Trust

Padma came to check on Nott and offer Hermione some training in healing and numbing spells. Hermione's theory was that until such a time as she could render The Mark dormant, she might be able to numb the entire left arm during times of extreme pain. If she did this, she could institute the policy at Azkaban as well.

After Padma left, Hermione decided to make dinner. She wasn't much of a cook - either the Muggle way or the Wizarding way - but she could manage. Just as she was salting her water for pasta she heard Malfoy's grunt of pain overhead. She turned off the hob and hurried upstairs.

"One to ten?" she asked urgently as she noted he was lying in the foetal position on his bed.

"It's not the arm," he bit out. "It's my legs." He waved her off dismissively. "It's fine. It will go away."

Hermione's brow furrowed. He'd never mentioned a problem with his legs before. She stepped closer to him and placed a gentle hand on his calf, feeling the rigid muscles through the thin fabric of the pants he wore.

"The crucio," she whispered, his eyes confirming her suspicion was correct. "I can help."

"It's fine, Granger," he said again, trying to roll away from her. "It goes away."

"I know it does," Hermione replied in exasperation. "I know how much it hurts, how long it lasts, and how much it aches even afterward." She swallowed. "I can help."

He said nothing but he turned back around to face her and gave a short nod of consent. She laid her hands on the top of his right thigh - the one closest to her - and gently moved them down until she found where the muscles had started to seize. Right about at his knee she could feel the rigour had set in. His calf muscles were rock hard but letting off uncontrollable spasms at the same time.

A bad one.

With deft hands she wrapped both firmly around his kneecap and massaged downward, through his calf to the ankle for good measure. He moaned, and she knew he was feeling relief.

"I've had this done more times than I can count," she said, absently, filling the silence. "One time I had to instruct a guy I'd only been dating a few weeks to unhinge my legs from around his waist." She chuckled nervously as she continued to massage Malfoy's calf muscles back into normal order. She had no idea why she'd just told him that - other than that he was embarrassed and vulnerable, and she was sick to death of him taking that out on her. Maybe if she shared something embarrassing and vulnerable with him, he'd think it was a wash and not call her a 'Mudblood'.

His right leg finally relaxed, and he let out a long sigh of relief. She moved to the left leg and noted that the rigour had set in much higher. Half his thigh was also in the first stages of cruciatus induced paralysis, though not as rock solid as the lower leg. She very clinically began her ministrations on his left leg, trying her best not to focus on just how much of Draco Malfoy's thigh she was handling.

When his left leg finally relaxed, Malfoy moaned again in relief. "Where did you…" he began.

"After the war, I started having the after effects," Hermione admitted. "That night that Bellatrix tortured me…" she drifted off, chancing a look at Malfoy. His expression was guarded.

"Anyway, I researched different methods of managing the after effects. I still get them, but I get them less now than I used to.

"This method, I actually learned in Australia. When I went to find my –" she stopped. She wasn't ready for that conversation. "I was there for a little while after the war," she amended. "I was having episodes every other day, then. There was a healer in Adelaide who specialised in the aftereffects of the curse. She'd discovered that there was no better medicine once the rigour set in than a very specific kind of deep tissue massage. It doesn't work on internal episodes, obviously." Hermione felt herself babbling.

She pulled her hands away when she realised they were still rubbing patterns on Malfoy's lower legs. A blush crept across her face, and she moved away busying herself with checking on Nott.

"My muscles cramp like that almost every day," Malfoy admitted, his words less stilted than before. "It's only since I've been here that it has lessened. I assume it has to do with getting more nutrition and access to water."

Hermione was somewhat surprised Malfoy even knew such a connection existed. Many Wizarding folk did not since most ailments could be cured with a potion or spell. As if reading her mind, Malfoy continued. "When you are in prison with nothing to do but think, you do a lot of it. I've gone over every possibility, and while I suffered the side-effects before, they became worse the longer I was there. But I'd get a few days reprieve after I was given a particularly large ration of food and water."

