A/N: A bit later than anticipated, but now it's here. I'm still in awe as to how much positive response this story got so far, and so I hope this chapter fulfills your expectations. I'm currently writing the final chapter ;)
This chapter is dedicated to my brilliant beta and friend, MrBenzedrine. United we stand, devided we fall, my lovely friend. And whoever has a problem with this should leave now.
They begin talking continuously, always putting the bricks back as soon as they hear someone coming. It's mostly things of no importance - favourite dishes, worst Christmas present, even Quidditch teams. The former Death Eater and the Gryffindor bookworm bonding - it would be ironic, weren't it so tragic. At night, they crawl back to their sleeping places, feeling lost and alone again.
Astonishingly, the hole in the wall remains, even when the scenery changes to a bright setting. Returning to her studious personality for a moment as she lectures Draco about it, Hermione surmises that it has something to do with the fact that they are in a magical prison - they simply don't take raw, physical action into account. He calls her swot then; she hasn't felt so much like herself in weeks. Especially when she mentions one more proof: Steve. He, after all, has also been able to breach the boundaries, and she is almost certain that he is an ordinary rat.
But the next morning, she is brought to another interrogation, and when they shove her back into her cell, the little amount of levity she has felt is crushed under the shoes of the regime. Sobbing, she sinks down next to the loose brick without even making the conscious decision to do so.
"Granger?" comes a concerned voice from the other side of the wall. "What happened?"
She shakes her head, not ready to answer.
"Granger, please. Tell me. We're in this together."
She doesn't want to explain, doesn't want to expose herself, doesn't want to uncover her failure. Tears and snot running over her face, she is ashamed, devastated, about to dissolve at the seams.
They have exchanged their experiences with the interrogations over the last days, so Hermione knows they treat them very similarly. There are always two officials interrogating, intimidating, incriminating. But their tactics differ - sometimes they fire their questions straight on, merely giving her time to shrug when she signals she won't answer. Sometimes she encounters someone quite adept at subtle ways of torture - in a way that makes her fingernails splice (literally) when she isn't willing to cooperate.
The company in her misery brings her enough solace to calm herself, at least in a manner that allows her to speak coherently, and so she reports to Draco what has happened.
This time, it is a friendly looking blonde witch and a stocky wizard with cruel brown eyes who 'welcome' her.
"Prisoner 24, take a seat." The witch swishes her wand, and the hard looking chair moves without a sound. Knowing she has no choice, Hermione sits down. She analyses the witch now sitting in front of her. Instead of the usual robes identifying her as Azkaban personnel, this one wears a business like skirt and blouse as if she works in a muggle bank, and Hermione almost snorts at the notion.
After the usual declaration of how they keep her in Azkaban for her own (and the society's) safety, how important it is that she cooperates, that they only make things better with this and so on, the female interrogator gets to core of today's inspection.
"Your records say you are quite intelligent. So let's play a round of 'What If', shall we? Strictly hypothetical, for now, of course." The blonde's tone sounds so faux-friendly she could teach Umbridge a thing or two. Hermione doesn't nod because this isn't about her consent.
"What if we were able to persuade our friends at the Daily Prophet to publish an article about you? One that explains in great length how Hermione Granger has turned her back to the old times, finally abandoning her old associates who have no interest to bring the wizarding world into the future, and is so grateful to support the new age?"
Hermione grows hot and cold at the same time. "They would know it's false!" she brings forth behind gritted teeth.
A cruel smirk appears on the blonde's face. "Would they? What if we include a nebulous remark of how helpful you already have been?"
Panic spreading in every cell of her body, Hermione firmly shakes her head. No. Not Harry. Not her friends. They wouldn't fall for it.
Correctly assuming her train of thoughts, the male interrogator speaks for the first time, coming closer while he does. "We're not interested in Potter; he always had his problems with authorities. We're interested in you." He emphasizes his point by stretching out one hand and running his thick thumb over her cheek down to her lips. She sits there, almost like petrified, when he continues, "You've always been a stickler to the rules, haven't you? Everyone knows that."
Never before has Hermione been so glad about her good girl image. Though far from the truth it is - it is the way public paints her. And that's exactly why they want to sway her, she realises. Because Hermione Granger is dangerous as an opponent, known as she is for a stellar moral compass.
But as a companion, her face could make people believe the regime was a good idea. And maybe it would make the masses turn a blind eye on the changes that would tear the British magical population apart. Not at wandpoint, like Voldemort, but subtler and just as deadly.
