Disclaimer: I own nothing except a laptop and the plot. Characters and world belong to J. K. Rowling.
Destroyer
By Catsitta
Chapter ten;;
Albus Dumbledore was nothing if not a meddling old codger.
Blue eyes sparkling behind half-moon spectacles, withered hands folded before him just so, he gazed upon his youngest staff member with a half-smile and a feeling of satisfaction. The spy played his part and retained the façade of loyal Death Eater even now. With the Malfoy's indeterminately indisposed, what remained of the pureblood terrorists were without a financial foothold in the ministry. True, many of old blood were wealthy, but misers they would become when the galleons ceased to flood into their bank vaults from supporters and blackmail victims alike. Only the Malfoys were so influential and outlandishly fortunate that they could continue to live like royalty for a few more generations yet without worry.
Now all that remained was to purge Voldemort's taint from the political offices.
A plan, of course, formulated quickly.
His eyes slid to the young, comatose witch. Then back again to his trusted spy. He pondered briefly what their relationship was before now. Why was it that the Destroyer who scorned Death Eaters and slayed the Dark Lord, would show unfathomable mercy towards Severus? And why did the boy seem enthralled by her very presence? Hopefully this would not turn into another Lily Evans situation—curiosity turned quickly into obsession for the boy. Severus did not love in halves. He saw something he liked, even minutely, latched onto it and consumed it with a passion. Eccentrics were often men of genius, whose vast capabilities in logic led them down a winding road wrought with odd pleasures and habits of comfort.
Severus Snape was certainly brilliant. He drank in knowledge with eagerness and rarely allowed himself to be anything but the best at what he chose to pursue, be it Potions, Occlumency, the Dark Arts, subterfuge or love. With those pursuits came undeniable quirks.
However, Lily was a devastating failure. He tried to love her as a friend, then as a saint. She spurned his friendship when it became inconvenient and she likely never knew of Severus' attempts to protect her and her family from Voldemort. In a roundabout way, Lily was the reason he became a Death Eater. Yes, his home life was not happy and his choice in friends were poor. But had she taken a chance and nurtured the love he offered instead of yanking it out by the roots, he might not have ventured down that dark path. Severus would have done anything in his power to keep her should Lily shown interest.
The obsession remained even without her reciprocated love. It would always remain, Albus supposed, if nothing was done to intervene. What use would the boy be if he were pining after a woman since passed?
His thoughts whirled. Yes. He most certainly had a plan. One that would put everyone's lives back on track. First things first, however, there were trials to oversee.
.x.
The next week came and went in a blur.
Hermione made no effort to leave her bed more often than necessary, much less attempt an escape. Her magic felt muted and tapping into it was strenuous. Thus she stopped bothering after the first day and took too long naps. Never did she believe a day would come where her mind was not abuzz with the desire for productivity. Even reading seemed too much of a hassle. So she curled up in the scratchy sheets, unbothered by the birds nest her hair became, and slept the day away, waking only to relieve herself and eat a minimal amount of broth.
What she did not expect at the week's end was for Albus Dumbledore, flanked by Minerva McGonagall and a mousy man she did not recognize, to show up at her bedside. Hermione eyed the trio with suspicion as she absently smoothed her ratty tangle of hair.
"Hello Hermione," Dumbledore smiled politely. "This is Deputy Headmistress, Professor Minerva McGonagall, whom teaches Transfiguration here at Hogwarts and Mister Thorne, who is a representative of the Ministry."
"Ministry?" Hermione tensed as she felt the man's scrutiny crawling along her skin.
"Mister Thorne—"
"—I refuse." She threw back the sheet and stood, fully prepared to fight her way out if needed. "I will not go to Azkaban!"
"My dear," the old man's eyes were twinkling just so, "Why ever would a war hero such as yourself be held on trial, much less go to prison?"
"W-war hero?"
"Why yes. Severus' testimony in regards to his experiences in the war effort did quite a fine job in painting you as a hero, dear girl. Mister Thorne here wishes to verify Severus' story through Veritaserum."
"Is he an Auror?" Noting Thorne's nod, Hermione grimaced. She kept her mouth shut when questions about why she was not undergoing a trial. Knowing Dumbledore, he pulled a few strings, and the price she would pay later for his intervention would likely not be to her liking. "Very well. When will the questioning begin?"
"How does…in an hour sound?"
Thorne shifted from foot to foot. This was not how things normally proceeded. Letters were sent, paperwork was filled and all sort of other bureaucratic nonsense needed doing, filing and approving. Something was not quite right here. She narrowed her eyes. Why would Snape's story need verification?
