A war has many casualties “ among them trust, courage, love. Hermione had seen all of them die on the battlefield that took her friends. She had seen trust die when Seamus turned out to be a spy. She had seen courage die when their ranks fell and those she thought were loyal friends started to flee. She had seen love die in her arms as she cradled Ron’s lifeless body, before leaving it to the scavengers of the night.
She had seen them all die, and with them her hope had died too. The battle had been lost. Harry was dead along with Ron and most of his family. No one knew the whereabouts of the rest of them. Just as no one knew the whereabouts of her. They were all scattered, on the run, hunted by the people that they were supposed to have beaten.
If she could, she would have cried. As it was she never dared, afraid that if she started she would never stop. Afraid that the pain would overwhelm her, claim her, leave her unable to keep fighting, keep moving, running, hiding. She had promised Ron she would go on. She wasn’t about to break her promise. And so she never cried. She never stopped to feel. She kept moving from one safe house to another, laying her life in the hands of people she wasn’t sure could be trusted. Taking every precaution she could to prevent them from betraying her.
Her efforts had been in vain this time.
The moment she heard them, she knew she was betrayed. She shivered slightly as she hid in a small shed in the back of a garden, knowing that it wouldn’t be hidden as its owner promised her it would be. Listening to the voices outside, she knew she was surrounded. From behind she could hear the Malfoys, both father and son, from the right Crabbe and Goyle, from the left several others, both known and unknown voices. Many were voices that she’d heard before, but couldn’t place. More were voices she’d never heard before and far too many were voices she knew far too well from her side of the war. Or what she thought was her side of the war. Voldemort was steadily gaining followers from all ranks now when no one stood in his way.
Her knuckles turned white as her grip on her wand tightened. There would be no Disapparating out of here, they would have made sure of that. Just as they would have made sure that there were no other ways out. It was over. Months, no years, of running, and it would all be over in a dirty shed in a traitor’s backyard. Swallowing hard, Hermione strengthened her resolve. She wouldn’t go without fighting. She would take as many of them with her as she had the power to. The shed wasn’t big and the entrance would never fit more than one. She would kill them, one by one as they entered; not stopping until she, herself was killed.
Closing her eyes for only a moment, she got ready to move in front of the door. The moment proved too long. The mistake too big as she was pressed up against the wall, a hand clamped down on her mouth and her wand wrung from her own hand.
Staring at the dark skin of the man that would be her death she wondered how he could have moved so quietly, so quickly. The others were still moving outside, talking, whispering. He wasn’t making a sound. She felt the ropes of his wand sneak around her body as he whispered the spell. Then he backed away, making her to fall to the floor, the ropes making it impossible to stand, to fight. But he didn’t move far. He didn’t call the others. Instead he ripped of a piece of the sheet from the small, creaky bed and muttered a spell she couldn’t distinguish. Turning back to face her, he stuck the piece of cloth inside the ropes that tied her, before stepped back once more.
The only thing she felt when the portkey activated was surprise.
She landed hard, her body soon aching from the bruises caused by the cold stone floor. There was someone there with her, someone small, someone who untied her. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom of the room she could make out a house-elf struggling with the ropes and knots that kept her limbs from moving.
Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered why. Why was the house-elf untying her? Why hadn’t he killed her at once when he had the chance? Why hadn’t Zabini handed her over to the others? Why this? Why was she here? Where was here?
Looking around the small room, Hermione noted that it looked like most rooms she’d stayed in over the past years, only even more like a cell. It was quiet, she could hear no sounds from outside, which probably meant no sounds she made would be heard outside the room either. There was no window, no way to see inside, no normal light from outside that would tell her when the night had turned to day. A small candle cast the only light in the room. It wasn’t nearly enough to see well. A bed, a nightstand supporting the candle, a small table and a chair. No other furniture. Just the bare stone walls. No decorations, no window, not even a door.
Tentatively Hermione moved her limbs as the house-elf finished untying her. She wanted to say thank you, but the house-elf Disapparated before she had the chance. Still somehow Hermione didn’t need to try to know that the wizard form of Apparation wouldn’t work in here. Not for her anyway.
