His face grew drawn and thoughtful. His features were almost skeletal, the skin tightly pulled over his skull, and the hollows of his cheeks and eye sockets were sunken, almost black holes in the darkness and flickering torchlight. “I had hoped to have more time to savor the experience — but the Dark Lord wants them dead before the day's end.” Lucius' voice was wistful. “I have devoted some thought to just how I should go about it.”
A sickly yellow curse shot from Lucius' wand and struck Ron on the side of the head. Ron's body started jerking, and his eyes widened and bulged out, as though he were suffocating.
“Don't—” the word was halfway to Hermione's lips before she bit it back.
Lucius' grey eyes were glittering as he stared up at the bodies strung overhead.
“I made a vow at Narcissa's grave that I would kill every blood traitor in this country. I knew Potter belonged to the Dark Lord, but I hoped to be the one to send the rest of Potter's beloved 'family' after him.”
Lucius flourished his hand, but the movement was spasmodic, as though it were a tic he had. His expression tightened as he stared up at Ron and, with a wave of his wand, ended the curse suffocating him. Ron gasped raggedly. His chest heaving. His eyes deadened.
Lucius waved his wand in lazy spirals and spoke slowly. “Burning is a particularly painful death. The Muggles used to burn witches. Burn them until there was nothing left to recover. All I have of my wife is an empty tomb. There was nothing left of her. Although I looked — many times.” His hand flourished again.
“It's fitting, I think, that you know the pain she did.” He raised his wand. “This is for my wife.”
A dark green curse flew up and struck Ron on his foot. Smoke curled up, and Ron flung his head back and screamed as it spread up his leg.
Hermione's body shook; her throat contracted as she tried not to vomit. She knew the curse. It turned blood to molten lead inside the body. It was a slow curse. She pressed herself against the far side of the cage and tried not to sob.
Lucius threw back his head and laughed.
Molly jerked and roused herself. “Please. No! Not my son. Please don't hurt my son!!”
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears, but she couldn't block out Ron and Molly's screams. Or Lucius' laughter.
The screaming was gradually growing quieter when something warm and cloyingly sweet met Hermione's nose. Her eyes snapped open to find Dolores Umbridge's face merely inches from hers, studying Hermione with vicious glee through the bars of the cage.
Umbridge was flanked by several guards.
“I believe I recognize that deceitful little face.” Umbridge gestured to a guard. “You, open it and grab her.”
There was the shriek of the cage door, and a hard hand caught hold of Hermione's arm and dragged her out. Fingers tangled in her hair as her head was wrenched cruelly back.
Umbridge gave another small laugh, and it ghosted across Hermione's face, warm and sugary as though she'd been eating candy only a moment before.
“It is you. I would know that filthy face of yours anywhere. I haven't forgotten you.” Umbridge's eyes were glinting. She gestured over her shoulder. “Make a note. I want her transferred to Sussex, next batch they ask for, top of the list, for Dolohov personally.” She leaned closer to Hermione, and her voice was almost a whisper. “He's always looking for new toys to break.”
One of the guards coughed slightly. Umbridge looked sharply at him.
“Warden, Sussex is — they're saying it's permanently out of commission — due to the — the accident there. And Dolohov's — dead.”
Hermione felt a flush of triumph through her terror as Umbridge's face fell.
She'd hoped Dolohov would die. The only person she hated more than Antonin Dolohov was Voldemort.
“It's confirmed then?” Umbridge's voice was sharp.
The guard gave a reluctant nod.
Umbridge sighed and looked disappointed. “Pity.”
She jabbed her wand against Hermione's sternum.
Hermione screamed, and her legs gave out. The hand in her hair held her in place. Her body was bathed in agony until her muscles began spasming so violently she thought her tendons might snap. She screamed until her throat was stripped raw and her voice faded into sobs; she hung in place as her body jerked and spasmed violently.
The spell didn't stop.
Hermione could feel her brain scrabbling to escape; to break free of the agony. Just break. Just break.
No. She couldn't.
She hung in place, shaking in agony.
The spell finally stopped. Hermione was dropped heavily to the ground, her muscles still twitching. She felt as though she'd been torn into pieces. Whimpering sobs came from low in her spasming chest.
She forced her eyes open and stared up. She could see the Astronomy Tower over Umbridge's shoulder; Molly was dying.