I am, as always, thrilled that you are all still following and reading. I welcome all the new alerters and thank you for all the reviews. It's hot here – nothing to do but write, so here's the next installment. I admit I don't closely follow what happened to the Death Eaters, so for the sake of this tale, most of them are still around. I've given some names to the ones who have appeared in previous chapters. Let me know how I'm doing, guys! I love interaction and all of you so far have been lovely!
LCailan
CHAPTER FIVE
There were four carts that took them away from the flats and through a darkened London. They were crowded and overstuffed, and all one could smell was the stink of sweat and the unwashed. They sat on hard wooden planks, and the rocking movement of the carts did nothing to soothe any of the occupants. At the front of each of the carts sat one of the Ministry officials.
Hermione glared at the back of Draco Malfoy's head hatefully, and she found herself believing in that moment that she would forever abhor any man or woman who wore the black and white uniform with the M. o. M. insignia on it. Finally, she hung her head, clutching Lily tightly. Ginny sat in between her terrified sons. Arthur, George and Percy had been shoved onto the cart behind them, lead by the scarred official.
They took the back streets through seedy downtown London and Hermione could hear bits of Malfoy's discussion about bringing in the Obliviators and the Magical Reversal Squad to clean up any remnants of damage that had been done at the flats. She found it ironic that the Ministry was quite fearful of being seen by the same race of people that they hated.
At first Hermione strained to catch any bit of conversation that would help her find out exactly where they were going – but in the end she gave up trying. She was fearful that no matter where they were going, it would be worse for her in the end.
What's worse than what I've already been through?
She simply did not want to know the answer to that question.
After she gave up on trying to eavesdrop, Hermione curled up against Ginny and held Lily tightly, breathing in the comforting scent of the tiny girl's reddish brown hair. She took great comfort when Albus slipped his small hand into hers, and Hermione wondered if the love of family had ever felt this saving. She would never again take it for granted. Back and forth she rocked on that cart and even though it was uncomfortable and her whole body hurt, after awhile she was lulled into a thoughtless, listless existence.
The trip could not have taken more than an hour's time, even though to Hermione it seemed like days had gone by. Behind the mostly dark buildings she could see the glimmer of the moon along the Thames. She could barely move when the carts finally stopped and she looked around, wondering at the location.
In front of her, the run down street was lined with massive storehouses, but behind them she could still see the river. Had they gone east or west? Were they north of south of the river? All around her everyone was standing and moving woodenly, and the Ministry wizards took no greater care now than they had earlier – shoving and prodding as if the wizards in question were not human but animals. She watched with despair as Arthur stumbled, fell and received a sharp rap to the back of his head for it. Ahead of her she watched Malfoy as he gave orders quickly and with the haughtiness that she remembered from the past.
He hasn't changed.
When the crowd of people pressed against them, Hermione felt herself being pushed along the dusty path towards the storehouses, as she clung to Ginny's worn shirt tightly so not to lose her and the children. She could see the red hair of the Weasley men ahead of her like beacons in the darkness. The storehouses had a sort of courtyard from what Hermione could see by the moonlight, and here they were ushered into groups. Some were being loaded into more vehicles to be taken Merlin knows where. Others were shoveled into the buildings ahead.
She felt a sudden drop in temperature, and her fingertips grew icy cold. It was then that she saw them, floating above the buildings like large black wisps.
Dementors.
At first Hermione believed that they stood like sentinels, watching over all those unlucky enough to have been brought here. She wondered if this was what being in Azkaban was like. But the closer she looked, the more grave the reality that settled over her. The raspy voice of the scarred official washed over her, and in that moment the implications of his words were made a very terrifying reality - the dementors were also a quick means with which to get rid of the surplus of people whom were being shoved into the storehouses.
Her heart stopped beating for a moment as she wondered how they chose who would live and who would receive the Kiss. Her eyes had long ago adjusted to the dim light that night, but Hermione had trouble seeing the moving dark shadows around her to see who was going where. Was she next? Were the dementors giving their kiss to all those who were not pureblood? She had nothing to live for anymore, and yet Hermione was not quite ready to give up her life. She craned her neck, willing the waves of her panic to settle. One thing was for certain; she would not allow them to take the children - no matter what.
