His steps fell softly as he walked through the halls of his family home, stormy eyes glancing past the rows of portraits on the walls until they landed on one of the manor entitled "Malfoy Family Home." He let out a soft snort as the word home tumbled through his mind.
It hadn't felt like a home since the summer before their fourth year. Not really. Not since the Dark Lord had returned and turned everything to such utter shit.
Not since his father had become obsessed with proving his status to his master, Draco thought with a sneer.
And to think he had once looked up to that.
He could remember when he was younger, believing that his father was the most respected, powerful man in his world. But these days his father did nothing but crawl for his master's attention like a wounded dog. And the hits he took from the Dark Lord to his already wounded pride always seemed to find their way to Draco's mother somehow - sometimes emotionally, sometimes physically.
Anger, sharp and cool lanced through him as memories of bruises lining his mother's pale skin flitted through his mind. Bruises he could do nothing about without the possibility of making them worse. Draco was a representation of the Malfoy name. Anything he did reflected back on his family, so if he disappointed the Dark Lord, his father would be punished which meant his mother would be too. When this war was over he would pay back his father for everything that he had brought onto their family. Every bruise. Every hurt. All of it.
He could feel his emotions rising up inside of him like a dark, twisted snake preparing to strike. This home and this war felt like a prison. He couldn't help the resentment that he felt towards his father as he thought about where they were. Servants in their own, once great and respected, home. This war wasn't bloody worth it. He couldn't give two fucks about the dirtybloods or the pathetic muggles, but the Dark Lord treated his own Death Eaters like vermin. Despite their pure blood and loyalty, there was never any safety or security. Only fear and anger, and festering pathetic excuses of wizards scrambling over each other like lovesick first years trying to get just a second of attention or validation from their master. As far as Draco was concerned, let the mudbloods and filthy muggles continue to dirty themselves, while he and those of the sacred twenty-eight who had not turned into blood traitors continued the tradition of purity. Before the Dark Lord had returned they'd had wealth, status, respect. And now? His father was an escaped felon with all of his wealth at the disposal of a wizard who wasn't even a pureblood himself.
Yes, Draco had heard the rumors. He'd overheard stories of the night that Potter and Diggory went to the Graveyard. He knew what many of the other Death Eaters whispered of but didn't dare to believe. They thought Potter to be a liar. But while Draco knew of many negative qualities of the one-who-barely-lived, he'd never known him to be a liar. In fact that annoying, pathetic Gryffindor morality often had him screaming the truth at anyone who'd listen even when it meant consequences for himself. Pathetic.
His hands had curled into fists at his side and he found that he had to pause for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep, silent breath as he stilled the emotions within his raging mind before finishing the walk to the large dining area that was currently serving as the Death Eaters war room. He could feel his muscles slowly relax as he willed his face into the emotionless mask he had become so accustomed to donning. He had been practicing with Bellatrix since his fifth summer, and while he had gotten quite good at occlumency, he knew that if he gave the Dark Lord a reason to look into his mind then he would be able to tear through Draco's defenses like paper.
And he didn't particularly like the thought of that. His mind drifted to Granger's twisted expression and cries of pain the day before and winced slightly. No he didn't want that at all.
He took one more deep breath, schooling his features into a mask of controlled boredom and walked through the imposing wooden doors to the waiting Death Eaters and Dark Lord beyond.
~.~.~
Hermione had counted and recounted the rows in the maze and had determined there were thirty-five rows of twisting pathways to attempt to stumble through if she ever made it out of here. She had hoped knowing just how much of it there was to get through would help the potential task seem less daunting, but unfortunately all it did was further the thought that it would be near impossible to navigate on her own. She was still standing at the window, staring out across the grounds again when Malfoy came through the door of her prison like a raging storm.
Her first instinct was to whip around but she froze before she could let him see the shock that had flitted across her face as the door slammed against the wall. She took a breath before turning her head to glance at him over her shoulder, a look of calm on her face that didn't match the fast-paced beating of her heart. Unlike her, Malfoy didn't seem to be bothered with trying to hide the frustration that seemed to be etched into every line of his face.
"Sit."
He pointed with his wand at her as he hissed the command, glancing at the chair that was now sitting next to the window. She had been unable to sleep well the previous night, waking up what felt like every twenty minutes whenever she would twist or move in a way that made one of her many injuries pang, and had sat in the chair watching the bleak sunrise once she realized continuing her attempt to sleep was futile.
