Not much came to Hermione's mind on what to do in the closed in space, yet she took a few minutes to take a more intricate look around the room she were given.
She swiped her fingers along the dust consumed dresser that stood on its lonesome, as she opened the top drawer to find clothing pieces of all sorts. It was filled with hats, gloves, and many more essentials.
She examined the pieces as the bright red item caught her eye out of the several grey and black tones, nothing she would ever willingly wear. It were nothing of her liking, nothing in there really was. Family portraits clung onto the walls. Even then the Malfoy's looked distinguisingly miserable, distraught if you will. Even years prior to the present time, they each wore that cold dead stare that practically lived upon their expression.
Hermione scoured the rooms space as she peeked into the bathroom, and felt the sheets and stableness of the decent sized bed. Every angle of the room were tidy, rustic looking, yet thoroughly clean none the less.
The Malfoy's were with no doubt poise in their Manor.
Yet in other departments some would describe them otherwise.
Hermione noticed the favor the Malfoy's took in family portraits. There were a few scurried around the corners of the occupied space. Each one was the same, yet taken in a different year, as they were all labeled with the time frame. Yet one could not differentiate one picture from the other, they all looked undeniably the same. It was strange, unsettling, as most things in that place were.
At that point Hermione had memorized each angle. Nothing else she could question nor instigate. She knew she couldn't do much within that exact time. It was as clear as day that Andromeda was ordered to hold a heavy watch on Hermione and her stay, she could come by at any hour of the day. With a heavy watch like that Hermione could not do as she desired, she had to stay put for the time being.
Something deep down told her to act upon the thought of escaping. She turned to face the door of the bedroom as she slow and steadily hovered her hand around the nob, as she carefully started to twist as the suspense grew heavy. It were indeed unlocked.
It couldn't have been. Were it a trap? Hermione knew it wouldn't be that easy to simply waltz on out with no precaution. Yet as the door slightly creaked open and she stared out, beyond the long ended corridor, she knew she wouldn't take a step forward. She knew she couldn't do as she desired, it was not that easy. Perhaps that was why the door remained unlocked in the first place.
It did not matter if she made her way out, anything could be waiting by the dark turned corner. It was a terrifying thought, being under stricter supervision, she couldn't handle that. It all hit her at once that maybe if she did get on their bad side then she would most likely experience terror after terror. After all, that never seemed to end, even after war this is where she sat slumped.
The dark void that surrounded, it never seemed to leave her side. It was always present. Isolation was a terrifying experience, especially to Hermione. She was naturally so used to being accompanied, yet that was before. Now it's just all a passing thought come to life.
It was moments like these where she began to get the turning feel within her stomach. Where her breathing instantly picked up, and she had to take moments to return composed. Yet there wasn't a thing in sight to help aid in her comfort. She turned to her side and she didn't see a casual passing friend, no most of them were long gone by now.
Even the ones whom she didn't favor, anyone would be better than no one.
Usually her internal mind would never deceive her. No--it always worked in her favor and helped guide her to her wanted feeling, and answer. Yet now after it all, she had no control over her thought process, just as she had no control of what happened on the battle grounds, she couldn't stop her mind from replaying it.
Just as she couldn't stop it from happening.
She could not even bring herself to stop beating herself up about it.
All that roamed her mind was all the what if's. Just what if she simply could have stopped it all, yet her wonders never brought her any sort of good.
Her mind deceived her own self.
She disliked it far too much for her own good.
She inhaled deep breaths as she tried to take back control. She wanted to pull away her gaze from the dark, displayed corridors she deeply dozed off into. She knew she had the ability to walk on out, yet what good would that do? For once Hermione had no place to go, nor a single soul to plan and plot along side with.
She felt as if she could go right into panic mode. She felt despaired, lost.
She wanted to prevent the inconvenience panicking would take, yet that was not something she could control. Yet she didn't expect anything less, nor anything more. She had just saw what she never thought she would, what she would never let herself let go of. It terrified her in more ways than one.
It was simply her and her alone. This was never an issue, yet now it was a horrendous one, she was terrified of being alone with her own mindset.
In that current moment she in fact despised her mindset.
Maybe she would let a tear trickle down due to the matters present. Yet her eyes remained dry, drowsy and filled with sorrow, yet not a single tear in sight. She didn't see the point, not now.