"It's a reasonable hypothesis," Hermione agreed. "I'd ask you how often you were regularly fed, but considering your weight when you were brought in and the fact that upon touring the prison it became clear no one incarcerated there could possibly venture a guess at the passage of time, I assume it's a useless question."

"How did my mother look?" Malfoy asked, seemingly from nowhere.

Hermione stopped to consider how to answer his question. He could do absolutely nothing with the information but torture himself. On the other hand, lying to him seemed cruel and made her insides twist uncomfortably. She settled on an abridged version of facts.

"She gets regular treatment from a healer and has adequate access to medications. She looks fragile, but speaking with her I can tell she has a strength that will get her through," she answered. She did not say anything about her suspicions about the Healer. "I have, however, instituted some changes where she's concerned."

Malfoy's interest was piqued. "I've insisted she get regular bathing, better food, and things to occupy her mind."

"Thank you, Granger." It was small, barely above a whisper. She dared not acknowledge it for fear of the genuine gratitude behind his words evaporating as quickly as it came.

Theo had awakened the next day indicating his pain was down to a four. It was the lowest she recalled since she'd laid eyes on him more than two days prior. Both of them were functioning at a lower-level pain, which was good because she had a new line of questioning she wanted to get into that would require their full attention.

"Do either of you know if The Mark oath or spell work was different for the two of you than for the older generation Death Eaters?" Hermione asked.

Nott and Malfoy looked at each other, confused expressions on their faces. "I ask," she continued, "because neither of you seem to be suffering from degenerating mental health issues. That is to say, The Mark doesn't seem to be driving you crazy. But for some of the others - it has."

She chanced a look at Malfoy whose face shut down. She couldn't read his expression. "They won't speak to me about their experience - at least not yet…"

"Not ever," Nott cut in. "The old guard? None of them will speak to you," he said confidently.

"I had worried about that," Hermione admitted, biting her lip. She didn't want to bring in another Unspeakable, but if her blood status was going to hinder the investigation -

"I suppose I can get a Ministry edict that allows me just to take their memories, but I had hoped to avoid that."

Malfoy scoffed. "Merlin, Granger, stop being such a bleeding heart. Any one of them would happily slit your throat and burn your corpse. All this hand wringing about our bloody rights and comforts is exhausting."

"I recognize it doesn't matter to you," she shot back petulantly. "It does matter to me."

Theo sighed, almost as if he could tell another argument was coming. "Everyone in that prison is a person. Yes, the vast majority of them are people who have made spectacular wrecks of their lives - along with everyone around them. Yes, most of them are still a danger to society. But when we start treating certain people like they aren't people - like they don't have basic human rights and dignity - then what the bleeding fuck did we even fight this War for?

"I sacrificed everything to live in a world ordered by decency and equity. I don't care if it doesn't mean anything to you. It means something to me, and I don't feel good about crossing those lines - lines I drew in the sand long ago and paid the price to protect."

Malfoy just looked at her for a long moment before sighing. "It's a wonder your lot won the War at all. I suppose the opposing leader being crazier than Hag on Samhain helped."

He ran a frustrated hand through his still matted hair. "How you can continue to be this pathetically optimistic about the world, I'll never understand. Everyone in Azkaban is a shell of a person. You are right, many of us deserve to be there. But it doesn't change the fact that we stopped being people the minute they carted us off in chains. We exist only as long as the people who run the prison continue to push food through the slot. And if they stop? No one will mourn us.

"You have to learn to accept that. We are all dead men and women who haven't had the good sense to actually die."

Hermione could see Nott looking down at his lap, toying with the blanket between his fingers. He agreed with Malfoy. They were dead men walking.

"Being here…" Nott said, his voice quiet, "It's not a kindness. Sitting here in your Muggle house, with your Muggle books, and your Muggle telly, eating Muggle sandwiches is a reminder of everything we will never have when we return to that place."

