A/N: Thanks again for your continued support. Thanks to my alpha reader: LaDeeDaa for listening to my theories even before she gets my pages. Thanks to my beta reader: astrangefan for diligent, exceptional work even as I send of multiple chapters at an alarming rate! I couldn't write this story without either of you!
Azkaban
When Hermione woke the next morning, it was to the sound of Malfoy's unimaginable cries of pain. Barely awake, eyes still bleary, she rushed from her room down the hall to their room. Nott was awake too, his face pleading with her to do something, anything to help.
She quickly went to the cabinet and got the strongest pain potion she had in her possession. Using the trick Padma taught her to get a patient to swallow, she lifted his jaw and tipped it into his mouth and forced it down him. "Malfoy," she said quietly, her hand on his shoulder as she leaned in to speak softly to him. "Malfoy, one to ten?"
"Nine," he bit out.
She nodded to herself. "Any relief?"
He shook his head at first, but after a few moments the tension in his body seemed to lessen until he could roll back over to his back.
"Six," he amended. "It hurts but it's manageable."
Okay, she said, only just realising she was still leaning over him. She moved back out of his personal space.
She utilised the excuse of checking on Nott to busy herself with something. It was a relief to see him awake, actually. She'd worried that in the night he would slip back into his unconscious state and she wouldn't get him back. 'I've asked Malfoy to describe his pain on a one to ten scale - ten being the worst pain imaginable and one being no pain at all. Could you tell me where you fall this morning on the scale?'
"Five," Nott said weakly.
"And last night when I touched your Mark. What would you rate that pain?" she asked.
"Nine," he said. Just like the night before, he looked to Malfoy before answering. She could only assume that Malfoy was giving him permission behind her back.
"Could you tell me what you remember, from before you woke up here?" Hermione asked him, taking her notebook out to record his answers and vitals.
Nott swallowed nervously. He looked up past her shoulder at Malfoy again. Then back to her. Then up to the ceiling. "I don't really…" he started to say something but then seemed to rethink it. His voice was meek, and he looked as though he could fall apart at any moment.
Hermione felt herself being drawn to him, wanting to protect him much like she suspected Malfoy did. He looked so small and helpless, pale skin stretched over his bones as if he were barely hanging on to life. Yes, he was a Death Eater. Yes, she'd read about all the things his father had been accused of doing over the course of twenty-five years. But the man before her still looked almost boyish, fragile, and hardly a villain.
"Just the last thing you remember," Hermione said, her tone warm and calming. "It's just for my notes. We don't have to talk about it at length. I just want to get an idea about your conscious awareness when you slipped into that fever sleep."
Nott swallowed again. He nodded but closed his eyes so as not to have to look at anyone as he spoke. "I don't know how long ago it was," he started. "I don't have much concept of time. But the last thing I remember was that guards were playing a game they liked to play with me."
Hermione sucked in a breath. "Theo," she said, using his first name for probably the first time in her life, "Would you like me to send Malfoy out to talk about this?" She had a sinking suspicion about what Nott was about to tell her.
He shook his head. She heard Malfoy shift behind her, but he didn't say anything. "What game would the guards play?" she encouraged him to go on.
He opened his eyes to look at her, almost a tentative peek. He didn't trust her - of that she was sure. But he looked like he might want to trust her. He looked again past her shoulder at Malfoy and seemed to get the encouragement he needed to continue.
"Every so often - probably every fortnight - there were three guards who would come to my cell. They would practise curses on me. They would taunt me. 'We've heard you are savant at wandless magic! Why don't you show us some!'" Hermione could hear Malfoy shifting behind her again but she didn't dare look back at him. She kept her eyes focused on Theo.
"Of course, it wouldn't have mattered if I was skilled at wandless magic," Nott continued, his voice sad but with a bitter edge to it. "The magic dampeners in the cells make wandless magic impossible."
Hermione was about to open her mouth to say something about how it wouldn't matter either way given his level of malnourishment, but he continued on, "The last thing I remember before waking up in your bath is that the guards had come. They got a few curses off and that's it. Nothing else. I'd been in a great deal of pain for a few weeks before that, because of this," he hissed the last part as he laid out his left arm for her to see - his Mark. "I've been trying all morning to figure out what happened between then and now."
