Mephistopheles
By: TheGreyLady
Chapter 19- Bound Down
There were 764 tiles in the ceiling.
She knew. She'd counted them three times already.
She lay in bed, staring up. There was nothing else to do. She wasn't allowed to read any periodicals or non-fiction. She'd already read the books they'd given her. Her jailers had been very kind, seeking and finding the items she wanted-- and was allowed-- to read.
She never thought, in all her years, that she would ever grow sick of books.
Once every two days she was given 'playtime,' as they had called it, for one hour. Basically, she was led to an enclosed macadam lot and left with an armed guard. She lived for that hour in the sunshine. There was nothing of note to do there but it gave her an opportunity to stare up into the skies that she had taken for granted and stare at the grass on the other side of the barbed-wire fence.
Every other hour of every other day was spent in this cell. Her books were boring her. She had not spoken to anyone, save the women who consistently checked on her, for over four weeks. The days were beginning to blend together in a concoction of angst and monotony.
She was grateful that she wasn't kept with the other women in her prison. Several of them could be heard howling at night but she imagined that the screams prompted from her own nightmares robbed her of the right to be indignant about the interruption.
She knew this much. She was in a women's prison, which meant Severus and Harry probably weren't occupying this same space. As they had been led away for transport to one holding space, she had been taken for transport to another.
St. Magus Correctional Facility was the name of the place she'd been taken. She had no idea what city or state that may have been in, only that her hands had been bound together and she was placed in the back of a van for a very long time. When she arrived, they'd taken her clothing and given her an ugly green jumpsuit that could have been woven from steel wool.
She felt like a criminal. While she knew this to be the truth, it did nothing to console her.
Her meal tray was simply replaced more often than it was taken away empty. Annette, one of the four guards in charge of her, seemed gravely concerned at her disinterest in sustenance. The food was vile-- Hermione was sure that she'd lost weight. She constantly felt listless and she wasn't completely sure if it was due to environmental or nutritional causes.
"You all right in there, shug?" Annette's voice rang through the room.
Hermione nodded absently. She assumed that 'shug,' was short for sugar. She didn't like that Annette had decided on a pet name for her. Regardless of how kind she'd been, the woman was her warden, not her friend.
Aside from that, she sort of liked Annette who reminded her of a dark skinned, American Mrs. Weasley. She was a colorful, vibrant individual but then again, she was only here six hours a day. Annette once said that watching Hermione was a walk in the park compared to looking after the other girls here.
"You done with these books?" the older woman questioned again, motioning to the books she'd neatly stacked by the cell door.
"Yes."
"You want any new ones?"
Hermione nodded. Annette waited for a moment before asking, "You gotta preference?"
"Anything will be fine," she replied. Annette shook her head silently and left. Hermione wished that she could be more interested in her sole source of companionship-- the woman was obviously concerned for her welfare but Hermione was unconcerned with her well being.
She still wanted to curl up in a corner and die, miserable and alone... anything would be preferable to this.
Deacon White had visited her once shortly after she arrived, telling her that she would be held here until the paperwork and research for her case went through. He was hurrying it, he'd told her, so it shouldn't take too long.
And here she sat, over a month later. She wasn't sure that she was terribly fond of America. Perhaps she had vested too much faith in this system... maybe they should have gone elsewhere.
She wondered how Ron was... if he'd recovered yet. Every time she asked, she was told that she would know as soon as they did. She wondered if Harry and Severus ever saw each other. The thought of Severus brought on an onslaught of emotions she'd been so desperately trying to suppress.
Annette soon returned wielding a stack of books. She wasn't alone this time; two guards-- armed with wands and batons-- accompanied her. Hermione was confused; armed guards only came when she was taken from her cell and she'd gone outside yesterday. "You got a visitor," Annette chirped as she slid the books through the bars of her prison chamber.
Dutifully, Hermione stood and backed away from the door as it opened. Annette came inside, fastened her hands together and led her to a small waiting private room where her hands were released from the bonds. She sat at a small table obediently until the door opened.
