Forty-Three
Day: 1556; Hour: 13
She feels odd walking out of the infirmary barefoot and wandering through familiar and confusing halls until she finds Draco's room. It's a little troubling, walking out of your hospital room, through a house, and to your bedroom. Well, his bedroom.
She contemplates the door in front of her for several minutes before deciding to knock. It's a door down the hall that opens first, and she glances over her shoulder to see Draco exiting the bathroom. Her stomach flips in that stupid way it's prone to do when she sees him, and her breath catches. It feels so good to see him there, standing and looking at her, alive. So beautifully alive. When she stops to contemplate life, she sometimes realizes that every breath and movement is an incredible, thrumming moment of existence.
They just stare at each other for a long moment before he sweeps his hand toward the door.
"Is it locked?"
"I don't know."
He gives her a strange look, and she rolls her eyes back to the door, the handle opening easily under her hand. He slides past her as soon as she takes a second step into the room, heading for the two chairs facing the fireplace as the door clicks shut behind her. The curving wooden frame and soft leather interior of the chairs give a regal air, but they are about as comfortable as a cheap beach chair to her. Draco, of course, looks like a king holding court as soon as he sits down. There's a snifter and a yellow notebook – which isn't his, or he didn't pick out – laying on the glass table between the chairs. The glass catches the dance of the low flames from the fireplace, and it almost looks like the table is on fire.
She fumbles with her hands before walking to the other chair, trying to get comfortable against the curved, rigid back. Draco is scowling at her, which isn't the reunion she had been wanting when the last time she really saw him, they were both chained up in a dungeon.
"You're not going to break down, are you?"
"No," she says slowly, drawing the letters out and betraying her apprehension.
It had been a bad situation, but she could hardly grasp it in her head enough to break down about it. They are all alive. There had been a lot of pain, but she doesn't even know where the majority of it came from. Her captivity had been terrifying, but it is not the worst she has faced. The two things that would haunt her had been within the same moment. Draco, screaming in agony, and Harry, in front of her. She had just spent hours talking through the latter, and then watching the Healer remove the evidence from her life. The former is what she is currently trying to get out of her head.
"I don't need, want, or expect an apology..." He leaves the rest of his sentence floating the moment her eyebrows draw down, and his own mirror it to share her confusion.
"Apology?" She tries to make him continue, running through a jumble of memories in search for something she might have done.
She wants to reach up to ease the lines from his forehead, but she holds back as he turns suspicious. His eyes are intense on hers, and his left cheek puffs out a fraction as he pokes his tongue against the tissue. She can see the moment he makes a decision, but he still looks bothered when he looks away from her.
"Tell me what you remember."
She looks back to the fire, a headache creeping between her temples. "I remember the spell, trying to move you. You got hit, and then I must have. Then I woke up to you shaking me, we were inside... I was in pain, and you said that thing about my back. Everything went black when we started going up the stairs. I was in the dungeon then, alone, on the ground. I passed back out. Then I woke up chained, when the Death Eater hit me in the mouth. That whole thing with Harry... I passed out when you lifted me. Woke up in a hospital bed."
Draco's silence is thick. She shifts under the scrutiny she feels his eyes leveling her with, before meeting it head on. His jaw is twitching, and she watches the bump of his tongue sweep across his cheek. He blinks his gaze to her knee, and when he lifts it back to her, his face conveys only boredom.
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes." He looks more surprised at the quickness of her response than she feels.
He blinks at her and then flicks his wand, the room lighting up around them. He reaches his other hand out to her, an expectant look on his face. "Come here."
She grabs his hand and stands, giving him a curious look before he tugs her toward him. His wrists are just as bruised and tender looking as her own. She doesn't know if she'll ever be strapping Draco to a bedpost again. Not after she's seen him hanging in chains, his body writhing and arching in pain. She shudders at the memory of the raw scream that broke from his throat, tendons and veins popping up against hot red skin. He pulls her into his lap, and if she clutches his hand and arm too tightly, he doesn't say.
"Do you know Legilimency?" he asks, with all the air of someone who knows she was going to jerk back from him before she does.
"You do?" She's in danger of toppling off his knees now, reaching out to grab the arms of the chair. His face is blank, save the cruel twist of his lips.
"Is it that surprising?"
"Have you..." She trails off at the angry flash in his eyes.
"I hardly think I would bother asking your permission this time if I have."
