38 – Unspun

Hermione looked up at the large hour glass on a platform on the wall for the four thousandth time. Somehow the sand grains were sneaking back up to the top half when she wasn't looking.

How long could it take?

She folded her arms on the desk and laid her head down on them. Maybe a nap would make the time pass faster. Her nose wrinkled on its own. What was that smell?

She sat up abruptly. Did Cutstone keep his old lunches in his desk? Something seemed to be seriously past its expiration date. How could he work with that stench?

She sighed and leaned back. She'd brought books. She should be reading them. Of course, she'd just grabbed whatever was on her bed stand. Normally, she loved reading Wizarding History, although she often saved it for bedtime, because it did tend to make her sleepy. The "Advanced Theory of Charms" might include something that would help her understand Luna's theory of translating potions into charms. "Pureblood Family Spells" could have something about the strange blue lines effect she had experienced with the Amorita.

That might keep her awake.

Except that it didn't. The book was written by hand in a feathery, faded script. She couldn't make out half of the words and she had to go so slowly that she had forgotten the beginning of a sentence before she reached the end. Instead, her mind kept taking her back to Draco. Why had he given her that potion? It felt benevolent, but had it been? Why had he shown up in her hospital room and watched her all night?

Clearly, if he had meant to hurt her, well, physically hurt her, he'd had plenty of opportunity. How could he possibly be the same person she'd seen in Pansy's memory? Could Pansy have faked that somehow? Not with the veritaserum in her system.

Should she give him a chance to explain? It wasn't like she could just run into him somewhere. She would have to seek him out. The problem was that he seemed to muddle her mind. If he came up with some sort of explanation, any sort of explanation, she'd believe it. She wanted to. She couldn't risk it. She wouldn't be able to calmly, rationally, evaluate whatever he said. Yet – didn't he deserve a chance to explain?

She slapped the book shut and sent dust flying up from the desk which set off a sneezing fit. Somehow it all seemed like Draco's fault.

What she needed to do was discuss this with Harry. He had no crush on Malfoy. He could help her sort this out without being so eager to get the Draco she'd thought she knew back.

Hermione looked around the filthy office, desperate for something to do. If she could use her wand she could spend her time cleaning, but no – her wand had been taken from her, and the mysterious anti-theft hex had been reapplied.

She looked up at the one dismal window to see if she could gauge how late it was, how strong the sun was. With shock she realized that there was an enormous spider scuttling across a dusty web. A fly had become entrapped in the upper corner of it and the spider made quick work of stilling its struggle. Hermione turned away. She couldn't watch. At least the fly should hold the spider's attention so that it wouldn't be venturing down closer to her. She hoped. Being without her wand was like missing one of her hands, maybe worse.

How did Bill manage to work with goblins? They did let him use his wand, didn't they? Of course, being a co-worker was vastly different to being a "surety," a hostage.

Hermione glanced at the hour glass. Only nine more minutes had passed.

She dug into her bag for a quill, but found only an old one with a bent tip. Useless. She never was without a quill, but apparently her mind had been muddled enough, by lack of sleep, lack of . . . understanding what had happened, that she had left this morning without one, or at least without a functioning quill. If she had one at least she could make some lists. That would keep her awake. She could make a list of things to discuss with Harry, a pro/con list about Draco that would help her figure him out.

There was a quill on the desk. Surely Cutstone wouldn't mind if she borrowed it. It was an old one, dusty, of course. Even if he did complain, what did it matter? She would never have to deal with him again after today. Not if there was any way she could avoid it.

Making a list worked. She titled it "Is D.M. Evil?" then headed two columns "Pro" and "Con." Before she knew it she had filled the parchment. She couldn't stop a smile when she noticed that the con list, detailing reasons to believe that Draco was truly evil, was pathetically short. Besides Pansy's memory, and the various things he had said and done when they were younger, everything else was a generalization about Death Eaters.

The pro list, on the other hand, was long and detailed.

