Eden

Where is he?

I'm sitting in my cell again, waiting for Lucius to return. After we left the great hall he brought me back here, dragging me along by my arm. He didn't say a word to me, and I was glad about that, for I did not have anything to say to him. When we finally got back here he threw me roughly to the floor, and then he left, locking the door behind him. He didn't say when he'll be back, or what he's going to do to me when he does return. He just slammed the door on me.

He didn't even look at me once.

It feels like hours have passed since then. It could have been only five minutes, but I've discovered that time goes so slowly while you're waiting in fear.

Why hasn't he come back?

Just be grateful he hasn't come back, Hermione. You know what he's been ordered to do. You heard what Voldemort said...

I'm not looking forward to his return, for God's sake!

It's just... I hate sitting here, wondering what I'm going to have to face.

Maybe that's what he's intending. Perhaps he's deliberately making me wait. I wouldn't put it past him; prolonging the agony by giving me time to agonize about what he may or may not be about to do to me.

What is he going to do to me?

Stupid question.

I'm meant to be bright. Harry and Ron both said I was the best witch in our year.

So why do I ask myself stupid questions?

He's going to hurt me. He'll torture me to get what he wants. I know that he will.

Well at least it won't be Voldemort torturing me this time. I suppose I should be grateful for that, at least. If I ever see that dreadful face again it will be a million years too soon.

A shiver runs through me as I remember looking into Voldemort's eyes. Red, soulless, snake-like, bottomless eyes - so complete and so perfect in their evil.

I put my head in my hands, gripping at my hair with my fingers, trying to block out the memory. I pull at my hair, using the sting it causes to distract me from the images filling my brain.

At least Lucius is... I don't know, human!

Maybe he won't hurt me. There are other ways of getting the truth out of me. He could just use Veriteserum, and have done with it. I don't see why he wouldn't... it would certainly be a quicker, cleaner method of extracting whatever information I'm holding. Just a quick drink and it'll all be over.

But I shouldn't be hoping that he'll realise that. At least if he tortures me, I have the option of holding out against the pain. I'd rather go through all sorts of agonies than give them the information they want.

All the same... I'm scared, so scared of what he might do.

If he does decide to torture me rather than use truth serum, I could always lie to him. I could pretend to relent under the pain, but feed him false information. I'll have to make sure that my lies can't cause anyone any harm, but if I pull it off then I might be able to get through this without betraying anybody.

But then... when they've got the information they want off of me, they're going to... they're going to...

My chest and stomach begin to ache as my heart sinks down to my toes, weighed down by absolute and hopeless terror.

Oh god, I don't want to die!

I tighten my grip on my head, almost tearing the hair from my scalp.

I won't think about it, I won't. I've got to focus. I can't let them get what they want.

I sigh, trying to push the fear out of my body with that one, fast breath. I let go of my head, and I distract myself by looking down at my mud-caked jeans. God, I wish I could have a wash, and a change of clothes. I've been wearing these clothes for... how long have I been here?

I don't know, but I've been in these filthy clothes for far too long.

I wonder if they'll bring me a change of clothing?

Why would they? They haven't even given you anything to eat, why would they provide you with fresh clothes?

My stomach rumbles painfully, and for the first time since arriving here I register just how hungry I am. I haven't had anything to eat or drink since when I had my dinner, a few hours before he turned up in my bedroom.

Actually, I'm more thirsty than hungry. My throat is so dry it's almost painful. The walls of it stick together as I swallow, trying to moisten it up.

I allow myself to fall onto my back, and I stare up at the ceiling without really seeing it. My mind is full, so full that my head is aching. It feels as if it's about to explode.

How the hell am I going to make it through this, without giving in to what they want?

As clear as day I can remember Lucius' face, laughing as Voldemort tortured me...

He's a sadist. A complete sadist.

He must really loathe me, to be able to laugh as I scream in agony.

Why does he hate me so much?

Don't think about it, Hermione. You could keep guessing forever, but you'll probably never know. Just try to keep a clear head.

I need to prepare myself. Just sitting here wallowing in my fear isn't going to help me. They... no, he is going to torture me, and I'm going to have to face it. But I'm damned if I'm going to let them get the information they want.

Not without a fight, anyway.

I need to toughen myself up before he returns. I need to be ready for whatever he's going to throw at me.

I begin by doing some breathing exercises. I breathe in, and out. Deep, rhythmic breathing. In, and out.

I clench every muscle in my body, hold them all tight for as long as I can, and then let them go, feeling them completely relax. I do this over and over again. And I focus on my breathing. The in, and the out.

I stretch my body out as long as I can, pointing my toes and pushing my arms above my head, across the floor. I feel the tingling heat of the stretch all the way through my limbs.

Breathe. In, and out.

And I try to strengthen my mind as well as my body. I won't focus on happy thoughts; allowing myself to become sentimental would be allowing myself to be vulnerable. No, I need to keep my mind full of thoughts that will strengthen my resolve...

And so I think of all of the terrible things I have seen these people do. I focus on every little bit of pain they have caused to the people that I love.

