A/N: This chapter took a little more tweaking, as it originally contained Draco's POV. I will eventually release those scenes as bonus scenes, but for now, we will remain in Hermione's POV. Thank you for your patience. Enjoy!
Chapter 23 - The Dementor
Hermione's new room was looked as though a ghost occupied it. Dark wood finishes, a tall canopy bed draped in shades of gray, not a portrait on the wall or dash of color. Not a single thing was personal or intimate. It was cold and empty, but at least it wasn't dripping in Slytherin colors.
After examining every nook and cranny—and determining there was nothing sinister hiding in the cracks—she found it was her pride that had her opening the heavy chamber door. Malfoy had said he'd call on her for dinner, but she grew restless—and maybe a little bored— in her wait. She didn't dare call on Ruby, and decided if a library existed—surely in a manor this size, it did—than she would find it on her own.
The corridors were endless, almost as if some sort of spell were cast to make them feel longer. She wasn't sure how many turns and twists and stairs she had climbed, but eventually Hermione passed a large, shiny black door with a painting of a handsome older man in it. At the bottom was a gold plaque with a caption that read Magnus Malfoy. She might have guessed it was a Malfoy based on the long, pale blonde hair tied at the nape of his neck.
Magnus was snoozing in an overlarge armchair behind the desk of an extravagant office. Hermione's gaze slid past the painting. She studied the beautifully incrusted door, whorls of ivy and roses engraved into the wood, and placed a hand on the shiny gold handle.
Hermione hesitated. I shouldn't, she thought. She didn't know what rested behind the door, but she was positive it was not a library. She peered at Magnus again, but he was still fast asleep, snoring lightly. This door was the only one in the corridor, and for that alone, she wanted to know why. Just a peek wouldn't hurt.
With a deep breath, she turned the knob and pushed the door open.
Darkness. The stairs led downward into pure darkness, all except for the single lit torch just by inside of the door.
The cellars, perhaps, filled with fine wines and treasures. Or maybe this was where the Malfoy's forced the house elves to live.
Hermione tightened her jaw. She had to know—had to make sure they were not locked up down here.
She grabbed the torch and started down the stairs, the floor boards surprisingly quiet. The lower she went, the colder it became, and soon a damp smell filled her nose, like she was entering a cave. With each step her flame became smaller and smaller, as if the descent snuffed out it's fire. By the time the stairs leveled out, the flame had died completely. It was so dark she could barely make out the passageway before her.
Hermione gently set down the torch. Then she pulled out her wand and muttered, "Lumos."
No light came.
She tried again. Still, nothing.
The cellar must be enchanted, then.
Hermione could turn back now. She probably should turn back now. But she found herself pocketing her wand and guiding her way forward by dragging her fingers across the cold walls for support. She walked, listening to the sounds of her ragged breath.
The corridor felt endless. At some point, her teeth started to chatter—and that's when she stopped moving. It was too cold, too silent. And far, far too dark.
She didn't know where she was, but she knew, suddenly, that she should not be here. There was wrongness to this place, to this heavy darkness and this cold.
"Hello?" she called out. "Is anyone there?"
There was no response apart from the echo of her voice. She suddenly felt very foolish. There was nothing here but her own paranoia, which only reminded her of how much more alone she really was.
Despite the growing dark, her eyes were beginning to adjust, creating newly formed edges along the walls. The wall in which she pressed her back into was solid, but across from her…it wasn't a wall. It appeared to be iron-barred cells. She squinted and took a step forward, pushing herself away from the solidity behind her.
Set in the deep part of the cell were shapes that glowed in the darkness—skeletons, chained to the wall.
This wasn't a cellar. It was a dungeon.
Hermione let out a gasp, and flung her body into the opposite wall. Barely aware of the air freezing, she turned to run back to the stairs when she heard a sound.
Dragging—metal dragging. A chain, dragging against the ground.
She shivered and managed to stutter, "M-Malfoy?"
It was hard to breathe, all of the sudden. When she inhaled, the air was frozen, chilling her insides and burning her nostrils. The chaining was coming closer, and so was a new sound—wheezing, heavy breathing that did not belong to her.
Hermione blinked. And blinked, until she saw a tall, dark figure approaching.
Practically wandless, facing the unknown, she started backing slowly away toward the stairs, keeping her hand on the solid wall. She knew she should run, but her limbs had gone heavy, terror gripping her too hard to force her into action. The figure came even closer, towering in it's height, and the iron bars began to ice over, as if winter were trapped inside with them.
Hermione eyes widened in horror as she finally realized what was approaching her, as the ice from the bars gave little light to the dark.
It was a Dementor.