They stopped when they saw that Arthur and the boys had been careened out of the way and were standing in the shadows of the building talking to one of the officials.
"-because they call themselves purebloods?"
Hermione could only catch the last few moments of the conversation before it died on the hot night air. It looked as if the two men working under Draco Malfoy's orders were arguing with him and he was regarding them coldly, his face a mask which most likely hid his true feelings. If he had any, that was.
He stood rigid, facing the other two men his hands down at his sides in loose fists.
"And I told you both already, these are mudblood alienages, and as far as I am concerned there has been no word about what we are to do with blood traitors. I'm treading a slippery slope and I'd rather err on the side of caution. And I resent being questioned about my decisions!"
Hermione watched, heart hammering, as he turned to the Weasley men.
"I don't care where you send them. Send them to Azkaban. We don't have room here."
Malfoy finished speaking, and Hermione watched as he turned to face Ginny and her children, a sneer forming on his face in those few seconds.
"Get in line with your father and brothers. Take your brats with you."
His words were mottled with disdain.
Hermione realized suddenly, that she was going to be left all alone – her only family, the last bit of hope and sanity she had left was being stripped from her and Malfoy's slivery gaze confirmed her unspoken fears.
"The Mudblood stays."
She felt the world beneath her feet spin violently - she was afraid she would humiliate herself further by fainting. But somehow, Hermione managed to maintain her faculties, though she felt the remaining color draining from her face even as her eyes filled with sudden, hot tears.
Two of the officials dragged Arthur, George and Percy towards a line forming near what looked like a Muggle bus but was certainly something magical, and when Ginny hesitated, Draco prodded her roughly with his wand.
"Don't waste my time, Weasley."
Hermione was too overwhelmed by her sudden loss to be able to speak anything at all, and she could see Ginny's tears glittering under the bright moonlight. In that moment, Hermione's only response was her own tears.
The two women reached out and Ginny clasped her hand around Hermione's, squeezing tightly. Time became irrelevant, and under Malfoy's leer, Hermione felt herself being pulled into Ginny's embrace and held for what would most likely be the last time. Her eyes closed and she willed that moment to last forever, even though she knew that it was impossible.
"'Mione, you coming too?"
Lily's voice seemed to jar Hermione back to the leaden reality and silently she knelt down to embrace the little girl as well, wanting more time, another minute, anything she could have.
"No, but soon. I think, soon."
It was strange, Hermione thought, that her own voice could sound so calm, even as she knew the words were lies. She wished that she were dead. She wished she had been given a moment to say goodbye to Albus and James. To thank Arthur for everything he had done for her. She finally let Lily go, and then got back to her feet slowly. Ginny watched her and Hermione saw her silent bravery, could see that Ginny knew the truth –that this was goodbye.
And she smiled – a real, genuine smile. A smile that was a faint memory of the smiles she had worn as a child, as a young girl, as a student at Hogwarts and even at the end, as Ron Weasley's wife. A woman who no longer truly existed.
"I'll see you soon. I love you, Gin."
"I love you, 'Mione."
It was better this way, she realized, and she watched Ginny being led away until the darkness swallowed her up completely, leaving Hermione all alone.
She had smiled.
It was a smile that seemed so tragically misplaced on this night, during such a goodbye. And strangely enough it was the only thing he would remember later, when he went home to his wife, to his house, and was trying to sleep in his bed. No matter how he tried, Draco was certain that the smile would be difficult to forget. And it made him angry.
He knew how to break people, knew how to make them feel less than human, to treat them like they were rubbish. He was used to seeing tears and hearing the words of pleading, and of begging. Those things he had long ago learned how to ignore, or how to justify away. He was only doing what he knew was right; he was only becoming what his father had hoped he would be someday. But this? This, he didn't know how to handle. This he had no control over, and there was a foreign and uninvited feeling in the pit of his stomach once more, just like that day when he had first seen her in the London streets.
The smile she had given Weasley was burned into his memory even when he turned away, sneered at her with disgust, told her to keep moving towards the large storehouses they had rented for their most current purposes. He followed her as she moved towards what would be an uncertain future. Even Draco himself didn't know what was in store for her now. And he didn't care.