Her chest felt tight, and she realised that she'd been remiss yet again when it came to Malfoy and Theo. Every day they lived in this house was one day closer to going back, and every small luxury they experienced could never be fully enjoyed.

"I…" Hermione honestly didn't know where to start. But before she could respond she was interrupted by a tapping at the window.

"The Prophet," she muttered to herself as she took the paper from the Owl who'd delivered it. Immediately her eyes caught a headline with her own name in it.

It wasn't the headline story, but a column near the bottom on the front page:

War Heroine Hermione Granger Meddles at Azkaban

"What!?"

War Heroine and Unspeakable with the Ministry's Department of Mysteries has been poking around Azkaban Prison, utilising her place in the Ministry to threaten and bully the Warden, says a source inside the prison.

Known for her championing of lost causes from house elves to centaurs, Miss Granger has, seemingly, taken it upon herself to fight for the rights of - Death Eaters? On confidential Ministry business, Granger was given unprecedented access to the prison only to castigate Warden Cornelius Hoganis in front of his own staff.

'Her demands were out of bounds,' said one unnamed guard who overheard the conversation. 'She'd have us set up a quidditch pitch and serve five-star meals to them!'

He further accused that Miss Granger had demanded the Warden fire the on-site Healer - a man who has worked for the prison for over twenty-five years. 'It's possible that she thinks that being a friend of Harry Potter means she runs things,' our source surmised.

After the high-profile escapes from Azkaban in the '90s, it's easy to see why there are few comforts inside the maximum security facility intended for prisoners of the most violent nature. Such luxuries increase safety concerns for the wider population.

'It's a prison, not a resort.' Indeed.

Hermione was steaming. Whoever leaked the story - she felt like hexing them. Maybe she'd get Ginny to do it. Ginny always had the most excellent hexes.

Her anger built. The audacity. The fucking nerve. She was so angry she realised that she was starting to shake.

Not now.

The fear of having a panic attack only increased her level of panic. Her anger and anxiety mixed together in a frustrating cocktail that took over her ability to pull air in and out of her lungs properly.

"Granger," she could hear Malfoy's voice but he sounded like he was at the bottom of a well. Her breath started to come out in harsh pants, and she reached out for something to hold onto before sitting absently at the edge of Theo's bed.

"Draco, get her that water," Nott's voice was garbled but she could make out what he was saying. She felt him move down to the end of his own bed behind her, as if to catch her should she fall over. He placed a cold, thin hand on her shoulder.

"Hermione," he said, using her first name. She wanted to respond but she felt herself slipping. Her rage had fueled this panic attack, but now the panic had taken over. Her heart was racing. She had to get this under control. She couldn't do this, not now. Not in front of them. Her sense of vulnerability only made it harder for her to take in a full breath.

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

She tried to slow her breath, but she felt the panic attack steaming forward, tackling her. She literally felt out of control of her own breathing. A glass was placed into her hand, but she couldn't hold it. Her shaking fingers wouldn't grip.

"Sodding hell!"

A warm hand placed the cup into hers, and another wrapped her fingers around it. That hand remained around hers as the cup was carefully brought to her lips. "Slowly, Hermione," she heard Theo coo into her ear. "One sip at a time. Slowly." She obeyed. The cup dinged her teeth as they chattered but she managed to swallow down a sip. The act automatically slowed her breathing somewhat.

Another sip. And another. She felt her breath begin to even out, though her hands were still shaking - or at least the one that wasn't clasped in someone else's holding a flimsy paper cup was.

Her breathing slowed, and she focused her mind on Theo's soft patting on her back to bring her back to the present. She inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth.

When her vision focused again, she saw that it was Malfoy who had kept her hand around the cup, helping her drink the water he must have poured into it. When he could see she was able to hold it herself, he pulled his hand away and stepped back.

"You had a panic attack," he said, stating the obvious.

"I know," she replied, her throat still feeling right. "Thank you."