I remember those poor petrified students during my second year. I remember looking round the corner with a mirror, and seeing those great yellow eyes staring back at me from the glass. I think of Ginny, and how she's never been able to forgive herself for being the one to unleash the basilisk. I think of Moaning Myrtle, denied the chance to grow up.

I store my mind up with hate and anger, and I channel these emotions into my body to build up my strength.

I think of Sirius, of how his life was thrown away because of a crime he didn't commit. I think of all of the pain and guilt Harry went through after the final task when he saw Cedric die.

The door clicks...

He's back.

I scramble up to my feet as quickly as I can. I'm not going to let him begin with an advantage over me.

Lucius steps silently into the room. He quietly shuts the door behind him, and flicks his wand at it to lock it. He's not smiling, or sneering, or frowning. His face is a blank mask, showing no emotion at all.

In a way, it makes him all the more frightening.

I won't be afraid of him, I won't.

He's alone, even though Voldemort told him that he could enlist others if necessary. He probably thinks that I'll be such a pushover that he won't need any help in making me talk.

Or perhaps he's being greedy. Maybe he doesn't want to share the pleasure of his triumph over you with anyone else.

I'm locked in a cell with a man who wants to see me suffer.

I need to be strong. I must keep those images of hate running through my mind.

I remember seeing Neville's mother at St Mungo's, and how close Neville had been to tears as he visited the mother who doesn't know him. I think of the look of horror on his face when he saw Bellatrix Lestrange at the Department of Mysteries...

Lucius runs his eyes over me, quickly and coolly. He's inspecting me. Probably working out what sort of state I'm in; looking for possible weaknesses so that he can work out how to hurt me most effectively.

'Now, Miss Granger,' he says, his voice quietly sinister, 'you will answer my questions. You will answer them promptly, and you will answer them correctly. Do I make myself clear?'

Keep breathing, Hermione. The in. The out.

'You'll have to kill me before I tell you anything.'

He smiles condescendingly, 'Let's put that to the test, shall we.'

Fear floods my body. I become over-heated, and my deep, rhythmic breathing is lost, as suddenly I can't seem to fill my lungs with air quick enough. But I can't let it beat me. I fill my mind with more hate and anger.

I think of the guilt Harry has felt, every day, since Sirius had died. I remember Ron nearly dying of poison, lying there helpless in the hospital wing...

He brings a small, rubber drinking bottle out of his robes, and holds it out to me.

'May I offer you a drink, Miss Granger?'

Without thinking, I instinctively reach greedily for the flask, almost snatching it off of him. I'm so thirsty! I unscrew the lid quickly, eager to quench my thirst as soon as possible. But as I bring the flask up to my lips, I hear a voice in the back of my mind;

What are you doing, Hermione? Drinking something offered to you by a Death Eater? Are you out of your mind?

There could be anything in this flask. Absolutely anything. He could have put Veriteserum in there. I'd tell him everything he wanted to know, and all he would have had to do is offer me a drink!

I push the flask back into his hands. He breathes a small laugh as he takes it off of me.

'Oh, you think I'm trying to trick you? You believe that I'm so simple as to just slip you something in your drink? Something that might loosen your tongue?' He sneers at the idea, as if it's beneath him. 'I'm afraid not, Miss Granger. Believe it or not, I was making an attempt at hospitality.'

Hospitality?

He takes a large, slow sip from the bottle, before lowering it from his lips and smiling at me again. 'You see, Mudblood; this bottle contains not even a trace of truth serum. I know that because I can still lie to you. I can, for example, tell you that you are not, in fact, an ugly, insolent little bitch, with absolutely no difficulty. Would I be able to do that if this bottle contained Veriteserum? No, I would not.'

His insults don't even register with me. I'm too filled with longing for that water to think about anything else.

'Yes, I was attempting to be hospitable.' He gives a deep sigh, as if my assumption has deeply offended him. 'But, seeing as you don't seem to want anything to drink...'

He turns the bottle upside down and allows the content to splash on to the floor. I watch the clear liquid run along the black paving stones, falling into the cracks between them, all going to waste.

Bastard!

He throws the empty bottle to the floor before bringing some parchment and a quill out of his robes. He uses his want to levitate the parchment horizontally in front of him, and then balances the quill on top of the parchment, just like that Skeeter woman used to. But this quill isn't acid green, like hers was; it's blood red, and very small. He lets go of it, but it remains upright on the parchment. He turns his face to me, and notices my curiosity.

'This is a special quill,' he remarks, almost as if he were making small talk with me. 'If you tell the truth, the ink will run black; but if you lie, it will run red.'

He smiles mockingly at me.

'Just a precaution, you understand. Please don't be insulted that I don't trust you to be truthful, Miss Granger.'

Damn.

Alright, so lying isn't an option. I should have known that he'd do something to make sure that I had to tell the truth.

But I still have an alternative; I still have the option of keeping my mouth shut.

He takes a step back from the levitated quill and parchment, and speaks over them in a loud, clear voice;

'Lucius Malfoy interviewing the Mudblood prisoner Granger in cell fifteen.'

The Mudblood prisoner Granger?

The quill scrawls across the parchment in black ink. Lucius nods in apparent satisfaction before turning back to me with a small smile.

'Are you ready, Miss Granger?'

