Secrets and Masks

13. Shard of glass

2nd February

Malfoy extended his arm toward the open doorway. "Ladies first," he said smugly.

Hermione's brows shot into her hairline. "Since when are you a fucking gentleman?"

He had the audacity to snort. "I was a gentleman long before I became a Death Eater, Granger." When she didn't move, his smirk twisted into a vicious scowl. "You know I could just drag you through it, don't you?"

Hermione folded her arms across her chest, her nostrils flaring with practiced revulsion.

She'd been planning this for days, carefully filing through her memories and reorganising the doors in her hotel to make sure he saw this memory next.

If this was going to work, he needed to believe she didn't want him to see this memory - just like all the others. She needed him to be cocky enough to let his guard down, and not realise what room he'd entered until after she trapped him there.

She'd laid the trap perfectly, she just had to hope - get on her knees and fucking pray - that he took the bait.

Hermione gave one last irritated huff to sell her performance, then barged her way past him and through the doorway, jabbing her elbow into his ribs as she went.

"Good girl," he chuckled from behind.

Despite the shiver that ran up Hermione's spine when she entered the room, she kept her expression blank, masking the terror she felt threading itself through her bones.

He needed to see this. If any of her memories could hurt Malfoy, this was the one. This one could crack him open and make him bleed the way she wanted. She just needed to keep him here long enough for it to hurt.

Hermione kept walking until they were in the middle of the dimly lit room - at least twenty-five feet from the door that had brought her here. Malfoy followed closely behind, almost side by side.

As the room materialised around them, Hermione tapped her foot nervously against the dark wooden floor.

The drawing-room had an ostentatious looking chandelier hanging overhead that probably cost more than her parent's house, high ceilings with smooth stone pillars, a large fireplace made of the same satiny mineral, and the few pieces of furniture that were scattered in the room were just as dark and miserable as the flooring.

Hermione knew the room well, but the sight of it made her stomach lurch so much she thought she was going to be sick. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

Nine ghostlike figures appeared in front of her; two snatchers, Ron, Harry, a younger version of Hermione, three figures with icy blonde hair - and one with thick, wild curls and murder in her eyes.

Malfoy paled when he realised where they were. He froze when he saw his mother, and Hermione saw that same little emotion flash behind his eyes; a single spark of lightning against the otherwise grey sky.

It only lasted a second before he slammed his Occlumency walls back up, but that was enough. He'd felt something, and Hermione knew that she was right. This memory would hurt him - she just needed to keep him here.

"Well?" Bellatrix asked. Her claws fisted in Harry's hair as she dragged his face upwards. "Is it him?"

The younger version of Malfoy swallowed nervously. He shuffled his weight between his feet, his reluctance clear in the way his eyes flickered from the floor, to Harry, and back again. "I... I can't be sure."