July 2nd

All owls were ignored on Sunday. Once she was awoken by the tapping of another post owl on her bedroom window before the sun was even up, she shooed the bird and cast a bird-banishing charm around the entire house. It would only be temporary. When she was ready to face the world again, she would. Besides, she already knew they were all from Rabastan demanding that she come back into the Ministry to conduct their planned interrogation of Theodore Nott. If she allowed herself to enter Level Eleven without being fully prepared for what was expected of her within its walls, she would become useless. She had to be in her best form and that wasn't going to happen on three hours of sleep. Her Co-Head would get the hint that she wasn't coming in when his owls returned with their messages unopened. Perhaps, if she was lucky, he'd get started without her.

She spent a pleasant day with her husband and son inside their home. Antonin made certain that Oliver stayed quiet while his mother slept. It was a routine he'd grown used to when he was younger. Even without taking one of the safe, apparently non-habit forming potions that Antonin kept in stock in their bathroom, Hermione was able to rest until well after noon. Only the smell of the roast chicken cooking downstairs in the kitchen woke her up. Thanks to the long interview with Mrs. Nott, she'd forgotten to eat. The small family shared a lovely meal.

Monday morning she knew that she couldn't ignore her responsibilities any longer. Rabastan was going to be even angrier if she stayed away for another day. Despite rather compelling protests from her son that she stay home, she kissed his forehead and stepped into the fireplace. It was unusual to find her Co-Head already seated at his desk when she arrived. Usually he was the sort to stumble in mid-morning without a care that most of the rest of the world had already been hard at work for hours.

"How generous of you to finally show yourself, pet. I was beginning to fear that you'd run away from your husband again."

Hermione refused to allow the horrible man to bait her into an argument. It was evident that the events of the previous few days were wearing his patience thin. Dark circles under his eyes proved that he hadn't had a good night's sleep since the arrest. She was tempted to laugh at his foul mood.

"No, I just didn't see the need to come into work yesterday."

His scowl after her response made her temptation to laugh in his face even stronger. Did the man not understand how amusing he could be when he was being petulant and childish? Probably not. He was a prideful man who didn't appreciate when others around him disrespected him. Some had even been killed because of his prickly moods.

"Were you hoping that I would go ahead and interrogate Theodore without you in the room? So you wouldn't have to get your hands dirty again?"

Almost as quickly as his scowl appeared on his face, it was replaced with a knowing grin. She wasn't going to answer his question honestly. Not out loud. Of course she hoped that he would be so anxious to get the worst part of their job over without her if she continued to ignore his summonses to the Ministry. As much as she hated Nott and would've liked nothing more than to see him choke on his own blood, she could feel the subtle tremors throughout her body simply imagining what she was going to be called on to do.

"I have no loyalty to nor love for Theodore, Rabastan. I'll gladly dance upon his grave."

"Then you won't have any problems accompanying me downstairs then?"

"I'll have to accompany you. I still haven't been granted access to Level Eleven. Remember?"

He smirked. She longed to scratch it off his face with her fingernails. How much longer was she going to be forced to keep up this charade? Her patience was almost non-existent at that point.

"Of course I remember. That's not something I'm likely to forget either."

Hermione shrugged off her outer-robes and laid them across the back of her chair. There would be no need for them down in the bowels of the building. She checked that her hair was still pulled tightly against her head. It wouldn't do any good for the prisoner to have anything he could potentially grab on to in the midst of the horrors they were about to inflict upon him. She learned her lesson in the early days of her career. A fistful of hair ripped from her head wasn't an experience she was keen to repeat.

"I'm ready whenever you are, Rabastan."

"I was ready yesterday."

She placed her hands on her hips. Lifting a single eyebrow, she waited for him to begin the tirade she was almost certain would be coming. Perhaps he knew what she was waiting for and didn't want to give her the satisfaction of being correct. With a deep sigh of annoyance, he stomped out of the office. She followed close behind.

It was imperative that she get her nerves completely under control before they entered Level Eleven. Any show of weakness could get her put in the room right next door to Nott's. That was the number one worst-case scenario she was trying to avoid. Even with years of inflicting sadistic torture on countless souls, Hermione wasn't sure that she would be able to withstand it herself. Of course she understood the hypocrisy in that fact. It was best that she just tried to ignore it full stop.

By the time the lift doors opened on the restricted level, she could feel some of the power she used to exude as the fearsome Madam Dolohov return. As much as she loathed the trite saying "fake it until you make it", she could see some of the value. Maybe if she just pretended she was confident and unafraid of what was to happen next, she might be able to convince herself of it too. There had been plenty of opportunities for practice over the years after all.

