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𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇

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Surviving is never beautiful,

it's not heroic like they tell you in fairytales

or movies.

It's dirty,

it's tears streaming down your face and

sobbing in a dark corner.

It's blood on your hands and in your face,

it's fear and feeling numb at the same

time.

You don't preen yourself for being a

survivor, you lull yourself to sleep with

stories of a life where you have never been

forced to fight in the first place.

— A.H

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄 as a sharp stinging pain erupted in his jaw. Momentarily stymied in his thought process, he rubbed the sore spot and gazed around the tent. Hermione was dead asleep, slightly snoring. He groped around for his glasses and shoved them onto his face.

Half thinking he was hallucinating the pain, he pushed himself out of bed and moved towards the entrance of the tent, expecting to find Elara and asked if she had punched herself to spite him.

However, she wasn't there. It was dead silent in the forest. Pressure formed over his hands. Harry examined them, once again wondering if he had finally lost it or Elara was playing a really good prank on him. It seemed neither was the answer, as a blinding pain slashed across his leg.

"Hermione!" yelled Harry, on the ground and clutching at his leg.

She stumbled out, seconds later, half-sleep.

"What's wrong?"

"Lara's gone," said Harry, "and I don't think she's okay."

The revelation seemed to jolt Hermione to her senses.

"What do you mean, 'I don't think she's okay'?"

"I mean, I'm in a shit ton of pain and no wounds to show for it."

Hermione wrung her hands anxiously, gears turning wildly in her head when a clear voice rung: "HELP! SOMEONE — "

Ignoring all the pain in his leg, Harry shot forward, sprinting towards Elara's voice, Hermione only a short distance behind him. The pair lept over logs and rocks, racing to save Elara from whatever was attacking her.

"HARRY — HERMIONE, PLEASE! SOMEONE — RON — "

Silence.

Elara's plea had been cut off. Fearing the worst, Harry pushed himself ever faster, ignoring the cold, dry air tearing at his lungs. After a few more minutes of crazed sprinting, the pair reached a moonlit clearing. There lay eight bodies, silent. Blood poured from quite a few, and the smell of burnt flesh had filled the night air.

"What — happened?" panted Hermione, catching her breath.

Harry ignored her, searching for signs of Elara. The bodies seemed to lay in a shape somewhat resembling a circle. In the middle, lay a streak of blood that had to have come from a gash. The blood trailed against a tree, where it pooled.

"This one's neck is snapped," called Hermione, horrified at her finding.

"D'you think — "

"It had to have been."

Harry rubbed his temple.

"I still don't understand how the hell this happened."

Hermione, with shaking hands, examined each body, calling out their reason of death.

"Broken neck. . . . These two were burnt alive. . . . Blunt head force trauma. . . . Stabbed. . . . Broken back. . . . This might be a punctured lung, however, I'm not sure. . . ."

"Could Lara really have done all that without getting too injured? I only feel pain in my jaw and leg."

Hermione sighed. "You know who she is and what she's capable of. I'm just wondering how so many people could be so stupid."

They were silent for awhile, trying to rationalize what they had come across.

"We should head back before someone sees us," murmured Hermione.

Quickly, they made their way back to the safety of their tent. Harry couldn't hear or see much, for the sound of his erratic heart triumphed over any possible noise that could've been made at their journey back.

They sat in silence.

"What the do we do now, Harry?"

For the first time in an extremely long time, he felt lost.

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 half-concious when she was dragged through the all-too familiar gates of the Malfoy manor. White peacocks eyed her scornfully whilst they preened in the courtyard if the manor. Her leg, still bleeding profusely, hurt like absolute hell. She could have dealt with it if that bastard hadn't poured salt in the wound.

She didn't want to think of what could possibly be waiting for her on the other side of those doors. The Malfoys, Bellatrix, Voldemort — it wouldn't matter who, because she could feel it in her blood. . . . she was too weak to fight again.

Unless, by some divine intervention, it was just the Malfoys and they had suddenly changed sides, there was no way she was going to be able to regenerate her health. However, if she was realistic, those chances looked grim.