Getting up from the stone floor, Hermione started to examine the room more carefully. She knew there had to be a door, yet no matter how hard she searched she couldn’t find one. The feeling and cold of the room alone told her she was in someone’s dungeon, the only question was whose dungeon. Curling up on the bed she started to wait. There wasn’t much else to do. She was caught, trapped, most likely would be dead in a few hours. Whatever the reason for her being brought here, her respite would probably not last that long. In all likelihood they only wanted information from her first. Not that she would ever give them any. Her only hope now was that they wouldn’t torture her for too long. That she would still have her sanity when she died. That Voldemort wouldn’t be able to intrude on her mind before she was allowed to join Ron on the other side. Silently she wished she was dead already.
She awoke from being firmly shaken. Groggy and sleep-fogged, it took a few moments to remember where she was and why. He was standing with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall when she finally woke properly, looking bored and slightly restless. No sign that he just a few moments ago had been bent over her in an attempt to wake her. There was food on the small table next to him, and water to drink. She suddenly felt very thirsty. Not that she would give in that easy. There would certainly be a catch.
“Finally. That took a while,” he said, impatience in his voice as he spoke. She watched him, not sure of what to say. Questions would be useless, she was sure, and the way his long fingers drummed on his arm she was convinced he wasn’t in the mood to chat. Then why would he be? She was his prisoner after all. He was just the guard.
“I didn’t know you were in such a hurry,” she said, hoarsely, her throat sore after being forced into silence for too many weeks, her ears not used to the sound of her own voice. “What’s the problem? Can’t you kill me while I’m sleeping?”
He snorted, disdainfully. “If your death was what I was after I would have killed you last night.”
“Then why didn’t you?” Hermione asked, before she could stop herself.
“And here I thought you were the smart one. The greatest witch of our year and all that crap,” he said, rolling his dark eyes. Hermione didn’t answer. Instead she watched him, hoping that he’d decide to tell her anyway. He didn’t. With a tired sigh he pushed away from the wall.
“Eat,” he said. “You’re probably hungry.”
Not until he moved towards the wall at the foot of the bed did Hermione see that there was now a door. Wanting answers before he left but unable to find the right questions, Hermione lashed out.
“If you think you’re going to get any information from me you’re wrong. You might as well kill me now, because I will never become a traitor!” His hand was already on the doorknob, yet he stopped himself from turning it when he heard her. Slowly he turned, letting his almost black eyes study her intently.
“You still haven’t understood, have you?” he said, softly. “If the others had got to you last night you would be dead. They don’t care about any information you might have to share and frankly neither do I.” He quieted for a while, watching her, as if pondering what to do next, before he started talking again:
“I saved your life last night, Granger. You’re here as my guest. If you don’t want to stay here, feel free to leave.”
“And how am I supposed to do that without a wand?” Hermione asked, defiantly.
”Through the door, perhaps?” he answered, sarcastically. “Besides, if you’re so smart, there shouldn’t be a problem for you to get a hold of a new wand. Not that it would matter in the long run anyway,” he finished.
“And why is that?”
“Because you wouldn’t last long. Voldemort has spies everywhere, and he will find you sooner or later. Your only hope is that he finds you before Malfoy does. Voldemort would simply kill you, or send someone else to do so. Malfoy would have his fun first. I’ve seen him do it. I’ve seen the girls beg for death when he’s done. But it’s your call. If you think you’re better off out there than here, go ahead and leave.”
He had left the room before she could oppose him. Shivering at the thought of having Draco touch her in any way, shape or form, she sat back down on the bed. The door was still there. Whatever magic had hid it from her view last night was taken from it now. She hadn’t heard a lock turn. Had he really meant it when he said that she could leave?
