Beacon of Light in a Sea of Darkness

Chapter 2

The morning was light and cheery, and the sun shined brightly overhead. It was just past nine o'clock, and the Ministry of Magic was bustling with activity as employees continuously Apparated, memos flew in the air, elevators ran nonstop, and the large crowd of Ministry officials engaged themselves in loud conversations. The Second Great War was raging outside the presumed safety of the building, but to most employees, this day was exactly like any other. Hermione, especially, as she hurried across the Atrium to the elevators, did not suspect in the least that today's events could potentially change her life, whether for better or for worse. She smiled and greeted her colleagues, trying to find her way toward her office through the labyrinth of people, which proved to be a rather difficult task to accomplish.

"Hermione!" a voice shouted near her.

She spun around, looking for the source of this call, her eyes meeting with none other than Harry's. He pushed through a few people, trying desperately to get to her while earning quite a lot of glares.

When he finally caught up with her, she did not even have an opportunity to say anything at all before he said, "You have to come with me."

"Where are we going?" she asked, letting Harry lead her back toward the direction she had come from.

"Detention rooms," he answered shortly.

It had to have something to do with Malfoy, she reasoned, but she could not even begin to fathom what it could be about. Had he escaped? This thought was immediately dismissed as implausible, or Harry would have told her right off the bat instead of leading her to the cells where she could see whatever it was with her own eyes. The two made their way to the much quieter and less crowded detention areas, and Hermione trailed behind Harry, wondering what was happening. They came to a stop in front of Malfoy's door, where screams and yells could be heard even through the thick, metal door. What in the world...?

When Harry pulled the door open, Hermione could do nothing but stare in shock. Malfoy was screaming in rage and anguish, fighting against the two frustrated Aurors who were trying to pin him down and tie him up. What happened here? What could cause the Death Eater to lash out so recklessly and so violently? He was Malfoy, and he had always kept a cool and collected exterior when interacting with the enemy.

"What happened?" asked Hermione as the two Aurors forced some light blue potion down Malfoy's throat.

"We just found out--and apparently he did too--that he's... incapacitated," replied Harry, whose eyes never left their prisoner.

Her eyebrows knit together. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Her friend finally turned to meet her searching eyes. His face was emotionless. "He's blind, Hermione," he said softly.

"Well, isn't this a good thing?" she asked, confused. There was pity in her heart that contradicted her words as she set her eyes on Malfoy again.

"Do you think so?" he asked, as he gestured at the three struggling men.

"When he calms down, we can--" she started, but was interrupted.

"That's what I thought, too, at first," he said. "But I don't think he's going to tell us anything in this state."

"Does he even know where he is?" she asked.

"We refrained from telling him this piece of information."

A plan started to forge itself in Hermione's mind. Malfoy was blinded, he didn't know where he was, and he might be a high-ranking Death Eater. They could definitely take advantage of this.

"Let's make a deal with him," she suggested.

Harry looked incredulous. "With him?" he asked. "He's a great negotiator, haven't you heard?"

"Well..." A smile formed at Hermione's lips. "We just have to make him a deal he can't refuse."

He was silent, urging her to continue.

"Let's offer him a cure for his blindness in exchange for the information," she said. "Of course, he would never tell us anything, so we'll just... coax it out of him."

Harry's serious and solemn face brightened slightly at these words.

"Why hadn't I thought of that?" he asked, smiling at Hermione. "That's a great idea! But what should we disclose about the location? Any suggestions?"

With a shrug of her shoulders, she said, "You're the Deputy Director. You decide what would be best. All I can think of is saying that he's at St. Mungo's."

"That could work," he said pensively. "I'll discuss it with Kingsley. In the meanwhile, you can wait until I come back."

"What should I do?" she asked uncertainly as Malfoy still struggled against his guards, though his attempts and strength were much weaker. The Relaxation Potion seemed to be slowly taking effect.

"You can go to your office or keep watch on him with O'Donnell and Johnston."