Hermione chanced a look back at Malfoy. He was seething. She could feel his anger radiating off him as if it were a tangible force. His fists were clenched at either side of him, and he looked as if he were moments away from punching the very mattress he sat upon. She turned back to Theo.
She explained what she knew about his condition - which was annoyingly little - and about how he ended up in her home under her care. She explained that she would be observing and trying to fix whatever was going wrong with his Mark as well as everyone else's. Then, she explained that when he felt better, she'd help him learn to use the Muggle items in the house but that, for now, Malfoy was the only one she'd been able to tutor. Malfoy scoffed at the word 'tutor'.
"I shall have to run a number of errands today," she finally said. She looked between both of them, but finally stopped her gaze upon Malfoy. "I will return before dinner," she promised. "I have something for you."
Malfoy quirked an eyebrow at her but said nothing as she went to the desk and rummaged around in the drawers until she found what she was looking for. "Ah ha!" she said, pulling out a notebook with a pen already attached to the spiral binding.
"This," she said, placing it down on the table next to Malfoy's bed, "is an enchanted notebook. I spelled it in Fourth Year to help communicate with my parents. Owls take frightfully long to deliver to Muggles. I knew a regular Protean charm wouldn't work because I'd be able to write to them, but without magic they would not be able to write back. So, I modified the charm. It uses my magic to send the messages both ways. I'm leaving it here in case you need me for any reason. I have the twin with me. I can be back here within minutes."
Malfoy picked the book up and flipped through it. She could see the burning desire in his eyes to ask how she'd done it. It had taken her weeks, actually. It was the hardest thing she worked on all that year - and that included trying to keep Harry alive while competing in that reckless endangerment fiasco they called the 'Triwizard Tournament'. However, he said nothing and finally set the notebook back down on the table.
"Theo, do you remember the names of the guards who hurt you?" She tried to keep her voice calm, but she was absolutely apoplectic. Someone was going to pay for this. Torturing inmates was strictly forbidden. She had a sinking suspicion Theo had been targeted because he appeared weak, small and probably wouldn't fight back.
"I d-don't know their names. One of them, I think, was a Selwyn. We weren't really introduced." She could tell he meant that last sentence to be a joke, but it came out more pained than intended. She just nodded and tried to give him an encouraging smile.
"Malfoy, a word?" Surprisingly, he didn't argue with her or sneer as he got up and followed her into the hallway. "Did the guards do this to you as well?"
"In the beginning," Malfoy said, "some of them would come and taunt me. After a while, they only ever came to bring food." She had a feeling there was more to the story than that. She thought back to what little was included in his file. He'd been beaten horribly not long after arriving.
"Do you know if anyone else was being treated this way?" she asked.
"No one knows a bloody thing that happens in there," Malfoy sneered. "I was in the same prison as both of my parents and never saw them once."
There was a tense silence between them before Malfoy sighed. "If I had to guess, they picked Theo because he's small and a bit fragile. He's always been a little bit soft," he admitted. "Never even wanted the fucking Mark," he muttered that last part to himself. He seemed to realise who he was talking to and snapped to attention again. "There are a few others among the Death Eaters who were also somewhat vulnerable, but for the most part we were all taught hand-to-hand combat, and the guards are sadists but they aren't stupid."
Hermione nodded. "Thank you," she said. "I'll be back in several hours. If anything changes with Nott or you need me to return, please don't let your pride get in your way."
"Fuck off, Granger," Malfoy muttered before returning to his room.
"It's an absolute outrage, Harry,' Hermione paced back and forth in front of Harry's desk, wearing a hole in the carpet. "Azkaban was meant to be reformed," she went on. "The Wizengamot assured the public that the prison was no longer a human rights atrocity in the middle of the bloody sea!" She'd first stopped off at her best friend's office after she worked up a way to tell him what she knew about Azkaban without informing him that two of their inmates were now staying with her at her parents' old house. It had been rather easy. Harry didn't ask any questions when she told him she's gleaned the information from Nott's hospital records.
