Not Quite Dark Magic

Captured

Hermione listened as Bellatrix's footsteps echoed in the silent room. It was mostly empty, with just the throne-like chair placed at the very end of the room, right by the fireplace, which despite the cold atmosphere, remained barren and dark. She wondered if it was still connected to the floo line. It would make for a quick escape if she was desperate enough.

The rest of the crowd stood just on the other side of the double doors, peering in quietly. Not even a whisper could be heard. She arched her head around. There had to be at least fifty of them. And they all knew what was coming, what Voldemort planned to do with her. It was vulgar. She knew the crudeness of the Death Eaters better than most, but to see so many of them all gathered in one spot, on edge and eager to see her fate... her stomach twisted and she bit back the wave of nausea.

Voldemort did not take his eyes off her, therefore she made no move either. Her gaze swept across the room but she stayed in place, spine straight and nose in the air. If it was a pissing contest he was after, she had no issue delivering. And winning. She would always win.

She heard the echo of sets of footsteps not long afterwards. Several people.

She had Occluded so expertly that she'd nearly forgotten Draco's importance in her life. For a moment, he was just another Death Eater ready to spit on her and call her names. She still knew of him, of course. She was aware of his importance in the Death Eater rankings, but she felt absolutely no emotions towards this. When his blonde head appeared in front of her, her breath nearly caught.

Their bind thrummed to life. She wasn't afraid; she was confident in her abilities and her plan. But Draco's terror was paralyzing in the slow, icy way it traveled from him to her, starting in her numb fingertips, still tied clumsily behind her back, and working its way up to her heart, where it settled and began speeding up the careful rhythm she had worked expertly to keep. She closed her eyes and focused on steadying it, on blocking Draco out.

It all had happened so quickly that Hermione didn't realize that he hadn't even cast a single glance at her. She opened them again to see him standing in front of her, Bellatrix flanking one side and Narcissa Malfoy on the other. Hermione hadn't seen her since the Battle of Hogwarts. Her hair looked the same, the way she held herself still screamed aristocracy and she gave off an air of arrogance that reminded Hermione all too much of Draco.

She didn't miss the trembling in her shoulders, though. So subtle that anyone who didn't know to look for it wouldn't be able to find it. She stood protectively by her son, hovering like he might need defending at any moment. Her wand was clutched tightly in her left hand.

"My Lord," Draco greeted with a bow.

"Draco," Voldemort nodded. "I believe you might recognize the prize that Pucey has gifted us with." He gestured behind Draco and he turned, as if noticing Hermione for the first time.

His eyes appraised her, one brow lifted and lips turned down, as if disinterested. Hermione glared back. It was easy to do; she was still mad at him. She let her emotions flow forward just a bit to make her act easier to believe. There was nothing like the truth when it came to lying.

He made it look so simple, as if he really hadn't seen her since their school days, as if he hadn't spent the past week and half begging her to reconsider this exact situation. As if he didn't care about her. He deserved an Oscar. She'd tell him that, after this was all over and he had begged for her forgiveness properly.

It was all lies, all of it and it hurt more than she wanted to think about in that moment. He was fully Occluded and so was she. She mirrored his indifference. She reigned in her emotions again, closing her eyes and calming the current in her mind until it was eerily still.