Sanctuary

~*~*~*~*~

Hermione knew Healers and wizarding psychologists were perplexed. How could they not be? Nothing like this had ever happened in the history of the Wizarding World. No witch or wizard had ever lost their emotions by witnessing what she had witnessed.

There was debate amongst them. Was the loss caused by psychological or physical trauma? Those who believed it was purely a psychological trigger said it was her mind's way of defending itself. They believed that her emotions were not "lost", per se; they were simply hidden behind a "wall" her mind had thrown up hastily to avoid any contact with what she saw. They also theorised that if only she were exposed to an overload of any emotion, the wall would collapse, thus "releasing" any and all of her sentiments.

Those who believed it was a physical blow to her head thought differently. They debated that the brain was a very delicate organ, and that any strategically aimed blow could cause an infinite amount of damage--paralysis, retardation, death, and now this.

"Damage anywhere in the cortex," argued one Healer, "will alter some aspect of cognitive function, which in turn will alter personality and emotional behavior."

Hermione had had no usual signs of head injuries, argued the wizard psychologists. Of course, being in the Wizarding World, that doesn't rule out the possibility of a head injury--magic can be a very clean criminal, was the Healers' rebuttal.

Another Healer said that the damage wasn't in the cortex, but in the frontal lobe, which plays a special role because it has direct control of autonomic function as well as spontaneous facial expression. The possibilities were endless.

As for Hermione, she didn't much care if they found out what caused her to be like she was. She didn't much care if they found a way to get her emotions back. All she wanted to do was leave the Merlin-forsaken grey box they kept her in and...well, all she knew was that she didn't want to be cooped up and be poked at.

She didn't care what they did; all she wanted was to be left alone.

~*~*~*~*~

"The Muggles?"

"They're in the main dungeon."

"Good, bring them here. The Dark Lord will be here shortly."

"I still don't understand why Master would want to be in the presence of such filth."

"Don't be daft, McNair, everything the Dark Lord does has its purpose."

"Do you think the girl will talk when she sees them?"

"They're her parents, aren't they?"

"She's loyal, Malfoy."

"Don't be an imbecile. Loyalty is overrated in Mudbloods and Muggles."

~*~*~*~*~

Draco Malfoy had always been one to lay it on the thick--which was why Harry was surprised that the blond boy only stared back at him with a blank look in his eyes. Blood continued to seep through Malfoy's fingers, and it took all Harry had not to simply turn away in disgust.

When Malfoy's knees buckled, Harry quickly reached for a chair and not-so-gently shoved him onto it. As Harry turned away to look for a rag, he heard Malfoy curse softly.

"What happened, Malfoy?" Harry asked as he handed the other boy the rag.

Malfoy moved his bloody hand away and gingerly pressed the rag to his belly; he hissed and gripped the seat of the chair in a white-knuckled grip. "What do you care?"

Harry looked at him. "I don't." He shrugged. "I just don't think Mrs. Weasley will appreciate blood stains on her chair or her floor."

Malfoy tried to take in a deep breath and ended up gasping from pain. He closed his eyes and heard the other boy stand. "My father."

Harry dug his hands in the pockets of his dressing gown, unsure of why he was still there. "Your father?" Cursing his saving people-thing, he took his wand out of his pocket and murmured, "Coagulus," to stop the bleeding.

Malfoy breathed a sigh of relief and opened his eyes. "My father, while being completely insane, was very creative when it came to punishment."

Harry's eyes widened. "Are you telling me that your father did this to you? But he's in Azkaban!"

"He didn't do this tonight." Malfoy reached into his pocket and took out a small red vial. Harry was about to ask what it was when Malfoy took a sip of whatever it was that was in the vial. "He did this when I was seven."

Harry only gave him a blank look. "So...you practically bled to death tonight because of something your father did... eleven years ago?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "No." He rose from his chair and, to Harry's amazement, he began pacing--as if he hadn't been bleeding profusely only minutes ago.

"When I was younger, my father never failed to remind me that I was never good enough--by Malfoy standards." Malfoy took his own wand out and murmured a quick Scourgify. "He couldn't accept that I couldn't live up to those standards. He realised that simple words wouldn't get me to do better; so he came up with the brilliant idea of this." Harry watched as Malfoy hiked up his shirt to reveal what had been bleeding so painfully--an 'M.'