"It's a prison, Hermione," Harry reasoned. "No matter what legislation exists, there will be people who abuse their power in a prison."
Her eyes blazed at him. He was right, of course, but she did not want to hear it at the moment. "Did you know anything about this?" she demanded.
"Of course not!" Harry shot back, offended. "Aurors don't have any reason to go to Azkaban. I've never even been there."
"It stops now," Hermione insisted. "Just because some small dick, pathetic excuse of a human thinks he's in charge…"
Harry sighed, and placed both hands on Hermione's shoulders, halting her pacing. "Look, Ron and I will go to the prison with you today. We don't have to know what you are researching to throw around a little 'I-Saved-The-Entire-Wizarding-World' weight around."
Hermione rolled her eyes but cracked a small smile. "You know, I also helped save the Wizarding World," she pointed out. But she knew exactly what he was talking about. Most of her contributions, while forever respected and appreciated by The Order, were 'boring details' to the majority of the public. Harry, on the other hand - people still worshipped him. If he wanted to run for Minister of Magic tomorrow, they'd ride Kingsley out on a rail.
"Thank you," she said, "Just as long as you aren't too busy."
"Nah," Harry said with a shrug. "Ron's been pretending to finish up his paperwork for about three days now. What's a fourth? And I just closed a case this morning, so you have impeccable timing."
Hermione chuckled. The news that Ron was behind on paperwork shocked her very soul. "And I'm sure your helping me out has nothing to do with Parvati coming home this afternoon and you having an excuse to duck out early?"
"I haven't a clue what you are babbling about, Hermione."
They quickly made their way to Ron's office where he was elated to learn that he had an excuse to blow off paperwork for at least another morning.
As Harry and Ron made their excuses and booked them a portkey to Azkaban, Hermione stopped in to the Department of Mysteries to update Head Unspeakable Druguar on the status of the case. Rilla was as horrified as Hermione to learn that Theo Nott had been tortured while in custody.
"The Warden can't have known," Rilla insisted. "They could be thrown in their own prison!"
Hermione nodded emphatically. "I hope you are right. While I'm there, I will find out what exactly is going on. This entire investigation could be compromised if the guards can't be trusted to ensure the safety of the subjects."
"Thank you, Hermione," Rilla said, patting her on the shoulder. "I know I've put a lot on your plate. With the rogue Time-Turners in Scotland, someone trying to raise the dead in Liverpool, and all the people peddling Philosopher's Stones - both fake and enhanced with necromancy charms - I don't have any free people to help carry the load."
"It's fine," Hermione assured her boss. She knew that recruiting Unspeakables was hard. Not that many people had an interest in painstakingly slow, esoteric, theoretical work. Even fewer when results were elusive. "I don't mind a bit of hard work. I'd have been upset to hand this case off to anyone else."
"Just remember to check in and tell me if you need reprieve. Even for just a few hours."
"Promise," Hermione lied. There was absolutely no way she'd ever agree to handing over the oversight of the investigation to anyone else.
Before she left her Department, she pulled the charmed notebook she'd shown Malfoy earlier that morning out of her inner robe pocket. Having no idea how long this trip to the prison would take, she felt the urge to update him. She didn't strictly have to. What was he going to do? He couldn't leave. He had no magic. Still, she'd promised him food and that was going to be delayed at this point. She felt it only polite to give him some idea of how long she might be gone.
'Malfoy. Have to make a quick trip to Azkaban. Could be several hours, actually. Peanut butter is in the cabinet above the oven (the heating machine). All out of jelly. Sorry.'
She slapped the notebook shut and met up with Harry and Ron just outside the Auror Department.
"I had Kings write up an official sounding letter, just so they know we are serious and don't give you a lot of flack," Harry said, handing over the parchment.
"Lifesaver!" Hermione cried with a wide smile. "Having Kingsley as Minister has been such a luxury. I almost don't want to hold elections."
