' she chanted. 'They're not really here. They're not real.'
She could breathe a little easier when she broke free of the sea of Death Eaters and came out at the front of the gathering. She hadn't been able to see the four figures at the bottom of the steps when she was on the other side.
They were huddled together in a tight line, and were only attendee's without masks.
Astoria was closest to Hermione. She looked exactly how she remembered her from Hogwarts, with long brown hair winding down her back. She was sobbing silently, her shoulders and bottom lip trembling.
Malfoy stood on Astoria's right. His hands were tightly fisted at his sides, his jaw clenched even tighter.
"Although we are winning this war," Voldemort continued, "although Potter's forces are dwindling and we find ourselves growing stronger with each new rise of the sun, I must admit, I find myself ... disappointed."
Nott stood on Astoria's left and somehow, the look on his face concerned Hermione more than Astoria's ever could. His expression was vacant and detached, as though his soul had left his body and only a sack of bones and flesh remained. There was no emotion on his face, a stark contrast to the broken girl next to him.
"I don't ask for much from you, do I?" Voldemort asked, earning a chorus of 'No, my Lord' from his loyal followers. "I treat you well, do I not? I reward you handsomely when you please me? I give you strength, power, and protection from those who would dare to harm you?"
"Yes, my Lord."
To Hermione's surprise, Zabini was the furthest away from Astoria. He looked as though he may vomit at any moment. His skin was a little green, and he had a hand pressed firmly to his stomach as if he was trying to stop himself from keeling over.
"That is what I was afraid of," Voldemort sighed, his claw-like fingers tapping the edge of his wand. "This is why it pains me so when one of you cannot follow a few simple orders." He gestured to his left, and two Gold Masks appeared from a hidden doorway, dragging a woman with them.
As soon as Hermione saw Daphne Greengrass, she felt sick.
Her Death Eater uniform was torn all over to show the dozens of cuts and burns that decorated her skin. Her face and neck were covered in bruises, her top lip was split open, and there was a thick clump of blood matted in her dark blonde hair.
She was bound with thick metal chains that wrapped around her body and bound her wrists together, making escape impossible. They dragged behind her as she walked, making a noise that sounded like nails on a chalkboard.
Hermione should not be here. She should most definitely not fucking be here.
As two Gold Masks began to lead Daphne up the steps, Astoria lurched forward and started to scream.
Malfoy moved quickly. He grabbed Astoria before the sob broke free, probably anticipated it, and wrapped his arms around her. He crushed her back against his chest, muffling her cries with his hand while the other wove around her ribs to hold her in place.
Daphne whirled and caught his eye. A pleading expression snapped onto her abused face before the Gold Masks sharply turned her around and forced her up the steps.
Astoria squirmed in Malfoy's arms, trying to break free while black tears slipped down her face to gather on the back of his hand.
Zabini and Nott remained motionless. Lifeless, as they watched Daphne walk up the steps to stand beside Voldemort and face the crowd.
"This girl," Voldemort hissed, curling his fingers toward Daphne, "has betrayed us. She has grown soft for the Muggles. She cares for their lives and their mutts more than she does her own kind."
The crowd booed and hissed, but Daphne remained strong.
She held her chin high, her shoulders square and fire burning in her fierce brown eyes. She didn't look scared. She didn't tremble or show an inch of weakness.
Nott looked as though he were reaching into his pocket to grab something, but Daphne noticed. She shook her head gently in his direction and pursed her lips. They held each other's eyes for a long time. Everyone else seemed oblivious, too busy watching Astoria writhe or too enthralled in Voldemort's degrading speech to be aware.