wind - Dramione

16

"I don't get it," a hushed voice complained, "Why hasn't she died yet?"

"She's much older than the Browning boys, it'll take time, just be patient," a male voice reassured.

"The longer she's here alive the more exposed we are. What if she escapes? We all know she's clever enough to do it! Why don't we just kill her now?"

"Enough Violet!" Ronan shouted, running a shaky hand through the front of his loose and unruly hair. He hushed his voice once more, attempting to keep his frustration at bay. "He was very clear that the potion had to kill her. Now go ask Julie if she put enough into Granger's water and if she said the spell correctly. We're not having this plan messed up by a sympathetic amateur and Merlin do my bollocks hurt!"

Hermione heard footsteps receding. She'd been trained exactly for this situation and anything like it, but Hermione started to fear for herself and what it would mean for the "him" Winker claim they had been holding. Her heart rate spiked, her breathing ragged. She was frozen on her own account rather than the binding spell that held her in place seconds before. Potion? Agunt, operate. The Browning Boys? The Browning Boys died due to an induced blood borne curse, Hermione had run the diagnostic herself! How could she die the same way? The Brownings had been a pureblood family dating back to even before the Malfoys and Hermione was a muggleborn. A mudblood as Julie so kindly reminded her. Unless...?

Yes! She remembered skimming through Skeeter's awfully intrusive piece about the innumerable unlucky trail of miscarriages Ema Browning had endured years ago. Hermione distinctly remembered being disgusted by Skeeter's lack of empathy and basic human decency, but now it was crucial to her understanding. For the Brownings to have miscarriage after miscarriage and then have two rainbow babies out of nowhere? They must have been adopted! Nicholas and Matthew Browning were muggleborns! Dirty blood borne curse. Despite how awful the whole concept was, Hermione had to agree, to make a potion that could induce a specific and artificial curse and eventual death onto Muggleborns with an activating incantation was complete and utter genius. Horrible, but genius nonetheless.

It would take months for the Ministry to find a way to counter a spell (potion? curse? all three?) as involved and layered as this even if they could get to the victims quick enough! And this led her to question along with Winker: why hadn't she died yet?

"Hickman," Violet spat with overexaggerated disgust, "Ronan wanted me to make sure you didn't muck up the potion or the amount in case you were feeling sympathetic for the mudblood since he knows you're soft—"

"I'll have you know, Winker, He made that brew specific for the mudblood so I don't want to hear it from you just because you think I'm what's standing in the way of you and Decker. I don't want Decker. He's all yours. Except he's not, because he doesn't love you. I'm tired of you doubting my ability to do my job and follow orders because of your pubescent jealousy so back off and worry about your own damn orders. Where is the Malfoy boy, hm?"

Draco, Hermione was pulled out of her semi-conscious state as soon as she heard his sobering name. Not Draco. Her vision cleared and she could see she was in a dark cupboard, wrists and ankles bound and a knot of fabric tight in her mouth. The door was open where she could see a warmly lit room across a small hallway with a table clad with headshots of presumably muggle borns in the area, two wands held together by a rubber band, and three chairs.

Violet audibly scoffed. "He's in the bathroom. Keeps slipping out of those muggle handcuffs. Why can't we use magic to bind them, again?"

"Magic leaves traces, you buffoon, especially Auror magic. When I swore to become an Auror I let them have access to my magic records. Ronan did, too," she added out of spite, "We'd have you bind them, but guess what? Ronan doesn't trust you on account of you being a naive child."

Hermione could hear their footsteps receding down the hallway and decided now was her chance. She inched her way toward the hallway simultaneously twisting her wrists until the ropes burned her raw. She squeezed her eyes shut, sucking her teeth at the pain until she saw shadows sweep across her eyelids. She remained still in case they saw her wiggling.

Hurried footsteps shuffled down the hall, Hermione could tell the individuals were panicked.

"Where is he?" Julie hissed. "Merlin, I knew we should've cut you once I joined."

"You know if it wasn't for me, you and this band of elitists would never have even gotten the idea! It was my idea to try it on the boys first because no one would suspect—"

"You got caught, Winker," Ronan cut in, just as much venom as Hickman, "Granger was on your ass not days after you slipped up. If it wasn't for me, your arse and your parents' arses would be grass."

Violet began to fire back as Hermione could hear from the cupboard. It sounded like the trio was huddled in the bathroom down the hall. She used this distraction to shimmy her way across the floor toward the table upon which her wand rested.

The voices down the hall started to rise in volume and pitch alike as she attempted to push the gag out of her mouth with her tongue. She felt as if she were trying to dislocate her jaw and eventually gave up, redirecting her energy to the ropes that bound her wrists and ankles. She was able to roll into the leg of the table.

Hermione cursed to herself as she tried to gently knock on the leg to get her wand to roll off the table, terrified she would make too much noise and draw the attention of the trio arguing in the bathroom. Hermione began to lose hope, figuring the rubber band was keeping it stoic on the wood. A slight creak on the floor boards led her muscles to go rigid until she felt the knots around her ankles begin to pull. She flipped around, hysterical and ready to fight when she saw a familiar and welcomed face.

Her face visibly relaxed as the man reached toward her face to allow her to spit out the gag that was soaked in her saliva. He made quick work of untying her binds. Once she was completely free of the ropes, she threw her arms around his neck, holding onto him for dear life. For a while she forgot where they were, that their kidnappers stood only meters down the hall. That her possible murderer and murderer of the boys who's case she'd been working on for weeks was down the hall. But it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered to her as her arms were squeezing the life out of his lungs was that he was safe and he was with her.

"Draco," she hummed.