"Hermione, the closet fascist," Ron said with a smirk.
"Is it really a secret?" Harry quipped. "She always has run our little trio like a dictatorship. The tent was not a democracy."
"You are both very amusing," Hermione said in a bored tone. "But I'd very much like to get this over with, so if there is no more commentary…"
She felt the notebook in her pocket vibrate. "Shit. One second," she said, holding up a finger as she asked the men to wait. She pulled it out and opened it.
'Nott wants you to know peanut butter is disgusting. He's wrong, of course. Your coffee is shit. It's full of grounds!'
Hermione smirked and whipped out the pen from its place in the spiraling.
'You forgot the coffee filter, your majesty.' She waited a full minute for a response and when she was satisfied, he'd provide her none she put the notebook back and looked up at her friends.
They were looking at her like she'd grown three heads. "Unspeakable business," she said primly. "Now, are you ready?"
Harry and Ron both nodded. "Good. Let's go."
All three of them took hold of the rusty nail Harry pulled out of his cloak and with a 'whoosh' they were sucked into the air and immediately deposited at the front gate of the foreboding prison.
Hermione shivered. It was every bit as terrifying as she remembered from books and as Sirius had detailed. Gothic in style, its black spires and towers rose up into the sky as angry waves crashed around the island. It looked like the kind of place you'd find in a kingdom where men in iron masks might be locked away for decades.
It was morning, which helped Hermione make the first step toward the ominous building. If it had been night, she was sure that Harry and Ron would have had to carry her forward.
"Blimey," Ron said to her right. "I'd forgotten how bloody terrifying this place is - even without the Dementors."
Harry was quiet for a moment. "I can't believe Sirius was here for so long," he said quietly. Hermione turned and looked at her friend. Sirius' death still heavily weighed upon him. She put an arm around his shoulder and gave him a small squeeze. Being strong for Harry could get her through anything. She had more than twelve years of experience with it.
She pushed forward and they followed. Harry raised his wand at the gate when asked to identify themselves, and it slowly creaked open as if it hadn't been oiled in one-hundred and fifty years.
A guard greeted them halfway to the building and did a double take as he saw Harry. "Mr. Potter, sir! We were not expecting…"
Harry raised his hand to stop the man before he dissolved into a manic verbal meltdown of profuse thanks and ass-kissing. "It's fine. We are here to see the Warden," he said using his Official Auror tone.
The young guard scuttled to the door and held it open for the three of them before busying himself with locating the warden.
"You wouldn't think…" Ron started, looking around. "You wouldn't imagine that it looks like a boring old office building when you get in."
Hermione quite agreed. When they walked through the double doors with a scripted 'A' on the front, she expected some sort of either grandeur or a dank dungeon. It was neither. What faced her was what looked like the 'front office' of her old primary school before she started attending Hogwarts. There was a long desk across the front with a few guards sitting back, feet propped up on it. Back behind the desk were various office rooms under the glaring light of over oiled lamps.
Hermione knew the name of the Warden. When there was only one high security prison in the entire country, the Warden's name was something most Ministry Officials knew. Cornelius Hoganis. She didn't know much about him, but she knew he'd been the Warden for three years. He'd taken over from the interim Warden after the war - Umbridge's son, installed by her just after the war in her manic attempt to hold onto some authority. But then she'd been found guilty of corruption and racketeering, poor thing. Her son lost his job pretty soon after.
"Mr. Potter!" Hoganis greeted Harry warmly, ignoring Ron and Hermione as he stepped through the office, skirted the desk and shook Harry's hand.
"Cornelius," Harry returned. Hermione smirked when she realised he'd purposely not extended the same respect of using the older man's last name. "This is Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley."
"Yes, of course," the Warden smiled at them both. "What can I do for you? This is most unexpected."
Hermione pulled out the letter from Kingsley and handed it to the tall, rail thin, balding man. "I'm here from the Department of Mysteries," she said. "I'm sure you know we are conducting a special investigation on some of the inmates?"
"Yes," he nodded. "Of course."