Yet she recognized her hand shake, and her body tense up. She mourned, over and over, she felt immense amounts of remorse and pain of those whom were lost. Those who now lied dead. One of the worst parts were she simply now stood in the very manor of whom took those lives. The ones who stood behind all the erupted havoc. The ones who were responsible for the remaining scars left on ones skin, and the terrifying thoughts left roaming ones head.
She grew exhausted from the look of the marks, and restlessness of her memory. The vivid ones to be exact.
She sat slumped for a whole day as she practically had to self teach control over her conclusions and assumptions. She couldn't give in, nor give up, not just quite yet.
She did not want to feel terrified at every second of the day, yet how could she possibly overcome that. She had every right to be scared cold, yet it didn't help her situation, only wits could be of use now. Ironic was what it was, she was practically praised for her smarts, yet that can only take one so far, she was walking proof of that.
Yes, she wanted ever so bad to escape, yet in the midst would she lock knees and crumble down to the ground while gasping out for air, simply because she's not capable? It was disheartening, yet held some ounce of truth.
She consumed the occasional meals that were served, yet she wanted to throw up each grain, her stomach constantly remained unsettled. She didn't know which was worse, the unhealed scaring and remembrance of the curse crucio, or the detrimental damages of trauma her mind possessed. Either way she was not in a neat fit position. No she was locked out from the outside world, she was completely isolated. All by her lonesome, not a familiar face In arms length.
She hoped they would give up on her, yet that wasn't to happen, she wouldn't walk away without a scratch.
Yet she was glad she held the determination that she did, at least she had that.
As time went by she anticipated the arrival of Andromeda, as she had spoken of prior, yet she was waiting in silence till then. Every meal was like the previous, a struggle to get it down, yet she lost energy if she didn't, she needed that to keep her going.
She occasionally stared off into the surrounding portraits. She wondered it the Malfoy's had a different one within another space of the manor. One that wasn't an exact replica, yet it was extremely hard to picture. Anywhere from Narcissa to Lucius to even Malfoy, she hardly recognized, they all look similar, not purely based off the fact that they wore the same shade, or did the same hands crossed over in front pose, no it was the fact that they all served the same purpose.
Yet two held a more mature stance, yet one simply was years younger. It was still shocking, once again she lingered on the fact that he was practically her age. How did he even obtain such a mark in such a young age?
Although she could not say it was surprising.
Yes, he did indeed bring death eaters into Hogwarts, yet that was child's play in comparison to death. Yet with time he got to that stage, he eventually took lives. Malfoy always stayed being in the shadows, whilst he carried the thoughts of his duties, his dark work.
She found it absurd how she can observe from the inside looking out, yet couldn't take a single stride forward. It was unlocked. Yet she failed to believe that anything at this point would come that easy. It did not align with her luck.
She sat, tried to eat, and contemplated on what she was to do. Yet she was oblivious to an answer. Staying where the Malfoy's eat, sleep, and breathe, she nauseated at the mere thought.
The Malfoy's had been of service to Voldemort all this time. Technically they were the main accomplice in assistance to aid the war to victory in their favor. They took more lives than she could count. She couldn't even fit them onto her ten fingers. She presumed that after the war the Malfoy's were held to some sort of higher ranking when it came to the death eater position.
Yet even though they had won, they didn't walk away with no scars engraved. Bellatrix Lestrange had died in war, whilst in a duel with Molly Weasley. She was one of the others whom withheld one of Voldemort's Horcruxes and guided it to hiding. Her along with others who were long gone by now, yet they held information of great value to the dark lord. That was one circumstance in which he lost greatly.
That was what he needed Hermione for, to serve a purpose, to retrieve what he now didn't possess.
Bellatrix's death had took its toll on the Malfoy's. Not primarily because they would long for her back, yet because they feared their fate without her. Before her passing she had in fact held the war up on their end fairly high, that was until her fall. Narcissa and Lucius did indeed shed blood, yet not nearly as much as Bellatrix had. In no way were those two anything less of cruel, yet talk went around that they were forced into Voldemort's organized group rather than taking a choosing. This didn't make a soul look at them any different, not after the lives they took.
Yet when one compared them and Bellatrix and even the other death eaters it was slightly different.