Frowning Hermione curled up and looked around the room, trying to find a clue to what was going on. Her eyes fell far too quickly on the plate of food on the table in front of her. Feeling her stomach growl at the mere thought of food she tentatively stood up and walked up to the table. It wasn’t a spectacular meal. It was rather plain, ordinary, probably cold by now. But she hadn’t eaten properly for at least two days, depending mostly on how long she’d slept last night. With no window she couldn’t look outside for a clue about the time. For all she knew it might very well be night again.
Hesitantly, Hermione sat down, staring at the food, wondering what to do. If she ate, she would have more strength. If she were to get out of here, she definitely needed her strength. But then the food might contain something. Veritaserum, perhaps to make interrogation easier. Or maybe just some potion to prevent her from going away. A sleeping potion perhaps? Still, without food she wouldn’t last long. And if she left she couldn’t know how long it would be before she received another meal. When she thought about it she couldn’t be sure when she would be allowed to eat next even if she was forced to stay. Nervously, she fidgeted the fork before she finally took the first bite.
It wasn’t particularly tasty. Rather it was cold and the potatoes had gone soggy from standing around for too long. It was still the best thing she’d tasted in a very long time. Annoyed, Hermione ate quickly, pushing away the feeling of gratitude she felt for the food. She would be damned if she started to feel grateful to a Death Eater, even if he seemingly had saved her life, although she hadn’t completely decided to trust him about that. Just as she hadn’t decided to trust him about the door being left unlocked or unguarded. But then there was only one way to find out the latter now wasn’t there?
With the food eaten and her breath caught in her throat, Hermione walked over to the door and tried the knob. She wasn’t sure what she expected exactly, for it to be locked or for a band of Death Eaters to stand on the other side waiting to kill her. She rather was hoping for the latter. At least then it would be over with.
She watched with trepidation when the door swung open, but to her surprise there were no Death Eaters or guards on the other side. Not even a house-elf. Only an empty corridor, made from nothing but cold grey stone. Again, there was no decoration to think of, and Hermione couldn’t help but think that it didn’t look like it was used frequently. Biting her lower lip, Hermione walked through the door, closing it quietly behind her.
She was half expecting to run into the guards she was sure should have been posted outside her door. Had Zabini made them move so that she would be fooled into a false sense of security? But then why would he do that? What was his reason for doing something like that? Why let her move freely at all? Why not just lock the door? In spite of her fears, Hermione continued to walk towards what she thought was an exit, eventually finding herself standing in what she supposed to be the ground floor of the Zabini-manor. She was still nervous, but at least this part of the house looked as if it was being lived in.
She ducked behind a big red curtain at the back of a door when she heard Draco’s familiar voice coming from a room right next to her. Feeling the sweat start to trickle down her neck, she tried to be quiet as she peeked into the room from the creak between the door and wall.
Draco was standing with his back turned to her, facing Zabini in the middle of the large room, that couldn’t be anything but the manor’s drawing room. He seemed upset. His voice was strained at best, and his hands kept fisting around “ around her wand. Shivering, she held her breath, afraid to attract attention as she listened.
“…you still haven’t answered me, Zabini!” Draco snapped.
“I don’t answer to you, Draco. I answer to the Dark Lord and no one else, and last I checked he wasn’t unhappy with my performance last night. I was the only one of us that found anything, after all. I was the one that brought you that wand, wasn’t I?” Zabini answered, looking nothing like a man confronted by a superior, but rather as if he was having a pleasant conversation over a cup of tea.
“A wand is hardly the same as a person!” Draco retorted, sounding as if he would lose what little temper he had left. “If you followed orders and stuck together with Nott“”
“So now I’m to blame for Nott taking off into the forest?” Zabini interrupted, quickly, crooking an eyebrow. “Would you rather have had me follow and leave my post?”
“He didn’t run off into the forest “ he was sent there by you!” Draco nearly shouted.
“Says who?” Zabini replied, a hint of anger in his own voice as well. His features were still calm however. His face still held the same haughty expression as before, the colour of his skin probably helping him not to flush too easily.
“Says Nott!” Draco answered, coolly.