She stared at him for a moment, debating whether or not she would listen to the command. As if they had a mind of their own and understood what disobeying would mean, her sore wrists throbbed dully, almost begging her to cooperate. It wasn't smart to let her pride get in the way right now, all that would be gained by refusing to comply at the moment would be more bruises and uglier welts.
She sat, keeping her blazing brown eyes trained on his aloof grey ones in a fierce look that she hoped conveyed that she was sitting because she chose to and not because of his threat. He seemed to see right through that, letting out a small scoff as she sat.
"I don't have time for games today, mudblood," he snapped as he stalked forward until he stood in front of her, "So today you are going to give me something I want. Something on Potter or the Order. I'll let you choose who to betray first, but you will give me something."
She opened her mouth to argue but he wasted no time before he was again hissing, "Legilimens."
Much like the day before, she was stunned for a moment by the memories that were wrenched forward unexpectedly. It was all she could do to just hang on for dear life as memory after memory flashed before her. In some ways, it was easier this time because this time she had been prepared for the uncomfortable sensations. In other ways, however, it was much harder because today he was in a horrible mood and she could feel every bit of it when he was inside her head.
Anger seeped through her like a poison, and she knew that whatever he had been doing before he came to her today had not been pleasant. His anger was sharp, painful, and tinged with something that was slightly more bitter... desperation. Yes, just beneath the anger she could feel worry and desperation. A tiny part of her wondered what Malfoy could possibly care about enough to feel that kind of concern for but she was struggling to focus past the bits of her life flashing behind her closed eyes like some sort of disjointed movie reel.
An image of a large, black dog padding down a set of small dusty stairs flashed by and she couldn't help the stab of pain that accompanied it as she saw the dog transform into a grinning Sirius. She let herself feel the pain, knowing that allowing Malfoy to see this was safe. They already knew the location of Grimmauld Place, as well as Sirius' involvement. Malfoy seemed to take a moment, likely trying to note as much as possible in hopes that there would be something of importance hanging on the dark walls of his second cousin's home. She knew there wouldn't be. The Death Eaters had gained access to Grimmauld Place after she, Harry, and Ron had left the ministry and would be able to see in person anything that he could see now.
She focused on the pain she felt at Sirius' loss, however, as Malfoy observed the memory. She couldn't risk any emotions or other memories pulling forward that could hint at the things the trio had been looking into while there. She forced herself to feel the grief that accompanied the loss of Harry's godfather, coaxing it and growing it until she felt Malfoy's discomfort and felt him toss the memory to the side as he realized it held nothing of importance to him. He seemed to be searching for anything related to Hogwarts, Harry, Ron, or the Order and as he flipped through her pages she saw a memory she had all but forgotten about floating to the surface. He paused on it, a brief moment of confusion piercing the anger as he realized what he was seeing. The memory was at Hogwarts, and Hermione was crouched in front of a sniffling second year with angry, red words carved into the back of the small hand he was using to try and wipe the tears away. It had been their fifth year, and Hermione had stumbled across the small, blond Slytherin hiding in a dark alcove right after a detention with Umbridge. She had never learned his name, and hadn't cared what house he had been in as she had knelt before him and began wrapping his bleeding hand. She had wiped his tears for him, comforted him, and told him how brave he had been before walking with him to the hall that led down to the dungeons, to ensure he made it back to his common room safely.
Hermione didn't understand why Malfoy stayed on the memory, watching as she tightened the boy's silver and green tie and smoothed his blond hair, so close to the color of Malfoy's own, if just a shade or two darker. She could feel his annoyance, and confusion, as he watched her with the Slytherin, until the memory ended and was replaced by another memory of herself, Harry, and Ron doing homework in the Gryffindor common room next to a roaring fire. He seemed to remember himself then, and cast aside that memory as unimportant before he began rifling through again. She could feel his search becoming angrier, like needles digging into her mind as he continued to look with no luck. He came dangerously close to a memory that could have revealed what Harry was searching for, and he must have felt the small spike of panic as Hermione realized what he was close to because at that, he started to backtrack through the images. Hermione couldn't stop the fear that blossomed in her chest and knew that he had definitely sensed that within her mind as he began to look more quickly through the memories he had passed over. Panicked, Hermione focused on a memory of one of the last Order meetings she had been present for, when they were discussing one of many possible plans to take out Voldemort.