"I shall need access to a few of them today, along with Narcissa Malfoy." The latter hadn't been included on the list, but Hermione would need to see her anyhow.
The warden pursed his lips as he read over the letter. With a sigh, he called on a guard from one of the back offices. "This is Bags," he said, jabbing his thumb into the direction of the young guard who appeared from the back. He was tall, muscular, and probably about 30 years old, mildly attractive and eager looking. "He'll take you to the proper cells. Is there anything else you need from me?"
"Actually," Harry cut in. "Auror Weasley and I wanted a word."
The warden looked wary for a moment but pasted on a weak smile. "Of course. Follow me. We'll have a cup of tea."
Hermione left the boys to deal with the extra-judicial beatings and she focused her attention on the task at hand. She was about to go inside the most feared place in all of Great Britain.
It was one thing to have Nott and Malfoy in her house, treating them. She felt very little threat from either of them. She knew she didn't know everything about what they'd done in the war, but she also knew she didn't worry about her own safety in their presence. Malfoy could call her a 'Mudblood' a hundred times, but she never worried for a moment he'd actually harm her - physically. That wasn't true for many Death Eaters in Azkaban. Many of them had killed. Many of them enjoyed killing. And all of them would hate her guts.
Voldemort is dead. They have no power over you. You can do this.
"It's this way," Bags said, cocking his head to the right and inviting her to follow him past the desk, through the offices, and to a huge steel door. She could feel the wards radiating off of it. With a flick of his wand, the wards allowed him to open the door and he ushered her in.
Okay. This is what I was expecting.
Immediately she was in a dark, dank, damp environment. It was like walking into the night. The lamps were barely lit, the floor made of dirt. Her eyes finally adjusted and she saw the beginning of an intricate maze.
"It's designed so that if any of them ever were to get out of their cells, they'd never find their way to an exit," Bags answered her unasked question.
"How many exits are there?" she asked.
"That's classified," he said, but there was a quirk to his lips. He wasn't up his own arse about his job, and for that she was sort of grateful. She didn't need the added stress of a guard with something to prove.
She felt a deep urge to warn that such a situation could lead to fire hazards but decided that it wasn't the time or place. Instead, she followed Bags down the long and winding corridors noting the condition of the place and how many cells were actually occupied.
"What's your occupancy?" she asked.
"We are at about 60%," Bags said. "Most of the people here are lifers." She knew that already. Those that were not - like Narcissa or Draco Malfoy or Theo Nott - had incredibly long sentences that seemed like they were life sentences. Petty criminals didn't end up in Azkaban.
"Hermione Granger, right?" Bags suddenly asked through the tense silence.
"Yes," she said, nervously. Usually when strangers asked her if she was 'Hermione Granger' it led to a long-winded recitation of her childhood achievements or incessant questions about Harry Potter.
"Wouldn't have expected you to be in a place like this. What are you doing here?" His tone was curious, conversational. It wasn't accusing, but he was nosey, and she was annoyed.
"It's classified," she replied tersely. He laughed.
"Alright, here we are. First stop, Macnair," Bags said, banging on the bars of the cell.
"Thank you," Hermione said primly. "I shall need to be alone with him."
Bags looked at her as if she requested that he stand on his head and recite the alphabet backward. "I can't just let you in the cell," he said, stating the obvious.
I understand that," Hermione acquiesced. "Is there an infirmary or visitation room where I can meet with the subjects?"
Bags scratched his head. "No visitation room… I'd have to check about the infirmary. Here, stand back against the wall."
Hermione did as she was told. He seemed to consider the best way to both do his job and allow her to do hers. Finally, it seemed he had an idea. "Okay, come to the infirmary with me. I'll bring them to you one at a time. It's not protocol to remove them from their cells, but we can do it and the infirmary is under the same enchantment as the cells." He nodded, satisfied with his decision and led her down even more winding hallways until they stopped in front of another warded door.
Inside it was bright again. Her eyes burned at what seemed like blinding light of the infirmary. The sensory overload made her head spin. It was no wonder that Malfoy and Nott had no idea what day it was. The prison was so dark for the prisoners, it must have felt like perpetual night.