“And you believe him? He runs off into nowhere, leaving his assigned post while I do my job and find the only solid piece of evidence we have, and you believe him?” Zabini hissed, his dark eyes narrowing as he watched Draco intently. Hermione found herself wondering if his gaze would be as intense if his eyes had been lighter in colour. If he had Draco’s grey eyes, would his gaze still look as if it could pierce straight through you?
”You don’t think I should?” Draco answered, and Hermione could almost hear the raise of his eyebrows.
“Well, that, of course, would be up to you,” Blaise said, calmly, his eyes and features returning to the same distant haughty look they had before. “You might want to think about it one more time, though. I wasn’t the one to leave my post. I wasn’t the one to disobey a direct order. I wasn’t the one that was alone in a forest around the same time as our catch was slipping through our fingers. A catch that should have had no way of knowing we were coming. A catch who should have been unprepared and surrounded, but who still managed to get away somehow. You don’t find that the least bit odd?” he added.
Draco didn’t reply this time. Instead he started pacing the room, twirling her wand between his fingers as if it was his own. He looked unsettled and angry, the muscles in his jaw working furiously as he clenched them together.
“That little piece of vermin,” he then muttered under his breath and turned back to face Zabini again. “Not a word of this to anyone. I will handle that little prat, myself. Thinking he can fool me. Me a Malfoy! There is going to be hell to pay for him, Zabini “ be sure of that!” he finished. Moments later Draco was storming out through the door, passing so close by her that Hermione could feel the curtain ruffling as he brushed past it.
With her breath caught in her throat Hermione stood still, not daring to move, not knowing if Draco was still there or not. If she had had her wand she wouldn’t have missed the chance, but she was not about to let him kill her using her own wand. Or worse. She still remembered what Zabini had told her about those getting caught by Draco. Right now there were few things she could imagine to be worse than that.
“You can come out now. He’s gone.”
Zabini’s voice startled her. How could he know she was there? Slightly nervous she stepped out, squaring her shoulders not to let her nervousness show.
“I guess this means you’ve decided to leave, then,” he said, plainly, not an emotion showing in his face. No trace of the lie he’d just told. No sign to show that he’d just sentenced a man to death by the mere use of his voice. Taking a deep breath, Hermione nodded her reply. After all, how did you speak to a man that killed so easily? So coldly? So effortless?
“You might want to wait until Draco is further away. Not that it will make much difference to your life, but I would rather you didn’t get yourself caught on my property,” he said, matter-of-factly, looking out through a large window overlooking a larger garden.
“That would be the only thing concerning you, wouldn’t it?” Hermione regretted the words the moment she had spoken them. What if he changed his mind about letting her go? What if he decided to hand her over to Voldemort, after all? When he turned to look at her he didn’t seem to have any such thing on his mind. But then he hadn’t looked like he wanted to kill someone when he convinced Draco that Nott was a spy.
“Of course it would! I have no wish to die. If you want to do so then there is really nothing I can do to stop you, but I do demand that you don’t bring me down with you,” Zabini answered, simply.
“If you care so little then why did you save me in the first place?”
“You haven’t figured that out yet?” he asked, crossing his arms in front of him as he watched her. “Voldemort is losing, Granger. He may look strong, but he’s not. The resistance is growing, and if I’m right the next one that raises a wand against Voldemort might very well be the one that kills him. If I’m right he isn’t as immortal as he thinks he is.”
“If you’re right?” Hermione asked, trying not to let the surprise of hearing a Death Eater saying Voldemort’s name show.
“If I’m right,” he confirmed. “I’m not a stupid man, Granger. I don’t swear allegiance without knowing who I swear allegiance to. I found out all there was to know about Voldemort a long time ago. I know all about his horcruxes, and if I am right, Potter wouldn’t have entered into a battle with him unless every single one of those had been destroyed. Potter didn’t stay alive as long as he did through being that stupid. He went into that fight knowing he could win.”
“How…how do you know about…?” Hermione couldn’t even finish the sentence, too stunned to speak.
“Did you really think that you and your friends were the only ones that knew? People talk, Granger. And I’m a very good at convincing them to,” he said.