Oh, God. Oh, God. He wants to go into her mind right now? She knows he must have wanted to search through her memories of the mission, but she also knows that the mind is full of layers that he would have to sift through. Layers, mind, her thoughts, memories, and feelings. He can find out every bit of detail in how she thinks about him, feels about him. Suddenly, all those things she lies to herself about, ignores, and tries to shove away, come rushing back as hard knowledge.
Do you trust me?
No, he didn't plan on digging through everything in her mind, and he wouldn't try to plant any ideas there. If he wanted to, he would have done it without asking for her to agree. He would have never told her about this skill in the first place. He obviously respects the boundary of her skull, as much as he appreciates that she never tried to hammer the lock off his trunk. A couple years ago she would have accused him of doing it, reported his ability to Moody, and never looked him in the eye again. Now, well...she just knows he hasn't abused it with her.
But, no doubt, he will find things anyway in his journey to her memories of that night. It isn't the things she can actively remember that he wants either – it's the stuff she can't. He probably wants to try and dig for them; to see if there are any pieces of them in her head that are too buried for her to conjure at the moment.
She has already told him, in a way, that she feels something for him. I'm not a war whore, she had said, and he must have known what that meant. But there is a difference between saying something almost insignificant, and him feeling her feelings, which are not very insignificant at all. They are sort of huge, sometimes. Sort of huge, and overpowering, and terrifying.
Do you trust me?
She can back out of this like a scared little girl, running behind weak excuses, and make him think she didn't trust him at all. Or she can put her brave face on, prove she trusts him, and hope to God he isn't the one running after. He probably will be. He could have taken her war whore comment to just mean that she didn't want to be treated like one, since she only slept with him, or something...something. This, ha! This...
"Never mind, Granger," he says, and he's all ice. "You're going to have to go to the Ministry so a-"
"No, just do it." What?
"You're obviously uncom-"
"Draco, just do it." What? She hasn't thought it through yet! Why is half her mind ignoring the very realistic threat in front of her? Why can't she shut up?
It's like one side of her brain has had enough. The hiding, the uncertainty, the unknown, the questioning, the fear of their fragility. A part of her just wants him to know. A part of her, that brave part, wants him to know everything so she can finally know too. Eventually, it will happen. He will find out, and he might leave because of it, or he might stay for it. It is inevitable; but she thinks he is far more likely to leave than stay, and she doesn't know if she can handle that right now. If she is strong enough to throw herself out there and lose...this.
She thinks it's time to be an adult. To handle this in a logical manner – but nothing about them is really logical, and it never has been. This might be a very great mistake. It wouldn't be her first.
She raises her eyes to his and he stares back at her. Through the deep swell of panic she wonders if he's doing it right now, but then he casts the spell, and she realizes he had been giving her time to back out again. His fingers just brush her cheek before he pulls away with a groan. Her heart flips.
"Your head is about to explode from panic, Granger."
"Yeah, well, I've never had anyone in my head before and it's a little scary, no matter who it is!" Pumppumppumppu-pump, is the song of her frantic heart, and just as she's about to make her escape, his hands close over her cheeks.
Her eyes automatically dart to his, and the intense concentration makes her freeze. So, he's back in there then. She can't even feel anything, or...see, or know where he's looking. Her breath catches, her escape ruined, and she's wide open for him. Anything he could possibly want to know about her, right there for the taking, and she would never know.
He's going to run. He's going to push her off his lap, maybe give her a sad shake of his head, and quickly cut off any interaction between them that didn't deal with Order business. She can just see... His hands slide across her face, his fingers weaving into her hair, and his hot breath puffs against her mouth. He can probably...hear, know, what she is thinking right now. He probably heard that. That. That. Her breath releases in a whine when his lips twitch.
"Relax," he mutters.
Easy for him. She has never been so exposed in all her life, and he wants her to relax? How is that even possible? Why did she agree to this? It would have been much easier for him to think she didn't trust him than have to deal with this. Not trusting him she could make up for. This? There's no turning back. This... Jesus, this he can hear, and she needs to stop thinking. She sings a lullaby in her head, and his thumbs reach out to stroke along her cheekbones. He must know what that does to her now too, because his lips twitch again and he repeats the motion.
She reaches up to trace her fingers around his bruises, to lightly brush over the swelling. "I'm fine. You're distracting me."
"Sorry," she mutters, blushing, and frantically tries to stop feeling the worry, or anything else looking and touching him inspired within her. She pushes the silky locks of his hair from his eyes before dropping her hands against his chest, thinking of colors.
"You can blink."