Harry had later told them it wouldn't work to many grumbles of frustration, because of the mission he was on for Dumbledore. True to his promise to their late Headmaster, he had told no one but Ron and Hermione about the Horcruxes. Regardless, he had been so terrified of the Order members rushing into a situation that he knew they'd never come out of, that Hermione reasoned with him Dumbledore wouldn't begrudge him telling them at least that there was a plan.
But there was nothing about that in this memory, and Malfoy didn't know that.
The fear already present within her saturated the memory, and she knew he was convinced he had found something valuable here, that he now had something to take back to his Dark Master.
He spent longer in this memory, forcing her to relive it over and over until she could feel his satisfaction that he had memorized a sufficient amount of it. She thought now that he had found something he could use that he would end their session for the day, but she was wrong.
Apparently, spurred by his believed success, he wanted to find more, go further. He began hunting through her memories faster, those claws again going deeper, and she hated the whimper that forced its way through her lips as the sharp pain radiated from her head down throughout the rest of her body.
He was back among memories of Hogwarts, and she could sense his intention had something to do with Dumbledore. The panic flared again, reignited like an explosion as she realized what he could find within those memories, that Harry had told her and Ron everything about his sessions with Dumbledore. He began to move faster through their sixth year in her mind as he felt her panic, knowing he was close.
She didn't think, didn't let herself question it as she flung forward the first and most painful memory from that year that involved Dumbledore that flashed through her brain.
The seventh floor corridor was dark, filled with an inky blackness that she knew Malfoy would recognize. He was, of course, the one who had thrown the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. It was as if she were reliving the night all over again and she could almost feel Ron to her left, shouting at the other DA members that were with them, while to her right, Malfoy's soft voice was guiding the Death Eaters through the once safe halls of Hogwarts. Safe until he had made it otherwise.
The memory morphed, now later in the night, and Malfoy, Snape, and Bellatrix were running across the grounds. Bellatrix was screaming with unbridled glee as she fired curse after curse, setting Hagrid's hut on fire with a particularly nasty one. Hermione again noted with disgust how Bellatrix looked, dancing with the flames in the red and orange glow they cast upon her. Out of context, Hermione might have believed the scene was at a festival, or maybe one of the bonfires her muggle friends used to spend the long summer nights in front of.
Her attention was again back on the quick moving shapes of the others and something odd happened then, as she and Malfoy watched the Death Eaters tearing across the Hogwarts grounds like a horror film. She hadn't expected much from Malfoy at the scene, maybe a sense of satisfaction if anything, but what she didn't expect was the note of desperation that began emitting from him. It was the same sense of desperation that she had felt when he first tore into her mind...was it minutes ago? Hours? She wasn't sure.
But she was sure of the swirling, complex emotions that he seemed unable to control as he watched himself running from the castle he had resided in for the last six years of his life. Along with the desperation was.... Was that regret? She felt the focus change from his younger self to his aunt and the other hooded figures and there was that anger again, made more violent by the hatred that seemed entwined with it.
The memory changed again and she was sobbing, her head on Ron's shoulder as they sat in the Hospital Wing with the Weasleys, Harry's broken expression beseeching her to make any sense of the situation as he told them Dumbledore was dead. Malfoy's strange mix of emotions changed back to the familiar revulsion she often saw plastered on his face when he saw her and her friends. This was apparently enough for him and seconds later she was once again gasping like a fish out of water as she came back to the now dark room they were in.
She tried to focus on the feeling of the polished, cool wood clutched underneath her hands as she struggled to fight past the throbbing left behind in her mind with his absence, desperately trying to gather herself and gain some sense of control.
She heard the door slam, indicating his departure, and slumped down in the chair, uncaring if he heard the low, pained moan that tumbled from her lips as he walked away. She didn't bother trying to stop the tears rolling down her flushed cheeks as she allowed herself to feel everything that had forced its way forward during this last session. Grief that she had stowed away, for both Dumbledore and Sirius, was once again raw as if she had just watched Dumbledore's lifeless body fall from the Astronomy Tower herself. Her friends' faces were burned into her mind from the last memory and she knew she would give almost anything to again feel the warm embrace of Mrs. Weasley, or hear another one of the twins' stupid jokes. To see her two best friends happy and whole again.