The letter was carved in his skin and looked to be about nine centimetres tall and five centimetres wide. Harry wagered it wasn't a shallow wound, either. Since the mark had bled abundantly, the pale skin that surrounded it was an angry red and swollen.

It took Harry a few moments for him to tear his eyes away from the letter. "He marked you?"

Malfoy lowered his shirt and shrugged. "In a manner of speaking." He gave Harry a wry chuckle. "The mark was hexed to work by his doctrine. Like, if I got a lower mark than Granger on a test, the mark would tear itself open and bleed--sort of like having a knife carving the letter every time I didn't do something right."

Harry grimaced but remained silent.

"As I grew older, the pain intensified," he told Harry. "My mother never knew." He chuckled, amused with himself. "Not that she'd have done anything."

"Is that why you're such an arse?" Harry asked him, trying not to feel sorry for him. "Because you always have a wound in your stomach?"

Malfoy gave him a half-hearted smirk. "No."

Harry wondered why Malfoy's smirks held no more 'sting.' But before Harry could think of why he had suddenly become fascinated with Malfoy's facial expressions, the blond boy said, "You should go."

Harry nodded. "Will you be--" he caught himself before he asked the Slytherin if he was going to be all right. "Er...yeah," he finished lamely. He turned and made his way back to Ron's room.

~*~*~*~*~

The next morning, Harry and Ron were scheduled to visit Hermione again. While both were anxious to see their best friend, they weren't looking forward to having her look at them as if they were strangers.

Harry felt restless and useless--they hadn't found anything that could help her. All the Healers had were theories.

When they entered her room they noticed that the drapes on the tiny window were drawn shut, so the room looked even gloomier than before. As Ron shut the door behind him, Hermione turned her head toward them. She was seated on a chair on the left corner of the room with an old copy of the Daily Prophet in her hands--well, pieces of it, anyway. She had thin strips of the paper strewn all around her feet. Harry wondered what the bloody hell she was doing before he noticed it.

She looked different. Last week when they'd visited her for the first time, she'd looked...unkempt. Her hair had been a tangled mess and the robe the hospital had given her to wear had been rumpled. Now she looked disturbingly groomed. Her hair had been sleeked back in a tight ponytail, and she now sported a fitted white jumpsuit.

Both boys approached her and sat on the chairs that had been provided for them. Hermione looked at Ron then at Harry, as if wondering why they were there. Harry plastered a fake smile on his face and greeted her with a soft, "Hello."

It surprised both Harry and Ron when she responded with, "You're wasting your time." When all they did was stare at her incredulously, she went back to tearing the newspaper into little pieces.

Harry looked at Hermione as if she'd grown an extra head. "What?"

"You're wasting your time." Hermione's voice was flat and even. "The Healers and Wizard psychologists don't know what to do--what makes you think you can help?" As she said this, her hands kept tearing the paper into thin strips that were precisely the same length and width.

Hermione lifted her gaze to Harry. "There has to be something that can be done--I can feel it," he told her. "You can't give up, Hermione."

Hermione cocked her head a bit to the side and watched him curiously. "Why do you care so much?"

Harry scoffed a little at that. "Because you're my best friend. I can't imagine living my life without you--the real you."

Hermione raised a brow and lowered her gaze. "I'm not your best friend."

Harry suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe, and vaguely heard Ron gasp. "Hermione, what are you talking about?" Ron said.

Harry's chest was rapidly becoming more and more constricted. "I didn't say it to hurt your feelings, Harry," she said nonchalantly. "It's only the truth." Harry only tried to swallow through the hard lump that was lodged in his throat.

Hermione looked at Harry again. "I'm not your best friend because I'm not the same person I was before the kidnap." She held up a strip of paper and peered intriguingly at it, a slight frown forming on her brow. "I don't remember much of it," she said offhandedly. "It's really all a blur now. But I know what's missing...they've only told me hundreds of times."

Harry saw her run a strip of paper through her thumb and middle finger, and felt his stomach become heavy with guilt. "It really has nothing to do with you, so your guilt is certainly misplaced," she said, knowing what he was thinking.

Harry rubbed a hand over his sore chest. "Don't you want to be that person again?" he asked. "That person you were before the kidnap."

Hermione shrugged. "All I want is to be left alone."

Harry felt his heart sink when she dropped her gaze and continued running her fingers down the thin piece of paper.

*~*~*~*

When both boys arrived back at the Burrow later that day, they found Malfoy in the kitchen nursing a cup of tea.

