Chapter 2: Tormenter
It was barely four in the afternoon, but the sky was as dark as if it had been nine o'clock at night. Not only was the sky dark, but it seemed heavy, as if it was filled with the contents of a giant ash tray.
That's when Draco Malfoy apparated back to the manor. Previously, he had been sent on a typical mission with the objective of finding and killing stray opponents of the Dark Lord. He hated it. Actually, he hated everything: everything that was happening, everything he was doing, and everything he was seeing. A couple of years ago, he had been put on a pedestal by his parents next to the greatest dark wizard of all time, Voldemort, and he had no other choice than to play the game. He was viewed as a cruel, merciless Death Eater, and for that, he was respected by all. The ones who were sceptical because of his youth, or his lineage, or his failure to kill Dumbledore himself years ago were all silenced by his own hand.
As soon as his feet touched the ground, he knew something exciting was about to happen. As he entered his residence, he saw what caused all the commotion throughout the growing crowd of Death Eaters. A new batch of prisoners had entered the mansion. Draco hated this part the most out of everything that was happening in his house. Hundreds of innocents had been brought in, tortured and then killed coldly. Their cries, their screams, and their last breath transformed his nights into nightmares.
Usually, he wouldn't even glance at the newcomers, but all this energy through the crowd told him he should maybe peek at them. At first, he didn't find anything special. The prisoners always came in whatever was leftover of their clothes, or of their skin, or even of their body sometimes, and this group was no different. A man to the left was bare chest, a young boy had dried up blood on his forehead, and an older woman was missing her front teeth… Then further on, another man was missing a finger, another young boy was lying on the floor with his knees rolled up in his chest, and a girl, maybe Draco's age, was missing half her shirt.
Draco couldn't help but pity the girl. Girls always had it far worse than men did, because it seemed like men, Death Eaters or prisoners, just could not control their sexual impulses. Narcissa, his mother, had tried to help protect the girls brought in at first, but she learned the hard way never to stand between a predator and his prey.
As Draco was going to turn around and leave, his eyes caught a glimpse of the girl's eyes. He had seen those eyes before. He was absolutely sure of it. He had seen those chocolate brown coloured eyes in the past. He left the room pondering about whose eyes those were. He started to walk towards his bedroom when he accidentally bumped into Gregory Goyle. They both apologized formally before continuing their own paths.
Three steps later, he froze. He knew who those eyes belonged too. Those rich brown eyes were Hermione Granger's. Had the brightest witch of their time actually been caught by a group of worthless men? Were the Death Eaters who caught her aware of who she was? He hadn't recognized her at first, because she was filthy with mud. Then, he actually came to the realization that she might have been purposely disguised in mud. If anyone noticed her, it was over. She would be as good as a voodoo doll.
Draco quickly spun around towards the hall where the prisoners had been a few minutes ago. When he entered the room, it was now empty. He subtly used his occlumency powers to guide himself through the maze located underground that hid so many cell, and so many lost souls.
As he quickly caught up with the newly arrived group of prisoners, he called the Death Eater that was leading the group.
"What it is you want?" asked Fenrir Greyback angrily.
"I want this group," answered Draco directly.
"It's mine. I fought for it upstairs. You know the rules," barked Fenrir in his hoarse voice.
Death Eaters had this practice where they fought for a newly arrived group of prisoners. The winner would have the privilege to do whatever the hell he wanted to do with them as long as the result was the same: pluck out all juicy information and then discard them. For the show, sometimes group owners would make public demonstrations of their vile ways.
Draco never got caught into that game. He acted above it all, but truthfully, it destroyed him to see so much violence. These were real people that had real emotions, real families, real good ideals… These were real lives that were taken away. He killed innocent people, of course, but he didn't care about giving a show.
However, he did give a good show when he would confront another Death Eater that violated his rights or beliefs in some way. All the hatefulness he felt towards his own was dumped on a single individual that had provoked him. And that was the reason why he was respected by others. No one was in position to deal with the hate living inside him.
"I could not care less about the rules, and I know that you aren't one to care about them either," replied Draco.
"I could kill you right here, right now," warned the werewolf menacingly.
"Petrificus Totalus," said Draco calmly with a graceful wand motion, "Seems like you are not going to kill me right here, right now after all." Fenrir's body fell to the floor in a thumping sound which echoed through the adjacent halls.
Draco then turned to the little crowd of newcomers. "Now, you are all going to enter this cell here to my left. If you try to escape, you will die. If you don't, you will die, too. The only thing you've got left is time, so if you're willing to throw that away with your lives, go ahead. I'm not stopping anyone. Anyone who wants more time will enter this room, now," ordered Draco almost smiling.
"Time is not the only thing we've got left. We still have hope," spit a voice from the back of the group of prisoners.
"Who said that?" demanded Draco losing his calm composure.
