Chapter 3

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Hermione straightened her back in an attempt to unhinge the knotted muscles that ached from being in a seated position for too many hours. She couldn't help but send a glare towards the man who sat opposite her. How in Merlin's name did he have that straight backed posture after staying in such a dreary place for so long? Usually, prisoners were hunched from the lack of movement and a good chair to sit on as well as a good bed to sleep on. But not a Malfoy, apparently. His posture was something she would never admit that she envied, simply because it was the result of a high class society that practiced racial profiling. She also couldn't help but notice that during the three hours they sat talking to each other, the bane of her existence hadn't shifted once. All movement was confined to his mouth, which sneered occasionally, and his eyebrows, which gave her the impression that he was silently mocking her. On the other hand, she had shifted in her seat restlessly throughout the whole interview. The wooden chairs were highly uncomfortable and not made for human habitation. She was convinced that in some ancient society it was probably used as a torture device for children who hadn't completed their homework.

"Alright," Hermione mumbled tiredly, "I think that is everything I need." She flipped through the countless pages until she reached the first set of questions. "I just need to go through it one more time."

Any other person would have groaned out loud. But Malfoy simply raised a thin blond eyebrow in question while giving her a blank stare. If he was intending to make her uncomfortable, he was succeeding.

Hermione shifted in her seat again as she kept her eyes on her notes and away from his steely gaze. "On the fourteenth of the previous month - a month after your incarceration - you experienced your first dream, correct?"

"Yes," he muttered in a bored tone.

"And the content of the dream was?"

"Have you actually been taking notes all this time, Granger? Last time I checked, I gave you the information and it is your job to remember. I'm not in the habit of repeating myself."

"I guessed you wouldn't be," Hermione said primly as she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "I'm supposed to get an accurate account of your dreams and that is exactly what I'm going to do." She grinned mockingly at him. "I'm not leaving without it."

"You'll have a long wait then," he sneered.

"Fine," she shrugged, adamant on calling his bluff. "I'll wait."

They sat staring at each other in silence, Hermione's features showing her utter displeasure while Malfoy simply smirked at her in good humour. Part of her wondered if he was usually this moody before he was shoved into a five year prison sentence in Azkaban.

"Tell me, Granger," he began conversationally, and for the first time he actually leaned back against the uncomfortable chair, "you and Weaslebee finally hitched?"

If there was any question she was not prepared for, it was that one. "I don't see why that is any of your business, Malfoy," she sniffed hautily.

He narrowed his eyes at her almost in a calculating manner. "You and Potter then?"

For this question, she couldn't help but scoff her reply, still determined to not give him any leeway. Throughout the interview he had given her short, clipped answers. If she wanted details, she had to ask the right questions and hope he would give her the right answers. It took a while, but she finally understood that he took her questions literally - most probably just to annoy her - so she rephrased her questions to ensure that he had no choice but to answer her with the information she needed. Things had moved much quicker that way. And for making her job difficult, she was determined to make sure that she dished out as much as she had taken.

"I always knew it would be one or the other," Malfoy continued snidely. "You never did have enough ambition to see beyond that little circle of yours."

She decided to ignore that little quip of his. "Tell me, Malfoy," she started mockingly, repeating the sentiment he had told her earlier, "Would you like to go back to your old cell?" His cocky expression immediately faltered before his eyes narrowed at her with a look so pure of loathing, she was almost taken aback. But she pressed on, determined to have the last say. "Harry told me that Andromeda begged him to get you transferred. Which is why you are no longer guarded my Dementors, but by ordinary Aurors, who don't feed on your despair so strongly that you wish for death."

"What are you getting at?" he asked, his voice slow and measured.

Hermione let out an innocent smile, knowing full well that she had finally gotten his attention. "How long were you there for? A few days?"

His lips pursed shut, almost as if the very memory was something that clawed deeply within him. "A week," he muttered under his breath, his back slouching for the first time in hours. He raised his gaze slowly to meet hers, his eyes as hard as granite. "Planning to send me back, Granger?"

