Chapter Three: Notes
"Describe the attack."
Draco looked at the ceiling, willing time to go faster. He knew that she would keep him there if he didn't comply with her. And I bet she loves that power. "We went there, bugals blaring, and destroyed everything. Then we disapparated." They were discussing the vandalism of the Ministry's Defense Office. Or in other words, the last really devastating blow before the other side disintegrated.
"What were you thinking as you went in?" Hermione made a note on her notepad: Does not care about details of his escapades.
"I was... hoping we didn't get caught." Doesn't show remorse for his actions.
"Why did you do it?"
"I kind of had to, seeing as I was leading them." Does not identify alternatives to actions.
"What are you writing on that stupid paper?"
"Just notes," she said with a slight smirk.
"Bull."
She was silent for a couple of seconds before replying, in a strained voice, "What I write is for your own good. Since you are too delusional to figure some things out for yourself, it is up to me to figure them out for you. Now. There were ways out of your situation, and yet you did nothing to help yourself. That is what you were sent to Azkaban for... all of the things you ever did. Shall I read your charges?"
"Humor me."
"Alright then. It's quite a list. Let's see..."
Draco shook his head and went back to looking at the ceiling.
"Treason. Attempted murder. Fraud. Some shoplifting... so unlike you to steal considering your money... oh, there's some harrasment thrown in for good measure - "
"Alright, I get it."
"No, you really don't," Hermione said loudly. "You have no idea what you've done. Your whole life. How many people have contemplated suicide because of you? How many have you killed? They couldn't prove any of the murder charges of course... even examinations of your memory could not help them conclude anything. But you know, in your head - you know what you've done. How many times have you kicked someone while they were down?" Hermione looked at him pointedly until he brought his gaze down to hers. "Now that I have your attention..."
"Living increases knowledge..." he said faintly, defensively.
"No, it doesn't. Learning increases knowledge. Information increases knowledge. Living only increases experience. And what of that have you lived?"
"You have no fucking idea."
Aha! There was something. Hermione ran with it. "Do I? Enlighten me. I challenge you. I bet there's nothing -"
"Alright then, little girl. You have no fucking idea what it's like to not see the light of day come from any corner for a year. To fear every second. To sit next to a murderer and not shake like a leaf. To force yourself to look in the eyes of the absolutely evil... absolute evil itself. Don't fucking start with me. You know nothing."
Instead of getting more agitated, Hermione smiled and made a note on her paper: Displays human emotions of disgust towards a dark environment."Lovely," she murmured to herself.
It took him a few seconds before he understood. He put his face in his hands. "I hate it when you do that."
"You hate that it works. I've told you to forget who you are and who I am and look at things the way they are. And when you don't let your guard down, you force me to make you angry so that you start ranting. Because then, you say things that you mean, in your heart, but would never admit. Am I correct? I think so."
"No," he whispered after a moment. "Because of the way things are, I cannot forget who we are."
Hermione looked at him. He's right. I cannot do my job and not enjoy watching him quake with rage. I cannot do my job without wanting to throw up. I cannot do my job... without wanting to shake him, wake him up. But that is my job. "Okay then. If you think that will make a difference... think again. It doesn't matter. Because in the end, you are disturbed, and I am here to help you - "
"YOU'RE CONFUSING ME," he yelled. "Of course it matters!"
"I'm confusing you? Try sitting in my chair."
"I would if you'd get your fat arse out of it."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I don't worry about my weight, Malfoy. Nice try."
"That's not what I meant. I mean that you never let your mind go and absorb what I'm saying."
"That's all I ever do. I try to understand what the motivation is behind your words, why you did the things that you did. Now, I could send a report to your parole officer saying that you haven't changed one bit because you are still yelling, still cursing, and still saying the same things you have been saying - and he'd report it, and they'd give you an extension. Or, I could try to understand you. Which would you prefer? I'm doing the latter, but I won't hesitate to try the former on for size."
Draco shook his head. "Do what you want. I don't care anymore."
Hermione clucked her tongue and looked at her sheet. "Apathy." She made a note.
Draco looked at her, furious again. "DON'T YOU FUCKING START WITH THAT FIVE STEP SHIT! That shit doesn't work!"