Theodore Nott was in a poor state. Seeing the elderly wizard strapped into a chair covered in his own bodily fluids helped to take some of the fear from Hermione's heart. He was nothing but a sad, little, old man. No one had been down there in the room to release him from his bounds since he was arrested. There had been no food or water provided to him either. Perhaps that was one reason why he seemed so afraid when the door was opened. One didn't need to feed or water their captives if there was no plan to keep them alive long. It was possible that he was still the same proud man when he was dragged into the space by the Snatchers days earlier. Time alone in the dark room with nothing but his thoughts for company removed his arrogance. She could almost pity the terrified man if she didn't hate him so much.

"I demand to speak to the Dark Lord! This is an outrage!"

Some of his former bravado came out moments after he had his first chance to compose himself. The only acknowledgment Hermione offered to his statement was a balled up fist straight to his nose. A satisfying crack could be heard that forced a yell of pain out of the man. Rabastan smirked and nodded his head at his cohort. If a simple blow to his face would make the man scream, their job was going to be much easier than they expected. Clearly living so close to the Dark Lord's shadow for all of those years made the man soft, weak. He wouldn't last long and before he succumbed to the pain that they were going to inflict on his ancient body, he would sing.

"You may be unaware, Theodore, but there have been some changes to our standard operating procedures as of late." Rabastan closed the door behind them, locking it with a spell that only one of the captors would be able to release. "We no longer seek permission before we do as we wish."

"But the Dark Lord still lives!"

"For now. We all know that that won't be the case for much longer."

It gave Hermione chills to watch Rabastan in his element. Others in their society might have lived in a state of fear that she would one day stand across from them while they were strapped into a similar chair. In her nightmares, Rabastan stood over her, taunting her with the knowledge that she wasn't going to enjoy a single moment. He was a Master at his craft. It wasn't difficult for her to admire his brutal tactics. Somehow he was able to make it into something on an art. Once she desired to be more like him. In that moment, however, she longed to run out of the room and never turn back. Only the reminder of seeing Aberforth's face staring out from his cell minutes earlier when they entered gave her the courage to endure what must be endured.

As he always did, Rabastan began the process of interrogation slowly. He enjoyed seeing those who once had such conceit and self-importance crumble under the least bit of pressure. There was a time when they used to place bets before an interrogation. The wager was never large and sometimes it was the exchange of favors instead of money. They would try to determine before they ever entered a room whether or not their chosen victim was going to fold quickly or endure the indignities for the sake of their pride and often misplaced loyalties. Most didn't last long. There was only so much pain a person could withstand. Usually, when they had all of the answers they needed and felt they could no longer serve any purpose, they would dispatch of them.

Nott was kept alive much longer than most of their guests. Just as she suspected, it didn't take long before he was begging them to stop the pain. He gave up all of the names of his allies within the first hour. None of them were surprising. Comprised mostly of lower members just outside the Inner Circle, it wouldn't take much effort to eradicate the worst and turn the most useful to their side… whichever side that might turn out to be. It was evident that he was hoping that the Dark Lord would remain alive much longer. In his mind, he was protected if their master stayed alive. Perhaps that was why he was willing to sacrifice his own granddaughters for the cause of saving his own arse. Hermione took a great deal of pleasure in slicing into his chest over and over again when he admitted that he'd been planning to offer them to the Dark Lord. Even Rabastan was disgusted. No doubt he was thinking of his own two daughters who could have easily been a victim to the man's depravity if they were just a little younger.

Hermione wasn't surprised that she was able to slip back into the blood and guts so easily. No, she expected to find it easy. That was the reason she knew she couldn't keep doing it. Nott was a wretched, horrible excuse for a human being that deserved to die a long, lingering painful death, but she knew that this would have to be her last venture into the locked side rooms. She couldn't become the monster she used to be again. It would consume her until there was nothing left.

In the end, she knew his body was about to give out. Rabastan had been pouring blood replenishing potions down his throat and other healing potions to keep the man's body alive for more torture. When it was clear that they needed to stop, Hermione took great pleasure in standing over the wizard's bleeding form. She gripped his chin tightly, forcing him to look her in the eyes.

"Remember all of those years ago when you told me that you wished to make an example of me when the world returned to what it once was? To make me the entertainment?"

Nott wouldn't answer, but she could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew exactly what she was talking about. He'd made her afraid that night. She hated that feeling. Too much of her life had been spent in fear.

"I'm going to sleep peacefully tonight knowing that that'll never happen, that I got rid of a disgusting coward like you."

She released her hold on him, wiping the palm of her hand on the outside of her robes. A simple flick of her wrist opened his neck. Blood spurted out, covering much of the area. Rabastan held up a shield charm to keep the fluid off of his clothes. Hermione didn't care. With the warmth of Nott's blood still on her skin, she turned and exited the room.