Hermione had never believed she had any intuition. She was skeptical of others who claimed to have it. She was apprehensive of most any form of divination, prophecy, or fortune telling. Even in the magical world, which had seemingly infinite possibilities to what was plausible, she had little trust in clairvoyance. However, alone in what was once Dumbledore's office, she knew instantly when Voldemort arrived at the castle. She could feel his arrival in her bones, in the twist of her empty stomach, in the way the hair raised on her bare arms. All at once the ropes binding her were too tight, the air around her was too constricting, the stone floor beneath her bare feet was ice cold. Her breathing became ragged and her chest rose and fell quickly beneath the tattered robes Susan Bones had given her a lifetime ago.
She was frightened. She tried to will herself not to be, but it was no use. Her eyes darted up, to Dumbledore's portrait, but it was empty. Her eyes darted wildly around the room as she realized all the remaining portraits were empty. This caused her fear to boil over into panic and she started to hyperventilate.
Calm down, calm down, calm down, she commanded herself internally, working to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth, to steady her wildly beating heart.
This is what you wanted, remember? He needs to be here so you can get the Elder Wand. She rationalized to herself. Her eyes looked up at the window above the headmaster's desk. Faint daylight shone through the dusty green glass. As she looked at the glass, she weighed her options. She could transform into her owl form, and possibly escape through that window, and figure out how to get his wand not as a captive, but as a rogue agent. Or she could allow him to come to her and interrogate her at his discretion and truly be close to the wand. She wasn't sure how close to the wand she would be able to get in her owl form. The possibility of being outed as an Animagus scared her, too. She needed that ace card.
If I transform, there is no telling if I can actually get through that window or not. I don't have my wand, so magic is out of the question. Her head was pounding. She had never felt so unprepared before. And if I can't, I won't be able to get myself tied to this chair again before someone gets back, and they'll know I'm hiding some form of magic they weren't able to find when they searched me before.
She looked back up at the window again, hoping an answer would come directly to her, when the door behind her swung open. Her skin broke out in goosebumps and she started to shake against her will. A vision of torture danced through her head. A vision of cruelty, indignity…and death.
A fire roared to life in the fireplace beside her, and the click of someone's heels marched up behind her steadily. She realized she had begun sweating and shaking.
"Granger," A cool voice said, and Blaise Zabini walked in front of her. He was standing with a stooped, older witch who had brunette hair streaked with grey. The older witch looked at Hermione with a perplexing expression, as if even she was confused as to why she was there. Blaise looked casual, comfortable, and not out of place at all. Hermione thought about Draco for a moment, about the possibility that if Narcissa hadn't turned, it could be Draco leading in this witch, Draco having Hermione prisoner while she waited her fate. She felt her stomach drop at the thought. He's not doing that, though. He's probably in the dungeons…or… she let herself stray away from the thought. She didn't want to think about death anymore. Not with hers looming so closely over her.
Hermione remained silent as the older witch looked her over. The witches face looked vaguely familiar to Hermione, but she couldn't place it. She was wearing robes of black velvet trimmed with a very pale lilac color, and around her neck were several different lengths of thin gold chains.
"Miss Vikander," Blaise said turning his head towards the witch, "This is the mud blood in question. I leave you to your work," Blaise finished with a very small bow of his head. He stepped back from where he stood and out of Hermione's lines of vision, but she didn't hear the door, so she knew he was still in the room with them.
The witch in front of her took her wand out and hesitated. Hermione tried to gather her wits, she wanted to say something, anything, but nothing was coming out.
Hermione felt herself begin trembling. The witch in front of finally straightened out her wand and yelled "legilimens!"
The spell caught Hermione off guard, and for a moment the witch, Vikander, got in. She saw a memory of herself watching the death eaters swarm into Herbert Beery's backyard and remembering how it felt to leave Ron behind filled Hermione a raw, seething energy.
Wandless, tired, hungry and afraid, Hermione pictured a sun quickly setting, as she had practiced, and as the light from the sun went out, her mind went completely blank. As if a thick, black fog had rolled into her psyche, there was nothing to see in Hermione's mind except the echo of Ron yelling "Please go, you stubborn woman!".
The witch before Hermione straightened up and turned toward Blaise, who was seated behind Hermione.
"She's practiced occlumency," She said to the wizard, her face hard to read.
"Then try again," Blaise's silky voice responded.
And Vikander did. And Hermione was able to block her out again. The pride that Hermione felt at being able to use occlumency aptly filled her with energy and strength to keep doing it. And Then she heard Blaise's breathe behind her, a sound of slightly heavy breathing, and her concentration broke. For one bewildering second, Ginny Weasley's bright red hair swirled in Hermione's mind. A flash of Ginny's mischievous eyes and elfish smile flashed before Hermione and then she was able to push the image away, and her mind was clear again. But why had I thought of Ginny? She wondered. But there was no time to wonder, and she steeled herself against another of the Witches attacks.
Eventually, the witch sighed raggedly and put her wand down.
"Mr. Zabini, I cannot continue. I have used all my energy. She is deft at occlumency," Isolde Vikander said, looking down as if ashamed.
"That will be all, Vikander." Blaise responded dismissively. The witch left the chambers. Hermione shuddered, and laid her head against her chair. She was exhausted.
"So, Granger, you have more layers that I expected," Blaise said, walking in front of Hermione so that he was staring down at her. His face was hard to read. "Vikander is skilled at Legilimency. But not as skilled as the Dark Lord, who will be in here soon." Saying this seemed to give Blaise no joy. In fact, It looked to Hermione like the thought vexed him a little. But why would that bother Zabini?
"I've already told you everything," Hermione rasped, not sure of what else to say. "You already know where Grimmauld Place is, seeing as how your lot raided it. They have everyone else who was hiding there with me, and Draco captured me and brought me here." She nearly spat it out, afraid that he would see through her lie like glass.
"I know what you've told me, and I know it is not the truth," Blaise replied silkily, tilting his chin slightly up. "Curious that you and Malfoy seem to be one a first name basis now. He calls you Hermione instead of 'Granger' or 'Mudblood' when he is questioned, and you call him 'Draco' instead of 'Malfoy' or 'arsehole'….very curious, that. I don't believe I would dignify my own captor thusly, if our places were switched." Blaise smiled down at Hermione coyly, as if to say Gotcha, and then took a step back.
Hermione was at a loss for words. Her throat felt tight and dry, and she felt her eyes watering. She wanted to weep. She wanted to weep for the situation she was in, and she wanted to weep for Ron. She wanted to weep for Draco, too, and that made her feel guilty. The guilt made her want to weep more.