Yet it was no secret that Lucius was a foul man. he was practically Voldemort's helping hand, whenever he needed a quick help Lucius was always there and ready of service. He was second to Bellatrix In bloodshed, yet quickly became first. Lucius followed each and every command that was given without a lingering second thought. Yet Narcissa on the other hand followed as ordered as well, yet she in fact took a few seconds of hesitance before hand, but of course still performed the malicious deeds. She did indeed take devious strides, yet it was known that there was more to the story with her.
She wasn't as Lucius was, that was for certain.
Yet the other Malfoy, the youngest one, he had a different story.
He for certain took after his father. As important as Lucius and Narcissa were held, it were almost as if Malfoy was slightly higher. Voldemort was smart, he used the youngest among them to get the most dirty work done. Without his parents able to lift a finger in assistance. Voldemort took a specific interest to Malfoy, even out of a handful of death eaters. It was unsure as to why, yet a lingering thought was the simple fact that he had been the most successful in aiding the dark lords reign. Nothing was for certain, yet Voldemort kept Malfoy close, he was smart in doing so, after all he was deemed successful, he achieved the reign he desired.
Hermione was with no doubt distracted during war, yet she kept a close eye on the death eaters that surrounded. yet on the other hand there were far too many to keep up with, they were completely out numbered. As lives began to be stripped one after the other, it was difficult to pick out who did what. Yet the Malfoy's did much damage.
After Harry had died and any ounce of light left his eyes, the confirmation of his fall let jaws drop. Everyone examined with tears forming, whilst Voldemort looked, cackled, and grinned with bliss for days. Hermione would never let go of that particular moment in time. The one where she saw him go, where she saw any chance of them succeeding wither away. She hated thinking about it, she shivered when she did. Yet she could not choose what to remember and what to forget. There was much she suppressed, yet some instances were far too complex and vivid to where she remembered bright and clear.
She could never forget, it was her best friend. It was cruel, she couldn't do a thing about it, not only was he now gone, but now it all lies in her hands. She was left alone.
She squirmed when she thought of it. The thought of being isolated and encaged without having any sense of movement. Just as she felt in the tight closed room, left with nothing but uncertainty.
She couldn't.
She couldn't do this alone, she didn't want to.
She didn't want to be given orders, whilst she can do nothing but confine to each one.
Walk out and make a run. Thats all she wanted to do, all she had too.
Maybe she needed to take a slow and steady breath then stride on out. Thats all it took.
She inhales a deep long gust of air, she lets it out.
She takes in the breath, and perhaps she feels worse. She feels defeated, simply because she can take In a million breaths, one after the other--slow and steady as a leaf blowing in mid air, yet that doesn't change the fact that her feet remained positioned in the same place, not moving a single inch forward or behind.
She can feel her chest rise up and down, as it's loud and echoing through her ear.
She takes another breath.
Nothing.
She won't move a muscle. She questioned why. She bothered her brain in telling her why she hasn't the courage to fight back--to save herself and any others who lied in her same position--lost, and imprisoned.
But she's tried before. Many times, over and over, her and her peers, they all had tried.
Now hundreds lied dead. Her best friend especially lingered on.
She didn't see the point in fighting back again. She is ruined by war, ruined by hearing it, and distraught by seeing them go one by one.
Her scars are far too deep. Yet she doesn't assume she is the only one with them who still stand.
She wasn't the only one left utterly distraught.
She could exit her current room, yet she didn't expect anything glorious coming out of it. Either she tripped and panicked, or even sees the dark lord himself waiting past the corner. Either way every scenario she played out did not work in her favor. Nothing did.
What took place on the battlefield proved that.
Her disheveled stance proved that.
She didn't even want to sleep, she didn't want to see a nightmare, living it was enough.
She didn't want to wander off to slumber and wake up, sweat rolling across her forehead, because she sees what happened in result to her failure. Thats exactly how she saw it, complete failure. She didn't go easy on herself, how could she?
Sometimes she feels herself faze away to a sleep, yet positions herself back up. She didn't need war replaying itself, she didn't need the faces of her peers positioned right in front of her.
She even had an image of Lavender Browns parting. She heavily disliked Lavender, yet that didn't mean a thing. She much rather turn to her side in potions class and see Lavender shooting her a death stare, rather than seeing a death eater positioned on top of her entire being.
