Safety in the Storm

Chapter Two

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper.

--T.S.Eliot "The Hollow Men"

Dark Places

She felt the knife slide cleanly through her and the pain that assaulted all her senses at once was so real and so vivid that she believed it was actually happening again.

'No,' she thought, desperately trying to clear her mind, erase the pain. "This is just a dream," she whispered to herself as Voldemort's black cloak swirled into view. "This is just a dream. Voldemort is dead."

It became a mantra for her, mumbled over and over again, even when she tasted the metallic tang of her blood and felt it dribbling out the side of her mouth.

'This is just a dream. Voldemort is dead.'

Ron was bending over her now, panicked. She couldn't see, but she knew that his leg was broken and that Colin was dead... knew because this wasn't real. It was just a dream. It had already happened and she had survived. It had passed.

But in that moment, reliving the pain and terror, she didn't think it would ever pass. It would always be there, haunting her.

A cold shiver wracked through her and she found she couldn't breathe very well. The room began to swirl into darkness and Hermione let out a sigh of relief. Death was a release, and with it, she would never have to experience this moment ever again. But she knew she would. The ending never changed. She always survived.

*****

Hermione woke up as she always did after a nightmare: sheets tangled and damp, hair plastered to her face, and her body wracked with shivers. Her body ached from an invisible torment and she wanted more than anything to go back to sleep; but that wouldn't be possible today. Tears still stung her eyes and she swiped at them, as if wiping them away would erase the memories as well. The images were still fresh in her mind and she shuddered as the emotions from the nightmare coursed through her. Would there ever be a time when she didn't remember?

She felt groggy and irritable and knew that it would continue through the day--especially if she didn't get enough caffeine pumped into her system. So, she dragged herself out of bed and stumbled blindly to the kitchen to start the amazing, life-sustaining muggle coffeemaker. Just the smell of it helped to wake her up. Mug in hand, she listened as the coffeemaker began its usual rhythm of drips and stared out the window to the backyard. There looked to be the beginnings of a storm brewing outside.

Something in the back of the house creaked and she held her breath, trying to identify the sound. Was it someone walking around or just those silly night sounds that popped up occasionally to scare you when you least expected it. It was too early (or too late depending on how you looked at it) for Harry to be up.

And just as she thought that, Harry stumbled in, hair sticking up every which way and glasses askew.

"I thought I heard you and your contraption." He nodded to the coffeemaker. "Couldn't sleep?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm okay. Go back to bed."

He squinted at her through his glasses. "You look exhausted. What's going on?"

"Nothing, you just scared me."

He continued to observe her, making her uncomfortable. Putting her mug down, she headed for the bathroom. Harry trailed after her. "Seriously, Hermione. There's something wrong and you're avoiding me. Why are you running away?"

"I'm not. I'm going to take a shower." She waited a moment and when he made no move to leave, she shrugged and took off her shirt. "Are you planning on joining me?"

His face beet red, he looked down at his feet. "No, look, tonight we are sitting down and discussing what is going on. No more changing the subject, no more avoiding it. Okay?"

Hermione sighed but consented. "Okay, I promise."

He nodded and, keeping his eyes on everything but her, left the bathroom. Her shower wasn't as soothing as it normally was and when she stepped out, she didn't feel refreshed at all.

Thoroughly depressed and exhausted, she set about the mundane tasks of housecleaning. Taking her frustrations out on dust bunnies seemed the only option open to her. She didn't know why or how, but cleaning always seemed to calm her.

After a few hours and the entire pot of coffee, she looked at her watch. 4:30. It was still too early to go to work. Then again, after yesterday's fiasco, she convinced herself that the earlier she went in, the better. She didn't know if Marcus was planning on showing up. Facing him was the last thing she wanted to do today.

Resolutely, she darted into her bedroom and slipped into a comfortable pair of jeans, a long sleeve shirt, and sneakers before grabbing her work cloak. Just as she was leaving her bedroom, her reflection caught her eye. Dark auburn strands of hair escaped her messy ponytail, falling into her pale face and framing the deep circles under her eyes. She looked at herself, scrutinizing, trying to see herself as others saw her.

While she never thought of herself as ugly, she also wouldn't put herself into the 'stunning' category. Her skin was too pale and she felt she was a bit on the skinny side. Hoping to weight her hair down and thus defeating the frizziness that had tormented her her entire life, she grew it out long. While it was a big improvement, Hermione still had a fair share of bad hair days.