"Hello, Hermione," Deacon White called as he sauntered into the room. The guards left, closing and locking the door behind them.
"Hi," she replied.
"Well, we've managed to rush some of the paperwork," White said, ignoring Hermione's pointed laugh and taking a seat, "and, if everything goes well, we can start the interviews by the end of the week."
"Good," she said as she felt the slightest bit of tension melt from her shoulders. Finally, some progress was being made.
"Also, your friend, Ronald Weasley," he paused for a moment to sigh heavily. Rising from his chair, he walked over and crouched in front of her, clasping her hands before he continued, "He's been moved to an American hospital for treatment. Nicholas brought him."
She jerked her head up, searching White's eyes for deception, "Is he all right?"
"He went into a coma," he said quietly. She felt her chin begin to tremble as she heard him continue, "But he's in an excellent facility with some of the best mediwizards on the planet and things are looking good for him... His condition is already improving."
She hadn't even seen him before she left for America. His parents must have been worried sick. The image of Ron, soaked in his own blood and eyes rolling, played itself over and over again before her watering eyes.
"I hate it here," she sobbed, letting the tears fall of their own volition, relinquishing control for a precious moment. "I hate it here. I want to go home." As the final word passed her lips, she cried even harder. She no longer had a home to go to.
White released her hands and pulled her into a tight hug as he said, "This is the worst part. You've got a very solid case and a lot of people who are rooting for you. Okay? Everything's going to be fine. Ronald is going to be just fine. You are going to be fine."
Pull yourself together, she scolded herself. Pushing the tears back, she straightened in her chair, drawing away from White. She plastered on the fakest smile she could manage and asked, "Why do you believe us?" She cursed her voice for the slight tremor it had betrayed.
"If Nicholas thinks you're innocent, then you're innocent. Here," he said, opening his briefcase and handing her a Styrofoam box from inside. "Prison food sucks."
She laughed mirthlessly as she sniffled, "Prison 'sucks...'"
Opening the box, she was assaulted by the aroma of grilled salmon, mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables. Wanting nothing more than to bury her face in the luscious, delectable, mouth-watering meal, she picked up her plastic fork and began to eat with the most poise she felt she could muster, which wasn't a lot. Luckily, White didn't seem to think anything of it.
"My wife found out I was coming to see you all today and demanded that I bring this to you." He looked at her very seriously, "And you don't ever disobey Kate."
The salmon was practically melting in her mouth. She swallowed, feeling like she had died and gone to heaven. "You've seen Harry and Severus?" she questioned before eagerly piercing another piece, the food she'd been eating usually needed roughly a pound of salt to make it even remotely palatable.
"Yes," he replied simply.
"How are they?"
"Harry and you are on the same page," White conceded; she ignored the grammar. "Severus... well, he's... uhh... adjusted remarkably well to prison life. Is he normally so... morbid?"
She grinned, "Yes, he is... did either of them...?"
"I'm not at liberty to go into specifics, Hermione," he replied, anticipating her question. "You're all separate. You aren't allowed any sort of contact with each other, even through me," White looked at her, his guileless gaze emanating his honesty. "We need to play this by the book. If I start breaking rules for you and somebody finds out, you could be denied amnesty."
"Why have they separated us?" she asked.
"They want to make sure that your stories are authentic. They're going to ask you very specific questions to make sure you don't have a rehearsed story."
Her stomach dropped, she hadn't even considered the questioning. She asked, "Questions like what?"
"'Who stood where?' 'What shoes were you wearing?' 'What did you eat?' Things like that," he said nonchalantly. "Nothing that you need to be concerned about."
She bit her lip for a moment, she couldn't even remember if she'd eaten the day they'd returned to the Department of Mysteries. "What if I can't remember all those things?" she asked.
"They'll take into account that you're human. So don't worry," he replied smoothly, patting her hand gently. "Just be honest, Miss Granger. That's all they want from you."
She'd given an oral testimony three days earlier to two men. In short, they'd asked her to give a detailed synopsis of the events that led up to her arrival in America. An hour later, a lengthy document-- the transcript of her deposition-- was delivered to her cell for her signature. She'd reviewed it carefully before signing it... she didn't want to fall into a trap.