Instinct snapped into place and Hermione yanked out her wand, even if it wouldn't be of any use. But before she could mutter the useless charm, the Dementor whooshed forward, the chains scraping loudly across the ground as it lounged toward her.
There was an intake of air—and then Hermione felt it: the lurch of the Dementor's power, her core being pulled out from within. Her vision swarmed in a blur of darkness, and her head felt suddenly so, so heavy. The Dementor pulled and pulled, sucking her away. Distantly, she knew she had to fight. She tried as hard as she could to think of happy thoughts, for she knew as difficult as it may be, magic could be done without a wand.
Hermione thought of Harry, Ginny, and even Ron, celebrating Christmas at the Burrow. She thought of her parents, enjoying their vacation. She thought of receiving her O.W.L. results and being named a Prefect. These were happy, but…
But Harry, Ginny, and Ron were celebrating without her. Her parents were not here. Her O.W.L. results were not as high as they could have been, and—she felt the darkness dripping into her thoughts, tainting her happy memories.
The thoughts of her friends were fading, the images morphing into memories of basilisk venom and werewolves and giant chess boards and—
"No…" whispered Hermione. She tried force the memories from her mind, but she suddenly remembered the ragged breathing of the werewolves as they closed in on her, the sound so similar to that before her now. Hermione clutched a hand to her chest, gasping for air as her lungs begun to enclose tightly from the cold, from the Dementor pulling at her.
She fell forward and realized she was going to die.
Hermione Granger was going to die on her knees, alone, in the cellars of Malfoy Manor.
Her mind felt like it was being ripped apart, page by page, and the Dementor was brutally reading every memory inked into it. Every happy memory—being sorted into Gryffindor, showing her parents her school books, saving Buckbeak—was filtering away from her, leaving only the torturous memories behind.
"No," Hermione managed. She yanked her memories tighter, binding them together, shielding them from the darkness. She saw Harry flying on his broom for the first time. Saw Ron look down at himself in mortification at one of his mother's sweaters. Saw Ginny laughing, Malfoy holding her together in a moment of weakness— "No," Hermione said again. "You have no power over me."
Still on her knees, she slumped sideways to the ground and heard a shriek that was not human.
And then she heard another voice, a voice of rage and horror as her name echoed in her ears. But then there was a great, bright light, and then she saw nothing at all.
Hermione woke in daze, her entire body heavy with sleep and fatigue and some otherness weighing her down. She didn't know much, but she knew she was exhausted.
Her eye lids fluttered, daring to open. Her mind was still slightly disoriented. The potions flushed in her system were hard at work, keeping her body relaxed and calm. As she began to come to, she then felt the temperature of the room—wherever she was, it was pleasantly warm.
"I'm beginning to think you have a death wish."
Hermione forced her eyes open, blinking away the fogginess as Malfoy's face came into focus. He was sitting by her—by her bed, where she was laying. He looked as tired as she felt.
She tried to smile, but his face was so serious that she just stared at him. Clearing her throat, she opened her mouth—then closed it. As her memory slowly refreshed, a thousand questions came to mind, but nothing came out. She was still a little dazed, but the more and more her memories returned, the harder it was to stay in place and not bolt from the manor as quickly as possible.
"I'll retrieve Healer Beckham," said Malfoy. He rolled his neck, as if he had been in a single position for too long, and stood. "He will want to examine you."
Hermione nodded meekly. It was only when he reached the door—her door, her new room, she realized—that she said, "Malfoy?"
He paused, angling his head slightly but not turning fully around.
"Was, was that," she struggled with the words as her dreams and memories blurred together, "Did I…?"
"Just rest, Granger." He sighed, sounding suddenly so defeated, that Hermione found herself just staring at him as he opened the door and left.
Her confusion was interrupted when a tall, thin man dressed in white Healer robes opened the door. "Hello, Miss Granger. I'm Healer Robert Beckham. You probably don't remember me, but I also helped cleanse your wounds from your previous attack." He smiled kindly. "Let's have a look at you."
Robert Beckham placed a black leather bag next to Hermione's bed and pulled out a pair of abnormally large glasses. He put them on and then with a warm smile, began his examination.
Beckham examined Hermione for several minutes, putting her through various tests. She winched slightly at his touch, his cold fingers burning her skin. After what seemed a half hour, Beckham insisted Hermione would recover. She was to take The Draught of Living Peace twice a day for a week. Though not forced to bedrest, she was encouraged to take things easy and rest.
The Healer was packing up when Hermione said, "It was a Dementor, wasn't it?" Beckham paused, a hand halfway to his bag. His silence answered enough. "What's a Dementor doing in Malfoy Manor?"
