Hermione walked quietly behind Draco to the Chamber of Secrets, allowing him to open the entrance of Voldemort's personal cave.
She wished he would just rot away down there.
The Parceltongue slithered off his lips as though he were a snake in disguise. Hermione had gathered that no matter what Draco Malfoy looked like on the outside, he would always be a serpent on the inside.
The pair walked throughout the main entrance, and straight down a passageway to the main room where Hermione had taken part in many meetings with the Dark Lord.
It smelt stale.
The air was so thick down in the Chamber of Secrets that Hermione was struggling to breathe - more than normal. She steadied her breathing - small and quick breaths. If she breathed too hard, she'd go into a coughing fit. Hermione felt like she was choking on mould.
Draco lightly knocked on the door and pushed it open, revealing Lord Voldemort seated at the head of the table. He looked proud, Hermione thought.
"Ah, Malfoy my boy," he breathed out at Draco, gently pushing a seat out from under the table and grinning at him - revealing his putrid teeth.
"My Lord," the young Malfoy responded sharply, lowering his head in a welcoming gesture. Draco walked over to the seat beside Voldemort and sat himself down.
Hermione uncomfortably followed Draco, standing against the wall as she watched the both of them turn to stare at her as she stood looking back at them with cold eyes.
The Dark Lord fixed his gaze very firmly on Hermione - she could feel the beads of sweat collecting at the nape of her neck.
"Don't be silly Granger, do take a seat," he rasped out, pushing the seat on his free side away from under the table, ushering Hermione to sit.
Hermione stalked around the table, and slipped herself into the rich leather. She was surprised the leather hadn't rotted away down there, like everything other thing. It smelt sour. Like the air alone was enough to make her vomit.
She shook the thoughts from her mind as she took a deep breath in through her nose.
"Thank you, my Lord," Hermione said, shooting him a small smile. She was certain he could smell the fear oozing from her.
"Yes..." Was all Voldemort managed to reply to her, dull and emotionless. Slowly, he brought his gaze over to Draco, who was now seated opposite Hermione, studying her.
"You wished to see me before departure, my Lord?" Draco hesitantly asked, tilting his head back slightly. His jawline appeared prominent, and Hermione stared at it - piecing it together with her favourite children's book.
Sleeping beauty - when she pricked her finger on the spinning wheel, she died. If she would let Draco anywhere near her - even if it was for one split second - she'd be sure to die at his hand.
He was a Death Eater of course - nothing like the boy from school.
Draco was the poison apple in her own Disney story.
Although, Hermione couldn't really judge him; she indeed had turned to aid Lord Voldemort in his pursuit to power also. At least Draco had never switched sides. Loyal. Hermione was not.
She still questioned her loyalty sometimes - yet if the thought ever arose, she'd push it to the dark crevices in her mind, where she'd not think of them again. Like pushing the door closed on one thought, it opened the door to another.
Like the butterfly effect - every single thing Hermione thought or took part in lead to another. Her mind was scurrying as she sat watching them silently. She nervously counted her fingers under the table.
Maybe if she'd done something different during the war she'd be on the winning side.
She cringed in her seat, counting to ten and back down to one with her fingertips.
But for Hermione, she was on the winning side.
Just not the one she truly wished would've won the war. Hermione was deep in thought thinking of her life back in school, back to when everything was simple. After the Triwizard Tournament - Cedric's death, nothing was simple anymore. Hermione knew that.
The escape she felt when daydreaming about living a different life was her only sense of normality - the only thing that kept her sane. So she wouldn't slip away and lose herself to the dark magic.
Maybe that's what protected her for so long. But if she couldn't remember them anymore, then was she truly going insane?
She wasn't sure anymore.
Draco cleared his throat opposite Hermione and it brought her attention back to him and the Dark Lord, who seemed to be staring at each other rather intensely. She swallowed hard.
"Yes, my boy. I instructed the healer to complete a full assessment of the Mudblood this morning - as you are aware," he said, intertwining his fingers together and taking a breath, "and it appears she has damaged fragments within her brain. The damaged ones, I wish to seek. Whilst you are in Paris Draco, I want you to exploit them. I wish to know the lost memories."
There was an uncomfortable silence between the three of them. It was so quiet, Hermione thought she could've heard the blood rushing to her ears.
Hermione couldn't understand the desperation they all fed on to see her memories. The Order lost - what more could he want?
She screwed her face up slightly, and dropped her gaze to the tabletop, examining the wood carefully.
"Of course my Lord. I will not fail you," Draco began, looking over at Hermione.
She could feel his eyes burning into the top of her head.
"Good. I shouldn't expect anything less than success from you my boy. The Ministry of Magical Affairs will be your first target. You must find out what is happening within Paris and put a stop to it immediately," Voldemort said, with a mere sense of aggression in his tone.