The next day, she'd been removed from St. Magus and taken to another facility. Still isolated from the rest of the human population, Hermione soon became embittered at the loss of 'playtime' and books. Her new cell had shrunken in dimensions. Instead of bars and tiles, cold concrete walls stood on all sides. A massive metal door only appeared whenever someone needed to give her food. Her only opening into the outside world was a small, closed window hanging fifteen feet above the floor. She was encased in a prison of solid granite.
There were no ceiling tiles for her to count to pass the time.
Someone had told her that she wouldn't be here very long but as she craned her neck to the sky to watch the sun set through the tiny window, she held little faith that she would ever escape from here.
She awoke the next morning to the sound of the metal door appearing and opening. A short bald man escorted by armed guards took her from the cell and led her through mazes of hallways. Whereas the Ministry of Magic had an eerie, ancient quality to it, everything here felt sterile and contemporary: bright lights illuminating every corner and clean white paint reflecting that light from the walls. The floors were covered in a shiny deep blue tile that glimmered as though it were brand new.
They soon locked her into another small room. However, this room was different. There was a table here as well as two chairs... and the walls were yellow-- a very happy shade of yellow... the sort of yellow that would normally make her cheerful if she didn't harbor the sinking suspicion that she was about to be interrogated.
The chairs were startlingly comfortable as well. Perhaps her time in solitary confinement had played with her head but she instantly became deeply guarded. These people wouldn't put forth the effort to make her feel this at ease if they weren't planning on doing something awful to her.
The door opened again and a brusque, professional voice rang into her sensitive ears. "My name is Austin Joyce, I will be your caseworker," the bookish man told her as he set a case onto the table and opened it. "Coffee?"
Baffled, she nodded, obediently taking the mug that appeared before her. The beverage tasted like dirt. She didn't want to have nature calling while they were interrogating her but she didn't want to be rude or seem uncomfortable. There was no telling how long this was going to take.
"First," Joyce continued without pause, "You need to know that this session will be recorded. I must also ask if you would be willing to take Veritaserum." Hermione nodded quickly and the man released an exasperated breath, "I need you to say it, Miss Granger."
Hermione cursed at herself, she was already making a mess of it-- not that he had told her that she needed to speak it. "Yes, sir... I am willing to take Veritaserum."
He produced from his robes a small device that looked suspiciously like a tape recorder and placed it on the table in front of her before waving his wand. He turned back to her and pulled from his briefcase a bottle filled with clear liquid.
Three droplets into her coffee and a long drink later, Joyce began to speak again, rising from his seat and circling around her occasionally. A haze similar to that which the Draught of Peace had given her fell over her suddenly dulled senses.
"This is Agent Austin Joyce, ID 701894, interrogating one Hermione Jane Granger, a British witch seeking American sanctuary. Photographic documentation taken by her is already submitted along with an untitled book and her translation of said book. She has willingly submitted to Veritaserum. Miss Granger, are you aware that this session is being recorded?"
"Yes, I am," she replied without thinking and nodded as soon as her brain caught up with her mouth.
"And you did agree to the Veritaserum?"
"Yes, I did." Again, the words slipped from her of their own volition. No one had ever dosed her with the truth serum before; it dimly amazed her how the truth escaped her before she had a chance to think through it. She really hoped they wouldn't ask her anything intensely personal; she'd be unable to hold her tongue.
"Then let's begin," Joyce replied smoothly, taking a seat across from her. "How are you feeling?"
"Very relaxed but also a little frightened."
Joyce's voice took on a very placating tone and she had a horrifying image of Delores Umbridge creep into her mind. "Why are you frightened?"
"Because if you don't believe me then I'll be handed over to Fudge and I'm not entirely convinced that you aren't about to do something horrible to me." She grimaced as she realized what she'd said.
"All right," Joyce continued as though he'd expected that answer. "You're telling us, Miss Granger, that these photos," the photographs appeared out of thin air and hovered in front of her face, "were taken in the Department of Mysteries."