The raw tone in his voice made her pause. She had planned to use the empty threat to illicit proper answers from him. But she found herself reluctant to do so. She could never be so heartless; especially to someone who wore a strong facade but was surely suffering inside. "No," she said softly as she shook her head. "But you have to understand that you are in a better position than most." She looked at him seriously, trying to convey in not many words exactly how lucky he was. "Most Death Eaters were given the Kiss, others..." She stopped.

Malfoy looked away, his demeanour changing once more to mild curiosity. "How's my father?"

She stared at him in surprise, immediately regretting bringing up the topic of other Death Eaters. The fact that he couldn't look her in the eyes was the perfect tell that he cared about the answer, even if he didn't look like he did.

Hermione decided to be cautious in her wording, unsure of what he already knew. "Doesn't your mother tell you anything about him?"

Malfoy looked at her scathingly, his tone bitter. "Granger, my mother doesn't even know that he's alive."

Taken aback, she stopped herself from fiddling with her notes as she always did when she was nervous or about to lie. "I'm sure he's fine."

Cool grey eyes studied her carefully. "Fine," he repeated. "He's fine."

She winced, knowing full well that this was the reason she decided not to be an Auror. She was too bad a liar.

Malfoy leaned forward slowly, a sneer across his face. "I was in that block for nearly seven days, and I was not fine. I can't imagine that my father, having been there before, is better off."

"Your father is a convicted criminal."

"So am I."

Hermione shook her head. "The charges against you were minimalized thanks to Harry." She ignored the snort of disbelief that Malfoy let out in a not so dignified manner. "You have to be thankful to him, Malfoy."

"Of course I have to be," Malfoy said sarcastically. "Saint Potter doing what's best for everyone all the time. What a martyr! "

Hermione's lips pursed in a barely hidden effort not to jump to the defence of her best friend. It was obvious that Malfoy was trying to distract her from her line of questioning. And honestly, she was getting tired of it. "I don't see why you choose to focus on Harry when you can simply answer my questions and finish up our meeting as soon as possible."

The lecherous smirk that split his lips was most unbecoming. "And why would I want to finish our meeting as soon as possible?"

The question threw her. Was he not looking forward to some time away from her?

At her incredulous expression, Malfoy's smirk widened. "The moment you leave, they will cart me right back to my cell. And as much as I'm a lover of cold, black stone and barely enough room to move, I find those cells particularly dry this time of year." He leaned towards her again, his demeanour self-imposing. "Honestly, Granger, for the smartest witch, you're unusually daft. I don't want to go back to my cell, even at the expense of suffering your company for a few hours longer."

"A few hours?" Hermione sputtered, outraged. "First you couldn't wait to get rid of me, and now you're actually infringing on my investigation just to make sure that you stay here longer?"

His only response was to raise a perfectly mocking eyebrow, which only succeeded to enrage her further.

Glaring venomously at him, she stood up quickly, practically knocking the ink bottle that teetered dangerously near her copious notes. "I don't have time for this," she snapped as she collected her parchment and put them in the satchel she had brought full of stationary items. "If you want to play these games to amuse yourself while you're in here, be my guest. But I won't allow you to waste my time on these idiotic activities of yours." In a right huff, Hermione grabbed her satchel, threw it over her shoulder roughly and turned around ready to leave. She had just taken a few steps, when he spoke.

"I lied."

Two words; and yet they held all the dread within them. Pausing, she looked over her shoulder at him suspiciously. "What?" Her tone was sharp, short, and made it apparent that she wasn't in the mood for any nonsense.

It figures that Malfoy wouldn't care two hoots. "I lied," he repeated, more confidently the second time.

At that moment, Hermione felt the urge to reach for her wand and hex him to oblivion. It was a pity that they took it for safe keeping before she entered the Meeting Room. Finally she understood the reason for them to ask her to part from her wand. It wasn't so they could ensure that Malfoy wouldn't get hold of a weapon, it was so that she wouldn't follow her basic instinct and Crucio him.

"And what," she said slowly through gritted teeth, "did you lie about?"

He looked at her with a blank expression, almost as if he didn't understand her question before he said calmly, "Everything."

