A/N : This story is complete and more will be posted as I edit and tweak it. Please rate and review. Let me know what you think!
The Arcane Flight Part One
The door opened with a loud bang, hitting the stone walls ungracefully. Black boots entered the room, directly in line with Hermione's vision as she lay on the ground. She didn't move, just watched several pairs of feet as they entered the small, stifling cell to which she had been unceremoniously confined for what seemed like years.
"Leave." The voice was commanding. The others rushed to get out, closing the door with a whoosh behind them.
She knew that voice. The man crouched, his dark boots different from the knee length ones of the others. "Granger." He said simply, no expression in his voice.
Hermione lifted her head from where it lay pressed against the stone floor. It was him, alright, she thought. His pale skin and hair shone with a healthy glow, his black clothing was as impeccable as ever. Hermione felt nothing. She lay her head back down, opting to stare at the grey of the stone instead of the grey of his eyes.
"Get up." He said, sighing as though he had been arguing with her for hours when in truth he'd only made one command thus far.
Hermione struggled to her feet, using the wall to pull herself up. After the last bout of the cruciatus curse, it had been difficult to rise off the ground. Her chest ached ferociously, as did the rest of her. Her tormentors had left her alone for a few days afterwards to recuperate so she wouldn't die prematurely. When she was on her feet, she was suddenly aware of her torn robes, of which mainly the sleeves remained, leaving her clad in shorts and undershirt. Her body was not too emaciated because she had been forced to eat. Hermione assumed this was so that her mind and body would not give way before they could extract every little morsel of information out of her.
Draco Malfoy stood as well, his black robes falling back into place. He'd grown into his long and lanky form in the last few years she noted. Even his hair was different. Hermione looked away from him, uncaring. She could feel his gaze on her, however. It was different from before, when she'd been in his home with his crazed aunt's eyes gleaming as she pointed to Hermione, asking Draco for confirmation of her and Harry's identities. Back then, his eyes been deathly afraid and he'd even looked sickly. She remembered that he'd not sold them out, whatever their differences had been. He'd been slimy but perhaps not wholly irredeemable. Now he appeared grim but well-off. She wondered if things had gotten better for him then. In comparison, she probably looked a fright in her torn robes with scarred and bruised body.
After a few minutes, he spoke again, his voice lacking any expression once more. "Come with me."
Hermione wondered if they were finally going to kill her. Maybe she'd be killed ceremoniously by Voldemort himself. No, they wouldn't make it that easy. They'd have to play with her first, toss her around. A simple death wasn't going to be in her luck. She was Harry Potter's best friend after all. Maybe she could find something sharp as she followed him and stab herself before they got to her...
The thought fled her mind as she took her first step forward and stumbled back on to the ground, grazing her knees. A gasp escaped her lips and Malfoy turned to her from where he stood in the doorway, facing the hall. He pointed his returned wand to her, and with a ceremonious wave, she felt her limbs become as light as air as she was propelled to her feet thoughtlessly. Another flick and the grazes on her knees began to vanish. Superficial cuts heal easily.
She had an urge to say thanks, but stopped herself. The time for manners had long fled. Despite his clean and refined appearance, Malfoy was probably the same hypocritical coward he'd been the last time she'd seen him.
"Come." He said again with surprisingly no annoyance present in his voice. She found herself wondering what had happened to him. He should have been swaggering by now, but he wasn't. Instead, he walked swiftly with a determined step.
After that, Hermione followed him with relative ease through the traitorous halls of the building she had been kept in. Eventually they entered a room with bright walls, a desk with a cushy chair, walls of cabinets and shelves of books. A man with greying locks, a dimpled chin, and spectacles perched on his nose peered up at them. Hermione stood beside Malfoy.
"Thanks, Prewett, that will be all." Malfoy said lazily. He reached for a package, from which he retrieved plain black robes. These were handed to Hermione, who stared at them dumbly and did not take them.
"I didn't purchase them. They're given to all the prisoners who are leaving the premises," Malfoy informed her dryly. "So unless you'd like to walk out dressed like that, you may as well put them on."
Hermione still did not take them. She looked at her toes, mind coming alive after what seemed like an eternity of battling emotions, pain, and isolation. She had a feeling she was unfortunately not going to be visiting the grave today. What was going on?
Malfoy spared her a fleeting glance that revealed he was unsurprised by her stubborn, if silent, refusal. She then felt a rope bind across her wrist and tie into a knot. Showing no outward signs of surprise, Hermione glanced at her arm and saw nothing on either wrist. Looking up at him, she saw his raised wand. He lifted an eyebrow and turned on his heel. "Standard procedure." He murmured. The invisible rope tugged her forwards through the halls after him. Many witches and wizards were traversing the same halls, dressed in white robes and looking thoroughly unsurprised at their presence, nor at her dishevelled appearance.