"Yes," she said as she averted her eyes from the photographs. She didn't want to look at them. She'd been there, that was more than enough.
"In England," Joyce continued without pause. "Your homeland."
"Yes."
"And you're here to seek amnesty for you and your friends..." Joyce circled behind her and brought his face well into her personal space, "and one just happens to be a convicted Death Eater," he said directly into her ear as he peered at the photos from over her shoulder.
"Yes, but he's been pardoned."
Joyce pulled the photographs from midair and began to flip through them, avoiding eye contact with her, "And you believe that even though you've never seen the official pardon."
Something in her mind clicked a bit at the way he'd said it, but she was too overwhelmed by the words she was saying to pay it much heed. "I watched him help while I stayed at the Order's headquarters during breaks from school."
"Of course you did." Joyce said flippantly as he thumbed through the pictures again. "It never occurred to you that he could have been spying on the Order of the Phoenix for Lord Voldemort?"
"Of course it occurred to me. But I think Professor Dumbledore would have known if something like that was going on."
Joyce gave a wet laugh, he sounded like a man who smoked too many cigarettes. "Sure he would." He held up the picture of her and Severus collapsed on the floor and said, "What's happening in this picture?"
His inquiries continued relentlessly. Joyce nitpicked the tiniest details of the photos, asking her to 'guesstimate' the dimensions of the room. He probed her mind for every adjective imaginable about the way she felt, what she remembered of the collapse and of her trip to the pool. The words came forth before she had the chance to process them and by the end, she was choking the words out. For the first time during the meeting, Joyce looked sincerely sympathetic even going as far as handing her a tissue and questioning her well-being.
He put the photos down and began to look through the papers in a manila folder before asking, "Do you want to take a break?"
"Yes," she sniffled. "But let's just get this finished."
He scrutinized her for a moment before handing her another tissue. "All right... what's the nature of your relationship with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley?"
Finally, an easy question, she thought as her mouth began to run off again. "We became friends shortly after we began attending Hogwarts. Harry and I have always been close friends. Ron and I had a little falling out after we tried to date during sixth year but we reconciled during our final year."
Joyce nodded, making a short mark on the paper he held. "Tell me about your relationship with Severus Snape."
"He was my professor at Hogwarts. Then I graduated and he became my servant. After Harry and I released him from the spell, he became a friend of sorts... it escalated from there into a more romantic relationship." Romantic? her brain cut in. Where did that word come from?
Ignoring her unspoken monologue, Joyce asked, "Were you romantically involved with him prior to graduating from Hogwarts?"
"No, we scarcely tolerated each other. Besides, it would have been unethical and immoral to have even considered it." She was insulted by the question but didn't feel it was her place to inform him of such. It was, after all, a legitimate question.
"What changed that?"
"I'm not sure. We weren't an instructor and his pupil anymore. Being in close quarters for such a long time, I suppose we had no choice but to learn to get on with one another the best we could."
Joyce nodded shortly, breathing a quiet, "Mmm hmm..." in response before beginning to pace again. "Why America?" he queried. He was tapping his foot lightly on the floor.
"Your policies best suit people in predicaments like mine," she answered, staring intently at his jangling foot.
"And what predicament is that?" He seemed to notice her scrutiny and his foot stilled.
"Cornelius Fudge knows I was down there. He knows that I know and he'll do anything to cover it up."
"Including jailing you," Joyce swooped down, bringing his nose meager inches from hers.
She replied, "Yes."
"For breaking into the Department of Mysteries and tampering with the substances inside," Joyce persisted, sounding victorious in his deduction.
Her heart felt like it was beating in her throat. She needed to breathe. "Yes."
Her anxiety did not cause Joyce to falter in his assault, "To restore a convicted Death Eater."
"Yes." Her chin was shaking as she spoke the words. I won't cry... I won't cry... he's just trying to intimidate me...
"Because you don't believe the court of the Ministry was correct in assessing his guilt."