“Convincing them? You mean torture them?” Hermione said heatedly, feeling the anger rise within her.
“I don’t torture people!” Zabini snapped, taking a step closer.
“So you just kill people, then!” Hermione snapped back. He may be a killer, but she wasn’t about to let herself be intimidated.
“If necessary, yes I do!” he answered coldly, his face set in stone. “And don’t try and tell me that you never have,” he added with a quirk of his eyebrow.
“On the battlefield and in self-defence only! I never killed someone that wasn’t trying to kill me and I never stabbed a friend in the back with lies!” Hermione retorted heatedly, her face getting flushed with agitation. How could he even begin to compare himself with her?
“And you don’t think today was a battlefield?” Zabini returned, his face for the first time showing any sign of emotion. “Do you think Draco was here on a social visit? That he was here for a cup of tea? He was here to kill me! Nott knew why I sent him away last night. He’d figured it out, and he’d told Draco. It was me or him “ as simple as that. I did what was necessary to save my life! And yours - or do you really think you would have been able to hide behind that curtain, with Draco searching the premises?” Zabini was standing only a small distance away from her now, his face so close she could feel his breath on her skin “ then he moved, turning away facing the fireplace.
“So you killed him for telling the truth. For not betraying what he believes in?” Hermione asked.
“Yes! I did. It was necessary to save our lives. And if you think I take lightly on that, then you can stop, because I don’t. I’ve known Nott since I was eleven, and I like him far more than I do you,” he answered, his voice reminding her of velvet “ deep, rich, soft. Impressions could be deceiving.
“Then why save me in the first place, you must have known he would realise the truth?” Hermione asked, her voice calmer this time, even though her insides were revolting.
“I’ve already told you “ Voldemort will lose the war. He is failing. He doesn’t see it, nor will he ever see it, but there will always be people like you “ willing to fight no matter what the odds. The next one might well be the one that kills him, and if “ when “ that happens, I’ll need you,” he said turning back to face her again.
“To do what, exactly?” she asked surprised, knowing that whatever it was, she wouldn’t go along with it.
“For a smart witch you’re really stupid, you know that?” he snapped impatiently. “To tell them I saved you, of course. To keep me alive and out of Azkaban.”
“And why would you think that anything I’d say would make any difference?” Hermione answered spitefully.
“You really don’t know, do you? You really don’t understand?” He asked, his face frowning, his voice full of surprise.
“Understand what?” she asked plainly.
“What an icon you are to the resistance.”
“I am?” She could hear how stupid it sounded. She knew she would probably know what he was talking about if she wasn’t so out of the loop of what was going on in the world. Once it had been her that held all the information. She had been the one to know what was going on, to keep track of new developments. Lately she felt lucky if she came across a newspaper that was three weeks old.
“Of course you are! You’re the one that got away. The one that keeps slipping through Voldemort’s fingers - the only one he cannot catch,” Zabini explained, as if talking to a small child. “Why do you think he is so desperate to find you? He wants you dead, Granger, because your mere existence is a threat to him,” he continued. “And that is why your word is going to help me when that day comes.”
“So you saved me, only to save yourself,” Hermione said resentfully.
“What did you think? That it was some noble act, for some noble reason? In the end, self preservation is the only thing that matters,” he said plainly, crossing his arms.
“Talking like a true Slytherin!”
“Good thing for you that I am one. Or haven’t you trusted enough people to do things for the right reasons, only to find yourself betrayed for the wrong ones yet?” he asked raising his eyebrows, burning into her with his eyes. She shuddered, feeling his comments hitting too close to home, his eyes looking too deep inside her. Looking down, she tried to shake off the feeling of intrusion. She wouldn’t put it past him to be a Legimens, and she was not about to give him the opportunity to read her mind. He, however, just continued. “How many times is it now, Granger? How many times have you been forced to run because those you trusted failed you?”
“I don’t trust people. Not for any reason. And I certainly won’t trust a Death Eater like you!” she answered, raising her head in defiance, meeting his gaze with spite.