I don't care.
It was something he was trying to make himself believe.
She stood in a long line of tired and despairing people – witches and wizards beaten down by life, shaken and nearly destroyed. He moved away from her without sparing her another glance, hoping that in this, he would make himself forget that stupid smile.
But, he couldn't.
Her eyes had widened, her face had grown ashen and she had clung to Weasley, holding back tears. She had hugged Potter's disgusting little offspring next, telling her that she would see her soon, and then telling them that she loved them and then…then that stupid, fucking smile.
It made Draco's insides twist.
They call her 'Mione? Stupid, bloody nickname – what the hell kind of nickname is that?
No matter what was happening to her, she still managed a smile for everyone else.
Why does that meaningless girl bother me so much?
Even though things seemed hopeless, that smile had – what? It had been just a sliver of light across a darkened future.
He watched her from his place at the front of the line where two of his employees were checking each person entering the building for possessions, weapons and valuables. They moved into the building in single file, like the cattle they were. He had pulled out a cigarette and lit it, the end flickering in the darkness surrounding him and then, and only then, had he felt comfortable simply watching her. He decided that it was a sick fascination, and nothing more. After all, she was filthy, worthless, and beneath him anyhow. A freak show of such great proportions one could not help but look. Yes, that's what it was. He leaned against the building casually, pulling on the cigarette and watching her. She was too thin now, and not the girl he recalled from their school days. Her hair was still as wild and seemingly unmanageable as he remembered though – bushy-haired know-it-all who cared about school and learning more than presentation. He mildly recalled now thinking she was ugly, at least when he had first seen her. But then again…that wasn't really the truth. There was something…gripping about her. She was…somehow…
Something about the fact that he couldn't get her smile and those eyes out of his mind lately made Draco feel on edge.
I'm going bloody mad, that's all. I need to go home, to get some firewhisky in me – yes, that's it. A drink and some proper rest and this whole night will be a joke tomorrow.
She was staring straight ahead, he could see. Her head held high, her face a mask of calm. He hated it. He hated HER.
Perhaps if someone hadn't been looking so closely at her, she would have gotten away with it, but Draco suddenly saw a glint of gold and the fact that she had just slipped her wedding ring from her finger and into her mouth.
Conniving little bitch!
Yet, it was somewhat impressive that she had such gall. She was nothing – and yet she still tried to defy them! He would show her.
Draco pushed away from the wall and stomped over to the head of the line with determination. He would show her how he hated her and how she was nothing – and hopefully he would wipe away the memory of her stupid smile.
Hermione had seen what they were doing now – taking their valuables, their only remaining possessions.
Killing us slowly. When will this end?
Her heart was numb from pain now, even Ginny's departure had not wrought the tears she thought it would have. But still she felt the pain – each time she took a breath. Her only friends, her family – gone now.
I'll never see them again. I'll die in this wretched place, won't I?
She had stared down at her wedding ring then, and even in the dim moonlight it seemed to shine brighter than she thought it should have. At least she still had this, and she would not allow them to take it from her. Thinking quickly, she slipped the ring from her thin finger and into her mouth. It tasted metallic and dirty but she tucked it to the side of her cheek as she approached Malfoy and the two officials standing at the head of the line.
She saw a sneer form on his pallid face.
"The ring."
He reached out, opening up the palm of one of his hands –beautiful hands- she recalled, and motioned it towards her. Her eyes moved from his palm, up to his face.
"I don't have a ring."
A flicker of hatred flared in the depths of his eyes, a shade of smoky gray that Hermione had never seen before.
"Come off it Granger," he hissed closing the distance between them. They were so close Hermione could feel the heat of him. "I saw you put it in that bloody, lying mouth of yours."
Her heart plummeted like meteor crashing down around her. So he would take this too, the only thing she had left.
"You might as well kill me then," she replied. "You've taken everything else; I won't let you have it."
She prayed that he would not see her fear, and she stood up straight defying him with everything in her. He pointed with a rough motion towards the building behind them.
"Really? What good will it do you in there?"