"Whatever it takes," Draco replied back to him. Hermione brought her brown eyes up to look at Draco - who was already looking back at her, the icy blue in his eyes gently sparkling against the faint light.
Draco Malfoy was dark, but not Voldemort dark - mystery and aggression, but not evil. Hermione couldn't read Malfoy the way she read others. It made her want to know more.
He was the perfect unread book in the library. Just like the restricted section within Hogwarts' bookshelves, she thought to herself.
If she could get the upper hand whist in Paris, she could escape and be free. Free from Lord Voldemort's hell - free from herself.
She could begin to fill the shell that was left behind of Hermione Granger and find a new life for herself - kids, a husband. A house or a puppy perhaps.
Hermione's mind clouded at the thought. The calm before the storm. The thunder crashed in the distance of her mind.
"Brilliant... and you, Miss Granger," the Dark Lord turned to Hermione, eying her up and down, as if inspecting her, "you will help Malfoy investigate the matter. As you are indeed my most trusted... companion, if you'd call it that, you will be under his care."
"Yes, my Lord. Whilst in Paris, I am under the impression we will be looking into the uprising which happened a few days ago?" Hermione questioned gently, straightening her back in her seat.
"Correct, yes. I want to know who's conspiring against me - who would even be brave enough to challenge me... because when I do find out," Voldemort calmly breathed out at Hermione, the putrid scent of his breath tickling her nostrils, "I will kill them."
Voldemort took a deep, slow breath and moved in closer to Hermione, so close she could feel her heart pumping out of her chest.
"But it won't be quick."
He let out a low, evil laugh. His face creased into the most inhumane expression, and Hermione was sure she saw his eyes glimmer red.
It sent shivers down Hermione's spine, causing her hairs to stand on edge. She clenched her jaw inside her mouth and ground her teeth together.
Hermione took a deep breath.
"I understand. I - we, we will not fail you my Lord," she replied to him, holding back the shake in her voice which was threatening to happen in her throat. She felt like she had a lump that she couldn't swallow.
Hermione pressed her lips together into a thin smile.
"That is just what I'd like to hear... Draco?" He turned in his seat, unlocking his stare from Hermione and locking it back into place with the younger Malfoy seated beside him.
Draco sat up in his seat and looked back at the Dark Lord, his expression completely unreadable.
He cleared his throat mildly. "Yes?"
"You have thirty days," Voldemort whispered to him, leaning into his ear. Hermione could see he'd tensed his jaw more and more the closer he got to his face.
"Don't fuck it up," he breathed, another low cackle emitting from his lips, "or I'll feed you to Nagini as a welcome back present for your mother... or, I will just end the Malfoy's family line once and for all," he finished. Hermione could sense the dark magic oozing from him.
Draco blinked slowly, swallowing at the same time. His Adam's apple moved unnaturally in his throat, making Hermione cringe.
"Y-yes, I will not fail you. Me and the Mudblood will depart for Paris now," Draco barely managed to choke out.
"Wonderful. I wish you both the best of luck then," Voldemort said, switching his gaze between Hermione and Draco, making the pair uneasy.
"Thank you," Hermione gently replied, pressing her lips into a faint smile and pushing herself out from under the table, brushing down her uniform and tucking the chair back in immediately after.
"Yes. I will return if there is anything you desperately need to know," Malfoy said to Voldemort, also pushing himself out from under the table.
"One month. Don't disappoint me, Draco."
The younger Malfoy nodded his head at the Dark Lord as he walked toward the door. Hermione cautiously followed after him, not looking back. He opened the door and ushered her to walk through first.
Hermione looked up at him. When his eyes met hers, she walked through, leaving the meeting room. Seconds later, the door closed behind the pair, and they left the Chamber of Secrets, making their way to the front of Hogwarts.
When they reached the outdoors surrounding Hogwarts, Hermione stopped and stared at her surroundings, taking them in. For the first time in years, the air was fresh. The cold breeze was invigorating. She felt like she could breathe.
She could see the landscape stretch out for miles - and for the first time since the war, she felt free. The sun had risen into the sky, illuminating the lake enveloping the school.
Birds flew overhead, in a flock. Leaving England for the winter, just to return when summer had come around again.
Hermione was lost in thought.
"For fu- would you quit daydreaming?" Draco said toward Hermione, aggression lingering in his voice. She tutted at him.
"Whatever. Don't you like what you see?" She asked him, continuing to stare absentmindedly into the distance. Draco huffed at her, and suddenly his large hand was wrapped around her forearm.
"No. We aren't here to mess around, we're here to do a job. You can daydream another time."