Later, she would surmise that the only reason she didn't lunge across the table and throttle that pale neck of his was because an Auror stood guard. She knew the talk around in the wizarding world. Women were meant to marry, not take up political or Auror posts. Women were too emotional. They were unreliable at times of trial. They were not cool-headed and logical like men. But she was not like all the other pure-blooded women who held their place. And she wasn't going to let a childish prat get her thrown out for attempting to murder an inmate; and murder was the primary action she had in mind.

"You..." she stopped, her fingers flexing in muscle memory of the recent vine wood she had managed to get. "Mal.." She couldn't even say it. She couldn't even say his name. She was so enraged, every muscled coiled tightly in anger, that she couldn't even fathom what it all meant.

"Give my mother visitation rights to see my father," Malfoy stated coldly, his tone dictating. "And give her the clearance to visit me whenever she wants. Then, and only then, will I tell you everything."

She stared at him incredulously. "You're blackmailing me?"

"I don't know if your little brain noticed under that insanely bushy hair of yours, but during our first year I was sorted into Slytherin." His lips widened with a confident sneer. "That was no mistake."

Hermione stared at him for a moment, feeling her anger dissipate with every new logical thought that swirled in her mind. "You're forgetting that with one word I can have you back in with the Dementors," she threatened coldly.

But her statement did not have the desired effect. Instead of the younger Malfoy cowering in fear and stating his willingness to do as asked; he simply looked at her, calling her on her bluff. "But you won't, will you?"

"And what makes you think I won't?" she questioned immediately, part of hoping that she will follow the threat she was giving.

"Granger," Malfoy began in an annoyingly calm lecturing tone, "are you really willing to place someone in with the Dementors? Especially someone who - according to the very government you work for, has stated in their previous rulings that only a murderer or someone proved of high treason should endure? Besides, are you willing to risk what the Dementors would do to my mind over a little tiff?"

"This is far from a little tiff, Malfoy."

"Maybe. But it is also the truth. You need my mind as it is. Dementors would only make it harder for you to get what you want."

She scrutinized him carefully, wondering if anything would ever make him less devious than what he already was. "You're playing with people's lives, Malfoy. I'm not here to have a little chat. I'm here because for some unknown reason, you could have an answer to save lives. You're being selfish with what you know."

"You see it as selfishness, while I see it as self-preservation." His eyes narrowed carefully at her. "My demands are reasonable. Let my mother see my father one last time, and give her free visitation rights to see me. Honestly Granger, if anyone could hear you right now, they would accuse you of not having a heart."

Somehow, that last bit was what got to her. She was known for her compassion. And even though, deep down, she knew that he had no basis for such an observation, she couldn't help but think that he knew exactly what to say and what to promise to get her to agree with him. That very thought vexed her further. The thought of Malfoy being able to control her like a puppeteer was both laughable and terrifying. Laughable because she was a grown woman in charge of her own actions, and terrifying because it somehow transported her to her twelve year old self in Hogwarts when all she wanted to do was prove herself.

"I don't care if others think I have no heart," she said coolly, enjoying the fact that her statement had the desired effect of lessening his smirk, even for a bit. "If you're not going to give me your memories willingly, then I will have no choice but to take them by force."

When Malfoy spoke again, his voice was unusually soft, and slightly shaky. "Veriterserum."

Hermione nodded curtly, before she turned on her heel and prepared to walk towards the exit one more time. "You made your choice, Malfoy."

The guard was just opening the door and stepping aside to let her through, when he called for her. "Granger."

Against her better judgement, she turned to face him. He looked at her with an expression of slight panic and sadness. It was the most honest she had seen his features. "My mother just needs to see him."

Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully, fighting the impulse to promise him something she knew she shouldn't simply because her very nature wanted her to. "I'm sorry, Malfoy," she said softly. "But it's kinder if she doesn't." Without waiting for a response, she nodded to the guard in a silent 'thank you' and exited the Meeting Room.

As she stepped out of the room, her eyes met his. And for a brief moment she could read his thoughts; she could see right through those cool grey eyes just before the guard stepped forward and shut the door behind him. He knew! He knew what state his father was in. And Hermione was sure that he was probably haunted by that very thought.

TBC