She finds her voice again when the wizard steps away from her. "Exactly. So why bring Harry up at all?"
"Well, we thought you would be interested in sparing your friends a lot of stress. Especially since pretty Ginevra is so close to giving birth. And Molly is said to have a weak heart since she had to bury one of her sons. Wouldn't that be tragic if something happened to them? Do you think the Weasleys could take another blow?"
And again, her panic flares. Christ, do they know where they hide?
'No, impossible,' Hermione tries to calm herself. Harry has made himself the secret keeper of their exact location; all Hermione knows is they have settled somewhere in Ireland.
She stares into the empty space, her thoughts not circling around her own person but around her family… Molly has been like a mother to her, and she had cried and pleaded that she come with them. Ginny...was Harry's wife really pregnant? Could she really endanger what has always been Harry's dream, though foolish it might be to pursue it in times like these? A family of his own?
Even Hermione Granger has her breaking point, and in this moment, she thinks she has reached it. "What would you want, exactly, for me to leave them alone?" She hates how her voice wavers at her words.
The female interrogator smiles at her in what she probably believes is a soothing manner. "For now, all we need is a bit of cooperation. A smile and a handshake with the Minister, a bit of parading around at some public functions, and an open agreement to the Marriage Law."
"We'd even be so generous and let you choose your spouse yourself," the wizard complements, gazing at her form in an openly lecherous way. "Or even leave you out of it because of a certain...genetic disposition…" Hermione doesn't doubt he means her blood status. "Though, it would be a shame for the future generation. Such powerful magical blood lost. We want a powerful elite, after all, and you could be a perfect addition to it." The interrogator tugs at one of her uncombed curls, just forceful enough to make it sting. A subtle reminder of their power. Hermione wants to vomit at this bastard's proximity, but her thoughts are in chaos.
A pause. "Think about it, Prisoner 24...Hermione. We will come back to this in awhile."
In the rational part of her brain, the one not wholly overcome by despair and worry for her friends, the brunette witch knows they're trying to break her with prodding at her greatest weaknesses. However, this part quivers and fades, leaving behind a crumbling darkness.
Could she live with the thoughts that her friends were in danger because she didn't want them to believe she had betrayed her beliefs?
Could she betray her beliefs, even though that inevitably meant she would endanger her friends?
At first, Draco doesn't react to Hermione's report, not even when she starts sobbing again.
"Maybe I've been too stubborn. I mean, they believe in magic in everyone, right? That doesn't sound so bad, does it? They don't differentiate between purebloods and half-blood as strongly."
A loud clatter from the other cell tells her he has thrown something at the wall, probably the small metal bowl they receive their stale food delivered in. He starts pacing, and she can only hear him mumble expletives under his breath. Never before, not even when he was a hot-headed adolescent, has she experienced Draco so angry.
"Granger, you have to stop this bullshit! Do you even listen to yourself? They've come too close to breaking you! Stop considering to agree to their demands! Do you understand me?"
Somehow, his ire burns itself through her emotions, deepening the guilt even more.
"DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" he yells, and Hermione jumps in shock.
"Y-Yes. I understand," she admits, her voice breaking. It's all too much. She has not only disappointed her friends, herself, her magic - now she has disappointed the only human being that has her back at the moment. "Sorry," she apologizes, albeit so quiet she is not sure he can hear.
"Fuck, Hermione," Draco's voice is softer now, more sad than angry. "It's not your damn fault. Don't you dare to apologize for what those bastards do to you! Just...you don't really believe Potter would think you betrayed him, right? You're so strong; you can't give up now. I won't allow that."
While the wizard speaks, she inches closer to the hole, wanting to be as close to him as possible. The tears in her eyes blur her vision, though his words have a soothing effect on her. Her breakdown shocks her deeply, making it more apparent than ever: the abyss in her is gaining strength, her soul circling around it, teetering on the edge, tumbling, threatening to fall and become the abyss itself.
Suddenly, Hermione feels a hand on her shoulder. Draco must have broadened the hole enough so he could wriggle his elegant hand through it. She is shocked at his warm touch, but it makes her feel...human again, pulled back from the edge just barely, just for the moment. She sobs, this time in relief, and leans her wet cheek against his skin.
The feeling of his hand makes him so much more real. The last doubts of him being a hallucination crumble, even though a small part of her brain still suspects a grand scheme against her, to break her, putting the wolf behind her when the abyss is in front of her.
But for now, he is her anchor in her personal sea of monsters.