Hermione chose the former, and while she resumed working on the Nott case, she found it difficult to concentrate, for her thoughts continued to drift toward Malfoy. They had spent seven years at Hogwarts, and they hadn't been on the best of terms even after they had graduated. In her four years out of Hogwarts, she had very few encounters with him, and she had been grateful. But now, he was confined feet away from her office, and she found this knowledge very disconcerting. There was no wish on her part to work with him, even though during the last year of their Hogwarts education, he had become slightly tolerable, but she still felt nothing but contempt when his name is mentioned. After sixth year, Harry, Ron, and Hermione thought that Malfoy could be brought to the right side of the war, but they had been wrong. He had continued his Death Eater activities, and whatever pity and hope she had felt at the time vanished at once. And now, she was again met with a very similar dilemma. She felt pity for his blindness, but at the same time, she despised everything about him, from his bleached blond hair to his usually impeccable dragon-hide boots to his behavior and his very being. She did not want to have anything to do with him, but luck was not on her side that day.

"Hermione." It was Harry again.

"Yes?"

"I talked to Kingsley, and he approves," he said. "But here's what's happened. He insists on you talking to him."

Disgust would be an understatement when describing the look that instantly crossed her face. "What?"

"It's Kingsley's decision, and I have to respect that." Harry sighed. "He's my supervisor, he's more experienced, and... I know how much you dislike Malfoy, just like the rest of us, but just do it, okay? For us and for our side's victory?"

"But why me?" she asked. She knew that she was cornered, yet she tried desperately to find her way out of this situation. "Costa is part of the Redemption Squad, not me."

"Yes, we're all aware of this," was Harry's weak attempt at consolation. It seemed as though he did not like the idea any more than she did. "There's nothing I can do. Try it, and if it's really terrible, we'll take you out of there immediately."

"You still haven't answered my question," she said curtly. "Why me?"

He shrugged. "I suppose that it's because you're a very valuable prosecutor who managed to put many Death Eaters into Azkaban. It's more likely that you would be able to find out things from him, whether through manipulation or otherwise. Besides, Costa's in the Redemption Squad. I doubt Malfoy's anywhere near redemption any time soon. We're not trying to redeem him anyway. Just get information from him."

"How do you suppose I'd be able to do that?" She was still incredulous and skeptical.

Again, he shrugged. "That's up to you," he said simply, and left her office, leaving her absolutely dumbfounded.

*****

The overwhelming smell of potions and alcohol filled St. Mungo's, and Hermione couldn't help but grimace. These times of war rendered the magical hospital much busier than usual, and she felt lucky not to have chosen to be a Healer after careful and serious consideration at Hogwarts. Just having to smell the potions and chemicals would be bad enough, but having to face death in those entrusted into her care everyday could be even worse. As she made her way to the bored blonde witch behind the counter with the latest copy Witch Weekly, she couldn't help but look around her. Some of the patients grew extra body parts, some looked in a great amount of pain, and even some behaved very oddly, such as the wizened witch clucking around like a chicken and the wizard who scratched himself nonstop with the heel of his shoe. She could hear the frantic cries of the Healers as they pushed the beds of the patients in critical condition through the halls. When she looked back at the witch behind the counter, she wondered how the woman could look so indifferent whereas the patients around her were already making Hermione's head spin.

"Good morning," said Hermione in an authoritative voice, showing the woman her badge. The blonde briefly slowed down her gum-chewing and looked up from the top of her magazine as she inspected the badge lazily. "Agent Hermione Granger, Auror Office, Ministry of Magic," she continued, replacing her badge in her pocket. "I'm here to see Melanie Perkins."

Sighing irritably, the witch dragged her perfectly manicured finger down a long list of names.

"Fourth floor, room 402," she said simply before her eyes fell on the glossy pages of her magazine again.

"Thank you," muttered Hermione, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. When she left the counter, she noticed that only then had people started to form a short queue, and right before she turned the corner toward the stairs, she saw the blonde witch throw down her magazine frustratingly to address the newly arrived patients.

A short and plump Healer with a cart of flowers was just exiting room 402 when Hermione arrived. The Healer held the door open for her with a warm smile, and with a "thank you", Hermione slipped in.

The only two occupants of the ward were an unconscious man and a dark-haired girl stroking a flower absentmindedly. Hermione approached the girl and made introductions, but Melanie didn't even look at her once.

"Melanie?" she asked softly.