She does, rapidly, feeling stupid for holding them open the whole time. She feels stupid for this whole stupid idea, actually, and she can only hope that... She narrows her watery yet dry feeling eyes at him, using Elvis, Heaven, and jungle room to complete that line of thought.
"Stop moving your eyes."
She gives a little jump, forgetting herself. The smallest twitch in his facial expression and she automatically sought it out. It's not like she has an entire mind to go through. She has to settle for his eyes, and while they are very nice eyes, and ones she is known to stare into quite often, there is only so much staring she can do. It is a little awkward to be sitting there, staring into each other's eyes in silence. His gaze is intense, but slightly unfocused with the way he's looking into her and not at her. It's unsettling - not to mention that she is far too nervous to be staying in one spot like this.
His eyebrows draw together, and the second after she again denies the urge to ease the wrinkles, he speaks. "You can touch me all you want in a second."
She blushes, quieting the part of her that bursts up with hope that this means he hasn't stumbled on anything too...emotional. She can't contain the overwhelming desire to touch him, though, and his comment didn't exactly inspire images of her hands on his forehead. She watches his eyes narrow, and he's smirking at the very naughty things flashing through her mind that she can't censor.
She groans in embarrassment, but then gasps as an image fills her mind of...herself. Her, naked, back arched and mouth open as she cried out. Draco's arm was wrapped around her waist, the other fondling her breast as they moved together. Locks of blond obscured the top of the vision, but she knows it from the hotel all those months ago, in the bath. It's Draco's memory of it, the sound of his panting much closer than her own, and her face getting closer as he pulls her toward him.
She looks completely undone in his memory, just as she remembers being, and it's so weird to see this. To see it exactly from his point of view, the image in his head. It's his memory, in her mind, and it feels so personal and...intimate. Like she can touch a part of him she never knew she could, and it isn't anything emotional or profound, but it still amazes her. She waits for her memory-self to open her eyes, but the image goes dark.
Draco, very real Draco, moans in front of her and wraps an arm around her, dragging her up his lap and across his growing erection. She wiggles down against him before she can think not to, and he bucks against her in response, moaning again. It occurs to her that he must be feeling some semblance of her own feelings on top of his own. She could hardly control her own, let alone if she were overtaken by both of theirs.
Another image snaps into her mind, her body bent over one of the chairs they are sitting on, and him slamming into her from behind. The image is so vivid she almost convinces herself that she somehow forgot them doing it, but she knows it's a plan and not a memory. She hadn't been aware she was grinding herself against him until he grabs her hips and stills her.
"Give me a second," he practically chokes out, and she tries to calm herself.
She gets to forty-three when he kisses her, and she returns his fervor, throwing her arms around his neck. She gets lost in his mouth for several seconds before her mind returns to her.
"What did-"
"I knew what you were currently thinking and feeling, and I saw your memories from that night. That's it."
He must have really been careful not to observe anything that he didn't need, then. Amazing, luck-is-back-on-her-side, careful. Thank God he hadn't found too much, and thank him for respecting her privacy. This would have been an entirely different situation if he had stumbled upon anything, and relief floods her. She kisses him, relieved, appreciative, and aroused, before pulling away again.
He growls his frustration, but her curiosity is too ingrained. "Did you find anything useful?"
"No." He takes the opportunity to pull her shirt off. "I can't think right now. Later."
He grabs her face, pulling her toward him and effectively shutting her up. She thinks she'll stop thinking for a little bit, and just celebrate their escape. She doesn't think she has much of a choice anyway, with the way Draco is so intent on making the image he showed her a real memory. She'll get answers later, and for those she won't, she'll ponder over the questions until she figures them out herself.
Day: 1557; Hour: 7
"As soon as I pointed the wand at him, he Apparated out. I found our Portkeys, coins, and wands in one of the drawers, but it had some sort of spell on it... When I unlocked it, it felt like my arm was going to burn off me. I threw a Portkey to Malfoy, who had Hermione, then to Alicia, and Novak, who was holding Spruce. Spruce was already dead. The Portkeys took everyone here, except Alicia, who ended up at a safe house. Novak was the least injured of those returning, and I ordered him to let you know the situation, as well as the names of the team members we were forced to leave behind."
Lupin nods, the quill pausing over the parchment. Harry Potter, M.L., OotP, M: 2, Scridge Manor, is all Hermione can read before the paper is shoved into a folder. Hermione and Harry were the only two – at least present – that hadn't given mission reports. After Hermione gave the very basics of very little information, Harry had filled in some blank spaces for her. Namely, how they got out of there in the first place.