At last, a lift took them into a plain foyer. The doors revealed a bright sunny day outside. Hermione's eyes hurt staring at it. She didn't know how long it had been since she'd seen its life giving glow. To her dismay, they didn't leave via those doors. Instead, they approached a fireplace where Malfoy grabbed floo-powder from an elegant cup and threw it into the fire. He stepped in with her, and said in a clear voice. "Grimmuald Place!"
They eventually landed in the fireplace of the sitting room in Grimmuald Place, which looked beyond recognition. The room was swathed in delicate new furniture in shades of dove grey, ice blue, and violet—a woman's touch. A stab of nostalgia shot through her as she remembered all the times, both happy and sad, that she'd had here. It obviously belonged to Malfoy, the last of the Blacks, now that Harry was gone. There was almost no trace of the past remaining in the four walls of the room she stood in. Hermione felt her throat tighten.
The tightness around her wrist dissolved to her relief, as soon as they stepped out of the fireplace. Malfoy didn't seem to know what to do with himself. He crossed the room to the windows and peered out at the square outside, paced the room a few times only to stop and stare at her intensely before crossing to the hall from which Mrs. Black's portrait had clearly been removed somehow (for she made no racket upon their entering). Finally, he turned to her and opened his mouth to speak, only to promptly shut it again and stare at his boots. This was a completely different man from the cool and composed statue she`d seen earlier.
Hermione stood uncomfortably, not bothering to hide the fact that she was staring at him anymore. She fought the feelings threatening to burst past the barrier she'd built in her mind for self preservation with all her might, and finally beat the moisture pooling in her eyes. She'd tried her hardest to shut down her emotions without getting broken in there, and she'd succeeded. Broken humans were not like this, not like her. But nor was her spirit whole. It was splintered, it was different. She would never be the same.
"Sit." He finally said, still staring at his boots.
Hermione still kept her eyes on him, but sat on the plush sofa behind her nonetheless.
"Kreacher." Malfoy called. With a crack, the wizened old elf appeared. He looked at Hermione and a barrage of softly muttered curses were expelled from his mouth before he clutched at the locket around his chest (one which the Malfoys had not been able to remove despite all the efforts done to do so), and actually twitched towards her.
"Master Malfoy, what can Kreacher do for you and Ms. Granger?" Kreacher asked.
And that was when Hermione could no longer fight it. She burst into tears. Loud sobs escaped her lips. The two beings in the room froze, not knowing what to do as her body was wracked with loud ungraceful jerks and noises. She grabbed a cushion and hugged it to her as she cried and cried. Just minutes later, she wiped her cheeks and cleared her throat before regally raising her chin and staring at Kreacher.
"Mistress, might Kreacher help you by bringing you some soup?" Kreacher asked.
Now, a giggle escaped Hermione's lips. Malfoy appeared horrified and Kreacher's expression never changed. The elf's change in attitude had been her undoing. That there was this tiny thread of something familiar, that there was some creature that had once treated her with disdain now offering her comfort was enough to break the dam which had kept at bay all the emotions.
Malfoy seemed to have found his voice. "Kreacher, soup would be fine for the mud...for Granger."
While Kreacher left to bring Hermione soup, Malfoy took a seat in an armchair where he could keep his eyes on her. Hermione stared at the cushion on her lap and did not move an inch until Kreacher appeared once more, breaking the silence. He placed a tray with a bowl of hot soup and thick crusty bread before her. A simple glass of water accompanied it. He bowed and dissaparated.
Hermione did not wait to be asked. She reached for the spoon,took a mouthful of hot creamy soup, and then positively groaned. It wouldn't be too good to get used to such a comfort though. She had no idea what she was doing here. Yet every last morsel that had been placed before her vanished off her plate. Pushing the tray away, she looked up at Malfoy. He was staring at his hands, as though uncomfortable.
Upon noticing she was finished, he summoned Kreacher to remove her tray, and then finally spoke to her. "Would you like a change of clothing now?" He asked in his serious and very un-Malfoy-like voice.
"No." Hermione replied.
Draco merely nodded. "As you wish. Now, you're probably wondering what you're doing here." He gestured around him
He seemed to want a response, so Hermione nodded. She didn't wish to speak. Not to him, not to anyone.
"You're here, simply, because this is your last chance." Malfoy said, no hint of expression in his voice or face. Where was that foolish Malfoy pride? She wondered. She supposed they really weren`t children anymore. Although this did not suppress her longing to call him `ferret` just to goad him into replying with something childish back.
"They have tried all sorts of methods to get you to speak, as you're obviously aware..." Malfoy continued smoothly
"And now they're using you?" Hermione asked a little incredulously, before she could stop herself.
Malfoy managed a tight smile. "They've tried the stick; I guess they wanted to use a carrot. I didn't have the heart to tell them that despite my having been a classmate of Granger's, she would under no circumstances speak to me. You're not stupid; you know they're going to kill you."
"I guess you know me better than your friends." Hermione said, feeling as though this was the most bizarre conversation she'd ever had in her life. "So why are you trying?"
Malfoy shrugged. "I wanted to."