Giving up on her appearance, she wrapped herself tightly in her cloak and slipped outside to get the muggle newspaper. A leaden gray blanket covered the sky from horizon to horizon, grumbling threateningly at those brave souls, like herself, who dared to be out. She quickly darted underneath the dark cloud cover that hung over the whole region like some brooding menace, and grabbed the bagged paper. She'd never put much stock in omens or divination, but those clouds didn't help her mood any. On the way back, she paused, trying to pinpoint the nagging feeling she had in the back of her mind.

Something was definitely wrong. She could feel it. It could've been the way the wind was blowing against her or the color of the clouds overhead, but something was out of place. Something was coming and her gut told her it wasn't good.

Needless to say, she ducked back inside fairly quickly. It was simple. She was going insane. Absolutely bonkers. Her friends should take her to the funny farm now before she got a job as Hogwarts' new Divination teacher and began spouting out predictions about Harry's death every other day.

No, she wasn't bitter about that class at all.

Feeling a tad bit frazzled, she tossed the paper on the table, grabbed her bag and wand, and apparated with an exasperated smile on her face. A moment later, she was in the security room, aptly named "The Landing Zone." It was the only place in the entire Ministry building without anti-apparating wards. Measuring fifty feet across, the room had never looked so empty. Usually it was jam-packed with people bustling to meetings, worrying about the newest magical advances, or (more often than Hermione wanted to believe) flirting. Soon, people would begin arriving and the din would be so loud she'd practically have to shout to be heard.

But now, the room seemed vast and her timid footsteps echoed harshly against the marble floor breaking the silence that threatened to consume her. Then again, she was glad that she was here before most others. Although she wouldn't admit it to anyone, she didn't want even a glimpse of another wizard right now. There were too many black cloaks around this place and this silence was getting to her. Every time she turned around, she half-expected to spot a swirling black robe, dark and sinister eyes--No! Voldemort was dead! Defeated! She mustn't let black memories distract her from life any longer.

Whispering the password to one of the many doors, she slipped through before it had a chance to open completely and entered the main corridor. The immensity and beauty of the Ministry's architecture had never failed to enchant her... until that day. Usually she would wander through the halls, looking at sculptures or discussing the latest gossip or political scandal, depending on which painting she was talking to. But today, she headed straight for the stairs, ignoring Bertha, a pretty but plump painting off to her right who was fiercely waving her arm about.

As she reached the fourth floor, she thought she heard something. She stopped and held her breath. An icy finger of worry tickled down her spine. Waiting there on the stairs, straining her ears, she wondered if it was one of the guards. In fact, now that she thought about it, she usually saw at least two by this time. Maybe something had happened?

Her courage returned slightly and she shook her head, feeling extremely silly. She was the biggest wuss ever. She shouldn't even be remembered as a Gryfindor. She didn't deserve the title.

She reached the fifth floor and was stepping into the dimly lit hallway that led to her office when she heard it again. It had sounded like a man's voice. Unsure of what to do, Hermione listened again, hoping to hear Sean or one of the other workers' voices.

Which was the million-dollar question. Why was she so nervous? She was here practically every day for hours and hours on end. She should be comfortable here. This was silly. There was nothing to fear here.

And the silence resumed. A silence that was somehow thicker than it had been before. And much darker.

Hermione set her teeth firmly together in defiance. "I will not be intimidated," she hissed to the silence. "Not here; not anywhere."

The door to her office creaked open as if by a gust of wind and sneaking forward, she peeked into the room. What she saw made her eyes narrow in anger.

Marcus was digging through her desk.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" she exclaimed, hands planted firmly on her hips.

He looked up, startled, but recovered quickly. "Where's your research journal?" he demanded, stepping out from around the desk, treading on the scattered papers that littered the floor.

"I'm sorry?"

"Your research journal, where is it?" His voice was laced with something she hadn't heard in his voice before. It made her nervous.

"I think you'd better leave, Marcus."

He didn't seem to hear her, or didn't seem to care because he continued towards her.

"Now. Don't force me to get security." She pointed sternly to the doorway. "And let me tell you, I will be filing a formal complaint with the Minister--" She cut off as he lunged at her. He slammed her against the wall behind her with such force that it knocked the breath out of her.

"The research journal. Now." He pinned her there, roughly. She wondered if she could somehow work her hands free--or she could scream. It was so quiet that someone was bound to hear. "Screaming won't do you any good. The guards cannot help you, Hermione."

Pale and feeling slightly sick at being figured out so easily, Hermione only stared at him wordlessly. She couldn't believe this. He was her colleague, a friend, someone she ate lunch with, and someone she worked over the weekend with, not someone who attacked her.