Don't keep silent, like you did in front of Voldemort. Show him that you're strong.

I smile right back at him, pulling my lips back with difficulty. 'Of course,' I say, the confident words ringing hollow in my brain.

He raises his eyebrows at my defiance, but continues to smile, enjoying this game of his own making. He pulls his wand out of his robes. 'Then we'll begin.'

I stand up straight, feeling myself lift from the top of my head downwards.

I'm not afraid of you!

What a stupid lie.

'To start us off, Miss Granger,' - he says, almost politely - 'as a warm-up, if you will, I want you to tell me the names of Harry Potter's friends.'

What?

I stare at him. 'I might be mistaken, but didn't your son go to school with us?' I ask. 'Wouldn't it be easier for you just to get this information off of him? Surely he wasn't so dim-witted that he couldn't see who Harry was friends with at Hogwarts?'

I feel a stinging slap across my face, although he has not touched me. I swallow sharply, but I'm careful not to make the slightest noise. I only close my eyes for a moment, before looking at him again.

He's not smiling anymore.

'I did not ask for you to insult my son, Mudblood,' he's pointing his wand at me. 'Or for you to display that infuriating know-it-all attitude of yours. What I asked, I believe, was for you to tell me who Potter's friends are.'

'You know who his friends are.' Although I want to make his job as difficult as possible, I genuinely don't know why he needs to ask me this. 'You must have some idea, anyway, otherwise why have you brought me here to answer your questions?'

That sharp sting on my cheek again, but I'm ready for it this time. I've come to expect it, whenever I do or say anything to aggravate him.

'You seem very slow to learn, Miss Granger, that I'm not here for your conversation, scintillating though it may be.' His voice is growing quiet again. I must be starting to piss him off. 'I want you to tell me what I need to know. The reason I have not asked Draco to provide me with this information is that he only ever saw you in Hogwarts. He could not tell me who Potter was friends with outside of school, could he? But you can. So if you wish to do things the easy way, then I suggest you name every friend he has. You don't need to tell me about yourself or Arthur Weasley's worthless son, however. If I hadn't already worked out that the three of you were as close as you are then you would not be here.'

I stare back at him, focusing on how I hate him for calling Ron worthless. Ron's always believed himself to be overshadowed by his brothers, but really he's the best of them all. Alright, so he might be a bit of an idiot at times, but he's also sweet, and caring, and funny...

Lucius Malfoy isn't fit to lick his boots.

He's tapping his foot, waiting for an answer.

'You want the names of Harry's friends?' I say, trying to keep my voice as calm as possible. 'I'll tell you.'

His eyebrows arch in surprise. He didn't expect me to give him answers so quickly.

'Well, Mudblood, thank you for making my life a little easier. It seems that you do have some common sense, after all-'

'Do you want these names or not?' I ask.

He pauses. 'Please.'

He's going to hurt me. My god is he going to hurt me.

'Their names are Donald Duck, Mickey Mouse, Kermit the Frog,'

He doesn't recognise the names I'm rolling off; they're Muggle inventions, after all. But he knows that they're nonsense, without having to check the parchment to see what colour the ink is. His face is clouding over with anger.

But I won't stop.

'Bashful, Sleepy, Dopey, Rumplestiltskin,'

I look at the quill. It's running across the paper, scribbling down every stupid, ridiculous word I say. I start to laugh. I can't help it, and I know I should stop, but I really, really start to laugh. God, it's fantastic to smile without having to force myself to do it just to spite him! I laugh so much I can barely get my words out...

Until the pain in my left hand starts.

I gasp and look down at my hand. My fingers are... something is bending them backwards!

'I'm glad that you find yourself amusing, Mudblood,' Lucius says, his voice dripping with callous sarcasm. 'After all, if we cannot laugh at ourselves, what can we laugh at?'

I look up at him, expecting him to be smiling. But he isn't. His face is a blank mask once again as he points at my hand with his wand. I look back down to see that my fingers are bent back almost to a right angle. Horrified, I try use my other hand to hold them in place, but it's no use, as they continue to be forced backwards no matter what I do.

Oh God, it hurts so much!

I feel the skin on my palm being stretched to tearing point. The bones in my fingers are popping and cracking as they give way under the pressure. I grit my teeth but, although I try to stop myself, I begin to cry out in pain.

'Does that hurt you, little Mudblood?' he's walking slowly over to me; I can see him out of the corner of my eye. He has to raise his voice to make sure that I can hear him over my cries, 'Can you feel your fingers breaking, screaming out for mercy? Is concealing the information I want worth this agony? You could stop it, you know; right now, if you wanted to. Just tell me what I want to know.'

They're bent back as far as they can go, but still the force goes on, relentlessly pushing them back, and back. I can't help it. I start to scream. I scream out my pain, wailing in an effort to drive out my suffering.

Oh God, why won't it end?

Just tell him who Harry's friends are.

'NO!' I bawl, as much to myself as to him, and as I do there's a huge, wrenching pain in the joints of my fingers. I scream in absolute agony and tears begin to roll furiously down my face, and the pressure on my fingers stops.

I look down at my hand. The fingers are all... wonky and disjointed. And I can't move them, no matter how hard I try.

