Title: A Question of Loyalty
Summary: Hermione uses her time-turner in a desperate attempt to escape from an attack in Hogsmeade. As a result, she accidentally ends up in the past when Voldemort is still rising. What happens when nobody believes her story and she is taken for a possible DE.
Rating: R (NC-17 version on Skyehawke)
Chapter 6
"Enjoying yourself?"
Hermione glanced up and saw Lucius standing in front of her with his arms crossed across his chest, regarding her calmly. Looking back down, she realised that she had already read about a quarter of the thick text. "It's interesting," she said noncommittally when she realised that he was looking for an answer.
"Would you like to meet somebody? She is very interested in you."
She couldn't help snorting slightly. Here she was in the past, a virtual prisoner of Lucius Malfoy, and somebody wanted to meet her? There was no doubt in Hermione's mind what kind of person it was. "Well there isn't anything I can do to stop her from coming in here," she said tartly.
Lucius shrugged. "It was still polite to ask."
"Oh no doubt," Hermione said. "As it is very polite to keep me here as a prisoner."
He didn't answer but simply turned around and waved for somebody to enter the room. As the tall woman entered, Hermione gave an involuntary shudder. The woman had a distinct resemblance to Bellatrix Lestrange. Well Bellatrix Black in this time, she amended slightly. Not so much in physical appearance but rather in attitude. There was the same arrogant look directed through long eyelashes. The same confident stride. The same smirk. Were all female Death Eaters like this? Hermione had no idea and she really didn't want to find out.
The woman looked down her long, beaky nose at Hermione making her feel as though she was being scrutinised down to her very pores. "She doesn't look that powerful," the woman finally said. "Are you sure that she managed to cast an Unforgivable."
Lucius nodded. "The Ministry were about to send her to Azkaban."
"This could be a trap."
Hermione watched as Lucius's eyes flicked quickly towards her. She wondered why the woman had chosen to speak so frankly in front of her. A small shiver went down her spine. The only reason she could think of was that they were either going to convert her – and be convinced of her conversion – or eliminate her.
"Unlikely," Lucius said. He turned and gave Hermione a cold smile. "You, Miss Granger, will be learning from Winthrop here. She has much skill with the casting of Dark spells. You would do well to emulate her."
Hermione glared at him. "And what if I don't want to learn the Dark Arts?"
"You have no choice," Lucius told her simply.
"She has spirit," the woman called Winthrop observed. "That can be used."
Hermione glared at the woman who simply looked dispassionately back at her. She certainly did not want her spirit used by Death Eaters. "Not if I can help it," she muttered.
To her surprise, the woman laughed. "You have much spirit," she said. "I will enjoy speaking to you."
From the tone of her voice, Hermione could tell that she meant to do a lot more than simply speaking. She contemplated whether to make a threat, but then decided that it would probably be interpreted by Lucius as a sign of her 'improvement' in the Dark Arts. She settled for a glare instead.
Winthrop seemed to give Lucius a hard glare and Lucius quickly left the room.
Hermione studied the woman. Aside from the vague resemblance she had to Bellatrix Lestrange, there was nothing familiar about her countenance. The woman's dark brown hair was swept in a severe style that left her neck completely bare. Somehow, she reminded Hermione of an overgrown, thin bird.
"If you have perhaps finished studying me," the woman said frostily, making Hermione jump.
"Sorry," she muttered and immediately berated herself for saying it. It was automatic for her to apologise when an older person criticised her. It was at times like this that Hermione wished that she was slightly less mannerly.
"Well at least you have some manners."
Hermione was mildly surprised when she held out a long thin hand for her to shake. "My name is Patricia Winthrop."
Hermione half held out her own hand before she caught herself and withdrew it. "I see no reason for you to be so polite," she snapped. "I'm a prisoner here, aren't I? Come to think of it, I need not be polite either. Prisoners aren't supposed to have manners."
Patricia merely gave her a cold smile. "What makes you believe that you are a prisoner?"
"What, aside from the fact I can't leave?" Hermione said angrily.
"Tell me, my i droog /i , would you prefer to be escorted by the Ministry to Azkaban so that you can stay in your nice and cosy cell there? Try to think of this more as for your own," Patricia paused, "protection."
Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly at the familiar usage of her given name. It sounded slightly creepy in the sharp voice of the other woman. There was a slight accent there, but she couldn't place it. The foreign word sounded vaguely Eastern European. "I am more than capable of looking after myself! I don't need yours or Malfoy's protection."
A thin eyebrow was arched. "Don't be so judgemental. Why, one might think that you were prejudiced against us for no good reason."
"I have my reasons," Hermione said carefully.
There was a gleam in one of the brown eyes. "Please, then, enlighten me. I was speaking to Lucius earlier, and he seemed quite adamant that you were completely unfamiliar to him."
She gave a forced laugh. "Oh you know," she said, "I heard some rather nasty tales about the Malfoys."
Patricia gave her a speculative look. "Judging by your age, you would be in the same year as one of my cousins. I wonder, then, why we have never heard of you. Your accent is purely British."