"Eager to finish off the rest of my lot?" Hermione asked, feeling anger welling. It was an emotion she thought she'd never be able to feel again once she'd finished clawing at her own skin in the cell. At first she'd felt such rage towards her captors and torturers, but eventually she culled it. She`d had to in order to remain sane. She'd shut off.
"You're not the one interrogating, Granger." Malfoy said simply. Hermione wasn't stupid. She didn't lower her gaze from his, but she shut up. He had the wand; she had the fists of an imprisoned petite female.
"I'll ask you simply: where are Arthur Weasley and the remaining members of the Order?" Malfoy asked in a bored voice.
Hermione smiled bitterly. "I don't know." She replied stiffly. They'd already tried everything, so she didn't know what this prat felt he could do. "I'm sure you are aware that veritaserum has been used upon me numerous times and nothing was gleaned from those sources. The cruciatus curse resulted in nothing as well."
"There are instances, ways which the effects of veritaserum can be avoided, same with the cruciatus." Malfoy replied, eyeing her closely. "For instance, one might carry an antidote at all times, or be adept at occlumency."
"I am a sufficient occlumens, but even I couldn't withstand torture and protect the secrets of my mind for long." Hermione said matter-of-factly. "It is simply a fact that I know nothing."
"Perhaps we've been asking the wrong questions," Draco murmered. He reached inside his robes and pulled out a glass phial filled with clear fluid, which he handed to Hermione. She gazed at it emotionlessly before swallowing the contents. Dimly, she wondered if she could be fast enough to kill herself with shattered glass before he could point his wand out and stop her. The fleeting thought left her and she placed the phial on the table in front of her before returning her gaze to the pale man across from her.
"Ask me anything." She said sardonically. "I promise to answer truthfully."
Malfoy chuckled wryly. "Who was the last member of the order you spoke to?"
"Ginny Weasly," Hermione answered in a clear voice, not even bothering to resist. She did not even know the basics of occlumency, but Malfoy didn't need to know that. As long as that led him away from the real reason she couldn't tell him anything, she was happy.
"Where did you meet her?"
"In the Forbidden Forest, before she took a portkey away."
"Why the Forbidden Forest?" He asked.
"It's not a place anyone expects a person to enter these days." Hermione replied.
"Where did she take the portkey to?"
"I don't know." She replied.
"Why didn't they tell you?"
"I don't know."
"Okay, but why do you think they didn't tell you?" He asked with a tinge of annoyance in his voice.
"She was going away, the less people that knew the location, the better...I think." Hermione replied, feeling a tinge of fear. He certainly was asking a lot of questions she hadn't been asked before. The others had demanded answers and asked broad questions. They`d just pointed their wands and slashed her skin, made her suffer through had not probed, had not been fussed to. They'd been more interested in watching her scream. Malfoy was trying to create a mental picture of what she did know, in order to scrape together the gaps, she realized.
"Who else was there?" Malfoy questioned.
"I don't remember." Hermione replied, her voice now shaking. She had never expected to be interrogated so thoroughly, whereupon the gaps in her plan could be seen. She thought she'd just be tortured and when it was clear she couldn't speak, she'd be left alone or killed. Not this careful interrogation where she was treated like a human being. This, she hadn't expected.
Malfoy frowned. "You remember being there, but don't actually remember who was there?"
"Yes," Hermione, said, shutting her eyes tightly.
Malfoy stared at his hands for a moment, thinking hard. Then he looked up, eyes bright. "Were you obliviated?"
"Yes." She whispered. She knew this, and therefore had to confirm it. When she'd come to after she'd been unconscious, there was a letter for her on the floor beside her. The handwriting on the note had been her own.
Hermione,
Certain things regarding the order were erased from your memory; enough to be credible without leaving a huge gap in your memory.
The deatheaters are coming for you. Burn this.
"By whom?" He asked curiously. He appeared excited, clearly having stumbled across something that no one had before, and so easily too. The others had ditched veritaserum after the fifth failed attempt at getting information. After that, it was just torture. Hermione felt pure loathing for this man seated across from her.
She closed her eyes once more. "I'm not sure," She replied. It was the truthful answer to that particular question. But if he asked a different one...
"Who do you think did it?"
"I think I did." Hermione replied in a quiet voice. Only she could have done such an intricate job in her memories. She'd erased vital pieces of information without leaving a gaping hole in her memory. Another person couldn't have dealt with her mind so efficiently.
His grey eyes widened. "That would have been complex magic, erasing so meticulously." He then looked at his watch and sighed. "Time's up."
Malfoy stood, smoothed down his robes and walked to the fireplace. "Take whichever bedroom you like, Granger." And then he threw some floo-powder into the fireplace from his own pouch.
Feeling the effects of the potion wearing off, Hermione stood and fumed. "Haven't you done enough?" She screamed, enraged. She saw red. "Why don't you just kill me? You aren't going to get any information from me. There's nothing else you can do!"
Malfoy simply threw a curious glance at her, as though she was a misbehaving cat that had surprised him in its antics, and then stepped into the fire. "Malfoy Manor," He said.
Then he was gone.