The two hooded people pounded on the door loudly and continually until they swung open.

Elara looked up at the hollow face of Draco Malfoy, shocked to his his cousin in such a low state of being.

"Undesirable Number One for you," growled the one that had twisted her leg.

"Bring — Bring her in," replied Draco with a forced tone of calm.

As they passed Draco, Elara glanced back at him. He looked rather shaken. Perhaps it was the hope that Elara would be able to, in some way, save him from the wretched path he's wandering down being shattered.

Fighting away yet another tidal wave of guilt, Elara focused on whatever was waiting for her around the bend and in the sitting room.

"Draco?" called the voice of Aunt Cissa, "Who's here?"

"Snatchers," he replied, "And they have Elara."

Just then, they entered the sitting room. Rage tore at Elara's already bleeding heart when she lay her eyes upon Bellatrix, sitting next to Aunt Cissa, looking rather smug. Uncle Lucius looked as if he hadn't sleep in years, and jumped when they entered the room.

"My itty bitty daughter," laughed Bellatrix, "reduced to nothing."

"Where's Potter," asked Lucius, his voice hoarse.

"No idea," said the one that had given Elara the wound, "She was alone."

"Speaking of," growled the other, "She killed the other eight we travelled with. We want compensation for our trouble."

Bellatrix's eyes seemed to sparkle.

"It seems like you aren't totally worthless, Elara," she said with joy.

Elara ignored her and instead stared directly at Aunt Cissa. She was paler than usual, eying Elara with a mix of apprehension and sympathy.

"My itty bitty daughter, no better than I."

"I kill when I have to," sneered Elara, "You kill because you think it's fun."

Bellatrix laughed.

"Tell me, did you experience a thrill? Did you feel like a god, holding a man's life in your hands, looking him in the eyes before you take away their precious breath?"

"You're sick."

Like the psychopath she is, Bellatrix merely shrugged.

"Did you see Potter?" asked Uncle Lucius, hopeful.

"The brat screamed for him — "

"And you didn't think to wait?" screeched Bellatrix, whirling around.

"Your damned daughter had just brutally murdered eight people!" snapped the taller one, "Do you really think I was going to give her a chance to kill me?"

"She may not have killed you, but I will for your insubordination."

"Wait — No — "

"Avada Kedavra."

The way the Unforgivable curse so simply and fluently left Bellatrix's mouth sent disgusted shivers down Elara's spine. She may have snapped a man's neck, but at least she gave him the chance to fight. The body hit the shining floor in front of Elara, who pointedly looked away from it.

"Draco," commanded Bellatrix, "get the rope."

Elara laughed.

"You think some rope is going to stop me?"

Draco reappeared, holding a glowing rope. The look in his sorrowful eyes made Elara uneasy. Bellatrix snatched it from his shaking hands and approached Elara with a twisted smile.

"You try anything, and you'll be burned."

"Yeah," snorted Elara, "I'll be burned. Good one."

Possibly from Elara's annoying backtalk, Bellatrix wound the rope tightly around her wrists. Elara forced down any sound of show of pain as the scratchy material rubbed against her skin. With the addition of the still open wound on her leg and the exhaustion of having used so much of her limited power in a small amount of time, the material hurt more than it should have.

"Escort her downstairs," Bellatrix barked at Draco.

He shot forward instantly, taking Elara's arm, half holding her up, and guided her downstairs. For the first time, Elara couldn't think of anything to say. No witty remark, no sarcastic comment, or gentle words.

However, she allowed herself to show her pain as her leg throbbed with each step down. She knew they were heading towards the strange dungeon the Malfoy's had in their cellar. What awaited for her down there, she didn't know, nor did she want to know. With Bellatrix's current track record, it was probably Fenrir Greyback foaming at the mouth.

"What happened?" whispered Draco as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Shit happened," strained Elara, speaking through gritted teeth.

"You didn't actually — "

"I did."

He was silent after that.