"I don't believe they were correct!" she spat, focusing her fear into a much more manageable anger. "He risked his life spying on You-Know-Who for the Order of the Phoenix. He was subjected to a dark ritual under false pretenses. Ask any member of the Order!"
"Why can't we find any evidence that anybody testified on his behalf, then?" Joyce asked, his voice as calm and collected as it had ever been.
"The proceedings were closed. To my knowledge, the testimonies given were never documented in public record... or taken into consideration when it came to sentencing, it seems."
Joyce rummaged through the folder again, scanning through documents as he stated, "You claim that the pictures were not doctored or altered in any way."
"None whatsoever."
"And you claim the root of the spell that created the Dementors is documented in the untitled book Albus Dumbledore gave you," he said as he placed the folder on the table again and took his seat. "There is no doubt in your mind that the things you claim to have encountered are Dementors."
"Yes, it is documented in the book and I have no doubts that they were Dementors."
"Are you aware, according to the International Wizarding Conference of 1132, that a Dementor is considered a 'Dark Being' and thus deemed a hazard to society?"
"No, I did not know that," her brow furrowed as she processed the information... why hadn't she known that? She'd read many of the books in the Hogwarts library... why had she never seen that?
"Are you aware," Joyce resumed, "that, according to the same Conference, utilization of existing beings is not only perfectly legal but considered to be a right of the courts?"
"I was not aware of that. I do know that Minister Fudge had been using that right for years alongside several other Ministers in the past."
"The first time you broke into the Department of Mysteries, where did you get Ginny Weasley's hair for the Polyjuice Potion?" he asked, sitting back twirling his pen and staring at her indifferently.
The questions continued for well over an hour, ranging from what motivated her to free Severus to what color shirt Harry had given her to wear after she'd had the embolism. Joyce's chosen order of questions seemed to follow no pattern-- his jumps from one subject to another seemed to be determined completely at random.
She nearly fell to her knees in thanks when a knock sounded at the door. Before Joyce had an opportunity to react, a young dark-haired man with a nose that was too small for his long face entered the room, promptly Joyce to look infinitely irritated.
"Austin, I need to talk to you," the man said while simultaneously knocking on the door's interior.
"I'm a little busy here, Reed," Joyce droned back, clearly irritated with the interruption.
"It's about her," Reed-- she wasn't sure if it was his first or last name-- replied. "C'mon, Edgar and Julie are already waitin'."
"What?" Joyce asked no one in particular. "Do I just leave her here?"
"Yeah. Guards are outside." Reed looked at her and said, "You gonna try and leave, Miss Granger?"
"No," she replied before she had the chance to consider the question.
"See? She ain't goin' nowhere." Reed replied, clapping Joyce on the shoulder and sweeping the folder from the older man's grasp. "C'mon, let's go."
Joyce walked from the room angrily following the younger man. Hermione was left alone. She had no intentions of attempting escape. After all, where could she go? Impatiently and anxiously awaiting Joyce's return, she drummed her fingernails against the table until Joyce returned nearly a half-hour later.
He strolled into the room and handed her another vial, "The antidote for the Veritaserum. We're going to call it an early day but first, do you have anything you'd like to ask me?"
She eagerly drank the new potion before asking, "Is there any method to your questioning?"
"Yes," he replied simply, effectively ending her questionnaire.
He fumbled through his pockets as Reed reentered the room wielding a new folder. Joyce gave Reed something nearly resembling a smile before turning back to Hermione. "Well, you're in luck," he said. "The seal on Snape's pardon has been confirmed. The notary was tracked down. It's legit."
"What?" she asked, prompting both men to gaze at her incredulously. "Where did you find a copy of Severus' pardon?"
Joyce and Reed snapped their eyes up to hers before staring at each other for a while. "Miss Granger," Joyce said, bringing his eyes to hers, "Snape gave it to us."
This facility is fictional... any resemblance to an existing facility is purely coincidental.
Author's notes- The next chapter will be posted (along with an explanation for the insanely long wait between updates) on Tuesday... or maybe Sunday... I suppose it depends... Love Ya!