"The hell it doesn't. Who's the therapist here? Now. Stop talking about me. Do you really not care? Or are you just lazy?"
Hello, ceiling. "Both."
"Let me ask you something. As a person who works in the Hall of Prophecy, do you believe in Fate?"
He was looking at the ceiling as usual; he thought he saw a little brown splotch up there last time... there it was. It kind of looked like a bunny.
"Do you believe in destiny?"
No actually, the splotch kind of looked like... a person with big arms. A fat person with big arms.
"Crabbe," he said. He missed him a bit.
Hermione took the water glass off her desk and threw the contents at him.
"WHAT THE FUCK, GRANGER."
"Answer my question."
"FUCK NO."
He was her last patient for today. After this, she could go home, run a nice, hot bath, dig out that book she'd bought on survival transfiguration, and settle down for the remainder of her afternoon. Who really gave a hoot about Malfoy anyway? She didn't know what kept her going when she had to see him. Perhaps... some kind of revenge. I'll make you see that everything you ever did was dirt. Everyone you ever knew and loved was just as low as you; everything you ever thought you learned about the way the world works is crap. That's what I'll give you - the present of understanding. And I know it will break you.
"Answer my question or I'm chucking the owl treats at you next. And not the dry kind."
Ew, mice. "I don't believe in destiny... but I believe in Fate."
"Aren't they kind of the same?" Hermione asked, taking up her quill again.
Draco shook his head. "Fate is... like the story was written down before it was told, and we are living the telling of that story. Destiny is following what we think is our right path. Destiny is bullshit."
Hermione nodded. "Is it true that Lord Voldemort was going to discard his old body and use yours once he killed Harry?"
Draco looked down at his feet. That was something he didn't want to think about. He nodded.
"Did he describe that as your destiny? You were 'destined' to be the host of the most powerful wizard... that is why your father pushed you so hard in school." Hermione kept writing.
He nodded again.
"And when you didn't perform, and developed your own brain instead of the brain they all wanted for you, it occurred to them that they should just transport the soul..."
"Bellatrix was the obvious choice for a successor, after my father lost a bit of his faith. She was the perfect choice, in fact. She believed, to her core, that his ideals were law. She loved every inch of everything that the Dark Lord spewed, every atom of his being. She was, in a way, more evil than he himself."
Hermione set down her quill and activated her tape recorder silently. "So... you are telling me that Bellatrix Lestrange was next in line for the 'throne'?"
"Yeah. But of course she was killed before he was. So when they all turned to me... I went for it. I said, why not? All the power you want, and you may be able to do something constructive with it. Because what does general killing solve? Nothing. When I came into power, it was not about muggleborns anymore - purifying the world. It was about rising against the establishment. So it wasn't about killing people. It became about killing the right people... and the right things.
"We started with the influential writers. Two were picked off, as I recall. Naturally, that devastated the academic community. But what did they stand for? They stood for communism, social order, traditional values, all that stuff that is utterly useless in the real world. I told the Death Eaters that life wasn't about politics - it was about survival. And we were going to wipe out everything else.
"The Ministry was next. We got rid of the imperioused moles - the people who would have not agreed with us. And then the property itself - the fountain in front of the Archives, the Defense Department. And then I was thrown in Azkaban. Which was bad timing on the Ministry's part, because it was after I was thrown in that the killing and hatred started up again. I had nearly converted them."
Hermione nodded, absolutely fascinated. "The goal was to destroy the franchises, the establishment, the government and everything it stood for - corruption?"
Draco leaned further into the cushions. "Sort of."
She stopped the recorder and wrote some notes on her notepad.
"Listen," Draco said, looking at her. "I need some sleeping pills."
Shaking her head, Hermione opened his file and rummaged through the papers. He stared at her. "You don't need them. You want them. You want it to be easy."
"Not everything is as deep as that, Granger. Just take it for what it is - I can't sleep at night. It's painful. It causes me to not perform at my best during the day. I need relief."
Hermione stopped and looked at him. "If I give you sleeping pills, are you going to abuse them?"
Draco shook his head unconvincingly. "Probably not. Just don't give me a reason to." Hermione snorted.
I don't need to give you a reason to become a drug addict - I need to give you a reason to want something different for yourself.
She started writing the prescription.