The bastard's broken my fingers.

I use my working hand to bring my ruined one up to my chest, where I cradle it, as if it were an injured animal or a crying baby. I fall back against the wall, leaning all of my weight on it in a desperate effort to stay on my feet. I turn my head, hiding my face from him. I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing the agony he has caused me.

I hear his footsteps move across the room, stopping when they reach me.

'I think we'd better start again,' he says, his voice perfectly calm.

No emotion, no remorse, no pity.

How can he be calm after what he's just done to me?

'Miss Granger, I want you to name Harry Potter's friends for me.'

I raise my head and stare at him through the tears which are burning my eyes.

'You cruel... you evil...'

'Believe me Mudblood, I've heard it all before,' he interrupts me, rolling his eyes sounding almost bored. 'Any comments you wish to make on my character will, I'm sure, not be new to me-'

He doesn't care. He genuinely doesn't care that he's done this to me.

I can't look at him. I let my gaze fall to the floor.

'Now,' he continues, his voice low. 'Tell me what I want to know, and I'll mend your hand for you in a second.'

I start to think very hard...

Would it be so terrible just to tell him?

YES!

Why?

They need this information for a reason, and I won't let them have it. They could use it for anything. To give the names of Harry's friends could be a death sentence for all of them.

'Miss Granger.' His voice rips me out of my thoughts. 'I would advise you not to make things worse for yourself.'

I hate him. I hate him so much that I want him to die.

'Why do you need to know this so much?' I ask, furious at how my voice is cracking and screaming uncontrollably. 'Why do you need to know who Harry's friends are? Is it so crucial a bit of information that it is worth torturing another human being in order to acquire it?'

I clutch my poor ruined fingers to my chest, my entire body shaking uncontrollably. There's a long silence, punctured only by my heavy breathing.

'This information is important to the Dark Lord's cause, Miss Granger. Do you think I would be asking you to provide it if it were not?' His voice is quiet again. I won't look at him as he speaks to me. 'As to why I am torturing you, I shall say only that it infuriates me that you will not do as you're told, and torture is such an effective method of enforcing obedience. One could say that you have brought this pain upon yourself, with your own stubborn wilfulness.'

'What do you expect me to do?' I cry, tears of agony rolling down my cheeks. 'Give you what you want by betraying the people that I love? Do you want me to be like you, and abandon all of my principles in order to survive?'

'You make it sound like a bad thing,' he replies nonchalantly. 'Believe me; you don't survive in these kinds of situations for as long as I have if you insist on holding true to principles.'

He grips me by the chin and forces me to look into his face. His expression remains entirely unreadable.

'Now, will you help yourself by helping me? Or do you need a little more... persuasion?'

Although I know what I have to say, I still feel like I have to force the words out of me; 'I'll never help you, you bastard!'

He lets go of my chin, before brutally wrenching my injured hand away from my chest, heedless of my broken bones. The pain the pressure of his touch causes to my hand is excruciating.

'Haven't you done enough?' I howl.

He pauses, meeting my gaze with a look as cold as stone. 'Evidently not.'

He presses the tip of his wand to the middle of my hand, and mutters an incantation I can't hear.

That's when my hand begins to burn. At first it just tingles, almost like a nettle sting. But it swiftly develops, growing hotter and hotter, becoming a full blown, merciless agony! It leaps all the way down the nerves in my arm like an electric shock. It feels like an iron is being pressed to my bare skin! I scream and scream, falling to my knees while he keeps hold of my hand, continuing to press his wand into it. Oh God, I can feel my skin bubbling! I claw at his leg with my free hand, bawling at his feet...

And then draws his wand away from my skin, and lets my hand go. I collapse onto my hands and knees, letting my injured hand fall to the floor. I look at it, sprawled across the black stone. The fingers are completely out of joint, and purple bruises are forming around them. The centre of my hand is red and burnt, swelling and blistering and bubbling before my eyes!

'Miss Granger, I have many more distasteful tricks up my sleeve, should you continue to defy me,' he says, his voice perfectly controlled. 'Will you tell me the names of Potter's friends, or shall we continue with this pastime?'

I remain crouched on the floor, sobbing and breathing heavily in an attempt to control the pain in my hand.

Just tell him...

I won't!

I look up at him, sobbing so hard that I feel dizzy with it. 'Piss off!' I scream at him.

He retaliates by stepping on my hand, my broken hand. I scream myself hoarse as he grinds his foot down onto the broken fingers and the burnt skin.

'You bastard!'

'I grow tired of asking you this, and so let this be the last time.' He has to yell to make himself heard over my wailing. 'Who are Harry Potter's friends?'

My burned skin rips and my broken bones grind under his boot. Pain, agony, misery; they all engulf me, robbing me of the ability to feel anything else.

Just do it, Hermione. Nothing's worse than this torture.

I have to. I just can't go on. I can't take anymore. It has to end, I can stop it...

'Me,' I begin to whimper, 'And Ron. We're... we're his best-'

'I know that, girl.' His voice is raised in impatience. 'I have told you that I do not need to hear about the pair of you. I want the names of his other friends, those whom I do not know about.'

I can't tell him, I can't.

