Chapter Text
Hermione startled as she woke up.
The last thing she remembered was the burning pain and anguish of being tortured under the effects of Bellatrix Lestrange’s wand as well as the sharp sting and fire from the mad witch’s knife carving into the odd numbers on Hermione’s arm.
“You don’t deserve two of them, you filthy Mudblood!” the memory of Bellatrix’s voice rang in Hermione’s ears. “Will they still want you after you’ve lost what binds you?”
The words hadn’t made sense to Hermione. What did Ron and Harry have to do with the numbers on her arm? She’d woken up on her eighteenth birthday with the digits 01040104 tattooed on her arm, but she couldn’t figure out what it meant. Her first thought had been that she’d been hit with a delayed hex from a stray spell from when the three of them had infiltrated the Ministry, but none of her research on curses had revealed anything having to do with numbers.
The only thing she’d found close in her limited resources was some passing phrase about soulmates, but she’d dismissed that since the number was so long.
Forcibly bringing herself back to the present, Hermione looked around.
She was in a small, brightly lit bedroom. The walls were the colour of sand and there was a seashell mobile hanging in the window framed by light blue curtains that rustled in the breeze.
Looking around, Hermione saw a vanity and a dresser along with a single rocking chair by the patio door. She could faintly hear the sounds of the ocean through the open window so she safely assumed that she was no longer at Malfoy Manor.
Moments later, Fleur Weasley walked into the room and Hermione breathed a sigh in relief. She must be at Shell Cottage, however she had no recollection how they got there. Or was there a “they”?
“What happened?” Hermione croaked, her voice breaking still sore from hours of screaming. “Wait, I need to ask you a security question. What did I give you before your wedding?”
“A muggle coin to wear in my shoe,” Fleur smiled. “Muggles have the most curious traditions, I must say.”
Satisfied that the witch was her friend, Hermione leaned back on the bed and asked “Can I have some water?”
“Of course. Hermione, it’s so good to see you awake.” Fleur rushed to her side and offered her a cool glass to drink from. “You were in such a state we weren’t sure how much he would remember.“
“Tell me what happened, please?” Hermione asked. “The last thing I remember was screaming as Bellatrix… Well I just remember a lot of screaming.”
“Truthfully we’re lucky you still seem to be with us,” Fleur said proudly. “Not many people could withstand what that witch can throw and come out the other side. As for how you got here, Dobby was able to rescue you and bring you three here and a few others, however he lost his life by Bellatrix‘s hand.”
The news about the house-elf hit Hermione like a blow to the stomach. The elf had been her friend and would be dearly missed.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she replied honestly. “Are Harry and Ron—”
“They are both safe, just plotting where Bill and I aren’t allowed near them. They hardly leave your bedside but I insisted they vacate so I could clean your wounds again. The first night, Harry tried to leave in some ‘valiant’ effort to protect you, but Ron brought him straight back. You should have heard him yelling at Harry about how they wouldn’t survive without you and that he was more scared of you hunting them down later than if You-Know-Who would.”
Hermione chuckled at the mental image, before wincing in pain as tremors wracked her frame from the lingering traces of the Cruciatus. Fleur noticed and immediately apologised.
“I’m sorry, Hermione. I shouldn’t be making you laugh after what your body’s been through.”
“I remember she used a knife. How bad are they?” Hermione did not need to specify that she was asking about the scars she knew would be on her arms.
“If it were anyone else healing you, I would worry about it leaving a deep mark,” the French woman explained as she started unwrapping Hermione’s left arm, carefully tending to the scar and numbers there. If Hermione had been paying more attention, she would have noticed the concern flash across her face when she glanced at the numbers. Unfortunately, the curly haired witch was too exhausted to notice the expression and Fleur was quick to mask it as she continued. “However, Dobby was able to get you here in time for Bill’s curse-breaking techniques to stop most of the damage. You will still have faint scars but they won’t be too visible unless you’re looking for them.”
“That’s at least one thing in my favour, I guess,” Hermione sighed as she let Fleur work. “Do you mind if I go back to sleep? I still feel so tired.”
“You need to rest,” Fleur insisted as she stopped caring for Hermione’s wounds to grab a vial from the bedside table. “I will tell the boys you woke up and they can talk to you in the morning. Take this Dreamless-Sleep potion and get some more sleep.”
Hermione quickly drank the proffered vial and was barely able to mutter a murmured thanks before she passed out again.
The next morning, Hermione and the boys started planning their infiltration into Bellatrix’s vault.
The following week passed in a blur. The boys and her planned the Gringotts break-in in between her recovery sessions with Bill and Fleur. A week later, despite the older Weasleys’ best efforts to convince the trio to stay, they left to enact their plan.
A whirlwind of chaos later and they found themselves back at the beginning: Hogwarts.
In a series of events that no one wanted to see, children volunteered to fight back and the Order of the Phoenix came in through the hidden entrance to assist in the defence of Hogwarts. Next thing Hermione knew, the castle was mid-battle against the Death Eaters in hopefully a final stand against the Dark Lord and her fate was about to change forever.