Unforgiveable Sinner

Chapter One: A Reunion Of Sorts

"Are you listening, Miss Granger?"

Hermione blinked, her mind travelling back to her body as she glanced over at the man in front of her. Mad-Eye Moody pursed his lips, his face contorted into an unreadable expression as her observed the young woman standing before him.

"Of course Sir," she murmured.

Moody gave her one last suspicious look, before turning back to Tonks who was admiring the ocean surrounding the large island they had Apparated to. They were at Azkaban. Even the name sounded chilling. Hermione couldn't help but muse why she was here, which was a very unfortunate reason. After all, she could have been anywhere at this moment, but her choice of career had been the challenging type.

She had graduated Hogwarts three years ago; deciding that her exam scores could be put to the best use possible whilst the war raged: she had decided to become an Auror. Harry however, once becoming of age had joined the Order, dedicating all his time and energy into the only possible resource he deemed capable of bringing down Voldemort.

And Ron... well, Ron was Ron. He had decided to not let Voldemort's ever-present shadow bring down his ambitious nature and had applied for a position on the Chudley Cannons. To his greatest luck (and a little help from Harry), he had scored the position of Keeper and had recently helped his team secure the World Cup.

Hermione and Harry had married straight out of Hogwarts and even though at times he seemed to be completely distracted by the Order and the war, they did have a very comfortable life together. So why was she at Azkaban? Simple. With the war waging, many deatheaters had been captured already. But with Voldemort still looming, they couldn't risk him reclaiming his lost men. They couldn't have them all put to death either, not when many of them were sure to hold the secrets to Voldemort's plans.

So now, she along with five other Aurors in training had come with their commanders, Tonks and Moody, to try to squeeze the last bit of knowledge from the prisoners. As she wandered into the large stone building, the outside that resembled a long corroded castle, Hermione couldn't help but shudder.

The dementors had fled Azkaban at the end of fifth year, choosing to serve Voldemort in his wicked plans, so now the wizarding prison was guarded by Aurors; who were permitted to use the forbidden curses if need be, and many other deadly charms and precautions had been installed.

But still, even after five years, the dementor's presence had made an impression on the island. The grey atmosphere, the stench of death which mixed with the sea breeze and the sullen expressions that each of her comrades held only added to the effect.

"Now remember," Moody's gruff voice bellowed around them all as he led them into a large grey corridor, "your subjects will probably be hostile. I don't have instructions about which punishments each have been given, but your job isn't to control them. That's their job."

And the old, scruffy man pointed to Aurors, who were standing diligently by the hallway of doors.

"Your job is to interview them. Find out whatever you can about them, whatever makes them tick. How they came into league with the Dark Lord, why they committed the crimes they're being incarcerated for and whatever else they have to offer us."

The group of Aurors nodded slowly; one even went as far as to begin etching down his instructions.

"And above all things people, CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he boomed, making each of them jump slightly. After all these years, Hermione still hadn't gotten used to his little fits of paranoia.

"These people are dangerous criminals and even though they don't have their wands, they're not all stupid oafs. If you find yourself in trouble, call for a guard or for myself."

With that said and with each of the young Aurors feeling the slightest feeling of unease; Moody seemed to feel he had done his job and issued towards Tonks, who handed them each a small white envelope.

"Your subjects have been chosen by myself and Mr. Moody, so there'll be no switching. If at anytime you feel you won't be able to handle the deatheater you've been assigned, then please come to one of us and we'll see what we can work out," she said a plainly, forcing a small smile. She was obviously trying to keep them cheery, though it didn't look like she would succeed anytime soon.

As the other students around her tore open their envelopes, Hermione hesitated. Perhaps it was a bad idea to volunteer for this mission. Perhaps she should have signed herself up in guarding Hogwarts, rather than coming to such a bleak and lifeless place. But it was too late to back out now, especially when she had no real cause to. She fumbled with the envelope, before pulling out a small piece of white card with four words scrolled across it in black ink.

Draco Malfoy - Room 98

Hermione breathed in deeply, almost dropping the card. No one else seemed surprised by who they had gotten and she wondered, by what cruel twist of fate had Moody and Tonks decided that she was best off interviewing him: the one boy who she was known to have hated so ruthlessly. The one boy who had caused so much pain and anguish to her friends and to the Weasleys.

Moody was watching her with his magical eye, not surprised by the look of horror, which captured her petite and pale face. She found herself wanting to rush over and question him. Why was he so morbidly stupid as to allow her into a locked cell, with a wand, to question Malfoy?

But Moody turned away from her, suddenly discussing something in hushed voices with Tonks. Hermione shook her head and swallowed the large lump that had formed in the base of her throat. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. Perhaps being the key word.

Two of the other Aurors had already gone towards their respective interview rooms, so Hermione braced herself and headed down the long corridor in search of Room 98. She paused outside the door, composing herself. One of the guards gave her a grim smile, which she returned before she stepped inside.