"I was home-schooled," Hermione said weakly. She couldn't let this Winthrop woman know that she was Muggle-born. Even if she wasn't as fanatically conscious of bloodlines as Lucius, surely she would tell him. And Hermione was under no delusions of what would happen to her if he knew.
"Indeed." Patricia's tone was noncommittal. "That is very rare."
Hermione gave a silent gulp. She suspected that the woman had been sent by Lucius, not to teach her the Dark Arts, but rather to question her. Why that job hadn't been taken by Lucius himself, she had no idea. She realised that she had to come up with a believable story. A complete believable story. And now. If she was to have any chance of escaping alive, that is. "Don't I know it?" She gave a slight snort, careful to keep her voice even. She had once read somewhere that changes in voice pitch and frequency were some of the most obvious clues to the fact the other person was lying. Keeping eye contact, she rolled her eyes. "I hated it." She gave a little pause for effect, before crying out: "Why are you keeping me here? I'm sure my parents are looking for me and sooner or later they'll find this place and then you'll be sorry!"
"A nicely woven tale," Patricia said, making Hermione's heart plummet. "Too bad you didn't tell it when I first came into the room. I might have been fooled then."
Hermione bit her lip. "It's not a tale!" she snapped.
Patricia shrugged. "Whatever you say. It matters little to me. This place is Unplottable. Nobody will be able to find you here. Besides, as soon as I saw you, I knew that you were hiding something." She gave Hermione a shrewd look. "I will find out what you're hiding sooner or later."
"I'm not hiding anything!" Hermione exclaimed. "I just don't want to learn the Dark Arts and I want to go home!"
"Interesting order of words." Patricia seemed to be musing on her words. "You seem to have an irrational dislike of the Dark Arts."
"It's not irrational!" Hermione was livid. How dare the woman insinuate that she was some sort of prejudiced idiot. "They hurt people!"
The look Patricia gave her seemed disappointed. "If that is truly what you think, then you are more mentally deficient than I thought."
A small part of Hermione's mind taunted: Didn't you just think to yourself a few hours ago that the Dark Arts weren't truly evil? Hypocrite! She clamped down on that thought. "They hurt people," she repeated stubbornly. She realised that she was resorting to the rhetoric she had heard from Ron. What does it matter anyway? Hermione thought angrily. Even if the Dark Arts aren't pure evil, they're not exactly good anyway! They do hurt people!
As if she had read her mind, Patricia answered: "And a well-placed Incendio can also hurt as much as the Unforgivables." She gave a sudden smile. "As I'm sure you are very familiar with the Unforgivables. Tell me, Hermione, did the Ministry even ask you whether you preformed the Imperius Curse on a human?"
Hermione gave a start at these words.
Patricia smirked. "An oversight, maybe..." she trailed off, leaving Hermione's mind to fill in the blanks.
They didn't even ask me whether I had performed the Curse on a human or not? Hermione repeated numbly to herself. How could I have not noticed? Of course, Hermione knew perfectly well why that particularly important detail had managed to slip her mind. Her mind was still reeling with the idea that she was stuck about twenty years in the past. In fact, she was still trying to come to terms with that fact.
"Tell me, girl, what justification did you use to perform the Imperius Curse?" Patricia suddenly asked.
Hermione bit her lip.
"The common good, perhaps?" Patricia gave her a sardonic smile. "The side of the Light could never misuse Dark spells, therefore they are allowed to learn them. They would never do anything morally wrong, would they?"
"We wouldn't!" Hermione burst out. She immediately gave herself a mental kick for saying that out aloud.
"Of course you wouldn't," Patricia mocked. Hermione watched, as the older woman's hands clenched rhythmically. "Tell me, my dear, what are those farcical trials that the Ministry holds? Even some parts of the i Muggle /i ," she spat out the word, "have better trials than the British Ministry."
Hermione gave her a surprised look. "And what would a..." she paused. If she was going to stay alive, she should probably pretend that she didn't know the other woman was a Death Eater. "What would you know about the Muggle world?"
"Ignorance of our opposition never helped anybody," Patricia said. "Let's just leave it at that." There was a bitter smile on her face.
Hermione had the strangest impulse to reach out a hand and pat the arm of the other woman. She gave herself a mental shake. It's probably some sort of manipulation, she told herself sternly. She's trying to manipulate you into feeling sorry for her and then you'll be more susceptible to her ideas. But she couldn't block out the expression of sadness that had flickered across the other woman's face. "I'm sorry?" she ventured.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," Patricia told her, her voice hard. "After all, it's not as if you have anything to do with the Muggle scourge. You're not a Mudblood."
Stiffening imperceptibly, Hermione felt her heartbeat race. They're definitely going to kill me if they realise that I'm Muggle-born, she thought faintly. "That doesn't mean I want to kill all of them," she said carefully.
Patricia gave her a strange look, but didn't respond to her statement. She gave Hermione a piercing look. "You are intelligent," she said finally. "I will enjoy seeing you flourish in the Dark Arts."
"I never said I would learn them."
Patricia smiled. "You don't have a choice."