The lightness in her heart felt so much better than the tight pain she had been in since seeing Pansy's memories.

She sighed. It was all about her heart. She was being emotional, yearning for that first kiss euphoria. However, this was no 4th year Common Room flirtation.

They were warriors, fighting on opposite sides of a war. She couldn't just throw her misgivings, her rational brain, out the window for some fleeting pleasure. People could be hurt. Lives could be lost. This was much bigger than just a fledgling romance.

Again, she needed to talk to Harry. He could help her look at this impartially.

Finally, she heard voices in the hall outside. They were coming. She hastily rolled up the parchment. She'd have to wait until she had her wand back to put a privacy spell on it. She was just slipping it into her bag when Bill and Cutstone came in, the goblin pausing in front of her, then flicking his pointed finger at her with strange jerks which, presumably, removed the enchantment had been holding her prisoner.

Hermione stretched her shoulders back. They were tight from sitting in an uncomfortable chair, after sleeping on an old sofa. The itching of the goblin spells wasn't helping.

"Hurry," sneered Cutstone. "Need you out before the morning rush."

Of course, he couldn't give her a minute. It had to be as fast as possible. Fine. She was more than ready to get out of here. Hermione swept all of her things, books, blank parchment, everything, into her bag. She couldn't wait to be home, grab some tea, talk to Harry, figure out what to do now that this whole Gringotts thing was done.

She did hope that things had gone well. How would Draco let them know?

"Do you have more polyjuice?" asked Bill. Hermione nodded before pulling the bottle out of her bag, uncorking and tossing back enough to give her another hour. Luckily, this batch didn't taste too foul, must be because her muggle friend was a decent human.

"Here, let me help you with the cloak," said Bill. He seemed anxious to leave. She was too. As soon as she got back to Grimmauld Place she would indulge herself with a long bath.

"Thank you," she murmured then felt the comfortable familiarity of Harry's cloak. How much of her life had she spent sneaking around under it? Invisibility certainly had its advantages.

They slipped out of the office and headed down the narrow stair case to the reception level. Funny - the entrance hall was so grand but every other part of the bank seemed like it hadn't been cleaned, let alone remodelled, for 800 years.

The bank was now bustling, most of the bankers' windows occupied by goblins, many of them dealing with patrons. Hermione glanced around, but didn't see anyone she recognized. Of course not. Draco wouldn't still be here. He had no reason to linger in the lobby. He didn't even know that she was there, and even if he had . . .

Enough. She would think about him later.

Bill was leading. She followed behind, Cutstone behind her. As they were crossing the hall's marble floor Cutstone surprised her by veering off and entering into a sharp conversation. He was apparently scolding one of the tellers who was in a dispute of some sort with an obese wizard in deep purple robes. It seemed weird that the goblin didn't say "good bye" or anything else, but Bill didn't seem surprised. In contrast, he kept walking her out, then paused inside the door and whispered "You okay?"

"I'm good," she answered, her voice barely a breath, but he seemed to hear as he gave a barely perceptible nod.

"Make sure you don't have anything with you from the bank. I'll stop by later and fill you in. Just wait for someone to open the door. There you go."

Hermione hurried to catch the open door that a particularly tall wizard had left open behind him. Just as she stepped toward it, she thought of the quill. Had she accidentally slipped Cutstone's quill into her bag? She froze, and stepped back, out of the doorway. The quill. She groped into her bag, relieved that Bill had said something, that she had remembered.

There was so much in her bag. It was all jumbled since she had just shoved it all in, thanks to the goblin's impatience.

Ah – there it was. Her hand closed on the quill. What would she do with it? She glanced around for Bill, but he was already headed back to work, unaware that his invisible companion hadn't left yet. Hermione shrugged. She could just drop the quill on the floor. That should be innocuous enough.

A burst of shouting from the lobby, caused her to jump. The wizard in purple was angry about something, and was yelling – in a foreign language. German? Dutch?

