Hermione reappeared in a dark foyer. It was an immaculate, empty room. A black, lacquered, circular table sat in the center of the room. There was a large bouquet of white flowers on the table.
She turned slowly. She didn't want to miss any details, but the stupid wings of the bonnet acted like blinders. She could only see straight ahead.
A large stairway lay to the right. Cold hallways led into darkness and further into the house. It was a manor, and an enormous one based on the width of the staircase.
"Hello, Mudblood."
A cold voice made her freeze.
Slowly turning all the way around, she found Draco Malfoy.
He was older.
Her last memory of him was fifth year when he was on the Inquisitorial Squad. He had grown taller. He towered over her, and his face had lost every trace of boyishness. There was a dangerous, refined brutality in the way he held himself.
The way he looked at her...
His eyes were like a wolf's; cold and feral.
The deadliness in him was palpable. As he looked down at her, she felt certain, he could lean forward and cut her throat while staring in her eyes. Then step back, only caring that she not get blood on his shoes.
He was the High Reeve.
Voldemort's right hand. His executioner.
The number of her friends that he had murdered: Ginny, McGonagall, Moody, Neville, Dean, Seamus, Professor Sprout, Madam Pomfrey, Flitwick, Oliver Wood... the list went on and on. Aside from those who had been tortured to death immediately after the final battle-every person that she knew to be dead following the war-the High Reeve had killed them.
The girls had whispered to her during the first few nights. Telling her about the world of horror she had missed while locked under Hogwarts.
She hadn't thought he could be someone she knew.
Someone so young.
Terror welled up inside her. She wasn't sure what to do to handle the shock.
Before she could react-or even process the realisation-his eyes locked into hers, and he abruptly slammed his way into her mind.
The force almost made her black out.
His mental intrusion was like a blade, driving straight into her memories. He sliced through the fragile barrier that she tried to erect with the shreds of internal magic she could summon. He drilled into her blocked memories.
It was like having a nail driven into her head.
The precision and the unrelenting force.
He wouldn't stop trying to break through. It felt almost worse than the cruciatus curse. It lasted longer than the torture curse could without driving the recipient insane.
When he finally stopped, she found herself lying on the ground. Malfoy was standing over her, staring down at her as she shuddered from the trauma of his intrusion.
"So, you really have forgotten everything," he said as he appraised her. "What is it you think you're protecting in that brain of yours? You lost the war."
She couldn't answer.
She had no answer.
"Oh well," he said, straightening his robes slightly. "The Dark Lord was kind enough to send you to me. If ever you do recover your memories, I'll be the first to know."