Lupin scratches at the back of his neck, meeting the five pairs of eyes around the table. "I know Malfoy already tried, but you're going to have to go to the Ministry, Hermione. Like Malfoy said, it's likely that someone manipulated your memories. Given the extent of your injuries when Malfoy found you... We know Death Eaters. Torturing people while they are spelled into unconsciousness isn't likely."
"Yeah, where's the fun in that." She's pretty sure it's Novak who spoke, but she only recognizes his face from when they tried to escape the first time.
Maybe it was the first time. It might have been the twentieth time, for all she knows. She hates that they had messed with her mind. It's the thing she holds close to her through the war. They have changed her life, bruised and scarred her body, stolen her friends, but they never touched her mind. Even under the fear, panic, and grief, her mind has always been hers. Now they have taken things from there too. All these things that were hers.
"We can only assume that you found out important information. Though it is likely they planned on killing all of you, they erased your memories in precaution. There's no other reason why they would have bothered, unless you knew something they couldn't afford us knowing."
"I knew they were planning something," Harry mutters angrily, his mouth set in a deep frown.
"Do you think there's a traitor?" Ron crosses his arms, and even his freckles look pale.
Lupin licks his lips, his jaw tightening. "It's probable. The coin was activated, which could have been a sign of guilty conscious, an effort to see if it would work or how it would work, or an attempt to get more of our side there. Or certain people."
"So you think the traitor was one of the ones who came?" Novak looks defensive, like they are all blaming him.
"Or they knew that Hermione and Ron would come, and they wanted to use them in revenge toward Harry." Harry looks uncomfortable, and she looks away before his guilty look could move from Ron to her. "I don't know. It's not possible to know right now. We don't even know if there really is a spy. The coins were activated, and no one is taking responsibility. The Death Eaters seemed to know of the mission, because they were waiting for you, and managed to catch an entire team with backup off-guard. They must have got the information about the second coin out of someone, but none of you reported them questioning you about anything."
"Which says something in itself," Draco drawls, sprawled out in his chair and looking bored, save the sharpness of his gaze. "No one, Dark, Light, or any other color, is going to capture a dozen enemies and not get information out of them. If a Death Eater's mother's friend walks through the door of the Ministry, we're interrogating them – even if we already know everything they do. The fact that they didn't even question us proves that not only is there a spy, but they're still active, and likely to be near the top of the information flow."
"Or the bottom." Hermione jumps in, her brain whizzing. "Anyone who even has access to those folders, or can manage to get access. All the backup information is nearly impossible to get to at the Gringotts vaults. I know the room is heavily warded here, and I'm sure it's the same at the Ministry, but there are people in both places who specialize in breaking-"
"It could be one of the guards too. Or, even-" Harry starts.
"It's far more likely that the spy is well-connected. A lot of people could manage to break into the file rooms, and some of them would even get away with it. However, not questioning us implies that they have all the information they need or want. They're current, so the person would have had to break in repeatedly to keep them current. It's impossible for that not to be detected."
"I agree with Malfoy. The only people allowed in those rooms are Minerva, myself, and...what is it you lot call them? The Ministry Stiffs? Any repeated break-in would be realized."
"It's also a possibility that the Death Eaters have all the information they need for their plan from one recent break-in, and didn't need anything else from us but...revenge. I think we should start compiling a list of all guards, ward breakers-"
"Why do you keep trying to get the heat off the 'well-connected' people?" Novak interrupts her, narrowing his eyes.
Hermione rears her head back in surprise, anger prickling up inside of her until it blooms in a flush across the appalled expression on her face. "I really hope that was not an accusatio-"
"You're out of line."
"Nov-"
"And Malfoy, wasn't it you who was muttering about how you wanted her to wake up so she could take down the wards on that room?" Draco straightens up, his face twisting into a sneer. "So you're good at breaking wards and you're highly connected. You're best friends with Harry Potter, and from the rumors, you have a close relationship with-"
"You don't know anything about her," Harry snaps, jumping to his feet.
Novak lurches to his own, and Hermione stands as well. Lupin is hissing something about maturity, and when Novak's hand grabs at his waist, all their hands mimic flight to an empty holster.
"Yeah? Isn't it convenient that she's lost her memory? Maybe she-"
"Enough!" Lupin stands. "Every-"
"I've been a Phoenix for-"
"What does that matter?"
"And I'm a Muggle-born! You don't know me, obviously, so if nothing else, why would I ever-"
"You tell us!"