The girl continued to stroke the petals of a violet. Her eyes shone brightly under the light. Was she crying? Not even a sniffle or a sob could be heard...

"My mother's favorite flowers were violets," said Melanie abruptly. "Isn't it pretty?" She held out the violet to Hermione. It was wilted and brown at the edges. Most of its petals had fallen off, and the remainder was wrinkled.

"Er... yes, it is very pretty," answered Hermione hesitantly, but the awkwardness went unnoticed by the young girl.

"My mother used to think so too," she said, her eyes dazed as if she were in a far-off land. "We had a small garden full of them in the backyard of my house, and my mother and I used to plant them and take care of them together. We always ended up with a lot of dirt and mud on our faces and clothes." She laughed a short, mirthless laugh. "The witch who just came and brought the flowers didn't have many violets. Just this one." Her fingers stroked the remaining petals gently as if they would shatter if she touched them too hard.

"Melanie..." began Hermione as soothingly as possible, but the young girl's eyes gushed with tears. "It's all right."

She picked up the girl, hugging her closely and tightly.

"No, it's not all right," sobbed Melanie. "Do you know how she died? She was stabbed and thrown in her own little garden of violets... And Daddy... He tried to help her, but he was hit by the Killing Curse. And do you know what they did? They laughed and laughed and LAUGHED."

Her sobs were increasing in volume.

"And do you have any idea what they did to me?" she hissed angrily. "Corpses... everywhere... Their cursers... They were so painful... I could feel my insides tearing. I screamed, and they laughed. They called me a worthless little Mudblood... And then... And, and then...They... they tore my clothes, my brand new clothes... for school... it was going to be my last year there... and..." She was unable to continue, her whole body wracking in sobs.

Cringing inwardly and compassion filling every ounce of her being, Hermione tightened her hold on Melanie, whispering "Shh" soothingly in her ear. She rubbed her back in calming circles, repeating "it's okay" over and over again, when Hermione knew that it wasn't okay, and it could never be okay.

When Melanie's sobs quieted down, she asked softly, "What do you need? Miss..."

"Granger, but call me Hermione," she answered hastily relinquishing her vice-like grip on the girl. "Melanie, I understand how you feel and I am wholeheartedly sorry for what you were forced to go through. Oh Merlin, I am so sorry. I'm here to help you, but I will need your help as well to bring these... people... to justice for what they did to you."

"What do you want me to do?" she asked.

"We need you as our witness," answered Hermione. "I know how hard it is to relive it again, but we need you to testify before the Wizengamot."

Melanie's eyes closed and she turned away, shaking her head.

"Please, we need your help," said Hermione.

She continued to shake her head vigorously.

"Melanie, look at me," demanded Hermione firmly. Slowly, hesitantly, blue eyes met compassionate brown ones. "Do you want to see your captors in Azkaban? Do you want justice to be done to them?" Slowly, Melanie nodded, but their brief eye contact was broken again, for she turned away. "Then you must help us."

"I don't know..." muttered Melanie so softly that Hermione wondered if she had actually said it.

"Well, either way, I'll give you time to think and make your decision," she said, standing up. "I am sincerely sorry. I really am. Remember, we're here to help you. I want your captors in Azkaban as much as you do, but in order to make this happen, we'll have to have your help. Think about it and Floo me once you make your decision. You know where to find me."

When she was already by the door, she turned back and said, "Oh and Melanie?" The young girl looked at her with such sad eyes that Hermione felt her own tears start to form. "Please... do take care of yourself."

The younger girl nodded, and Hermione lingered by the doorframe just a little longer before walking out into the hall, closing the door behind her as she wiped the moisture from her eyes.

*****

The bright green eyes widened behind two perfectly round lenses. Hermione had just finished telling him of her endeavor in persuading the Muggle-born Melanie Perkins to testify.

"So is she going to do it?" asked Harry.

"Honestly, I don't know," said Hermione with a sigh.

"Let's hope so," said Harry in resignation. "In the meanwhile, we have another task for you."

Harry stood up, and groaning inwardly, Hermione followed his lead to the detention rooms. When the guards opened the heavy doors to the cell, revealing the reclining form of Draco Malfoy, she took a deep breath and stepped inside.