"Don't make me ask again," he warned, adjusting his grip so that his hands pressed insistently at her neck.

Stubborn as hell, Hermione glared back. "I must've lost it," she growled. To her surprise, he let her go. She wobbled at the unexpected freedom. But it was short-lived. A hand shot out, backhanding her across the face, making her cry out.

"Last chance."

She remained silent. The second blow was harder, so hard that it made her teeth rattle and her lip split open. Without warning, her knees gave out sending her crashing to the ground. She felt blood ooze down her face and dribble onto the floor. Before she had a chance to recover, Marcus was digging through her bag.

"I found it!" he bellowed loudly and Hermione would've smirked if it wouldn't hurt so much. He was so stealthy.

What did he want her research journal for? All that was in there were charms that didn't work. Another man, this one hidden under a heavy cloak, came in from the side doorway which led to the common room.

She didn't know what they wanted but she would rather destroy the journal than let these pricks walk away with it. Painfully, she slipped her hand into her pocket and grabbed her wand. Whispering the word incendio, Hermione was pleased to see the journal burst into instant flames and both men jumping away from it.

Marcus looked at her with an evil glint in his eyes. She wondered why she had never noticed it before. It probably had something to do with the fact that he had hit her. "You really shouldn't have done that. Now we've got to take you."

She tried to scramble away but the concealed man was already on top of her. Hermione took a deep breath and stared up into his eyes defiantly. Suddenly, they seemed to grow and surround her with blackness. They sucked her in. She fell into their depths, clutching the trailing edges of freedom as they slipped by.

*****

Draco Malfoy stepped into the restaurant and, not bothering to listen to the flustered host, walked directly to the back.

She was at her favorite table by the window. It was probably her favorite because the sun hit her just at the right angle there, shining on that perfectly flowing blonde hair. A smile slid smoothly across her face, but it didn't touch her eyes. She was, by all appearances, a stunning future trophy wife. But Draco knew better. Underneath, she was cunning, calculating and cold, capable of doing anything.

Her perfectly manicured, blood red nails tapped against the table as he sat across from her. "There you are. I was beginning to worry about you," she commented. It would've been believable if it weren't for the complete lack of emotion.

Draco smirked. "Were you, now?"

"Not really." She shook her head slightly, sending her immaculately straight hair cascading around her shoulders. "But it makes me sound nicer if I say that."

That was the Rayanne that he knew. She didn't care one bit about anyone but herself.

"Since when have you given a damn about sounding nice?"

Her posture was perfect. "Draco, you wound me." She tilted slightly forward and said very quietly, "We should stop coming here. We're surrounded by muggle-lovers today."

The waiter, dressed in a pressed blue robe, appeared beside them before he had a chance to respond. Draco quickly waved him away.

"You're not staying?" She raised a sculpted eyebrow.

For a brief second, he entertained the idea of telling her the truth. He wanted to see that perfect façade falter as he told her that she was a vapid whore and that he'd rather snog a dementer than sit with her for a whole meal, but he held his tongue. "No, Damien asked me to meet with him." It wasn't a complete lie. He did have a meeting with her brother later that day.

She nodded. "It probably has to do with what happened this morning."

He leaned forward curiously.

"You haven't heard? This morning we gained control of someone who creates charms for the Ministry."

He absorbed that. "Why?"

"I'm not sure. No doubt for some powerful charm. Damien wouldn't risk exposure this early for something that wasn't worth it. All I know is that he contacted Matthews about extracting the information."

Draco kept his expression neutral even though inside he was worried.

This was bad. This was very bad.

He needed to contact Duff. "Well, my dear. Don't destroy too many lives today." He kissed her proffered hand with a sexy smile. "Sorry I couldn't stay."

Rayanne licked her lips. "Make it up to me by coming over tonight." She batted her eyelashes. "We'll have... dessert." As she said the word, she fingered the edge of his cloak.

"Sounds great but don't wait up." She looked toward her lap and pouted slightly, putting on a hurt air. Draco loved to torment her. Always used to getting her way, early on she had focused on getting him and when she couldn't it became an obsession for her. He was the one thing she couldn't have and it drove her crazy. "You know how your brother can be."

And without another word, he turned and left the restaurant. Immediately upon reentering Diagon Alley, he went to the local owlry and scrawled a quick note to Duff outlining the little bit of information that he knew. Although the Minister of Magic was within walking distance in the Ministry building, they never met. In fact, Draco had never actually talked to the man. They corresponded only through owls.