Hermione took a half step back to keep out of the way of a harried witch who was rushing into the bank. She'd wait until there was no one who might see when she dropped the quill. No reason to cause curiosity. Better to be careful and take her time. Why did the bank have to be so busy though? This must be the morning rush. Always someone going in or going out. After that tall, skinny wizard there was a break. She would slide the quill over to . . .

Suddenly, someone barreled into her from behind, just as the tall wizard opened the door. Despite her resolve to be silent, she let out a gasp, loud enough that one of the patrons coming up the bank steps turned to frown in her direction, as she tripped over her own feet and fell through the open doorway.

Maybe if she hadn't reflexively clutched the quill, but just let it drop everything would have been okay. Maybe if she hadn't been so tired and stiff from sitting she wouldn't have stumbled. Maybe if the wizard rushing out hadn't been so angry and so large he wouldn't have pushed her out of the door and caused her to fall on the unrelenting marble steps. Maybe the spell on the quill wouldn't have caused her to shriek in pain if she had been expecting the cutting hex.

The injustice of it all, the conspiracy of bad luck, would torment Hermione later, but for now all she knew was that Greyback was there and he was coming for her.

Minutes later, she was facing the Dark Lord, her hand still throbbing, bleeding.

"Antonin, you are sure this is Potter's mudblood? All I remember of her is sallow skin and bushy hair. This has neither."

"Polyjuice, my Lord. Fenrir knows the scent of her blood. This is she."

At the mention of his name, Greyback snarled. Dolohov had bound her and had her elbow in his grip, not caring that he was twisting her arm. He was also keeping his own body between her and the werewolf. What he thought his companion would do if he could reach her, she didn't want to know. She could smell the beast's foul breath and she struggled against the nausea it caused.

They were in some sort of a cave. Behind her she could hear the intermittent 'pops' of apparition as, presumably, Death Eaters arrived to join them.

"My Lord, this is the chance we've been waiting for."

Draco, the other Draco, the cold monster, was there too. He stepped forward, his voice eager and adoring as he addressed his master. How could she have trusted him?

"My Lord, the fates have aligned to bring you Potter. We know his secret now and the perfect bait has fallen into your lap. Potter will rush in to save her and you can smite him once and for all."

Draco didn't spare her a glance. It was as though she was a thing, worse, a tool to destroy Harry.

"This does appear to be fortunate." They had sneered at his lack of a nose, but here, in front of him, it was repulsive, terrifying. He wasn't human. Her stomach clenched in fear, but Dolohov jerked her back upright. She forced herself to look at the Dark Lord. What was he? He pressed his fingers together and spoke again to Draco. "All that remains is to lure in Potter. We must let him know that we have her. Perhaps we should wait. Let him worry."

"Perhaps," answered Draco. He seemed to be Old Ugly's closest advisor. "Although, if we wait too long, cooler heads might keep Potter himself from responding. If we give him the means to come riding to the rescue my guess is that he will come alone, or with whoever is there when he gets the message. Careful planning is not Potter's method. In fact, he has the mudblood do his planning for him." There was laughter that echoed through the dank cave. How many were here? Many, although the echoing of the cave made it hard to know. Hermione refused to look around. She pinned her gaze to a shadow on the wall.

"You are familiar with Potter's ways. What type of message would you send?" Had he been spying on them this whole time? The bastard.

Draco did not answer. Hermione glanced up at him, then looked away. Better to listen. No distractions that way.

"My Lord, might I have a word in private?" Damn. She wouldn't be able to hear a thing. And what would happen to her if their Master wasn't there to see? They couldn't kill her, but . . . .

"Speak here, Draco," Voldemort hissed. Malfoy may have been a pet, but apparently he had pushed too much.

"My Lord, if Potter fears that the wolf might bite her, he will not dare to hesitate."

Fenrir made a noise, half animal snarl, half human laugh. "I'll bite her. I'll make her my bitch. I'll tear . . . ."