How dare he? Never, in her life had anyone accused her of being an actual traitor. It's so absolutely impossible, but there is a dark, scared part of her, that is wondering just what might have happened in those blanked out memories. But a traitor? A traitor? A traitor? Traitor?
"Sit down!" Lupin yells, and twice more before anyone follows the order.
Hermione can't stop the shaking of her shoulders, and has to steady herself so she doesn't give in to the desperate urge to move. She needs to walk, or run, or smack him, but she settles for deep breaths. Deep, deep, breaths.
"I know this is a sensitive issue. I was wrong in assuming we could all discuss it in a rational and orderly fashion. All of you have an appointment at the Ministry tomorrow. While we're not accusing any of you of being a spy, every living team member will have to answer some questions to rule them out. Seven, tomorrow morning, you'll Apparate from the foyer. Understood?"
"Yes."
Day: 1558; Hour: 6
"This is very interesting."
Hermione glares even harder at the burly Auror. He probably spent most his life in a gym, convincing himself that every extra weight he lifted made him that much better than the rest of the world. She hadn't expected the interrogation to be easy, especially since the Ministry had run out of Veritaserum. There was a lot of accusations, awkward questions, and too much digging around in her head. The Legilimens they had sent in had taken so long going through her mind, Hermione is pretty sure he looked into far more than he had the right to.
She had simmered in her anger as they questioned her – nothing was considered intrusive or off limits, and they had treated her as if they knew it was her. Maybe that was part of their tactic, but she had never been treated so horribly by her own side. The years she has given, and all the things she has sacrificed and had to face, just to be treated like a traitor. It isn't a slap in the face, it's a kick to her mouth. It's like looking at everything she's done, and spitting on the worth of it.
But she tries to remain rational. If they're doing this to her, then they might be doing it to the traitor, and maybe then they'll find them. She can deal with it for that.
"We're going to have to hold you until we talk to the boss."
"What?" She stares at them, and she can feel her eyes bulge with the pressure of her shock.
"It's nothing personal," the Legilimens tries.
"Nothing personal? You can't be serious! I-"
"Six Aurors are dead, another is at the permanent ward at Mungo's. Yes, we're serious! This whole coin business, the fact that the Death Eaters knew the team was going to be there! Something is going on, everyone's smelling a rat, and you happen to have the first day or so erased from your mem-" Burly Auror yells at her.
"I'm a Phoenix!" Hermione shouts, rushing to her feet, and she's dizzy. "I have-"
"We're not saying you're a traitor-"
"You're holding me as a suspect!" Her breath rushes in, in, out, in, out, and her lungs hurt. She thinks of Muggle television shows, with planted evidence and cops with too much power. She thinks of innocent people sentenced to death, and she thinks of shame under false accusation, and she thinks of wrecking the line of his nose to gain back her pride.
The missions, the battles, the injuries and hospital beds. Her friends, the death, the smell of sulfur, the life she said goodbye to. The green jets, the close calls, the pain, and Seamus spin-spinning her away. She feels gutted. Have they found something she doesn't remember buried somewhere in her mind? Had she told them something, did something? Maybe it was Imperius. Maybe...
Hermione's eyes drift to the table. I don't need, want, or expect an apology... How had she forgotten that? It was the thought she didn't trust him, him inside her mind, the distractions that followed, all the wondering that got her too caught up.
Thoughts fly through her mind, too quickly to focus on individually, and then Harry with the empty eyes and the blood soaking his shirt.
"-things we have to clear-"
"Okay." She looks up from the table, clears her throat, but it still feels closed up. "Okay."
Day: 1558; Hour: 14
It's very strange, the way Draco pauses in front of the cell and stares in at her. She straightens up from her shadowed spot at the back of the cell, and a sudden moment fills her mind. Except she's standing at the other side, dragging in a prisoner, and looking at his dirty face inside. And in her memory of years ago, she had been thinking of the speed of life, and Hogwarts faces, and how strange it all was. This was before the boulder, the fights, the missions, the times he saved her life and she saved his. This was before he happened to her.
There's surprise on his face now, and she swings her gaze to the Aurors. "Why is he here?"
Draco laughs then, and she looks back to him, her forehead wrinkling. It's not angry, or derisive, but actual amusement. She can't find a single funny thing in this entire situation, but Draco has somehow found the silver lining.
"What's so funny, Malfoy?" The other Auror is all gruff and ruffled feathers.
