Doubt Ch.20
The chill of the dungeons clung to Hermione long after the Death Eaters had thrown her back into her cell. The stone walls around her seemed to hum with dark magic, a constant reminder of her imprisonment in Malfoy Manor. Her wrists throbbed from the restraints, her body aching from Voldemort's casual displays of power. Yet, she refused to cry.
Her mind raced with thoughts of Harry and Ron. Were they safe? Did they even know she was missing? She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. She had to believe they would find her, even as despair threatened to take root.
The sound of footsteps echoed through the corridor, breaking her thoughts. Hermione scrambled back against the wall, her heart pounding. She expected Bellatrix or another Death Eater, but the figure that appeared at the edge of the torchlight made her stomach twist in surprise.
Draco Malfoy.
He approached the cell with an expression that was hard to read—cold, perhaps curious, but not cruel. His pale face was shadowed, his silver eyes avoiding hers as he stopped in front of the iron bars.
Hermione sat up straighter, her voice sharp despite the exhaustion. "Come to gloat, Malfoy?"
Draco's jaw tightened. "Keep your voice down," he hissed, glancing over his shoulder to ensure they were alone.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Why? Afraid someone might hear you talking to the Mudblood?"
He flinched at the word, his expression briefly cracking before returning to its usual aloof mask. "I'm not here to argue with you, Granger."
"Then why are you here?"
Draco didn't answer immediately. He stared at the bars as if weighing his words, his fingers tapping against his wand. "I wanted to know what he said to you. What he plans to do."
Hermione let out a bitter laugh. "What he plans to do? He's planning to separate us, Malfoy. Erase us. Just another step in his twisted agenda."
"I know about the Separation," Draco said quietly. His voice carried no malice, only a weary resignation. "But I didn't think he'd—" He stopped himself, his words trailing off into silence.
"Didn't think he'd what?" Hermione demanded, her anger flaring. "Go this far? Turn human lives into pawns for his sick vision of the world? You're deluded if you think he's going to stop here, Malfoy. No one's safe."
Draco's gaze snapped to hers, his face taut. "Don't lecture me, Granger. You don't know what I've had to—"
He stopped again, shaking his head as if clearing it of an unwanted thought.
"Why do you even care?" Hermione pressed, her voice quieter now, tinged with curiosity. "Why are you here?"
Draco didn't respond immediately. He looked away, his fingers tightening around his wand. "Maybe I don't," he said finally. "Maybe I just wanted to see if you're as insufferable in a cell as you are in the castle."
Hermione's lip curled in disgust. "You're pathetic."
Draco let out a dry laugh. "And you're in no position to judge."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The distant drip of water and the occasional scuttle of rats filled the silence.
"I don't know why I'm here," Draco admitted at last, his voice barely audible. "But you... you shouldn't have come. You shouldn't have left Hogwarts."
Hermione's eyes flashed with anger. "I wasn't about to sit around while Voldemort tears the world apart!"
Draco winced at the name but said nothing.
"You don't get it, do you?" she continued, her voice trembling. "This isn't about bloodlines or traditions or whatever pure-blood fantasy you're clinging to. It's about people. Innocent people who don't deserve this—who shouldn't have to suffer because of someone else's hatred."
Draco stared at her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Hermione thought she saw something flicker in his eyes—doubt, perhaps even guilt. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
"You're going to get yourself killed," he said flatly.
Hermione held his gaze, unflinching. "Better to die fighting than to live as a coward."
Draco's lips pressed into a thin line. Without another word, he turned and strode back down the corridor, his footsteps echoing until they faded into silence.
Draco climbed the stairs from the dungeons, his mind a chaotic mess. He could still see Hermione's face, pale but determined, her words ringing in his ears.
Better to die fighting than to live as a coward.
He hated how those words struck a nerve. He wasn't a coward—not really. He was just... trying to survive. Wasn't that what everyone was doing in this war?
But the image of Hermione, defiant even in chains, refused to leave him. He told himself he didn't care. She was just another prisoner, another casualty of a conflict he had no control over.
And yet, the thought of her being dragged off to some camp, or worse...
Draco shook his head sharply, pushing the thought away. He couldn't afford to think like that.
As he entered the grand hall, his mother approached him, her face tight with concern. "Draco, where have you been?"
"Nowhere," he said quickly.
Narcissa's eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't press him. "Your father has requested your presence in the study. The Dark Lord may require assistance later."
Draco nodded mutely, brushing past her without another word.
As he climbed the stairs to the study, his thoughts turned to Hermione once more. He didn't know what he could do, or even if he should do anything. But one thing was certain—her presence in the Manor had stirred something in him, something he couldn't ignore.
And for the first time in a long while, Draco Malfoy felt the faintest flicker of doubt about the path he was on.
The Order's POV:
The kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place was unusually quiet, a thick layer of tension hanging over the gathered members of the Order of the Phoenix. Hermione was late—hours late. She had promised she would join them by now, but there was no word, no sign, and no explanation.