"Suspicious," she informed him. "But I have a feeling I have little choice in the matter."
An hour later found the Destroyer freshly showered, her hair pulled back into a braid and wearing her only set of robes, mended and laundered. Sitting in a small, dark office in the Magical Law Enforcement floor of the Ministry of Magic, Hermione watched as Thorne, alongside none other than Alastor Moody (of all people) approached. Aware of Moody's membership in the Order, she relaxed a hair, but she kept her eyes riveted upon them both, prepared to act at any moment. Wandless and still weary from her magical depletion, she knew that she had little hope of escaping the Ministry should things turn ugly. But after all the hell she survived, no interrogation would break her.
Thorne began the meeting by placing a piece of parchment and a charmed quill on the narrow table between him and Hermione before reciting the standard procedure. He recorded the date, time and names of interrogators, the quill scribbling away as he spoke, then glanced towards Moody. Upon seeing the man gesture a vague sign, Thorne turned his attention back onto Hermione.
"I will now administer three drops of Veritaserum, as approved by the Ministry of Magic and witnessed by Alastor Moody. Do you consent to this?"
"Yes." As if she had a choice. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Occlumency would only help some given how the Truth Serum worked. It literally inhibited the area of the brain associated with falsehoods and fantasy, as well as emotion, and tapped into what most would call the unconscious mind. Most recipients of the potion, as of a result, became slack-jawed, expressionless, babbling idiots. Anything that came to mind was said. Lies nor personal "feeling" came into play, only the long, continuous train of dialogue expressed itself. This is why one needed to be talented at interrogation for the serum to be effective; otherwise, the recipient would give basic responses which would prove of little use or relevancy.
With Occlumency, Hermione could quiet the dialogue to avoid spouting off whatever came to mind, and could resist speaking when prompted. In this way, she could refine her answers to a point of vagueness, but the truth would remain and there was still a strong urge to reply when questioned.
Thorne approached and uncorked a tiny bottle of clear liquid. Only its slight, pearlescent shimmer in the faint light queued her to realize something was off. Three drops were placed on her tongue. Sweet. Had someone added sugar of all things to the tasteless potion? Veritaserum often proved a delicate brew few could master. However, no Potion Master worth their salt would add sugar, for it compromised the serum and transformed it into sedative base for many regulated medications used to deal with mental illness and the aftereffects of trauma.
She felt her thoughts muddle with the potion's fog. So tired, Hermione drooped in her seat, eyelids heavy. Drugged and exhausted, the witch could do little more than stare with glassy eyes at Moody and Thorne. She would answer their questions, but as soon as possible, she would be asking a few of her own.
"What is your name?" Thorne began.
"Hermione."
"Ah. What is your FULL name."
"Hermione. My surname is of little import."
Moody scowled from where he stood, apparently attempting to appear menacing. Thorne cleared his throat nervously.
"Right then. Hermione. How old are you?"
"I'm not sure."
"You're not certain of your age?"
"No."
"Do you know Severus Snape?"
"Yes."
"When did you two meet for the first time?"
"First day of class."
"You are his student?"
"No. I have not been a student in years."
"How did you two meet then?"
"Unpleasantly."
"Pardon?"
"We met unpleasantly. A fight you could call it."
"Why did you two fight?"
"He loomed and I retaliated."
"How did this confrontation end?"
"With goodbye."
"So you could say you two were on amicable terms?"
"No. He likely wanted to continue fighting. I simply left."
"Did you two meet again?"
"Yes."
"Where did you two meet again?"
"Malfoy Manor, Hogwarts and Godric's Hollow."
The exchange continued for a good while longer, with Thorne growing more and more frustrated with Hermione's responses. She offered enough truth to evade the core of what was sought. After admitting, to no uncertain terms, that Severus Snape was little more than a witness to her actions rather than an ally in them, Moody at last stepped in. She knew him to be an Order member, but the man was an Auror through and through. He knew the serum was tainted. Thorne, judging by the way he sweat, did as well.
Whether or not this occurrence was happenstance, Hermione did not know. Tampering with Ministry investigations earned years in Azkaban.
"It is obvious what is going on here, Thorne." Moody grumbled. His compatriot swallowed nervously.
"Y-yes indeed. Most obvious."
"Miss…Hermione. You are clearly an Obliviate victim. Sad thing, too. Such a bright girl, your history wiped away by those insidious Death Eaters, like Snape."
Hermione frowned,"Professor Snape is not a Death Eater."