"That you managed to escape with your limbs attached after telling her you were actually going to put her in a cell on suspicion of treason. Also..." his grin lights his face, "does Potter know about this yet?"
"Keep walking, Malfoy."
Draco jerks his arm away before Burly Auror can grab it, and the look he levels on him is all Malfoy. "Potter will look like a gift from Merlin if you so much as breathe on me, Gossum."
His threat is weak the moment the cell door shuts in front of him, and he and Gossum glare at one another before the Aurors walk away. Hermione clasps her hands in her lap, looking at the line of his shoulders, and feels memory-panic build up along her own. The walls around them are dark concrete, and she sees him sagging limp from chains with blood smearing his skin. She breathes in slow, deep, and shakes her head. Shakes it again. Clamps her hands tighter until her nails bite into them.
Draco pushes his fingers through the back of his hair, then tugs on them once, some muttered growl in his throat. His footsteps are heavy, and he sits down near her on the bed in rigid motion, a rustle of clothes and a creak of springs.
"Why did they put you in here?"
"If they put you in here, I can hardly think my chances were bright."
She scrapes a nail over her knuckle, around a small cut that is deep red and curves. "I'm missing memories. Maybe they found something that I can't find myself. Maybe I did something." She glances over at him, a second long enough to know he's looking at the floor. "Or I told them things."
He's quiet for five beats of her heart, and she wonders if he thinks or knows that she did. If all of them are already assuming that she did, and then she wonders what kind of fighter that might make her now.
"It still doesn't make you a traitor."
The silence lasts long enough that the sound of metal hitting stone seems to explode, and she gives a jolt, reaching for a wand they took from her hours ago. The footsteps are quick and hard, and her breath hurries, gaze automatically sweeping the cell for weapons and escape routes.
Hermione can feel a shift of magic in the air as Harry appears at the end of her cell. Locks of his hair are sticking straight up, and his mouth has disappeared into a line on his face. Gossum and the other Auror are behind him, faces blank, and there's a scroll in Gossum's hand that he hits against his thigh in a loose rhythm.
Harry's eyes meet hers for a moment, bright and angry, and travel her person quickly. "Release them."
She's curious if Harry actually got permission to demand that, or if he just decided to. They have a habit of acting rash when confronting something they know is wrong, and Hermione knows that when Harry is feeling this angry, he tends to act first and think much later.
"We can't do that, Pot-"
"Release h-"
"Malfoy is an Occlumens. We wouldn't have known, but Walter made eye contact with him in the corridor and caught a flash of memory before Malfoy looked away. Walter couldn't find it again once Malfoy came into the interrogation room. There were also a lot of things that...Granger seemed to remember, and Malfoy seemed to have forgot." The unnamed Auror explains this without looking at her, and her blush is fierce and quick.
Did they just look over them, or did they watch? Is it why they took so long in her mind? No one is allowed to see those but Draco, and she feels as if she just found a hole in the wall with a crowd of people on the other side. Exposed and trespassed against.
Draco's jaw is working over his anger, the vein at his temple raising up, and she knows he's furious with himself for the slip. She appreciates that there are things he tried to keep them from seeing, but he should have known they would find them in her mind – even if they had no right to. It isn't enough to claim him the traitor, but it proves he's able to tuck things away, and that's enough doubt for anyone who doesn't know him.
"I want to talk to the Legilimens," Harry responds, and exchanges a look with Draco. "He'll be coming with me."
Hermione's eyes automatically narrow at the sight, but both men avoid looking at her. Her heart thumps heavily against her chest, and her fingers curl up, because there's a part of her that knows, that's too quick to not put the pieces together. Gossum unrolls the scroll he's holding, scanning it with a grim set to his mouth. He rolls it back up slowly, staring at his partner, and then nods his head toward the cell.
She hesitates to stand, and her bum is barely off the mattress before Draco grabs her arm, pulling her so quickly across the cell that she stumbles over her feet. She wonders if he thinks she blames herself, or feels she deserves to be there, because she doesn't know why else he would look so annoyed or pull her like she wouldn't go herself. They follow Harry down the hallway, the Aurors talking low behind them, and Draco's grip slips down her forearm. They emerge into a large room of bustling people who stare at them the moment they enter, and heat creeps back up cheeks. There had to be rumors about the traitor by now, and they were all probably coming to conclusions about why she just came from the holding cells. She is embarrassed, angry, and angrier still at the prickling of shame she feels hot in her stomach. Draco stares straight ahead, his expression unreadable. Her fingers are cold with her palms clammy, but he still doesn't let go of her hand.