Ron ignored Malfoy and headed for the fridge to retrieve a butterbeer...and found not one bottle. "Bloody hell," he muttered, and slammed the door of the offending icebox. With a slight pout, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter.

Harry shook his head and turned away from his brooding friend.

"How's Granger?"

The comment made both Harry and Ron whip their heads in Malfoy's direction. The blond's head was bowed, and his back was slouched forward. The only sound he made was with the spoon he had in his tea.

"What?" At Harry's incredulous inquiry, Malfoy lifted his head and looked at him.

"How's Granger?" he repeated.

"He heard you," Ron snapped. As Malfoy looked toward him, he unfolded himself and stalked over to where the other boy was sitting. "What I want to know is why the bloody hell you would want to know? You hate Hermione."

Malfoy dropped his gaze. "Yes, it would seem that way."

"Just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Ron!" Harry hissed. "Do you want your whole bloody family to come barreling down here to see what you're yelling about?"

Ron glared at Malfoy, but remained silent.

Harry turned to Malfoy. "Why would you ask?"

Malfoy shrugged. "It's a simple question." At Harry's raised eyebrow, Malfoy shook his head. "I'm only curious. For days all I've heard is how it's such a shame that the brightest witch that has ever walked the halls of Hogwarts has come to such a tragic end."

"Hermione isn't dead." The way it was said had Malfoy cocking his head a bit to the side.

"Not physically."

Harry's eyes lost their focus as he said, "No, not physically."

"But she's going to be better soon," Ron said vehemently. "You'll see. Nothing your father could have done can bring Hermione down. Nothing." He expected Draco to glower and tell him off...but the blond's response wasn't anything he expected.

"It wouldn't be Granger if it were otherwise."

Harry thought Ron would have looked a bit comical if the situation weren't so tense--with his bulging eyes and gaping mouth.

When Ron recovered, he looked at Malfoy with narrowed eyes. "You'll not deny your father was involved in Hermione's kidnap?"

Malfoy scoffed a bit at that. "No." At Ron's puzzled look, he said, "I know he was involved. He told me so."

"What?" Harry shot out of his chair and balled his hands into fists. "You knew what was going to happen and you didn't tell anyone? Are you so much a bastard that--"

Malfoy bolted out of his own chair and stood nose-to-nose with Harry. "I may be a bastard, but I'm no murderer." Both boys stood that way for a few moments before Ron interjected.

"But you knew what happened."

Malfoy looked and stepped away from Harry and turned to Ron. "What I knew I told Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore?" asked Harry.

"Yes. How do you think they found her so quickly?" Malfoy righted the chair he had knocked over and sat down.

"Quickly?" Harry asked disbelievingly. "Hermione was held hostage for a week!"

"Are you that stupid?" Malfoy snapped. "If she'd have stayed longer, she would've been killed." When the other two boys gasped, Malfoy paid them no mind and continued. "The reason they kidnapped her was because Voldemort wanted information. It wasn't a ransom. Voldemort had no interest in getting you in hands at that time. Don't you see? The Dark Lord wanted you to suffer as much as you could. It was a win-win situation, you see; if Granger told him the knowledge he needed, then he could get to you easily; if she didn't, then he'd kill her and have you go half-mad with grief. Either way, he'd kill you. But I suppose you got a bit ahead of him."

"You told Dumbledore all of this?" Ron asked.

Malfoy nodded.

"What information did Voldemort want?" Harry struggled to swallow past the lump that was lodged in his throat. If he hadn't been sure that all that happened to Hermione was his own fault, he was now.

Malfoy only shrugged. "That my father didn't tell me. But he did tell me this," he said as he leaned closer to Harry. "If Granger didn't cooperate, they were going to use her parents."

"How?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Malfoy said quietly. "They were going to use her parents as bait."

"Her parents are dead," Harry said blankly. Those four words spoke more of Hermione's loyalty than any speech ever could have.

Malfoy nodded and looked at Ron. "Did they ever tell you why Granger is how she is?"

Ron shook his head, his face set in an expression of worry mixed with anger and fear. "All the Healers said was that they hadn't come up with anything concrete."

"You know why," Harry accused with a scowl.

Malfoy raised a brow and said, "If I knew, I would have said something."

"Then you think you know why," said Harry. Malfoy remained silent, as if considering whether or not he should tell them what he thought.

"I think they murdered them in front of her."