He presses his foot down harder on my hand.

Oh, nooooo...

'Neville Longbottom,' I stumble on. 'Luna Lovegood, Rubeus Hagrid.' Oh God, get off of my hand! 'Ginny Weasley...'

I stop, horrified at what I've done. He twists his foot down on top of my hand and the pain goes on, ripping me apart from the inside out.

'Anyone else?' he asks, ignoring my screams of pain.

Who else is there?

'Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, he shares a room with them. Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks. Mr and Mrs Weasley. Fred and George Weasley. Fleur Delacour. Ernie Macmillan. Justin Finch Fletchley. Colin Creevy.' I stop, gulping heavily. 'I can't think of any more-'

'Try, Mudblood.'

He presses his foot down yet harder, grinding his polished boot down on to my broken fingers.

'PLEASE... I'm telling you the truth, I can't think of any more, I swear, I SWEAR!'

He lifts his foot off of my hand. I curl up in a ball, shaking in sheer agony, weeping to myself in pain and self-disgust.

How could I do it? Why? What have I done?

NevilleLunaGinnyTonksLupin...

I can still see him through my tears. He walks over to the levitated parchment and inspects it. I imagine he's checking the colour of the ink. When he sees it, he turns to me with the smallest of satisfied smiles.

I can't look at him anymore, not after what he's done to me. I close my eyes, blocking it all out, wanting to sink further and further away, deeper into the darkness...

'You see, Mudblood.' I hear his shoes click on the stone floor, approaching me and stopping next to my shuddering body. 'We can work well together, if only you would apply yourself.'

I don't reply. What can I say? I've given him what he wants.

I've helped him.

The thought is unbearable.

There's a silence as he waits for a response. When he doesn't get one he picks up my hand again. His touch sends new spasms of pain through my arm.

'Oh no, leave it alone!' I wail, without looking up at him. I press my face to the floor, feeling the cold stone on my skull.

He presses his wand to my hand. My entire body tightens, waiting for whatever he's about to do.

But what comes isn't what I expect. A huge rush of warmth runs through my hand, right to the tips of my fingers. The pain leaves, leaving only a faint aching in its place. I lift my head up slowly, not quite sure whether to believe it. I look at my hand...

It's healed. It must be healed. I can move my fingers again, and the burn has sealed up, leaving only a red, shiny scar in it's place. The bruises around my fingers are still there, but the digits themselves don't hurt as I flex them in his grasp. I gulp as the tears in my eyes dry up.

He lets go of my hand, but still I look at it, mesmerised by how easily it has healed, and how quickly such pain can vanish.

'What made you think you would be any different from the others, Mudblood?' My head snaps up at his voice. His face looks... strange. For a fleeting moment, there's something different about him. I think it's in his eyes, though it disappears before I can work out what it is. 'All of you, every person I've ever had to deal with, you have all believed that you can hold out against the pain. But none of you ever can. I have told you already; when I want something, I make sure that I get it.'

'But at what price?' I ask, my throat sore due to my screams. 'How far can you go to get what you want, until you start to hate yourself for it?'

His face is still unreadable. 'The end justifies the means, Miss Granger. Not that I would expect you to understand that. It's far too complex a concept for your young mind to comprehend.'

'I'll tell you what I don't understand,' I say, words tripping out of my mouth before I can think about what consequences they might have. 'Why do you have to torture people for the information you want? Why don't you just use Veriteserum on them? It would make things easier for you, surely?'

I stop myself before I can say any more.

Don't pretend that you don't want him to use it. It would mean an end to the pain. And it would mean that it wouldn't be your fault when you gave them the information they need.

He smiles a sick, twisted smile. It brings his face alive - it's so different from the calm control he has exercised so far today.

'Oh, no, I don't think so.' He crouches down next to me, and runs his wand slowly down my cheek. When he speaks, his voice is very low, with an almost seductive note in it. 'This method is so much more... interesting, don't you think? I'm not going to deny, it angers me when you don't do as you're told. Insolence is something I just can't tolerate in Mudbloods.' The wand moves lower, skating lightly over the skin on my neck, and my collarbone. 'But there's something so... satisfying about watching you eventually giving in to the inevitable, finally enacting some willing obedience.'

Anger hits me so hard that I feel sick with it. I feel it shoot up from my gut, burning me from the inside out, tearing me apart.

'Why are you doing this to me?' I scream, pulling myself to my feet. He rises with me, not allowing me to stand above him even for a second. 'He told you that you could use any method necessary to get the information he wants, I heard him. Why do you have to torture me for it? You don't have to! You could use the imperius curse on me, or you could use truth serum. But you won't. You choose the option that will cause me the most suffering, even though it makes everything much more difficult for you. Why do you want to hurt me? Why do you hate me so much? I haven't done anything to you!'

There's a long pause. My words buzz in the air around us. The smile has vanished from his face, which is darkening in anger once more.

'You're a Mudblood,' he answers eventually, almost simply. 'That is why I hate you. That is why I choose to torture you instead of using any of the cleaner methods. Any Death Eater would do the same thing; I am not unusual in that respect. Because any opportunity to teach one of you a lesson should not be wasted.'