Ginny Weasley sat stiffly at the table, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Her foot tapped rhythmically on the wooden floor, the only outward sign of the storm of anxiety raging inside her. She knew exactly where Hermione had been heading. The problem was, she couldn't tell the others—not without risking exposing too much.
"She's never late like this," Tonks muttered, breaking the heavy silence. She leaned against the counter, her hair a muted shade of brown as though it mirrored her mood. "Hermione's the most dependable person I know. If she's not here, something's wrong."
Kingsley Shacklebolt frowned but kept his tone steady. "It's not like Hermione to disappear without a word. But let's not leap to conclusions. She may have been delayed. It's happened before."
"But she would've let us know!" Ginny's voice rang out sharply, drawing everyone's attention. Her face was flushed, her frustration barely contained.
"Maybe she couldn't," Bill offered, though his tone lacked conviction.
"She might've been followed," Tonks added. "If she was moving alone—"
"Enough!" Molly Weasley's voice cut through the speculation, her worried expression doing little to mask her own fears. "Let's not assume the worst until we know more."
Ginny's nails dug into her palms as she tried to control her breathing. The weight of the letter Hermione had sent her burned in her memory. Hermione had mentioned she was going to meet someone—hadn't explicitly said who, but Ginny knew.
Harry and Ron.
But she couldn't tell the Order. If she revealed that, they'd figure out where Harry and Ron were hiding—or at least their general direction. It wasn't her secret to share, and Hermione had trusted her to keep it.
"She could be in danger," Remus Lupin said quietly, his eyes fixed on the table as though piecing the puzzle together. "But we don't know enough to act yet. We can't send people running off in every direction without more information."
"And if she's been captured?" Arthur Weasley's voice was grave. "We'd lose valuable time by waiting."
Ginny winced, her chest tightening at the word captured. She knew that was a possibility, but hearing it spoken aloud made it too real.
Tonks sighed. "Hermione knows how to handle herself. She's careful, methodical. Whatever's happened, she'll have a plan."
"We can't just sit here and wait," Ginny blurted out, standing abruptly. "If something's wrong, we need to do something about it!"
Molly reached for her daughter's arm, trying to pull her back into her chair. "Ginny, you need to calm down. We're all worried, but shouting won't help anything."
Ginny yanked her arm free, her expression fierce. "You don't understand! Hermione wouldn't—" She stopped herself, realizing she'd almost said too much. Clenching her fists, she turned away, biting her lip hard enough to sting.
As the conversation continued around her, Ginny felt as though she were drowning in guilt. The Order was right to worry. Something was wrong—she felt it in her bones—but she couldn't tell them what she knew.
If Hermione didn't show up soon, the Order would start piecing things together. They'd ask questions Ginny couldn't answer without betraying Hermione's trust.
"I'll go to Hogsmeade," she said suddenly, the words spilling out before she could think them through. "That's where she said she'd be last time I spoke to her."
"No, you won't," Molly said sharply, her tone brooking no argument. "You're staying here where it's safe."
"But—"
"No buts, Ginny," Molly snapped. "We don't even know if that's where she is. Sending you out there would only add to our problems."
Ginny sat back down, her jaw clenched so tightly it ached. She had to think of something—anything—to divert their suspicions.
Hours passed with no word from Hermione. The Order members took turns speculating, strategizing, and ultimately coming up with no definitive plan of action.
Ginny excused herself, slipping upstairs to her room where she could think clearly. As she closed the door, she pulled the crumpled letter from Hermione out of her pocket, rereading the lines she'd already memorized:
I can't explain everything right now, but I'm going to meet someone. Please don't worry about me, and don't tell anyone else where I've gone. I'll be back before you know it.
Ginny sank onto her bed, her heart heavy. She didn't know what had happened to Hermione, but she knew her friend hadn't planned on disappearing.
For a fleeting moment, Ginny considered telling the Order everything. Maybe they could help. Maybe they could find Hermione before it was too late. But that would mean betraying her friend's trust and risking Harry and Ron's safety.
She tucked the letter back into her pocket, her resolve hardening.
Downstairs, Kingsley addressed the group. "If we don't hear from her by morning, we'll need to consider our next steps. We can't afford to lose her—or anyone else."
Ginny reentered the room just as he finished speaking, her face carefully neutral.
"Any updates?" Lupin asked her.
Ginny shook her head. "Nothing. But she'll be okay. I know it."
Despite her words, doubt gnawed at her. As the meeting wound down, she avoided making eye contact with anyone, especially Tonks, who always seemed to notice when she was hiding something.
But Ginny didn't have a choice. Whatever had happened to Hermione, Ginny would have to find a way to help her—without putting the others at risk.
For now, she could only hope Hermione would keep herself alive long enough for Ginny to figure out what to do.