Only after he saw the tawny owl fly off did he apparate to Damien's manor. The moment he stepped inside, he closed his eyes as the sweet power of the dark arts stole through him, and he did not know if he commanded it, or it commanded him. It was that rush that turned wizards to the dark arts. It became addictive.

Walking to Damien's office, he mentally picked through his options. If the room where the researcher was being kept was unguarded, he could probably sneak him out without anyone being the wiser. But if the room was guarded, there was no way Draco was risking his own life for the poor sod. Sure, Draco was helping the Ministry... well, sort of, but that still didn't mean he worked for them. He only wanted to bring Damien down and Duff promised to help. So, if the room was guarded, he would just have to poison the researcher before he could reveal any information.

Knocking on the ancient oak door, he heard a muffled grunt. He took a moment to harden himself and stepped inside. Damien Bradford sat at his oversized desk, looking more childlike than sinister. He was young, just a few years older than Draco, but he was a very powerful wizard with a cruel streak to match.

"You saw Rayanne this morning, didn't you. That girl needs to learn to keep her mouth shut." He shook his head. "What can I do for you today, Draco?"

Draco leaned against the doorjamb. "I heard you were calling Matthews in for an extraction, I was just wondering if I could go in and try first."

"You always did like the dirty jobs, just like your father." Draco flinched at the mention of the man, but Damien seemed not to notice. "Go ahead, third floor, second room on the right."

Once out of sight, Draco slipped to a back room and perused the shelves. He needed something that wouldn't be automatically assumed as being poisonous. Something common though, that anyone could have. He settled on a small blue vial containing nightshade and slipped it into his pocket before trotting up the stairs. As he turned the corner, he paused in front of a long, curving wall that displayed an extensive forest mural. Its branches waved in an intangible wind. He pretended to examine the painting as he peered down the hall out of the corner of his eye.

There was a guard.

The decision that loomed before him was distasteful, but it was not difficult. It looked like he would be using the poison after all.

*****

Hermione awoke with a start, shooting up into a sitting position with a gasp. Abruptly, her stomach clenched and she closed her eyes, trying to regain a measure of equilibrium.

Everything hurt.

For a second, she feared that when she opened her eyes, she would be back in her nightmare with Voldemort. But this time she knew that something even worse had happened. She was really living this one and this time she didn't have Harry or Ron to help her through.

Carefully, she opened her eyes and blinked. She'd never so appreciated normal, single vision without twos and threes of everything.

The room that she was in was a grand bedroom of some sort. Her heart began to pound incessantly as she looked around for an escape. She knew it was useless though. She could barely focus on not throwing up much less ways to escape her unknown captors without a wand.

"Hullo?" she croaked to the empty room. It hurt to talk; each sound she made echoed through her brain, causing the throbbing in her head to worsen. Hermione had once read that humans had three bones in each ear. Now she knew it to be true. She could count them.

She supposed she could try to stand up and walk around the room to look for a weapon but knew that she wouldn't get far. But the longer she sat there, the more terrified she got. Where was she? What was going to happen to her? The questions swarmed through her already muddled head, making it harder to think.

But even panic has a way of wearing down and soon she felt so weary that she thought she might fall back asleep.

*****

The guard stood aside and let Draco turn the knob. "I don't think she's awake yet, though," the man said.

Bloody hell. The researcher was a woman? "That's fine," he responded, and he stepped in through the doorway and pressed his forehead to the door until it clicked closed. He didn't think he could do this anymore. He couldn't kill an innocent woman, not after what happened with his mother--

He had to. He had no choice. The information in this woman's mind was obviously very important and therefore dangerous in the wrong hands. She must be eliminated before she gave the information to the wrong people.

Draco stood and wasted a full thirty seconds, denying the inevitable, before turning around.

She was sitting on the bed with her back against the headboard, curled up in a ball with her knees drawn up toward her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Her face was down-turned, her chin against her collarbone, as though she were sleeping--or hiding.

Taking a deep breath, he slipped the poison out from his pocket and crossed to the huge four-poster bed. He nudged her but she didn't respond. Cautiously, he moved her head back so that he could have access to her mouth. Without consciously meaning to, he was careful not to look at her face, only her mouth. It was easier not to think of her as a person.

It wasn't until he was unscrewing the bottle that she spoke.

"Draco?" Her voice was cracked and weak but he understood her perfectly.

He looked down into the woman's face, looking past the bruises and dried blood.

His eyes opened wide in shock.

"Granger?"