"What caused it?" he asked. She flipped the paper at him that had fallen to her fear and pointed at the article. His grey eyes scanned the page.

"I get them sometimes," she said. "Not often. It was anger. Intense emotions can set off my anxiety. I haven't had one in an age."

It was then that she noticed her wand had fallen out of her robes and onto the floor when she'd all but collapsed on Theo's bed. She picked it up quickly, looking at both of them to see if they'd noticed. Of course they had.

"What are we going to do? Stun you with your own wand then run away together? How terribly romantic." Draco scoffed, but there was humour behind his tone this time.

"We aren't going anywhere for reasons so varied, it would take a year to innumerate," he said.

"Honestly, you are a bit stuck with us for now," Theo said with a warm smile. Hermione smiled weakly back. Something had shifted between them.

She'd been completely vulnerable in front of these two men. They'd had access to her wand, and they had helped her. Yes, there was self-interest at play. Yes, the key to them not living an existence of torturous pain rested with her. They could have done anything to her, and what they chose to do was very carefully pull her from an intense panic attack.

There was more than that, though. Malfoy might have thought she was Mudblood scum, but he clearly didn't want to harm her. She hadn't really felt threatened in his presence, but there was a tension that always hung in the air when she was near him. She remembered him letting the Death Eaters into the school, cursing Katie Bell, casting the Imperius on Rosmerta, his botched attempt to poison Dumbledore, watching her writhe on the floor of his Manor drawing room. She could innumerate his crimes in her head on command, and that knowledge made her wary. He had no use of magic, but what if he did? What if he had a wand in his hand? His easy excuses for why harming her would only hurt him were not the whole story, and she could tell. An evil man who wanted you to suffer didn't hold your hand and help you drink your water when you were having a panic attack.

She was itching to know what went on inside his head. He'd been such a prat in school, so arrogant and bigoted. The idea that he'd fight for the freedom of his friend over himself would have been laughable while they were at Hogwarts. But the man she had gotten to know over the last few days was not that boy. If she knew anything about Malfoy, it was that he did care about people. He cared about his mother. He cared about Theo. He cared about Pansy. And, in some small way, he cared about her - at least enough to help her when he most certainly did not have to.

She didn't know who he was now. Merlin, she wanted to know, though.

Nott made his way downstairs for the first time that afternoon. Malfoy insisted he was perfectly capable of making dinner by himself, but Hermione couldn't help herself. She wasn't one-hundred percent sure he knew how to make anything but sandwiches. If he did, she definitely wanted to watch the show. Nott decided he agreed.

Malfoy had looked rather put out, but just muttered something under his breath and let them follow him down the stairs. She and Theo sat on two of the stools at the island and watched Malfoy rummage around in the fridge and cabinets, pulling out odds and ends and setting them out meticulously upon the island.

"Malfoy, how do you even know what to make? Potions savant or not, have you ever even cooked before?" Hermione asked. He seemed to know what he was doing.

Malfoy looked at her as if he was frustrated with the act of humoring her stupid question. "I do eat," he said, imperiously. "Not that what I've had to eat for the last several years counts as food, but I do remember eating."

"Yes, I'm familiar with eating," Hermione said. Nott snorted a laugh next to her. "But how do you know how to make it?"

"It's simple," Malfoy finally deciding he'd have to answer her nuisance questions if he wanted to be left alone to work. "Let's say I have treacle tart. I take a bite and I savour it. I want to know what's in it. I try to guess. Golden Syrup, surely. Cream. Is that vanilla? I've done this since I was a child. Of course, I've never cooked before, but I do know how heat reaction works for potions. So far, it's worked the same for food. So, I'm going to make some fucking dinner with this assortment of random things you've brought home - and could the two of you stop staring at me while I do it?"

Theo laughed out loud but slid off his chair and held his hand out to Hermione. "Come," he said. "Show me the garden. I assume it's warded?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "It's a bit chilly out, though. Here." She took out her wand and cast a warming charm on both of them before looking back at Malfoy. "Don't burn down the house, and come get me if your pain returns."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied irritably.