'What lesson?' I ask, not really understanding him. 'What do I need to be taught?'

'Your place, girl, your place!' His voice is rising in exasperation and anger. 'None of you muggle-borns know your place. You masquerade as wizards and witches, acting as if you belong in our world. And you; you are the worst sort of your kind. You set yourself up as equal, if not better than, your pure-blood peers, when you are really just a freak of nature. THAT is why I want to hurt you; because pain is a wonderfully reliable method in enforcing submission to your superiors.'

He turns away from me swiftly, and walks over to the other side of the room. He stops by the cell door, and runs a gloved hand over the back of his sleek blonde head, taking a deep breath.

That's right. Get your control back. Can't let yourself become distracted by emotion, can you? That would make it all far too personal, wouldn't it?

I watch him collect himself, and when he turns back to me his face is emotionless once more.

'Thus far we appear to be making progress, Miss Granger,' he says, as if the last few minutes since he healed my hand have never happened. 'You have named Harry Potter's friends for me. Not without struggle, I grant you, but your common sense seemed to prevail over your so-called 'ideals'. I thank you for your eventual generosity in naming as many as you did.'

Blood pounds through my veins, carrying so many emotions along with it. Hate, guilt, confusion.

How can he say that when he made me name so many of them?

'Yes, young Harry Potter seems quite popular,' he continues. 'But then, why wouldn't he be? The Boy Who Lived was always going to be hero-worshiped by the hoi-polloi.'

He's coming to something. He's building up to what he's going to ask me next.

Don't crack this time, Hermione. Try and stay strong.

'The thing about heroes is they always have a huge female following,' he says idly.

Oh God, no!

'I want you to give me the names of every girl he's ever had a little, ah... romance with,' he says, with obvious distaste.

I don't believe this!

'Why?' I ask.

I feel an invisible fist punch me in the stomach again. It's just like the one dealt to me in front of Voldemort. I bend double, coughing violently as I try to get my breath back, holding my stomach to try and get rid of the pain.

'You will not question me, Miss Granger. I thought I had made that clear.'

I look back up at him. He has his wand readily positioned to curse me I refuse him, his face slightly contorted as he struggles to keep it free of emotion.

Anger is fighting its way onto his face.

Just tell him what he wants to know, Hermione.

No!

He'll hurt you even more if you don't. Can you honestly face that again?

But the pain of my broken, burned hand suddenly seems so far away.

I can face it again. I have to.

I stand up straight, ignoring the aching twinges in my ribs.

'And I thought that I had made it clear that you will have to force any information you want out of me.'

He rolls his eyes.

'How very tedious,' he says with a sigh. 'You know, there is only so much of this sort of behaviour that I am prepared to put up with. Why won't you just make things easier for us both?'

I raise my eyebrows, trying to think of a suitable reply.

'I guess I'm just a difficult girl.'

For I second, his mouth twitches up into what might be a smile.

At least I think it does...

But the next second it's gone again.

He raises his wand and pauses for a moment, frowning as if in deep concentration.

'Now, what would be the most... persuasive method I could use?'

I wait. I wait for ages while he keeps this charade of indecision going. I feel my stomach churning and knotting as I wonder what he's going to do to me.

I guess that's the effect he was going for.

'I could use crucio of course,' he's saying this quietly, as if he's musing to himself. But I can hear every word, as he means me to. 'But where's the fun, the variety in that? It's so... obvious, don't you think?'

I don't give him an answer. Not that he expects one.

He flicks his wand down.

I feel...

Nothing.

Just emptiness.

My brain has left my head.

Oh, it's lovely.

All the pain, the agony of thinking...

gone.

And... he's holding out a knife to me.

I take it.

'Cut your leg... It won't hurt you, just cut your leg.'

Don't...

There's no need to doubt anything that warm, comforting voice tells me to do.

'Use the knife to cut your leg. It won't hurt, I promise you.'

He's right.

Nothing can hurt me, nothing will hurt me. Not in this tightcozysnug warmth that I'm wrapped in.

I do all that I know.

I sink the knife into my leg.

ARRRGHHHH!

'You're not hurting, not really. Pull the knife down your thigh.'

But it hurts SO MUCH!

'No, it doesn't. Pull the knife down through your flesh....'

'And again...'

'And again...'

And then the voice leaves.

Oh my God, my LEG!

I'm left with nothing but agony. It crashes down on me so quickly that I scream and shout with it. I fall to the floor in pain and shock. I look down in horror at my mangled leg.

Jesus Christ!

My jeans are torn to shreds down the front of one of the legs, and my thigh has deep, bloody trenches running down it. There's mud as well; mud from my jeans mixing in with my blood to create this huge, disgusting mess! I'm not holding the knife anymore; it's completely disappeared, and ohmygodohmygodohmygod!

There's so much blood! Warm, sticky, dark blood, oozing out of the wounds, trickling down off of my leg and on to the floor, drying in clumps and flakes on my skin. I try to press down on the wounds, even though my hands are shaking so much that I can't keep them still.

I'm going to die from loss of blood!

I have to tell him, I have to.

'Look, I'll tell you what you need to know! Just please, please heal my leg!'