"Silencio, beast." Voldemort cut off the words with disdain, leaving Greyback still ranting, but now without sound. Dolohov yanked on her arm and only then did she realize she was pulling to put more distance between herself and the wolf. She had to stand firm. She wouldn't cower.

Draco spoke again, after a moment. "Once she is bitten, Potter will know there is less reason to rush. He is a fool, but not an imbecile. The wolf must wait."

"True. What of the contact? What do you suggest?"

"My own memories, my Lord. I can pull them out, bottle them up and have my elf deliver them to one of the elves at Hogwarts."

"Your elf can get into Hogwarts?" Voldemort's tone was low and dangerous. Clearly, he was not happy that he had not known this.

"I . . . I'm not sure, my Lord. It is . . . a theory I have. If the Master's will forces obedience, I think . . . I'm almost sure that . . . well, that my elf can contact one of the Hogwarts elves if I order her to." Draco no longer sounded so confident. He bowed his head and waited, a submissive dog before his evil master.

"And what if this fails?" the Dark Lord questioned, his voice still harsh, but less menacing than it had been.

"We could leave the bottled memory outside the Hogwarts gate, with some sort of a sign."

"Ha." Dolohov scoffed, so close to Hermione's ear that she jumped. "You mock Fenrir, then propose idiocy," snarled the Russian.

She should have known they'd spend their time quarrelling. Stress brought out the worst in the Order members, and that was among those who were trying to treat each other decently.

"Leave a little gift with it, a finger, perhaps?" She refused to look, but she knew that was Bellatrix's voice, the blood lust dripping off of every word.

Hermione frowned, then froze in horror. A finger. Her finger. She heard the Russian laugh, clearly enjoying her reaction. She glanced up at Draco, but he was half turned from her, already holding his own wand to his forehead, the silvery liquid sliding out into a bottle already held up by Nappy. As the bottle corked itself he glanced back at her.

She pulled back, expecting mockery in his eyes, but there was none. No other emotion either. Just his usual grey eyes, but somehow completely empty, an emotional void. It would have been horrible if he had laughed at her, but this was somehow more chilling. Was he totally a pawn? How could he look at her and have no thoughts at all?

Of course, whatever thoughts he did show would be immediately visible to his master. Of course, he wouldn't want Voldemort to know that he knew her, that they . . . that whatever it was had happened.

Voldemort did not reply, but waited, apparently thinking. The cave was remarkably silent, especially given how many were there.

Finally, he spoke. "Send your elf. Let's see if the hero will save her."

Harry. Would he really rush to save her alone? Surely, he would never be that foolish. Even as she had the thought, her stomach twisted. Harry's recklessness had surprised her before. Please not now. Where was Harry now? He'd been asleep when she left, but he would be up by now. Who would be with him? Someone calming – like Luna or Ginny? Or Ron? Ron would probably just join right into the rush, get both of them killed.

No. There had been a plan. Wouldn't they remember?

Nappy disapparated with a "pop." Please, Harry. Stop and think.

"My Lord," a Death Eater spoke up. Hermione didn't recognize him. She shuddered. Clearly personal hygiene wasn't a priority here. "Shall I warm her up for you?"

"Be my guest," came the sibilant answer.

She had no time to prepare and the first jolt of the crucio ripped a scream out of her throat, before she could even begin to resist. The world disappeared and there was nothing but pain.

When it ended, she was on the floor, sobbing, gasping for breath, her head swimming. She must have hit it on the rock floor of the cave. It took a while before the voices she heard began to make sense.

"Draco. It is time for you to renew your acquaintance with your dear school mate."

She was just trying to decipher the snake's words, when a sharp jolt of pain shocked another scream out of her.

"Silencio." He ordered, then her voice was gone, as was the pain. In her confusion it took her a moment to stop screaming, a moment to wonder why her body was still shaking? Was she already losing her mind? Had her nerves been damaged? What kind of damage could make all of the pain stop?

"Enough," Draco's master commanded. "You do seem to like 'silencio.'" It was a statement, but there was a demand there too.