It's better than Mudblood.

She let Nott lead her out the patio door off the kitchen to the large veranda like a gentleman. He faltered past the threshold.

"Theo, are you…"

She was going to ask if he was okay, but the look on his face told her he was. He was basking. "I haven't felt the fresh air in five years," he said, reverently. "I didn't know it would - I didn't expect it to hit me like this."

"No, I should have realised." She should have. She should have realised that something as monumental as going outside after five years would be a big deal.

The overgrown garden that only reminded her of everything she'd lost was something she took for granted, but looking at the joy on Theo's angular features made her vow never to take it for granted again.

"It's not as large as the Manor you are probably used to, but this is actually quite a lot of land this close to The City," Hermione prattled on, aimlessly. "We used to have a very robust garden - both with veg and flowers - but I've left it abandoned too long, obviously."

"Where are your parents?" Theo asked. Hermione tensed next to him, leading him down the stairs to the lush grass.

"I'm sorry," he said after a beat. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No," Hermione replied quietly. "It's just so hard to talk about." She felt her throat closing.

"Later," Nott said, taking her arm in his again. "One panic attack is enough for today. But if you want to talk about it, I know I'm probably the last person you'd want to, but - it just so happens that talking to a dead man walking means your secrets are safe."

"Theo, don't say that," she winced. She'd grown to hate the term 'dead man walking' in the course of only a few hours. He shrugged but gave her a smile.

"Come, show me this garden," Theo instructed. She was grateful he changed the subject.

"I remember here," she indicated the left side of the yard where there had obviously once been a lush flower garden, "my mum had so much lavender. Dad hated it," she said with a chuckle. "He said, 'Jean! It smells like soap out here!'" she laughed, and Theo smiled. "So, she pulled it all out and planted hydrangeas. They became my favourite flowers."

"She also went through a phase of wanting us to eat everything made from food in our own garden, but that didn't last. We did keep a steady crop of tomatoes, cucumbers, and snap peas, though," Hermione continued.

Theo listened closely, nodding his head attentively.

"What was your mom like?" Hermione asked, but when she felt him tense again next to her, she realised she'd stepped into a land mine again.

"My mother died when I was born," he said softly.

"Oh, Merlin. Theo, I'm sorry," she said, blushing furiously. "I happen to suffer from an acute case of foot in mouth disease." She'd remembered immediately after he said it that he was an orphan - his mother having died long before his father. She'd been so eager to get off the topic of her own parents that she hadn't thought.

"No," he shook his head, placing his hand on her arm. "It's fine, Hermione." His eyes told her that he wasn't upset. "If she'd lived, things would have been so horrible for her. I think letting her go was a kindness from the gods."

Hermione wondered what could have happened to this kind, beautiful man - practically still a boy - that would have him grateful that his own mother died rather than experience life.

"Well, we are a fine pair," Hermione finally said. "As long as no one mentions family to us, we are golden."

Theo laughed at that. "Probably best no one mentions family to Draco either. His is an entirely different disaster." At her questioning look, Theo continued.

"His mother loves him with every part of her, and his father certainly loved him more than most Death Eaters loved their children but - Lucius was a possessive man. His family were possessions. That obnoxious swagger Draco always carried with him? That was Lucius. That was Lucius teaching him how to be a man, and Draco wanted nothing more than to please his father for so long."

Hermione nodded. She'd made that connection long before they even left Hogwarts. "Lucius kept them so close until he couldn't. When The Dark Lord came back everything fell apart. For the first year, The Dark Lord had a lot to do. He had to build a support system. It wasn't until Lucius went to Azkaban for the first time that Draco or Narcissa were ever out of his protective bubble."

"That must have been hard," Hermione said, lamely. What could she say? That sounded jarring in the extreme.

"He still loves his father, but I don't think he'll ever forgive him for what it did to him - and his mother."