Hermione rolled her eyes at him, and before she could prepare herself, Draco apparated away with her without warning. The different sensations going around in Hermione's stomach was enough to make anybody vomit.
As soon as her feet hit the ground, she couldn't help but bend forward to wretch, her breakfast coming straight back up, causing Hermione to vomit against a wall.
"Fuck sake - it wasn't even that bad-" Draco began, watching Hermione puke onto the floor beside him. He looked around embarrassed, making sure nobody could see her.
She coughed, bringing a hand to her mouth and wiping it. Hermione sniffed hard through her nose, taking in a deep breath as she did so.
Straightening herself back up, Hermione looked around at the street, stars floating around in her vision.
Eventually, she couldn't feel the lump in her throat anymore and was able to swallow properly.
"No warning? Of course I'm going to be sick," Hermione scoffed angrily, looking around. "Are we going to the Ministry?"
They were stood in an empty, narrow street, by a worn, old looking phone box. In the distance, Hermione could hear passing cars and buses.
They were in Central London.
"Yes, we're going to the Ministry. We will travel via the Floo Network, which will get us into the Ministry of Magical Affairs in France," he flatly responded, walked around her and opening the door to the phone box.
Hermione stood there, watching him cautiously.
"Stop dawdling."
Hermione rolled her eyes and walked into the phone box, eying Draco as she walked by.
He squeezed in next to her, backing up against the glass to try and create as much space as possible between them. Draco looked around him, as if trying to distract himself.
Hermione felt awkward. She began panicking at the thought of them getting stuck in there together.
Torture.
After Malfoy had fiddled around with the phone box, they began to lower into the ground, eventually showing the Ministry in all its glory.
Except, it wasn't glorious.
The Ministry was completely run by Death Eaters. As they walked into the crowd, a large statue of Voldemort stood out from the middle of the interior, towering over everybody surrounding it.
The decor was black and emerald green, with large, metal serpents that slithered up and down the walls via magic. In a sick way, Hermione found it beautiful.
She was attracted to the dark side, the passion behind the evil. In her eyes, the Ministry looked much better like this, even if she didn't want to admit it.
The air smelt like dark magic... and power.
Hermione walked beside Draco, as he led the way through the crowd towards the Floo Network. He stayed silent and didn't look back at her, as if he was already aware she wouldn't try to escape through the crowd.
Hermione rolled her eyes at the thought.
Voldemort's enormous statue looked down on everybody beneath them, just like he did to muggleborns. Or anything less than purebloods.
Like he did to her.
As Hermione stared up at sculpture, she noticed that in its eyes, there was two large, baby blue diamonds that's twinkled in the light. She wondered if Voldemort watched the Ministry through them, or if they were just there for show.
The chatter of the crowds echoed throughout the Ministry - but it wasn't how Hermione remembered it. Every single person was dressed in extravagant robes, and seemed to be turning their noses up at anybody who walked by.
The Ministry of Magic was riddled with only pureblood wizards. Still hiding beneath the city of London, yet - they roamed freely in there, without a care in the world.
Hermione felt slightly intimidated and turned her head to the tiles, focusing on Malfoy's feet to follow him and avoid making any awkward eye contact with anybody.
After all - there was a time Hermione was the most wanted witch in England.
She awkwardly scratched her head.
"Hurry up Mudblood, we don't have all day - I'm starting to get the impression you think we do," Draco spat, turning back to check on Hermione who was slowly strolling past the statue.
She scoffed at him and rolled her eyes, picking up the pace and walking past him in a hurry just to get one over on him.
"Ha ha, very funny. Wouldn't be so funny if I gave you to the Dementors, would it?" He jeered at her, gradually picking up the pace and passing Hermione with ease. Once again, she had to walk twice as fast to catch up with him.
"Do you get off on hurting people, Malfoy?" Hermione called to him, taunting him for an answer.
The echoing of her heels on the marble tiles had been drowned out by the chattering of the other witches and wizards within the Ministry.
"Oh yeah, love it. I like it when they cry," he said back to her sarcastically, a sly smirk creeping onto his face.
Hermione's heart sank.
Suddenly, her vision went blurry and her legs and fingertips went numb, like she was slowly losing control of herself. Her heart felt like it was beating out of her chest, and before she knew it, she'd stopped at a halt, moments away from where they needed to be.
Hermione tried to steady her breathing, but the more she tried, the worse it became.
She closed her eyes in an attempt to save herself from drowning in her demons.
In her endeavour of saving herself from her nightmares becoming reality, she shook hands with the Devil himself and her mind plunged her back to the night she'd killed Dolohov.
"You want to play the big, bad witch huh?" He took a step forward, tilting his head to the side, making the bones in his neck crack, making Hermione cringe. "I had other ideas, but this one seems better." His lips turned into a dark smirk, and he readjusted his posture, now towering over Hermione once again.