"Healer Bobbin," Bags greeted with a smile. "We have Hermione Granger here to meet with a few of the inmates. Can she use one of your rooms?"
"Certainly," Bobbin replied. He was a short, fat man with a mop of curly hair. He appeared to be in his fifties, and he was in the middle of what looked like taking inventory. "Right in there is fine, Ms. Granger," he said kindly - indicating for her to go to the small room off to the side where an examination table and two chairs were located.
When Bags left, she wiggled out of her top robes and pulled her research notebook out along with her pen. Thunk. The spelled communication notebook dropped onto the floor. She picked it up and peeked inside just in case Malfoy had written back and she hadn't noticed.
He hadn't. She ignored how she'd sort of wished he had. It could have at least eased the nervous tension she felt as she sat there alone, in the eerie quiet waiting for Walden Macnair to arrive. The Ministry's executioner. She shivered.
When Bags brought him in, he was not the menacing man she'd remembered - the one who'd been angry that he'd lost the opportunity to butcher a majestic hippogriff. His back was hunched, a permanent limp affected his gait, and he was filthy - even filthier than Nott or Malfoy had been.
Bags agreed to stand outside of the room but refused to shut the door and she could understand his position. Her safety was his responsibility and even without a wand, if Macnair was able to fight in any capacity, it could be a problem. So, she allowed him to stand at the door but cast a Muffliato to ensure that the conversation was not overheard.
That was a pointless endeavour. Macnair refused to speak to her at all. She'd known this possibility existed and was likely even probable. It was a small mercy that she did have a relatively willing Malfoy and Nott to work with because it was very possible none of the old Death Eaters would allow her to question them - and certainly not touch them.
She looked at her list for the day. Macnair, Rastaban Lastrange, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy. She bit her lip. If she wanted something from one of these people, she'd need a little leverage.
"Bags," she called, removing the Muffliato. "Forget the list. They aren't going to talk to me - at least not right now. Just bring me Narcissa Malfoy." She could try to kill two birds with one stone. She could compare and contrast the health of Malfoy against his mother who was unmarked, and she could potentially find out how to get Lucius to talk to her eventually.
Bags nodded and hauled Macnair back out of the room. Meanwhile, she mentally prepared herself to face Narcissa Malfoy. She couldn't say her memories of the woman were at all fond. She had saved Harry's life - something for which Harry had always argued should have kept her out of Azkaban - but days before that she'd watched as her sister, Bellatrix, had nearly murdered Hermione on their drawing room floor.
No. We are not going to think about that. It's done. Over.
She considered what it must be like for Narcissa in this dump of a place. If what Malfoy said was true, she'd never been able to see her husband or son even knowing they were somewhere in the same building. It must have been heartbreaking for her. Even if Narcissa could be a cold-hearted bitch, she loved her son. Everyone knew how much Narcissa had loved Draco.
A thought occurred to her. She bit her lip as she considered it. It was a bad idea. It was blurring the lines of her legal responsibilities - possibly even what was legal at all. Fuck it.
Hermione opened the communicating notebook and wrote:
Malfoy. I'm about to meet with your mother. Would you like me to pass a message for you to her?
She snapped the notebook shut as if her own words were offensive to her. Why did she do that? She didn't have to. He certainly hadn't earned it. Still, she felt such a strong urge to offer it. It was a small kindness she could do for two people who had faced enough misery for a number of lifetimes.
Several, long minutes passed. Nothing. Her leg bounced up and down nervously as she waited for Bags to return with Narcissa. Healer Bobbins must have knocked over something because there was a loud crash, then an 'oh dear,' and then silence again.
The notebook vibrated.
Tell her that her Dragon is fine.
Hermione's eyes watered, but she blinked them away quickly, and just as she did Bags was back. He gently set Narcissa at the edge of the exam table and returned to his position outside the door and Hermione cast the Muffliato.
She was wearing the same black robes as all the other inmates, her hands folded in her lap, her gaze imperious as she sat there, looking at Hermione. "Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione started, her throat suddenly dry. "Do you know why I'm here?"