'You tell me the names of the girls first, Mudblood,' he says with absolutely no emotion whatsoever.

'Please, I'm begging you...'

'No. First you will tell me what I want to know.'

Why won't he help me? WHY?

I've got to stop this bleeding.

'Ginny!' I scream, pulling my t-shirt up over my head and frantically pressing it to my wounds, using it to stem the blood flow. It hurts, it hurts so badly. 'He was with Ginny, but they broke up a few weeks ago...'

'Ginny?' I don't look at him as he speaks. 'Not Ginny Weasley? Arthur Weasley's daughter?'

'Yes!' I don't even register what I'm saying anymore. I just know that I need to stop this pain, before it kills me. My t-shirt soaks up the blood, but still I bleed. Nothing can stop it, nothing...

'Well, that certainly is valuable information,' he says, his voice brimming with unconcealed delight. 'Anyone else that I should know about?'

'Please, my leg...' I whimper, not able to believe that he won't help someone in such a desperate state.

'Don't make me hurt you anymore than I have already, Miss Granger.' His voice is rising again. 'You must have more names to give me. I find it hard to believe that a celebrity like Potter has only ever had one girlfriend.'

Bastard. Sadist. Sick, evil, twisted-

I groan in agony.

'In our fifth year he dated a girl called Cho Chang,' I say desperately. 'But there's no-one else.'

'Are you sure?'

'NO-ONE, I SWEAR!'

He walks over to the levitated parchment to see whether I am telling the truth.

Oh God, why won't he help me?

'Only two girlfriends,' he says, a small chuckle in his voice. 'The most famous seventeen year old in the wizarding world, and he's only ever had two girlfriends. I must assume that you are telling the truth; the ink has run black on the parchment. Good God, how very pathetic, and yet somehow very unsurprising.'

How can he just carry on like this when I'm about to bleed to death right next to him?

I'm so dizzy...

'Oh, please forgive me. I quite forgot about your little accident.'

He points his wand at my leg, and that wonderful, familiar warmth spreads along it. The wound heals up, the skin sealing itself, but my jeans stay ripped and my clothes remain bathed in blood.

'Get dressed, girl,' he snaps.

I'm only just aware that I took my t-shirt off to stem the blood flow. I've still got my bra on, it's not as if I'm completely topless, but he looks angry. No, he looks absolutely disgusted. There's something about that look which makes me feel naked and unclean.

I pull my drenched t-shirt over my head. The soaking, warm material clings to my body. I feel my blood seep out of the cotton, onto my skin.

He nods at me.

'Well, it seems you can follow orders, after all. How compliant you can be when you put your mind to it, Mudblood. The information you have provided so far shall, I am sure, be put to good use.'

What have I done?

'Yes I am sure that these two girls with prove to be most useful to our cause.'

Tears begin to fall down my cheeks. My throat is thick with suppressed sobs. I clench my jaw to keep myself silent, but I can't get away from the giant darkness pushing its way into my body - the enormity of what I've done.

'Ginny Weasley!' he goes on, with relish in his voice, 'I remember her at eleven years old, with her father in Flourish and Blotts. So young, and so innocent. I knew that she would be an ideal person to be taken in by the diary. She would be naïve enough to let it into her mind; I could see that in her. That she was a Weasley only made the situation even more delicious. I could play a part in removing the Mudbloods from Hogwarts, while at the same time disgracing that disgusting family of blood-traitors.'

I think of Ginny, of how she still has nightmares about how she released the basilisk, and something within me shatters into a million pieces.

'Too cowardly to do your own work, weren't you?' I say before I can stop myself, my voice rising and cracking with emotion. I get up from the floor. 'You could have given Draco that diary, and taught him how to use it. You didn't have to use an eleven year old girl to do your dirty work. But you'd rather ruin an innocent girl's life than allow yourself to be associated with any wrong doing. Oh, you cared about getting the Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts, but you cared more about your own reputation, didn't you?'

His face is loosing what little colour it has.

'Don't talk about what you don't understand-'

'I understand all too well!' I scream, unable to control myself, the words wrenching themselves up from my gut. 'I understand you! You're a coward!'

His face is a mask of rage, his features thick and harsh with fury; 'What did you say?'

'YOU HEARD WHAT I SAID!' I've really lost it now. All of my rage, all of my pain, all of my fear is spilling out of me in screams and tears and words. 'If you had any bravery, an honour in you, you might have at least stayed true to your master after his fall. But you didn't - you renounced him rather than go to Azkaban and face up to what you'd done.'

'SHUT YOUR FILTHY MOUTH!' he roars.

'NO, I WON'T! You were a coward when you snapped my wand in half. You wouldn't even give me a chance to fight against my capture. Does it make you feel like a big man, torturing a helpless teenager when they have no way to fight back? You coward, you coward, you COWARD-'

His fist slams into my jaw. Small lights burst behind my eyes, and the iron taste of blood fills my mouth. I loose my balance, the blow is so strong, and I fall to the floor. Almost as soon as I hit the ground he kicks me hard in the stomach. Once, twice, three times. All the air is knocked out of me, and it hurts so much that for a few moments I can't breathe. I watch him as he turns around and walks to the other side of the room, and stands for a few moments with his back to me.