“Then don’t! I don’t care for your trust. I care for staying alive. Giving you up will kill me. Plain and simple. I have no wish for death. It’s not trust, Granger, it’s logic,” he said, not taking her challenge, just meeting her eyes calmly. “Do we have a deal?” he then asked, just as calmly.
Maybe it was because she was tired of running, or maybe because he didn’t ask him to trust her. Mostly, however, it was because he mentioned logic. Logic was tangible. Logic was countable and reliable. Logic was something she had inside her, something no one could ever take away from her.
“Yes we have a deal,” she answered, holding out her hand, curious whether he would shake hands with a Mudblood like her. Watching her hand he reached out and squeezed it quickly.
“Good!” He turned and pulled a cord hanging from the wall. The house-elf that helped her the other night entered the room. “This is Minny, I think you met her last night. She’ll help you find your way down again.”
Hermione bit back a comment about house-elves being enslaved, and nodded. This wasn’t the time or place to have an argument about that. Besides, she was tired and spent and really didn’t have the energy anymore.
Hermione followed the house-elf named Minny down the stairs she had climbed earlier. Down the narrow tunnels that were the dungeon. Curious, Hermione wondered how many more rooms like hers there were hidden in the walls of the Zabini-manor dungeons.
The door was still there when they returned but it vanished as soon as Minny closed it behind her, leaving Hermione inside the small room, once more trapped without the opportunity to leave, once more feeling like a prisoner.
Looking in front of her, Hermione could see that the bed had been made. Fresh sheets and covers had replaced the ones she slept on the night before. These too, were plain and without decoration, not that it mattered. They looked quite warm and comfortable, suitable for a dungeon. Probably warmer than the worn blankets that sheltered her in cold nights previously.
Looking around the room she saw that other things had changed, a door on the wall to the right, a trunk by the end of the bed, much as their trunks at Hogwarts. She pushed the memory away, trying not to think about a happier time than this. With a deep breath she decided to start with the trunk and sat down on the floor and opened it. As could be expected, there were clothes inside.
They weren’t fancy, or beautiful, but practical and warm. The clothes of a war. Picking out a nightgown, Hermione wondered how long it had been since she slept in anything other than her own clothes “ always sleeping with half an eye open, always ready to move if she was betrayed. She wasn’t even sure how long it had been since she changed her present clothing, or how long ago it had been since she had time to wash them properly “ not with cleaning spells, but with water and soap, taking the time to rinse them thoroughly.
Closing the trunk she got up. It didn’t matter that the clothes came from Zabini. It didn’t matter that she didn’t trust him. They were clean and in one piece, which was more than she could say for the ones she was wearing. With the nightgown in hand she then turned towards the new door in the room, hoping it would be a toilet.
She was right, it was a toilet. But more than that, it was a bathroom. Staring at the bath, Hermione felt amazed that she even knew what it was still. Not once during the last five months had she ever had time to soak in a bath. Quick showers. Swims in the nearest river, pond or lake. Scrubbing of with a conjured sponge in front of a sink. A bath hadn’t even entered her mind. She didn’t have time to think of things like that, and if she did it would only drive her insane. She couldn’t afford that. And yet here she was, staring at a bathtub, for the first time in months with time enough on her hands to use it.
She watched as the bath filled. The sound of the running water almost enough to put her asleep. She was almost afraid to step inside the tub; the feeling of relaxation one she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a very long time. When she did, she sighed as the warm water enveloped her, caressed her, soothed her as it allowed her to wash in a way she had nearly forced herself to forget.
When she rose she left her old robes where they lay discarded and dressed in the nightgown she had found. It would have been a perfect fit, had she still been the same size as she once was. As she was now the nightgown fell loosely around her, a couple of sizes too big. She didn’t care. But then she cared so little about things nowadays, always pushing the feelings aside. Hopefully there would be a time for feelings later. For now she needed to concentrate on staying alive. She had promised Ron that she would go on. If it meant using Zabini to stay alive than so be it.