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o.o.O.o.o
Pain was the first thing to filter through to Hermione’s brain. At least that probably meant that she was still alive. She’d been at Azkaban, taking testimony for the mandatory retrials after the scandal surrounding the War Crimes Tribunal. Apparently, several members of that tribunal had been caught taking bribes to ensure certain people were sentenced to life, regardless of the facts in each case. Unfortunately for Hermione, that meant spending countless hours interviewing wizards that looked at her like she was the worst sort of scum imaginable.
She’d been interviewing Rabastan Lestrange when the room had begun to shake. The sound of the tower crumbling around them had been deafening. She could recall a sensation of falling as the floor gave way, but now there was only pain. Each breath was excruciating, and she couldn’t see anything in the oppressive blackness. She tried to move, but a scream tore from her lips as pain laced through her leg.
“Hold still, I’m coming to you.” A voice called from the darkness.
“Who’s there?” she called back.
“An old acquaintance, Miss Granger.”
As he approached, she could recognize his voice. It was Lucius Malfoy. She’d forgotten he was here, if she was honest. He wasn’t one of her case files, and for good reason. Because of the torture she’d endured in his home, it was considered too great a conflict of interest for her to interview him. She’d been offended by the implication that she’d be incapable of being impartial, but she did understand the need to be cautious after one major scandal.
“Mr. Malfoy.” She gasped through gritted teeth.
“Lumos,” he said and a small flare of light spilled through the area, illuminating the predicament they were currently trapped in. “It seems the magical suppression wards have been compromised.”
Hermione felt a wash of heat roll over her as she saw just how badly she was injured. Her left leg was shattered, the dull white of bone gleaming in the soft light. She forced her eyes away from her leg to the pocket they’d found themselves in. It wasn’t very big, and the oppressive black stones of the prison surrounded them, a massive wooden beam seemed to support this little space.
She flinched back a little as Lucius pressed his fingers to her throat, and she realized he was tracking her pulse. Unbidden, her eyes shifted to his face. He was extremely gaunt, looking even more haggard than he had during the war. He was dirty, hair a tangled mess that put her own to shame, and bruised circles marred the skin below his eyes. He looked horrible.
“I can’t quite recall a basic diagnostic spell, but your pulse is thready at best.” He looked at her leg. “I can heal it, but it’s going to hurt, wandless healing is slightly less refined.”
“It’s ok,” she said and gritted her teeth.
He shifted and hovered his hands over the open fracture, clearly concentrating hard. He whispered an incantation, and Hermione couldn’t help the strangled scream that escaped her clenched jaw as the bones mended and the skin healed. With that taken care of, she collapsed onto her back, not even protesting as the convicted murderer gently shifted her away from the blocks that had broken her leg.
“Are you injured anywhere else, Miss Granger?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.” She gave him a small smile.
“It has been some time since anyone has addressed me like that,” he admitted.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, trying to focus on something other than their rather dire predicament.
“Nothing too dramatic, just some scrapes and bruises. I don’t know what happened to Auror Smithers, we were talking when everything collapsed. I think I must have lost consciousness at some point.”
“I was interviewing Rabastan Lestrange,” Hermione said and tried to piece everything together. “I don’t even know what happened to cause this. It could be a while before we get out of here…if we’re lucky.”
“The interview rooms are in the center of the tower, Miss Granger. It’s highly unlikely any search and rescue teams will find us before we run out of breathable air.”
It was the truth, but in this particular moment it was the very worst thing he could have said. Tears stung Hermione’s eyes and she sniffled, trying to scrub them away. She didn’t want to die.
“Forgive me, my manners are somewhat rusty these days,” he said as he allowed the lumos spell to expire.
Darkness wrapped around them, and Hermione found herself reaching over to touch his hand. It was pathetic, but she didn’t want to be alone. He turned his palm up and interlaced his fingers with hers.
“It’s ok…it’s just the truth.” She shook her head.
“Still, it does little good to dwell on it.” He sighed. “If you were interviewing Rabastan, you must be working for the DMLE now.”
“I actually work for the Minister’s office, on a special oversight committee. Kingsley wanted this review handled outside of the DMLE,” she explained.
“I never really pictured you as a politician, Miss Granger. It seems a waste of your prodigious talents,” he said.
“You thought about what kind of career I would have?” She turned her head in the dark, caught off guard by that. “I never thought you’d give two seconds of thought about me.”
“We are all more than most people perceive.” He chuckled. “You were my son’s main academic competition in school and later, one of the largest thorns in the Dark Lord’s side. Without you at Potter’s side, the war would have been much shorter and ended quite differently. It was prudent to think about you,” he said. “I always pictured you pursuing a mastery and becoming an author or even perhaps a Professor one day. Politics is a dirty game with few rewards and little true renown. Frankly, you’re better than that.”
“I guess after the war it just seemed that everyone expected me to join the Ministry, so I did.” Putting it like that, it seemed such a cop-out.
“If you manage to make it out of here…might I suggest applying for a Charms apprenticeship? I am certain your old Professor would be ecstatic about accepting you,” Lucius said. “So few actually pursue higher education, you might set an important example for the students at Hogwarts.”
“I’ll think about it. If I get out of here,” she said quietly.
“When you get out of here, Miss Granger. When.” He pulled her hand into his lap and patted it reassuringly. Together they waited in the dark, hoping for help to come.