It seems that he only ever uses muggle violence when I push him too far.

For what seems like ages I lie still, desperately rubbing my stomach in an attempt to get rid of the pain. He doesn't turn to face me.

Eventually, I pull myself into a seating position, pressing my back into the wall. My stomach's killing me, my hand is pink, shiny and bruised and I'm covered with blood, blood which is now cool on my body, on my clothes.

He's managed to put my body into one hell of a state after only twenty-four hours.

After a few more minutes he turns around to face me again, his face seemingly struggling to keep calm. He looks down at his boots. I follow his gaze. They're shiny, and wet...

'I've got your filthy blood on my shoes, Mudblood,' he says with disgust, 'wipe it off, will you?'

I look up at him, not believing my ears.

'Clean your own shoes.'

There's a small silence. A muscle is going in his jaw. He's losing control again. He's going to hurt me again, I know it.

'Do you need yet another little lesson in obedience, girl?'

'SHUT UP!' I scream, completely losing it. 'Do you think I care about obedience? How can you stand there, ordering me to wipe my blood off of your shoes after what you have done to me today? Do you really think that forcing me to do that would make me accept that I'm below you? Well, it won't. Obedience is meaningless if it's forced; no matter what you do to me, you can't make me want to obey you.'

'I CAN DO WHAT I LIKE!' he shouts at me, losing his control. 'You don't seem to understand: you are at my mercy! How dare you talk to me like that? You should be grovelling at my feet, completely willing to do whatever I tell you. Why do you continue with this insufferable insolence? Will nothing teach you of your inferiority? Do you think that I can't hurt you more?'

He points his wand at me.

Oh no, OH NO...

'CRUCIO!'

No! Nooooooooooo! I can't, oh God, I CAN'T! It burns, I'm burning! I scrabble at the floor. My body is being ripped apart! Why? Why won't it stop?

He lifts the curse, and I'm left shivering once more. I'm crouched at his feet, just as he wishes me to be. I look up at him through my tears.

'Why?' I ask, exhausted with pain. 'Why are you doing this to me?'

He's silent, his wand still pointed at me.

'Please, just... just stop.' I grab the front of his robes, holding on to them as if I were drowning. 'You don't have to do this. It's not right, you know that it isn't. Would you want Draco hurt like this for what he believes in? He's the same age as me.'

His face doesn't even twitch at the mention of his son.

I don't stop; I have to get through to him.

'Please. You must have some kindness in you. You're not your master; you're not inhuman, Lucius.'

'How dare you use my name?'

He looked absolutely revolted at the sound of his name coming from my lips, but I keep on talking.

'You must have some compassion in you. You're a human being, you must do! Can you carry on like this? Will you sleep well tonight, or will you lie awake, remembering my screams?'

His eyes drop away from mine.

Am I getting through to him?

'Can you look me in the eye, after what you have done to me today?' I ask quietly.

For a moment, it looks like he can't. He's still refusing to meet my eyes, anyway.

'Please,' I carry on, my voice cracking. 'Please-.'

'Get off of me,' he says, brutally kicking me again in the ribs. I yell in pain and I fall onto my side. I look up at him. The look of pure loathing on his face freezes my blood. 'Am I supposed to be moved by your pathetic pleas? How dare you ask me to pity you? I detest you!'

He turns away from me, walking over to the levitating quill and parchment. He plucks them out of the air and puts both of them into his robes.

I vaguely wonder how much of this interview he'll show to Voldemort. Perhaps he'll destroy everything that he hasn't been specifically asked for. I don't suppose he'll want him to see most of our exchange - some of it might be embarrassing for him.

'We shall resume our interview tomorrow, Miss Granger.' His lips barely move as he speaks, and he won't look at me. 'And I shall expect more co-operation from you when I return. In the meantime...'

He points his wand at the floor and a goblet of water and a tiny loaf of bread appear there on the stone.

'You can believe whatever you like about me, Miss Granger,' he says, opening my cell door with his wand. 'But you can never say that I do not have a sense of hospitality.'

He slams out of the door, locking it behind him.

For a few moments I stay still, curled up on the floor. I roll my head upwards and look blankly at the ceiling, with silent tears rolling out of the corners of my eyes.

I can't feel. I can't let myself think. If I think I'll have to face up to what I've done.

But I have to face it. There's no escape from it. It's going to engulf me, to destroy me. My head's going to explode with the knowledge of what I've done.

I've betrayed my friends. I promised myself that I would never, ever give away information that could lead to their harm. But I did, and so easily.

I roll over onto my front, and push myself onto all fours. I crawl heavily over to my bed. As I approach it, I see the inscription on the stone,

'Don't let them win'

I've failed. I let them win. I was too weak, too gutless to stop myself from talking.

What else could you have done, Hermione?

I let myself collapse on my straw bed in my blood soaked clothes. I curl up in a ball, pulling the blanket up to my chin, wanting to sink into warmth and darkness.

I start to sob. I can't help it. The tears roll down my cheeks and my nose runs. I cry until both my throat and my head hurt. My entire body is racked with sobs as I wail out my anguish.

I cry and cry, long into the night, with no-one to hear me.