And Godric her head would not. Stop. Bloody. Pounding.
She tried to stand, craving the sweet, complete darkness of her closet; but she was still shaky from Malfoy's invasion and she fell to the floor in a disgraceful heap.
She laid there, until the hammering in her head had dulled to a soft throb and the moon was high in the velvety black sky. She knew she needed to unpack everything she had felt from Malfoy while he had been in her head, but it would have to wait until the morning. She didn't know how much she'd be able to handle without completely unraveling if she didn't get some sleep and soothe the remainder of her headache before Malfoy found his way to her again, ready for another round.
She stood, gingerly and slowly, ensuring that she was steady after her hours on the cold, hard floor. When she was certain she was solid enough to carry herself to the makeshift bed she had made in the back of the closet, she wearily made her way into the smaller space, sighing with relief at the merciful blackness that soothed her aching head. She crawled into her sleeping bag, pulling the thin comforter over her for added warmth as she felt herself being pulled under by the throes of sleep.
~.~.~
Hermione woke, a hand clutching at her chest as she breathed heavily in the darkness. She could see from the sliver of dying moonlight through the crack in the door that it was very early morning, likely close to dawn.
Nightmares had once again plagued her sleep, this time haunting her with images of every one of her loved ones being methodically thrown from the Astronomy Tower, one by one, by a cackling Bellatrix. She tried to soothe her beating heart, telling it that she was safe. Or rather, as safe as she could be given the circumstances, and that all of her friends were too.
It didn't seem to believe her.
That wasn't surprising, considering she didn't either.
She leaned against the smooth wall behind her, watching the moonlight continue to dim until it was replaced by the cool grey of dawn, finally deciding to index the various pains she had accumulated over the past week. Her sore muscles ached as she pulled one arm over her head, stretching it. She was careful not to touch her wrists, which looked much better than the previous day but were still sensitive and mildly painful. Her headache was all but gone, and when she lifted her shirt, the bruise on her side was now a disgusting looking mess of green and yellow. She was glad at that however, because it meant it was healing as it should. Aside from her aching muscles and sore wrists, she thought that with all things considered, the state she was in could be much worse.
A grumble from her stomach punctuated the silence, however, reminding her that although her injuries were lesser, she still had barely eaten over the past week. Eating scarcely for almost two months had forced her to adjust to less sustenance, but the small bit of cheese and stale bread she had eaten since arriving here was less than even she had become accustomed to.
She wondered if someone was supposed to be bringing her food, or if someone had forgotten. Or if it was intentional. She knew they likely wouldn't starve her to death, not yet anyway. Not when Malfoy was clearly so set on wringing every last bit of information he could out of her troubled mind. Though it could be a tactic to weaken her, addle her brain so it was harder for her to fight back.
She blanched at the thought. She was tenacious, but even she couldn't overcome biology. Especially without her wand or any sort of magic. She resolved to shelve her pride and try to find out from Malfoy later when he inevitably came back to leaf through her mind yet again. She knew she could probably call on Bipsy, but was resolved to call on the house elf as little as possible. She didn't want to be the reason a punishment was bestowed upon Bipsy, and she knew the kinds of cruel wizards stalking through this Manor were the kind that would look for any excuse to get their sadistic kicks.
No, she would rather let Malfoy laugh at her then put Bipsy in harm's way. Though she hoped she wouldn't have to let him.
She glanced up and her eyes again fell on the two letters carved into the closet wall, prompting her mind to drift back to the previous day. She was confused by the conflicting emotions emanating from Malfoy when he had first seen her with the small Slytherin boy, and even more so when she had pulled forward the night he let in the Death Eaters. She knew what she had felt from him. Confusion, desperation, anger, hatred. And the majority of the emotions had come forth not when he had seen her or the others, but when he was watching the Death Eaters that he had smuggled in destroying the grounds. She had no idea what it meant, and refused to allow that part of her to run free that always seemed to see the best in those around her. No, if she was going to find out what it meant she would need to be cautious.
She stood, wanting to prepare herself for what she knew would come, and as she made her way into the main room and stared out at the storm clouds rolling in, a plan began to form.