So no, in fact Hermione did not want to sleep. Not if thats all she would see. These death scenarios that had seemed freshly occurring replay on a loop. She was rather off exhausted.
Eventually Hermione stopped taking in deep breaths, aiming for the door in hopes she would make a move. She wouldn't, she questioned the point in doing so.
She glanced at the high up window. She also noticed the elevation she was at. If she couldn't stride out the door, she felt a fool for thinking of traveling down a long winded window. She was isolated, that was certain.
She occasionally brushed away the heavily cloaked curtain, yet it still remained gloomy from the out looking in. Even the plants in the garden appeared dead.
She spent her hours questioning and thinking, over and over, she were practically driving herself mad. The time got slower with each minute that had passed.
She practically didn't have an accurate sense of time, yet time was all she thought about. How slow it passed and how much she dreaded the fiddling of her fingertips as she counted to a hundred to maybe get some shut eye. Yet her nerves kept her awake, and on high alert.
She didn't need an external noise to keep her head loud. The sound of her misplaced breathing, and tapping of her fingernail against the dust cloaked dresser did that on its own. Not a single thing compared to the voice of her heads consumed thoughts, none of which being pleasant. They were quite awful to be exact.
She found herself dazed off into an obscure idea she trailed to. Usually one in which any sudden act she took action to ended badly, thats all she thought of. Bad thoughts.
And seeking to flee from her current state was far too minuscule for the storm of dark assumptions her mind conjured. She didn't think she could ever try to escape once more, not after Ginny.
Ginny was proof of what happened to one who held hope in escape. She had tried. Ginny took the split second she had to make a run for it, yet now she faced the consequences.
Hermione wished she at least had her. Yet she didn't.
As for the others she didn't know what were to happen to them.
She didn't even know if there were any others from Hogwarts who were in the circumstance she got caught up in. Within the same walls. There must have been.
It was merely a few days, yet she itched at her skin, at the bruised scarring left over from war. She had several, yet they didn't hurt as they used too, but they itched horrendously. It was always a reminder that they were there. She hated being reminded of it, scrapes from war.
She hadn't seen a glimpse of Malfoy nor Andromeda, yet she couldn't decipher if that was a blessing or a curse. Perhaps one would get fed up, lead her right out the door themself, she thought she was delusional.
In midst stare upon the unlocked doorknob, in which she couldn't bare to turn once more, it began to rattle. Her heartbeat raised exponentiously as she slowly merged further back.
"Be prepared for your first attempt at giving up what you know in a couple of hours." The guard announced, as he stood by the frame of the door, eyeing Hermione with no form of expression.
His words rattled with her. She presumed he meant she would be interrogated to give up what she knew of the Horcruxes. If that were the case then they were indeed out of luck. Yet something told her they truly wouldn't care. They would force it out, did whatever they needed to retrieve the information they desired.
Even if she did know any words of use, she didn't want to tell them a thing.
She didn't want to lend a helping hand with the Horcruxes.
Yet there was a house full of Malfoy's, who were Voldemort's helping hand. She was limited on options. Considering the fact that they shed enough blood for days within one day of battle, they wouldn't have mercy on her.
She simply had to obey.
Respond.
And cooperate.
Yet she had to be smart with it.
These three words stuck, as Dolohov practically didn't let her forget the orders, even if she chose too.
Her brain indeed had rebellious thoughts, yet she also wasn't a fool. She wouldn't be know for her smarts if she didn't use it for good. Yet that was before. Considering the circumstances her thought process would indeed shift.
She wasn't always thinking logically, now she was thinking on ways to simply survive.
She turned her heads position to where she faced the elevated window above. It was small, yet visible to see what lied through. The thought of lowering herself down on out crossed her mind one too many times to ignore. Yet the idea of Malfoy or Andromeda coming in right as she's making her way on down ignited fear far too vividly.
Maybe there was some sort of detector to see or sense who left and entered the manor--she didn't know, she just assumed. Yet considering the dark lords power it wasn't too far off of a thought. She pulled back the dark curtain that fell over, and peeked her view through the glass window. She felt anxious looking at the distance down, yet it was less likely she were to get spotted going through the garden, opposed to freely wandering the halls.