She was in a large white room. In front of her was a large, metal desk with two aluminium chairs facing opposite of each other and sitting in one of them, with an eyebrow raised in a rather curious expression on his face, was Draco.

He was wearing long; lanky grey robes, which, although covered in soot and dirt, were quite clean, compared to those she had seen Sirius wearing the night they had met in the Shrieking Shack. His silver-blonde hair was matted and fell messily down around his grey eyes. His pale face was gaunt, sallow and unchanging as he watched her walk silently across the room and sit down.

Draco's eyes ran up the length of her body, making her uncomfortable for a moment before she cleared her throat.

"So," he began, "what on earth are you doing paying me a visit?"

"I'm here to interview you, it's Ministry business," she muttered.

"Let me guess, that paranoid fool Moody thinks half us deatheaters are going to lose our minds and attempt escapes?" he asked, picking at the hem of his robes.

"Something like that."

Hermione reached into her handbag and retrieved a notebook. She opened it up in front of her, pulled out a quill, an ink pot and checked her watch. Scribbling across the top of her page, she wrote:

Subject: Draco Malfoy

Time: 2:42pm

After doing so, she gripped the quill firmly in her hand and turned back up to look at the young man sitting before her. His curious expression had not disappeared and he merely raised his chin, smirking at her.

"Mr. Malfoy-"

"It's Draco," he cut in, indifferent to the look of annoyance on her face. She muttered something incoherent under her breath, but nodded.

"Fine, Draco. How long have you been held in Azkaban?"

"One year, several months and sixteen days," he muttered."Though I can count the hours, minutes and seconds for you if you wish."

She had to use all her self-control to refrain from scowling. Well, he had certainly not changed since the last time she had seen him. And here she was, hoping against hope that Azkaban had done something to his brain, to lower him beyond the cynical brat. Ah well, she scribbled this down anyway.

"And why is it that you were detained to the custody of Azkaban?"

Draco sighed. "Because Fudge and Dumbledore had no idea where to put me."

"Please state for the record, the exact reason you are being held here," Hermione said stiffly, feeling a small bubble of hatred begin to boil in her stomach. Was this another one of his games? Was this his idea of a joke?

"Apparently," he began, his cold grey eyes wandering the room slowly before resting on her brown pair, "I am believed to have killed, tortured and maimed a witch and five muggles while in the service of The Dark Lord."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, but scribbled this across the page as well. She bit her lip, but said nothing to the cause. She was not here for any other reason than to interview him. Soon enough, Moody would come and summon her back and she would have time to let all the grief wash over her.

"Did you commit these crimes?" she questioned plainly. Her grip on her Quill was so tight, she was sure it would snap soon.

"Would you prefer that I admit to them? That I claim responsibility, so that you can leave this room and feel your duty is done?"

Hermione shook her head; her quill was now pressing down hard onto her notebook, leaving behind a large inkblot.

"I want the truth, that is all Draco. Did you commit these crimes?"

"You know what?" he muttered, leaning back in metal chair. "I think I'll leave you to decide that."

He smirked as she scribbled something else across her page. Hermione gritted her teeth, but held back her words.

'Don't stoop to his level, don't become the obnoxious brat that he was -- is.'

But he was no longer a brat now, no... of course he wasn't. He was a fully-grown man, capable of rational thinking, rational feeling and rational understanding. And here he sat, in what used to be one of the most feared places in the entire wizarding world, and he didn't seem to have a care in the world.

"Were you in league with the Dark Lord?" Hermione questioned.

And then Draco once again leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and placing his chin on top of his fingers. He noticed the nervous glint in her eye, hidden behind all that fury he just knew she wished to unleash upon him. So, she was afraid of him. He could live with that. He had always enjoyed the satisfaction he acquired when he had hurt her, and just he knew that her wounds would be forever raw.

"Don't ask questions you already know the answers to, Hermione."

She stiffened as he breathed her name, suddenly remembering when she had first heard it drip from his lips. But she otherwise remained composed. She was letting him get to her. She had to put a halt to it.

"Answer the question."

"Make me," he hissed just above a whisper, causing her to shiver.

Hermione reached into a pocket of her robes and clutched her wand tightly. The room suddenly seemed to dim slightly, though it was probably her imagination. He glowered at her, almost challengingly, waiting to see whether she took the bait. But Hermione Granger had always been the smart one - extremely gullible, yes. But smart nonetheless.

"I've had enough of your games, Draco. We can either do this the easy way, or the very easy way," she said sternly.

But he could see right through her, she knew that he could. He wasn't some gullible sap who would give in just to appease her. But what harm could come from humouring her?

Draco smirked. "Yes, I was in the service of the Dark Lord."

"Thank-you," she said sweetly, as if she were speaking to a child before turning back to her notebook.

He grunted in a very un-Malfoy like manner, but said nothing, waiting for the questioning to continue. Hermione paused, looking up and down at the page in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see from her watch that she hadn't been questioning him for quite as long as she had initially thought.