Soon enough, they reached the dungeon. Draco, with shaky hands, fumbled with the key for a moment before successfully unlocking the gate.

"Elara?" came a dreamy voice from a shadowed corner. "What are you doing here?"

"Luna?"

Elara heard Draco's quick footsteps echoing through the stone hall as he retreated back up stairs. Her favorite blonde stepped into the light. Her straggly hair was slightly matted, and dirt smeared across her face. Dried blood was caked on her nose.

"Are you all right?" Luna asked, diving to catch Elara, who's leg had given out from underneath her.

"Damn bastards got me."

"Out of everyone I thought could possibly end up here, you were not someone I thought of," said Dean, coming to her side to help her up and across the room.

"It's nice to see you too, Dean," gritted Elara.

"Elara Tonks?" came a hoarse voice.

Elara looked over to find Ollivander, who looked hundreds of miles worse than her, sat propped up against a wall.

"Is this a damn reunion?"

"Seems so."

The gentle voice of Jane Lancaster turned Elara's head to the left this time, where Jane was lying with her eyes closed.

"And what's wrong with you?"

"Don't mind me, just recovering from the latest."

"Latest — ?"

"She means 'latest torturing'," explained Dean, looking concernedly from Elara to Jane and back again. "Bellatrix seems to think that we know things that we don't."

"That seems unfair."

"It is," came another, high-pitched voice.

"Goddamn," said Elara, jumping in surprise, "How many people are in here?"

"Four and one goblin."

"Don't mind Griphook," comforted Luna, "He likes his space."

The motley crew fell silent, the only sounds came from Elara's shallow breathing as she gripped onto consciousness.

"None of you would happen to have bandages?"

"We do," said Jane, "They're terrible, but they're something."

"I wasn't expecting a yes, who gave you bandages?"

"Draco sometimes sneaks them in with dinner," recalled Dean, sounding almost ambivalent. "I never expected him to be the sympathetic type."

"Yeah, well, I never expected myself to be tied up in a cellar, but here we are."

More agonizing moments later, Elara's leg was bandaged. Jane was right, they bandages were terrible. They agitated the wound slightly. At least they stopped the bleeding. The damp cell smelled disgustingly like mold.

"How did you all end up in here?"

"Jane, Griphook, and I were setting up camp with our group when we were attacked. Some got away and some — we ended up here."

"That's right," remembered Elara, "My dad was with you. He got away, right?"

Jane and Dean shared a look.

"He — yeah. He was going to stay but we told him he should run."

Elara nodded, a large tidal wave of relief sweeping over her body.

"I was on the Hogwarts Express home for Christmas when Death Eaters came and brought me here," recounted Luna.

"They singled you out?"

"Yes, it was a strange experience, but at least I had Mr. Ollivander here with me."

"Wait — When did you, Jane, and Griphook get here, Dean?"

"They got us Christmas Eve."

"Seems like we both had sucky Christmases."

"What happened to you, then?"

Despite the roaring pain in her leg, Elara relayed the events of Christmas Eve to them. She was grateful for the distraction as she recalled going into Bathilda's house, fighting the snake, shooting it with a bow made of fire, blowing up the place, jumping out the window, and Hermione placing her in the flaming hearth in hopes to wake her up.

"That's incredible!" exclaimed Jane, sitting up, hanging onto Elara's every word.

"I knew you were destined for greatness the moment you walked into my shop," said Ollivander, speaking for the second time that night.

"I wouldn't say greatness, just destruction. Besides, I — "

The iron bar door was thrown open. Instead of Draco, as Elara might have expected. It was Aunt Cissa, wide eyed and paler than ever.

"Elara, Bella — Bella wants to see you."

Elara sighed, knowing what was awaiting her upstairs. She groaned as she pushed herself up the wall, Luna and Jane rushing to help her.

"Let's do this," she gritted, as Aunt Cissa looped an arm around her waist to help her up.

Unlike Draco, Aunt Cissa did not utter a single word. She only slowed down the slightest bit as they came closer to the sitting room where only pain awaited Elara. The cold halls of Malfoy Manor taunted Elara with the familiarity of her younger years, when she didn't know of Blood Supremacy and only cared what she was going to eat for dessert.