She soon removed her gaze from the window, and turned her way to the dresser. She couldn't escape, not now, it was far too risky.
She went over to the large dresser, as all the clothing had been neatly folded. She picked out the bland pieces from the selection, as she put on each piece cloth slowly, as she felt herself shake with each movement, it was something she could not control. The freezing temperature in the Manor did not help. The cloths she wore were all sheds of dark, she didn't expect much else.
After she got dressed, she didn't know what to do from there on out. Was she to wait and someone was to come and start the questioning, or was she expected to make her way on out?All the questions that flooded exhausted her minds ability.
Hermione knew for certain she were to be flooded with every minuscule detail they needed to get from her. She knew they wouldn't let her leave unless they got back all the needed Horcruxes, yet it was a reminder that she couldn't even get them, a reminder that she had failed.
Even with Ron and Harry by her side, it was horrendous prior to the war. Now even after she still is held back by force, and has but no choice. Andromeda had mentioned a therapist coming by ever so frequently. They thought after hearing Pomfrey's theories that would help tremendously. Hermione was quite baffled by the remark, she believed that no therapist could guide her back to sanity, it was quite baffling.
No matter what words she would speak, maybe they were words of wisdom or advice that would indeed help others, she was indeed certain that even the best of the best that had to do with ones mind could not make even a dent of any difference.
She almost huffed out at the word therapist.
Didn't even think it was a serious statement.
Yet Andromeda was nothing but the serious type.
The door finally rapidly flung wide open as Andromeda stood present.
"Finally you're ready, I thought I would have to wait ages." Andromeda spoke as she eyed Hermione, head to toe. "The dark lord orders you're questioning to start today, he wants me and Draco on the job, yet occasionally it will just be the one of us. I already have to put up with you, so I advise to not have any smart thoughts, so if you are merely getting any ideas on causing problems, take it from me it will not end well."
Hermione kept her voice back, and agreed with merely just her eyes.
"On you come then." She spoke with nothing but bitter, yet that was always the case.
Hermione felt unsettled whilst trailing behind Andromeda through the dark corridors.
They eventually stopped in from of an open spaced room. It looked like a spare.
"Go in and sit, Draco and I will be there in ten minutes tops." She said as she motions her hand to the room in front.
Without another word spoken Andromeda walks off through the hall, as Hermione slowly takes steps forward. She wearily inspected around the room as she always did. It looked just as the rest of the manor, same shades, same furniture, and even the family portraits that surrounded. Of course they were all questionably similar.
Cold and dull. Not a grin in sight.
This very room didn't leave her any less unsettled than the rest.
She had assumed that maybe other parts of the Manor would be less distinguishably cold, yet there seemed to be a pattern. It was more of a living or working space rather than an actual room. It looked as if not a soul had used it in ages.
She didn't expect anything more of where the Malfoy's lived, yet she didn't expect it to be dark practically during all hours.
Yet the Manor was a practical cold environment, it did indeed look of a place where death eaters lived. She had been in there longer than she believed she could handle.
There was a couch and desk present. Nothing out of the ordinary lied, simply just parchment and quills. The only thing that felt out of place was the sense she were being watched. She decided to shrug it off for the mere fact that It probably came form the few portraits that hung up. It didn't make it any better. She always had a hunger for curiosity, yet she feared to touch a thing, instead she sat slumped on the sofa whilst she waited.
The only thing in which caught her glance was the few bottles of whisky. There were a couple completely empty bottles in one corner, and some off on the other side which remained full to the top. Not that it mattered, yet she wondered who would need all that.
She perceived it as quite excessive.
Her nerves spiked as she didn't know what they were to ask, or what they would force her to speak. It would be a messy scene, she knew that. When it came to the dark lord or the Malfoy's, it always was.
Roughly ten minutes had passed, yet not a soul in sight. She dreaded every second.
Snapping from her thoughts, she heard the doors knob start to turn as she anticipated the next move. She lowered her breath as she kept herself put on the sofas cushion. She seen no one but Andromeda and Malfoy standing at the doors entrance as they examined her state. Their expressions looked vastly similar, yet Malfoy's was always a tone colder than the rest in the room.
"Right then." he said, took a quick pause.
"Lets get on with it."
Tone nothing shorter than rough.
A smell consumed the room.
Whiskey.
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