"I am afraid I am just a Healer, Miss Granger," said Beckham. "The Malfoy's business is their own."
Another pocket filled with Malfoy gold to keep the silence.
Still, she tried to get more out of the Healer, but Beckham remained tightlipped and quickly exited the bedroom. Hermione knew her best chances were to ask Malfoy himself. Even if he was far from likely to share his family secrets, she would pry something out of him.
Even though the Healer had cleared her, Malfoy insisted Hermione stay in bed for dinner, much to her chagrin. Ruby brought her a tray of roast turkey, smashed buttery potatoes, savory stuffing, and sweet corn pudding. To her surprise, Malfoy placed a tray in front of his chair and ate by her side. She was halfway through her delicious meal when then realized something she should have hours ago.
"Were you going to wish me a Happy Christmas, or just hope I didn't realize it was today?" she asked, her voice harder than she had intended.
"You haven't exactly been conscious, Granger."
She gestured to herself in the bed, fork in hand.
"Happy Christmas," he said through gritted teeth.
"Well, don't bother now," she snapped lightly, digging into her smashed potatoes. She was actually more upset that she had been asleep for days, apparently.
"Do you want your presents or not?"
"Presents?" Surprised, she lifted her gaze to his.
"Yes, presents. You know, on Christmas morning—"
"I know what presents are!"
His lips turned up slightly and he pushed his tray stand forward to stand up. He ignored her when she asked where he was going, to which he returned—no, a group of house elves returned, with a handful of presents. Hermione's blood was boiling as they bowed and left her gifts on the edge of the bed. Malfoy did not return, and one of the elves took his empty tray with them.
She forced herself to smile at the bowing elves, but when they shut the door, she glared at it as though it had personally offended her. Sighing, she finally grabbed the green package from Harry.
The wrapping was half hazard, a shiny green paper that she tore through easily. To her utter delight, it was a large leather bag, able to hold twice the amount of books hers did. It was also charmed to be feather light, the card said, so Hermione wouldn't have to worry about the weight of her books. Grinning and tracing her hands over the soft leather, she made a mental note to write to Harry as soon as she could.
The next package was from Ginny. This package was wrapped far more successfully, and inside the white box was a new set of Magical Make-Up. Hermione pulled out the everlasting lipstick, examining it with interest; a soft blush pink that will compliment her well. To Hermione's greatest surprise, Ron had sent her a gift, too. A small amount of guilt rose in her stomach when she realized she had not bought him anything.
Ron's present was a large package of Chocolate Cauldrons. She smiled at the gesture and in this moment, couldn't find it in herself to feel angry at him.
Hermione's parents sent her a ruby red cardigan sweater, a pearl necklace, and a pretty, white sundress from Paris. There was a promise in the card for a trip to the local library, too. The last package contained a homemade mince pie and sweater—with the letter H sewn into the front—from Mrs. Weasley.
Hermione was examining the homemade sweater when the door opened and Malfoy returned, carrying a small silver package and an apple.
"Brilliant sweater," said Malfoy, not bothering to hide the sarcasm.
Hermione decided to ignore the mockery. "Thank you," she said. Then she met his gaze levelly. "Do not use the house elves as servants for me."
"Would you prefer Alfred? We have wizard servants, too."
She glared at him. "I do not require servants at all."
Malfoy shrugged. "Suit yourself." He sat back down, twirling the silver package in his hands gracefully.
Hermione placed Mrs. Weasley's sweater back in the box and asked, "What's that?"
"For your silence." He tossed her the package so swiftly she nearly fumbled it.
"My silence?" Hermione raised a suspicious brow.
He suddenly looked hesitant —nervous, unlike his usual confident self. She watched him with growing interest. "Look, what you saw, what you faced…" He ran a hand through his pale hair. "I can't have you telling anyone, Granger."
"Are you…are you bribing me, Malfoy?" She could hardly believe it. The arrogance and nerve!
But all he said was, "Yes."
She had a retort hot on her tongue, but when he looked up, her anger melted. There was pain and fear lingering beneath his steely gaze, a desperation he didn't dare want to admit, but couldn't hide entirely.
"There is a Dementor in your manor and you wish for me to stay silent," she said quietly. "The Ministry—"
"The Ministry is not what concerns me."
"Then what does?"
He just stared at her. His jaw clenched. "Please, Granger."
Malfoy never, never said please. "Tell me why it's here," she said softly.
"My father is a collector of dark magical objects and other…things."
"I don't believe that's the only reason."
"That's the only one I'm giving you." His expression seemed to say, and you can figure out the rest.
Hermione's eyes found the wand clutched in his hand. Without looking away from it, she said, "And if I refuse?"