"No," she said, simply.
"Yesterday, you were brought into St. Mungo's. Do you remember that?"
"Vaguely."
Hermione nodded, making a note. "I work with the Department of Mysteries. I've been assigned to study and attempt to cure an illness that has befallen much of the prison," she explained. "It is related to the Dark Mark."
Narcissa's fingers twitched in her lap but she said nothing.
"The illness has affected all who bear The Mark, but two most of all - Theo Nott and your son, Draco," Hermione explained further.
"I was never Marked," Narcissa said, but her voice sounded much less in control.
Hermione nodded. "Yes. I understand. What I was hoping to get your help with," she thought making it seem like Narcissa's voluntary help would endear her to the older woman, "is a baseline of health here at Azkaban. You are one of the few prisoners here who is not Marked."
She didn't say anything, but Hermione could see her lips twitching as if she wanted to. "Would that be okay?" Hermione finally asked.
"What would it entail?"
"Very non-invasive diagnostics and vitals scans. I can even have Healer Bobbins do them if you are more comfortable," Hermione started to say, but Narcissa began to shake.
"Not him," she bit out but she didn't explain further. Hermione felt chills run down her neck. That response was unusual.
"I could do them myself," she added. making a note of Narcissa's reaction to Bobbins.
"That would be acceptable," Narcissa finally said, picking at her nails.
"Would you mind if I ran my scans now?"
"Fine," Narcissa said, sitting up primly. Hermione could tell she was malnourished. She clearly hadn't had a bath in as long as anyone else in the prison, but she was still attempting to appear as if she were a lady of wealth and means.
Hermione quickly ran her scans and took notes. Narcissa needed more to eat, and she needed something to stimulate her mind which Hermione could see from the brain scan was in a fragile state. She'd speak to the Warden about both of those things.
"Have you seen my son?" Narcissa finally asked, and Hermione got the feeling that it had been the question he'd been holding in since the moment she found out why she was there.
"Yes," Hermione nodded, looking into Narcissa's beautiful but haunting blue eyes. "Mal-I mean, Draco is being kept in a safe house under my supervision. He's safe and being cared for. He will remain there until I am able to discover why his Mark seems to be attacking him and how to fix it."
And unreadable emotion passed across Narcissa's features. "He's safe. And he's not here," she repeated.
"He's safe, and he's not here," Hermione replied with a nod. "He did want me to deliver a message for you, though."
Narcissa's eyes widened. "He wanted me to tell you that 'your Dragon is fine'."
The reaction was immediate. The tension it felt like the older woman had been holding inside for probably five years seemed to snap and she breathed deeply, inhaling the air as if she'd never breathe again. Hermione placed a calming hand on Narcissa's back and when the woman didn't shrug her off, she left it there. Narcissa sobbed in apparent relief and Hermione felt her own heart lurch. She had never liked Narcissa Malfoy, and likely never would. But she was a mother who wanted nothing more than for her child to be okay. It made her desperately miss her own mother.
Breathe. Hermione.
She felt a closeness with the woman in that moment that she was sure she'd never share with her again. "I'd like to do one last thing before I go," Hermione said. "Would you mind if I cast some cleansing charms? It would be better for your health."
It was a load of tosh, actually. Narcissa's brain wouldn't get better if she was clean, but she knew the woman had too much pride to accept a kind act with no ulterior motive from the likes of her. Better to let Narcissa think she was only offering for the good of science.
Narcissa just nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. Hermione made quick work of cleaning every part of Narcissa - including her mouth and teeth - and then called for Bags.
Hermione made a decision after seeing Narcissa's reaction to Malfoy's message. She would not bring up Lucius this time. The woman was overwhelmed and in poor mental health. If that was a conversation she planned to have, it would be at a later appointment.
"I will just wait here and take some notes while you return her to her cell if that is okay with you," Hermione offered.
"Sure," Bags said, gently helping Narcissa down from the examination table. Hermione went back to work on her notebook.