"Were your parents in league with Lord Voldemort?"

"I think the world knows it by now. Yes, my mother and father were servants of the Dark Lord."

"And where are they now, Draco?"

He cocked his head to its side, observing her ever-growing courage, which seemed to spurt at the most inappropriate moments. Ah, the born Gryffindor. It was no wonder really. He couldn't help but ponder whether she had requested to interview him just so she could ask these questions, but her shakey demeanor had obvious written away that possibility.

"My father still actively supports Voldemort. The last I knew of him, he had reached the Ministry of Magic's top ten list of malicious and cruel bastards."

"And your mother, what do you know of her?"

"Apparently, she is dead," said Draco, tonelessly.

Hermione furrowed her brow and once again bit her lip.

"How can you just talk about her passing as if it were nothing?"

He merely smirked and began fighting a losing battle against the creases on his dingy robes. His cold gray eyes refused to meet hers and she could sense that she had hit a nerve.

"My mother has nothing to do with my incarceration," he pointed out lamely. "Therefore, I'd appreciate it if you'd get on with it."

Hermione hesitated, but nodded, turning back to her notebook and scribbling down something he couldn't read. He was observing her closely now, watching every little action she made, relishing in the little signs that showed she was not completely sure of why she was here with him of all people.

And then she faced him once more, a determined look and her stern demeanor not fading. She raised her chin defiantly, still rather uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze and pursed her lips.

"Why," she began, "did you choose to join the service of the Dark Lord?"

And then Draco scowled. He made to stand up, but the nonchalant look in her eyes forced him back to his seat. He glared at her, a disgusted look on his face, all in the while secretly surprising Hermione. She had no idea at all that he would be so taken aback by this mere question.

"Don't ask me why, you already know why!"

She shook her head, giving him a dark look. "No, I bloody well don't!"

"Don't lie Hermione, especially to me! Why do you think I became a deatheater? Why do you think all this happened?"

"You can't possibly blame me fo-"

"I'll do as I please!" he bellowed loudly.

Draco stood up quickly and Hermione's grip on her wand tightened. To her relief though, he merely went to the door and began pounding on it, hollering for the guard. He gave her one last look of disgust, before an Auror appeared and the silver-haired man was held at wand point, while Hermione left the interview room.

She could hear the disgruntled grunts the guard gave off as he shackled Draco and led him back to his cell, which Hermione was certain, would not be as accommodating as the interview room. She swallowed the large lump in her throat and ran her hands through her thick brown hair, taking a breath of much cleaner and fresher air than the room had held.

Hurrying down the corridor, she came across Moody and Tonks speaking anxiously with Terry Boot, who seemed to be in tears. She brushed past them and headed for the exit, wanting to be free of the dark and dreary place, but she could hear soft footsteps following her. Ducking out the door of the old dilapidated castle, she prepared herself to Apparate before she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Hermione, what are you doing out so soon?"

It was Tonks. Turning around, she could see the concerned face on her instructor, wondering whether she should actually allow herself to feel, to let it all come out and see whether she would still be human in the end. But she wouldn't allow herself to fall; no she was supposed to be the smart, strong and able one. The one who doesn't crack and who doesn't give in to any weakness of any kind.

"Malfoy decided to end the interview," she muttered, straight to the point.

"I see..." Tonks murmured. "Are you OK?"

Hermione forced a small smile. "Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?"

"You seem a bit... shaken."

"I'm fine," Hermione lied. "I just really want to get home and rest. It's been a rather long afternoon."

Tonks nodded, her trademark grin appearing as she gave Hermione's hand a small squeeze.

"You do realize that regardless of today's events, you'll still be required to interview Malfoy again?"

The younger woman felt a sudden pang of dread flow into her system, but she didn't let it show. She had hoped that perhaps it would only be one deatheater per a day, before moving onto the next. Obviously she was wrong. She pondered asking for a different subject, but realized that Moody would not allow it unless he had some sufficient reason.

"Well, when the time comes, it comes."

With that said, the two ladies bid each other good-bye and Hermione Apparated to the flat she and Harry shared. Well, shared was to put it nicely. Harry spent most of his time at Grimmauld Place these days, always trying to have the upper hand over Voldemort. She shivered as she even thought of that name. She was a grown woman and here she, feared an entity she had yet to encounter face to face.

But Draco didn't fear him. No, Draco had never feared him. Suddenly feeling the urge for some very strong liquor, she made her way over to the small bar in the corner and poured herself some brandy.

Why on earth had she been paired up with him? Why on earth did she allow it to get this far? Why didn't she just run before she had even seen him again? She took a sip of brandy, the intoxicating drink enticing her taste buds. But she placed the glass back down onto the bar and headed for the kitchen to find something to eat.

She couldn't break. She still had to see him again; she still had to help him. Or try to at least. The assignment had been given three months. How, was she ever going to put up with him for three months?

~ENDCHAPTER1~