"Then I'll have no choice but to erase it from your memory. And Granger," he added, "I'm not the best at memory charms."
She didn't bother reaching for her wand. She knew he had it, hidden somewhere, out of reach. A bitter, rough laugh escaped her.
"Mother wanted me to do it while you were sleeping," he said. "I told her I'd give you the choice."
"And how do you know she won't do it herself?"
"Because she's no good at them at all and won't risk the questions that would arise from a missing, half-mad Mud—" He stopped himself short and clamped his jaw shut. "Just…don't make me do this."
She stared at him, at the slump of his shoulders and tension on his face, and realized, almost in a daze, that he didn't want to addle her memories.
"Okay," she said finally, her voice soft. "I won't go to the Ministry or anyone, but I won't lie, Malfoy. If I'm ever approached on this matter, I will tell the truth."
He didn't look entirely pleased, but accepted her compromise with a stiff nod.
"My magic," she started, "it didn't work in the dungeon."
"Only a Malfoy can."
"So it was your Patronus, then," she said, remembering the brief flash of white light. At his silence, his confirmation, she added, "Thank you."
"I'm sure you would have done the same for me," he said.
His tone was mocking, but she met his gaze and said, "I would have. Maybe not before, but now, I would."
Just as seriously, though somewhat reluctantly, he said, "I know."
Hermione's attention fell on the package in her hand. She gently tore the silver paper, only to reveal a small wooden box that fit in the palm of her hand. It was a dark shade of rich mahogany, and in the center was black, doomed crystal, smooth to the touch. With the brass clasp, it looked like a handheld jewelry box.
She flipped it open. Inside was a brilliant, antique compass. The needle was made of solid brass and the inside of the lid was covered in tiny stars. Hermione smiled and slowly touched over the surface gently. The needle spun wildly, never stopping in one place.
She tilted her head, studying it. There was no direction—no north, east, south, or west. Instead, the edges were embellished with tiny golden symbols that were hard to see without squinting.
Hermione was so busy trying to decipher it that she nearly forgot Malfoy was still in the room. She glanced up and noticed he had crossed his arms and lounged back, as if waiting for her questions.
But she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of admitting she had no clue how this compass worked.
"It's beautiful," she said.
"So you like it?"
"Of course I do."
"Really?" His mouth worked, fighting down his smugness. "How does it work then?"
She said nothing, though she thought, stupid prat.
Malfoy simply sat there, the smirk on his lips growing by the second at having caught her clueless.
"Fine," said in exasperation. "I don't know how to use it. How does it work?"
"You're a smart witch, Granger. I'll leave you to figure it out."
Smart witch, indeed. Malfoy had returned Hermione's wand, and after he excused himself, she tried every charm she could think of—anything that might reveal how this compass worked.
The symbols were runes, she realized, but there were thousands of ancient runes. So without her books, she had no idea what they meant. The only thing she had discovered was that the needle tended to spin more whenever she held the compass.
There was a light knock at the door, to which Hermione set the compass down—because she didn't want Malfoy to know she still hadn't figured it out—and sat up a little straighter in bed.
But it wasn't Malfoy that came into the room. It was a tall, beautiful woman with long white-blonde hair spilling down her back. She was dressed in a lengthy, elaborate emerald gown, holding her chin high regally. And her eyes, an icy pale blue, were cold and intense as she looked Hermione over.
No, not Malfoy, but a Malfoy regardless.
Narcissa Malfoy.
A/N: As always, thank you for reading. This is my oldest fanfiction and those who have stuck with me through the years...I can't express my gratitude enough. And to new readers, I'm so happy you gave this story a shot. I most certainly will not abandon this story. It's my first baby! :P Updates may be a little slow, but know I'm not going anywhere. :)
Review Responses:
'lovin: "Keep it up, and whatever you do PLEASE don't abandon it" - Definitely won't! Updates are just a little slow because I'm re-editing this and when I first started writing, I wasn't very organized so my files are all over the place lol.
iDreamioneReader: "I know pace is always an important factor to consider but that part added a really good touch to the perspective and dynamic of their relationship. Maybe if you could add that back in?" - All of Draco's POV will be added in the end, as bonus scenes. :D I like having Draco's feelings remain mysterious - so that when you know how he feels, it's when he reveals it to Hermione rather than the reader. When the reader knows things before the narrator, it can be very frustrating. I prefer the narrator and reader to be on the same playing field, so that when revelations shock the narrator, the reader is shocked, too.
SkepticalBeliever: "I assume Harry is going through a journey more or less the same as in HBP. How is this affecting Hermione?" - Yes, and you will see more of that in upcoming chapters. :D