They entered the sitting room and Aunt Cissa shifted her grip on Elara to make it appear that she had been forcing her niece to put her full weight on her injured leg. Elara was more than thankful that she was wearing trousers and that the bandages were out of side.

Aunt Cissa quickly left Elara's side, joining that of her husband's. Elara and Bellatrix stood, facing each other, in the middle of the large room.

"You will tell me what you and Potter have been doing."

"Yeah. . . . No."

"Crucio!"

A feeling Elara already knew crashed over her. The curse knocked her off her feet, causing her to writhe on the ground as she felt the inimitable pain of a thousand white-hot knives stabbing and scraping her skin over and over. A scream that tore apart Elara's vocal chords reverberated in the cold walls of the Malfoy Manor.

Flickering images of burning stands and explosions peppered Elara's vision each time Bellatrix used the curse on her. Every so often, Bellatrix would ask Elara a question, and each time, Elara would either cuss at or insult Bellatrix, thus earning another five minutes of pain.

After what felt like years, Elara's body and mind gave up, pushing her under.

She awoke again the next day and began the same process over again. Question, torture, question, torture, question, torture, question, torture until Bellatrix grew bored. The more Elara was tortured, the more she stayed silent, her vocal chords almost ripped to shreds.

The process repeated for several days. Each time, however, the torturings grew shorter, as Bellatrix needed Elara to be sane in case she cracked.

The only good thing to come from these now daily events was that Bellatrix had seemed to forget others were in the cellar with her. Dean, Luna, Jane, Ollivander, and Griphook were all spared and given time to heal as Elara took the full weight of Bellatrix's rage. The ground (excluding Griphook) always vehemently disagreed whenever Elara would bring this up.

Draco, seemingly finally skewed into the right state of mind, began sneaking the group food in the dead of night. It wasn't much, seeing as the house-elves of Malfoy Manor still held an unwavering loyalty to their masters, but it was something.

Days stretched into weeks, and sometimes Elara would be left alone for a few days, but these rare breaks came with a heavy price. Her questionings would up to two times a day for another several days.

Only once had Elara felt a pain that was definitely Harry's. She had no idea why or how, but late one night after a day with no questionings, all the air was sucked out her lungs. However, as quickly as it started, it ended. Despite that she was going through so much pain and had even begun questioning her own sanity once or twice, she was ultimately worried for Harry.

How was he dealing with the shared connection?

Even in agonizing pain, she felt guilt.

She felt it in her soul, a distinct dullness that pulled her down, and made her more susceptible to unconsciousness, thus ending the torturings quicker and quicker. Finding it difficult to stay awake for long, Elara slept whenever she wasn't being subjected to the ruthlessness of the Cruciatus Curse.

One distinctly freezing morning, she was shaken awake. Draco was looming over her, his ghostly features highly distressed.

"He's — he's here, Lara," whispered Draco, "The Dark Lord — "

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," murmured Elara tiredly, barely opening her eyes.

"I'm sorry. . . ."

Elara sighed as Draco pulled her up. As weak as she was, Draco half-carried, half-dragged Elara through the corridor, up the stairs, and through the hallways into the tense sitting room. Elara absolutely despised the panic-stricken feeling the room gave her whenever she entered.

Sure enough, there Voldemort was, smiling triumphantly as he observed the pathetic state of Elara.

"You have evaded capture so long," he whispered, positively shaking with victory, "and now look at you. Too pathetic to walk on your own."

"I'd like to return to the dream I was having where I was shooting you in the head with an AK-47," snarled Elara, ignoring the pain it cost to speak.

"So weak, yet so bold," sneered Voldemort, "your stubbornness will be your death."

Elara snorted, slightly wincing at the burning in her gut.

"Maybe so, Tom, but one day, you will be face to face with whatever saw fit to let you exist in the universe, and you will have to justify the space you've filled."

"I grow tired of these hollow words."

"I really don't care."