"Strip."
The room was cold, and Hermione shuddered. Not just at the thought of the crisp air enslaving her senses, but at the thought of Dolohov seeing her vulnerable, and putting herself into that position. His one eye attacked her own, the devil within watching her carefully, studying her every move.
It all went black.
She was stuck in the immoral cycle of him touching her. Pressing his body onto her.
Hermione was drowning.
"Hey, hey! You still with us?" A male voice called, and it echoed throughout Hermione's mind like a dream.
Hermione felt her senses come back to her, gradually feeling the cold air attacking her bare arms. The numbness was fading - leaving a faint feeling of pins and needles in Hermione's fingertips.
"Ngghhh..." Hermione faintly moaned, still unable to open her eyes. She felt as thought they were stitched shut - like she wanted to pull and rub them until she could see again.
Her head pounded like she'd had a long night at The Three Broomsticks. Even when she did drink - it wasn't as bad at this.
This was worse than when they apparated.
"Come on, we've got to get you out of here. People are staring," the voice said to her gently, followed by a pair of large, cold hands wrapping around Hermione and pulling her to her feet.
"Ow..." Hermione whimpered, as she felt the weight of her body being shifted onto another. A long arm wrapped around underneath her own arm, as they carried her away.
"Ron...?" Hermione mumbled, trying to focus on keeping her walking normal instead of focusing on the fact she was about another step away from spewing onto the marble.
"Nope - not Ron, not even close to Ron - at all close to Ron actually," the males voice replied back to her, still continuing to guide Hermione.
She slowly opened her eyes, feeling as thought they were being peeled away from each other. The light burned into them, and an overwhelming feeling of sickness came over her.
Looking to her left, she locked eyes with Draco, and a sudden wave of embarrassment flushed over her.
Not Ron. Definitely not Ron.
"I'm going... to be sick..." Hermione groaned, swallowing hard and swinging her head about.
"Merlin's beard, not in the Ministry you won't," Draco fearfully spoke, picking up the pace between them both.
He dragged Hermione into one of the Floo Networks, pulled some powder from his satchel, and dropped it on the floor around them both.
Draco and Hermione were engulfed in beautiful, green flames that danced around them, illuminating them both.
Hermione felt as thought she was dying. In a panic, she closed her eyes to try and steady herself.
"I swear Mudblood - if you're sick-" Draco said in dread, still holding her tightly. His arm around Hermione was suffocating.
She couldn't-
A rush of heat encapsulated Hermione, causing her to retch, forcing her to lean forward. Her eyes were welling up with tears as she tried not to be sick.
No-
She couldn't hold it in.
She retched again, this time being sick right onto the floor, causing the contents of her stomach to splatter across the wood. When she opened her eyes, a pair of shoes were in view - and not her own.
Hermione slowly looked up, meeting the eyes of a tall, middle-aged man. He had brunette, thin hair - and in spots, it was greying. A pair of black spectacles rested on the top of his nose, with a gold chain dangling between the lenses and the temples. He was dressed well, she thought.
Draco cleared his throat and screwed his face up, looking down at Hermione with embarrassment.
"Bonjour, Mr Carvieau," he spoke gently, letting his grip go off Hermione's back.
Hermione looked back at Malfoy, then to the male stood in front of her, filling herself with dread.
"Granger, meet Mr Arthur Carvieau," Draco said, taking a pause between.
"He is the head of the French Ministry of Magical Affairs," he finished uncomfortably.
Hermione felt her insides drop to the ground below, wishing it would just swallow her whole. She felt as though her cheeks were redder than a fire engine.
"Ah, um... I am so so sorry Mr Cariveau. I'm Hermione Granger," she announced to him sheepishly, sticking her hand out for him to shake it in an attempt to redeem herself.
Arthur looked down at Hermione with a concerned expression. She knew immediately she'd embarrassed Draco and herself, so she dropped her hand back down to her side.
"I must've had a dodgy breakfast, I'll clean it up for you-" she said with uneasiness, frantically beginning to search for a cloth of some kind.
Mr Cariveau raised his right hand to Hermione, and switched his gaze to the left, snapping his fingers together at an elf and pointing to the wooden floor.
Hermione watched the little elf scurry over to the spot where she was sick, and began to clean it up.
She felt awful.
"No need, Miss Granger - I remember my first Floo trip," he laughed, a mere amount of sarcasm in his tone.
Hermione's mind ran wild with ways in which she could get herself out of the situation - with Draco being the obstacle in front every single one.
"Come on," Draco ushered Hermione to follow the Minister, shooting her a sympathetic smile.
Hermione followed silently, wallowing in self pity.