There was a pause before he continued. "And his mother. It tortures him that he can't protect her. What you did for him yesterday - delivering a message to her - he'll never say so, but he'll never feel like he's ever repaid that."

"It was nothing," Hermione protested.

"It was everything," Nott said sadly.

Hermione decided not to pursue the point. She was still reeling from the information Theo had dumped on her. They wandered the yard aimlessly in a comfortable silence and she found herself thinking about Malfoy in greater depth for the second time that day. That privilege she'd been so quick to judge only made his fall so much farther down.

"Were you both close in school?" Hermione finally asked.

"Not really. Not until Fifth Year, at least. My father was well respected in terms of being a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight but he was also a violent alcoholic. He was the sort Narcissa Malfoy wouldn't often invite over if she could help it. After The Dark Lord came back, our fathers being who they were pushed us together." Hermione nodded. That made sense. After Cedric Diggory died and Voldemort came back, she'd been far less invested in the interpersonal relationships of people in other Houses.

"Did you ever end up with Weasley?" Theo asked out of the blue. His lips quirked into a smirk as he asked it. She blushed.

"For about 10 minutes," she admitted. "We snogged in the bloody Chamber of Secrets in the middle of the Battle of Hogwarts if you can believe it."

"Romantic," he replied.

"Very." Hermione could laugh about it now, but everything had seemed so serious then. "When it was all over, he was mourning Fred - we were all mourning and sex was a good distraction. But once we realised that we never had anything in common but keeping Harry alive - that was that. He's still my best mate but let him be another woman's headache."

She didn't know why - and it wasn't because he was a 'dead man walking' - she felt very comfortable opening up to Theo. Merlin, she'd only really spoken to him for the first time two days ago. It felt like she'd know him longer. He was soft-spoken, smart, and sensitive. He could read her - and he could really read Malfoy. She felt herself wanting to confide in him, and it worried her. He was 'Subject 2'. He was her job. No matter what her plans were for rescuing him from the clutches of Azkaban, she was beginning to worry she was being unprofessional.

But if anyone deserved her kindness, compassion, and to let their hair down a bit - wasn't it Theo Nott? The boy who'd been beaten into submitting to The Mark and was now paying with his life? Hermione realised she couldn't have stopped herself from caring for Theo if she tried at this point.

What worried her - what made her stomach ache - was that she knew she was starting to worry about Malfoy too. When she thought about sending him back to Azkaban, her heart started to beat faster, and the panic began to rise. No, she'd have to extend her plan to free Nott to Malfoy as well. Wasn't he a victim too? Her list was growing longer - Narcissa Malfoy would be on it too. Saving Harry Potter had literally won the war. Why was she serving ten years in Azkaban?

If the Warden and his sycophants thought her last trip to the prison had been 'overstepping' just wait. If it was the last thing Hermione did with her life, she'd have all coerced Death Eaters who pose no further threat to the world freed from Azkaban on time served, and she'd have the prison reformed to be a human place for those too dangerous for society to live out their sentences in peace.

The good thing about this growing list of to-dos was that she could enlist her friends to help. She knew it would be a hard sell. There was no love lost between them and Malfoy or anyone else associated with the Death Eaters, but if she knew one thing about her friends, they didn't like injustice.

Just as she was forming her planned arguments, Draco called from the patio, "Oi! Are you planning to eat or just frolic in the garden all afternoon?"

"Frolic!" Theo called back but he took her arm again and led her back to the kitchen.

"Merlin, it smells amazing in here," Hermione admitted. "What did you make?"

"Food," Malfoy answered. He laid out three plates and dished up what looked like a Risotto before laying a perfectly seared fillet of salmon on top. The posh bastard even garnished it with a sprig of dill. Hermione was gobsmacked.

"Fine. You can cook all the meals," she acquiesced.

She almost wanted to take it back because the smug look that took over Malfoy's features was just so obnoxious. But then her mouth was full of food and all she could think about was how she'd probably marry a man for less.