"He wears their mark, missy." Moody prowled closer and placed both hands on the table between them. Something glittered in his eyes—eye, given the patch covering one—it reminded her of Dumbledore in Snape's pensive memories. Dangerous, scheming, a gleam of callous plotting without care for who suffered, as long as the goal was reached. Moody always did make her nervous and Barty Crouch Jr. played his paranoid, bigoted role all too well her fourth year of school. "Severus Snape is one of them. One of the men who hurt you."
"What exactly are y—" she began, only to have her arm grabbed by the auror and her sleeve yanked to the elbow. Hermione tried to pull away, but Moody gripped her like a vice. She fell still and silent when he began to trace the scars marking the inside of her forearm. She felt herself sobering from the potion floating in her system.
"Mudblood," he muttered. "I doubt you carved this little number into your own flesh. You were unconscious for quite a while, missy. I read your health reports while you slept. This isn't the only reminder that scum left, is it?" Hermione met his gaze, unfaltering as she stared back with loathing. What was his point? "Don't defend him and his kind. They are responsible for this word on your arm. The stripes on your back. The scar from collarbone to hip…the mark cut into your thigh."
Hermione jerked away,"How did you know about?" her words faltered. Of course. Poppy. The mediwitch saw plenty of naked bodied and hers was one of them. She likely knew every bump and blemish marring Hermione's skin. "What do my scars have to do with Professor Snape? I am here for a reason and told it had to do with him, but I know someone's lying."
Moody grinned, "I told you. Snape is a Death Eater, one that got off scot free. His type did your wrong, it's obvious. It's why you attacked them to escape."
"Escape?" What was going on? Immediately, Dumbledore came to mind. Was this part of some greater plan to help her avoid trial and imprisonment—if so, why? He could expect no favors from Hermione, even if he planned on blackmail. Living as a chess piece of fate made her wary of such maneuvering.
"Malfoy kidnapped you and kept you prisoner," he informed her. Thorne pointedly found the floor fascinating. Sweat beaded thickly on his brow. "You broke free and confounded the lot who did you wrong when you returned there later, seeking revenge. Hogwarts and Malfoy Manor were the only two places you could remember after being Obliviated, and your reaction to Death Eaters like Snape is understandable. Yet you helped Snape, knowing he's one of their kind."
Was he feeding her a background story in the middle of an interrogation?
"The professor is a good man."
"He claimed you assaulted him when he found you. A reaction expected from a victim. Why would you attack a 'good man' as you call him?"
"I have my reasons."
"Of all the Death Eaters you faced in Malfoy Manor, only Snape left unscathed. He wears their mark. He is no different than You-Know-Who—"
"—Voldemort."
"Pardon?"
"Voldemort. To fear a name is to give it power. Better yet, call him Tom Riddle, that is his name, after all. Voldemort is but a pseudonym to impress the weak of mind and frighten the weak of heart. As for Professor Snape, he may wear the madman's mark, but he does not believe in his cause. At one time, he did. It is the nature of youth to be troubled and easily mislead by the promise of belonging and power. But the man you know, sir, and I so gallantly spared, as you seem to perceive my actions as being, is not the same, angry child who first knelt before a charismatic leader with handsome promises. He serves the Light, as you are well aware, no matter how deeply he once delved in darkness. I know this to be true based on his actions. A servant of the Dark would not have allowed me free reign in his master's destruction. If he wished it, my life could have easily been forfeit and Voldemort at the height of his power.
"Now, I believe the standard hour of questioning is finished. If there is nothing more you have to ask that is relevant to Professor Snape's claims, though I do not understand why anything would be at this point given his acquittal, then I must ask of you my leave."
Hermione at last pulled free of a blank-faced Moody. The Auror stared her down for a few seconds more before smirking nastily. Yes, something was far from right.
"Very well, missy. You may go."
"Thank you."
His soft, dangerous words followed her as she stepped out of the office, Thorne at her elbow.
"Don't be thanking me yet."
TBC?
A/N: (Hn. Pain is not productive to creative processes. Who knew the Kinect could be so cruel? Anywho~ Moody hates Snape. Dumbledore is scheming. The Death Eater trials are in full swing. Sirius is in Azkaban. Harry is with his Aunt and Uncle. And our heroine is caught in the middle, the very place she no longer seeks to be. But a hero's work is never done. Fate has a strange way of motivating its key players into action. After all, in the wake of disaster, new chances are born.
Thank you for reading! Your support means quite a lot to me.
And for those whom are curious, I'm in the midst of working on the creature fic I mentioned last chapter. Three chapters are done and the fourth in the making. It's thus far named "Bloodlines" and I will likely post it weekly (perhaps bi-weekly) upon its completion. I originally was shooting for ten chapters, around 30,000 words, but it may end up slightly longer than that based off the current projection of the story arc.
Until next time! )