"I have a tendency to get headaches from the noise, my Lord," Draco replied and the Dark Lord's chilling smile made it clear that was the right answer.

Hermione lay on the floor of the cave, panting as she fought to regain control of herself. Her head still throbbed. She'd done this before. She could do it again. It was harder to focus though without Harry and Ron nearby, when the torture was for no reason. Under Bellatrix's wand she had been striving to withhold information. Now her brain was floating. Nothing seemed to make sense.

" . . . later. We need to prepare. Where would you like the rest of us to wait while you deal with Potter?" Draco was chatting with his Lord as though she weren't even there.

"Ah, so confident that he will respond to your summons." The Dark Lord was pleased with Draco.

"Will you destroy him here?" Draco asked. "Or should Nappy bring him elsewhere?"

"Here. This is my true home. It is where it should end."

"Excellent. Do you wish for the mudblood to be here when Potter arrives?" Was that how he still thought of her?

"No. I think it will increase his anxiety if she is not here. Are your dungeons available, Bellatrix?"

"Of course, my Lord."

"Have her taken there."

Hermione hardly had time to wrap her mind around that. Why was her brain so foggy? She heard a 'pop' as Nappy reappeared. Draco spoke to the elf, and a moment later Nappy gripped her arm and whisked her away.

The combination of her pre-existing nausea, her pounding head, the blood in mouth, the apparating, caused her to retch as soon as they arrived. Would the humiliation just keep coming?

Nappy, though, vanished the vomit almost before it hit the ground, then laid her gently in a bed. Hermione's head jerked around, but she saw only the cold floor of a dungeon.

"Miss is being safe now. Miss is being healed." Nappy kept crooning to her, as she waved her wand over her.

Sometime later, Hermione lay staring at the dank ceiling, idly counting the cracks as she tried to force her thoughts into some order.

Nappy had gone, but not before she tended her wounds, fed her some soup and hot tea and tucked her into what must have been an invisible bed. Or maybe there was no bed, only a cushioning charm and, was there some sort of blanket charm?

One way or another, physically she was comfortable, but none of it made sense?

Her nerves hadn't been damaged. They were fine now. Why had she stopped feeling the crucio? Nappy was being so kind, but the elf wouldn't answer any questions. She just kept murmuring "Miss mustn't worry. Miss is being safe."

Was Nappy breaking the rules to tend to her? Would Draco punish her? Or was this all part of some elaborate ploy to mess with her head, confuse her by alternating torture and kindness?

Hermione's thoughts were slowing. She was so tired. She shouldn't have eaten what Nappy brought her. There was something in it. Something to make her so sleepy. She would just close her eyes for a bit.

No, she couldn't sleep. Harry was coming. He would fall into their trap. She had to warn him, had to help him, had to . . . what could she do? She had never been so tired. She had to . . .

She had no way of knowing how much time had passed when she woke with a jolt. Harry! Where was he? Would he rush in, unthinking? She sat up. She had to help him. Her head felt as though it was sliding off of her neck and she suddenly felt as though she'd been dipped in ice. What was wrong with her? She had fallen back, but now she pulled herself up, leaning against her elbows. Not too fast. Clearly, she wasn't well.

She paused a moment to adjust, to wait until her head felt more steady. Her eyes slowly came into focus. There was someone here, someone tall and blond. He turned and shock clenched her chest into rock.

Lucius Malfoy.

"Ah, you are awake. We have much to discuss."

AN – Thanks so much to my lovely beta, Hesaluti. Still wish you'd pick up your (metaphorical) pen again.

A thousand pardons for my glacial pace. All I can do is plead real life. I know, everyone has a real life. Not really an excuse. Just know that I'm still here, still working, still anxious to finish this. Thanks to all of you who are sticking with this, even if you have to go back and reread chapters to remember what the heck was going on.

Leave a review. Scold me for my tardiness. Tell me it was hardly worth the wait. Or – better yet – tell me what you liked.