The young girl with the chocolate brown eyes raised her hand in the air, and stared straight into his own greyish eyes. Draco saw in that exact moment the little 11 year old who knew all the answers to all the professors' questions. He almost smiled, but instead, he regained his seriousness, and said, "You're not going in this room, Granger."
Suddenly, every pair of eyes were on her as if they were waiting to receive orders from her. She could probably pump them to fight Draco, but they were unarmed, unorganised, and in no shape at all for a fight. That would also mean that she would have more deaths on her conscience. She lowered her eyes as a sign of submission to Malfoy. The prisoners' eyes darkened as quickly as hope sparked to life when her identity was revealed to Draco Malfoy, one of the most reputed wizards of all time, and they all walked into the cell one by one looking down at their feet.
Hermione was the last in line, and Draco shut the cell door right in front of her. He was serious. She was not going into that cell, and somehow, something felt right about not entering that cell with the rest of the prisoners who were promised time.
Draco pushed Hermione further through the underground maze, until they reached the last door. Draco opened the cell door, and Hermione walked inside without having to be asked to do so. As she stepped inside, she heard the worst shrieking she ever heard of coming from the cell next to hers. The only object in the cell was a metallic table, but there were also some chains attached to one of the walls.
"What's this, Malfoy? A torture room? Who do you think I am? You think pinning me to the wall and making me bleed to death will make me talk?" scoffed Hermione.
"Well, pinning you to the wall does sound pretty pleasant…" smirked Draco.
"Oh, so, that's what it's all about, is it? Quenching your sexual needs? I really did not think you to be that kind of person, Malfoy. I had a higher esteem of you… Seems like I was mistaken," puffed Hermione as she pulled the leftover of her shirt to cover the most skin she possibly could.
"Why all those assumptions, Granger?" asked Draco.
"You are the world's biggest prat," screamed Hermione. Maybe attacking her executioner wasn't the greatest idea she had gotten after all. All those years at Hogwarts were far behind: he had been terrible to her back then, and she had no clue how terrible he could be to her right now. But she couldn't keep her mouth shut, she just couldn't, not right now, not in this situation.
"Woah, Granger. I thought we passed the insult-throwing point in our lives. Didn't we leave off at battle of wits?" commented Draco almost teasingly. Draco was actually happy in this moment. For once since so many years, he could reconnect with the person he was before he put a mask on. He could reconnect with himself once again.
"Malfoy, I don't understand what this is all about. If you are going to kill me, why did you bring me here? You could have killed me on the spot in front of the other prisoners: it would have destroyed mentally the whole lot of them. And if you are not planning on killing me now, then why didn't you leave me with the rest of the group?" shouted Hermione clearly out of patience.
"Woman, your excessive amount of questions are getting me dizzy," replied Draco as he massaged the area between his eyebrows.
"MALFOY! Stop fooling around with me, and answer me, please!" begged Hermione as her eyes filled with tears. She did not want to cry, not here, not in front of Malfoy. She didn't want to expose any weaknesses, but this was hard. Had her sacrifices not been enough?
"NO, GRANGER! You listen to me, now! Here, prisoners are kept about a week, two weeks if Death Eaters enjoy you, and I mean, if they find your body pleasant. You don't have any choices here, and I have no power, nor influence here either. So if you want to stretch your stay as much as possible, you're going to have to listen to me, and do whatever the hell I tell you to do. Is this clear?" warned Draco.
Hermione slowly backed up, and pressed herself against the cold metallic table in the centre of the room. She felt a tear roll down her cheek, and lowered her eyes. In a matter of seconds, she started sobbing whole-heartedly, but she didn't care that Draco was seeing her anymore. It didn't matter anymore. She had lost all control on her life.
Draco felt useless. He didn't know whether he should or shouldn't be comforting her, drying her tears, lying to her by saying that things will be alright… She seemed so vulnerable at this moment that his heart actually ached for her. It made him sick to see her in such a miserable state. But his head wouldn't let him approach her. It wasn't right. He knew it. He knew.
However, his mind slipped, and soon, he had found a bucket and a washcloth.
"Aguamenti," said Draco as his wand spilled some water directly into the bucket.
As Hermione's sobs subsided, Draco started cleaning her arms which were covered in dirt. As he cleaned her arms, he noticed the deep wound. He healed the cut without any hesitation, which surprised himself. When most of the dirt had been cleaned off of her body, he discovered big bruises everywhere from her feet to the top of her back. He then cleaned her neck and her face. It felt very refreshing for Hermione, and she even agreed to slip out of her pants and her shirt to let Draco wash off most of the dirt. Hermione was so emotionally and physically drained that she fell asleep while Draco was finishing cleaning her.
Draco then left the cell. He sealed the door and installed protective charms on the door. No one was going in that cell except him. One of the prisoners of her group would certainly slip and admit that Hermione was located in the Manor, and chaos would appear between the Death Eaters. All of them wanting to be the one to break her, to make her life a living hell, and finally, to give her the death she would beg for. She was his to torment.