Narcissa Malfoy has none of the pain of Subjects 1 or 2. Her brain is in a fragile state. Diagnostics reveal she is suffering long term memory issues, depression, and anxiety. Her vitals are all stable, no fever detected. Performed cleansing charms on her and will request those continue weekly. She must eat more food.
Subject 3 (Macnair) refused to speak. Diagnostics showed a mild fever 99.5 F and a similar magical signature - though still unreadable - to the one detected on Subjects 1 and 2.
Working theory - the Mark has its own magical signature, and it didn't die with Voldemort. Must learn more about the initiation ceremony for Death Eaters. Did it change from the First War to the Second? Is that why it's affecting Subjects 1 and 2 more acutely?
Satisfied with her preliminary notes, she waited for Bags to return, which he did several moments later.
"I noticed you cleaned up Lady Malfoy," his tone was dripping with sarcasm. "Seems a waste. She's only going to get dirty again."
Hermione huffed, "Then I'll clean her again."
Bags just chuckled but didn't say anything else as he led her out of the maze and finally to the ultra bright office where they'd started. Harry and Ron were still in with the Warden who was anxiously rubbing his bald head.
Good.
She let herself into the office and both Ron and Harry turned around when she did. Warden Hoganis had already seen her come in as he was facing the door and looked weary. "Warden, may I speak with you for a moment - alone?" she asked.
Harry and Ron got up from their seats immediately. "We'll wait for you out front," Harry said, patting her arm as the two men left the office. Hermione plopped down confidently in the chair Ron had been occupying before she arrived.
Hermione wasn't stupid. She knew how uncomfortable a confident young woman of her accomplishments made a man like the Warden. "I shall need to have access to certain prisoners on a weekly basis," she said. It wasn't a request. She knew that she could throw her weight around, threaten to sic Kingsley on him, and all that. But she had a feeling that being direct and asserting what she planned to do would be enough. Apparently, it was. He tiredly nodded.
"I assume that Harry and Ron have spoken with you about what Theo Nott told me this morning," Hermione went on.
"It isn't the policy of the prison to…"
"I'm aware of the policy," Hermione said. Her tone was calm, collected. Years of S.P.E.W. and Ron's constant critiques taught her that getting hysterical did not yield results. "But this is your prison, Warden. So, regardless of what the policy is, I should expect you'd want to find out exactly who is torturing prisoners for fun and turn them over to the Auror Department yourself, correct?"
"Of course," the Warden swallowed audibly.
"I believe this prison has been outside of the view of the public for quite a long time," Hermione continued. "People like it that way. Put bad criminals here, forget about them."
"Yes," the Warden said meekly.
"I will not forget about them, Warden," Hermione said, and her tone took on that of steel. "I recognize that almost everyone in this prison deserves to be here. I, better than most, know what they are and what they are capable of. But that does not mean they aren't entitled to basic human rights. Narcissa Malfoy is teetering on the edge of malnourishment. In a few years' time, most of them won't have any teeth to chew with. They will spread disease faster as they do not receive regular cleaning. And solitary confinement with deprivation of light and sense of time has been declared Human Rights Violations by International Courts both Muggle and Wizarding."
He looked like he wanted to say something - to defend himself - but he thought better of it and shut his mouth.
"A final thing. I would like Healer Bobbin replaced." The Warden sputtered at this, the first outright denial he'd seemed willing to go to the mat on. "I do not know what he's done. But as I spoke with Narcissa Malfoy, it became apparent she is afraid to be alone with him. I don't need to tell you how alarming that is."
"I've got to have a Healer," he protested. And he did have a point. They couldn't be without one.
"I will speak with the Minister and St. Mungo's and find a solution. Until then, no female prisoners are to be seen by him," Hermione said seriously. Hoganis sighed but acquiesced with a nod.
"Draco Malfoy and Theo Nott will be under the care of the Department of Mysteries until the investigation is concluded. When I return them here, I expect to feel confident that their health and wellbeing will not be a concern. Do we understand each other?"
"Yes," said the older man, rubbing sweat from his bald head.
"Lovely," Hermione said, her face breaking into a smile. "I shall see you next week."