His question was a hiss and just like her, he refused to back down. Reaching up he grasped her chin in his hand and applied pressure. Hermione resisted, fighting against his touch. His hand seemed much too warm for a man who was so bitter cold.
She said nothing but her eyes snapped viciously.
"Give me the bloody ring," he demanded again, two spots of color flaring up along his angular cheeks.
Hermione felt the pressure of his fingers digging into the side of her cheeks and then the ring cut her mouth and she tasted metal and blood. Still, she refused to give up the last thing of worth that she would ever have.
"Spit. It. Out!"
Hermione could sense the growing agitation in each of his clipped words, and it brought her a sick sense of satisfaction – that was until one of the other officials gave her a nasty smack to the side of the face causing her to let out a whimper. She stumbled backwards out of Malfoy's grasp. Her breathing ragged, Hermione rolled the ring along her tongue, her eyes watering from the pain of the smack, and then without preamble she glared up at Malfoy and spit the ring in his face, blood, saliva and all. It hit him smack on the chin.
"There you go, you piece of shit."
Her words were low and gravely, and she trembled with anger. Malfoy wiped her blood laced spittle from his face with clear disgust.
"You'll be sorry for that, Mudblood," he whispered menacingly.
Hermione, for her part, was not fazed – she had already determined that she didn't care if she died or lived. She felt herself being pulled away from Malfoy and she stumbled and fell onto the ground, heart racing violently. He turned to the other men with him.
"Put her under Parkinson's watch," he stated firmly. "Make sure that someone watches her at all times. Perhaps that'll teach her a lesson."
Hermione winced at his tone and the implication, but mostly at the expressions on the faces of Malfoy's minions. His new minions, she supposed. In school, there had been Crabbe and Goyle, and now there were these – more sadistic and more powerful, but still all the same. Men that would do Malfoy's dirty work for him because deep down, he was a coward.
A stupid, disgusting, worthless coward.
As she was pushed towards the large building, along with the hoard of people she wondered one thing.
Why didn't he just kill me?
The question made her sigh with relief and shudder with fear all at once. What would happen to her now?
Marcus Flint leered at Draco, and the tall, blond man expertly avoided meeting his eyes. There was just something about Flint that Draco didn't like – and it had nothing to do with the fact that the wizard was downright creepy. Not to mention, he took a very over enthusiastic pleasure in commanding the dementors – which was his new job under the Ministry. Draco thought it was fitting, for the job required little skill, and Flint had never shown a propensity for wit.
"I would'ave killed her, Malfoy. Don't tell me you're going soft on us!"
He laughed and it sounded rather like the sound of a donkey in heat. Draco tried not to roll his eyes.
"I say that you quit questioning my judgment, Flint. I'm the one in charge here, not you."
The words were sharp and pointed and Draco glared up at the oafish man. Marcus sneered.
"All I was saying was that you might be goin' soft on us, Malfoy."
"Apparently you missed the nasty smack Rookwood gave that Mudblood, didn't you? What I do is not your business. Don't you have something to do? Like finish getting rid of…"
He looked over Flint's shoulder, and as he had several times the last month, Draco felt a sense of helplessness as he gazed across the line of scared witches and wizards who had been marked for the Kiss. It seemed like…excess. Almost unnecessary death, really. But he dared not say a word.
I'm a coward.
Flint was grinning like an idiot.
"Mulciber told me she's a fine piece of ass, that Mudblood. I reckon I might take a little piece for myself, eh?"
Draco tried to keep his face neutral but he felt the same roiling in the pit of his stomach as he had the afternoon he and Mulciber had first seen Granger in the street three weeks prior.
"What you and Mulciber do to violate yourselves is of no consequence to me. Now leave me alone!"
He felt the ever familiar panic begin to set in, and forced himself to take deep breaths in hopes of ushering in the calm. Flint gave him a strange look.
"Fine by me. Pansy wants to see you before you go home."
"Parkinson can wait. I've had a long day and I don't give a bloody damn what she wants or doesn't want. Tell her I'll see her in the morning."
With that, Draco Malfoy stalked away, head held high and face a tight mask of nothingness. He found though, that even putting distance between himself and Mudblood Granger did nothing to erase her face from his mind.