Chapter Text
“Hiya Barney… Did you miss me?” She smiled as she came to a stop in front of the man. The decrepit, gangly looking man stared back at her with a fear that made her heart race. There is a look that animals get in their eyes when they are cornered, when they know they are about to meet their end. It was the same look in Barney's eyes now. “You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost.”
He shook his head frantically. It was so bizarre to her that this was the man who had terrorized her for so long. He used to seem taller, more intimidating, but now, he was nothing more than a puppet. Small.
“I don't know anything, I swear—” He stammered, a feral, a silent pleading look in his eyes to spare him.
“You don't?” Hermione sighed, disappointment flooding her. Not because she believed him, she didn't. Barney Stillwater was a lying good for nothing scumbag, but because if this is how he wanted things to go then it meant she might be late for her dinner plans. “You don't know anything at all? Is that really what we are going with here Barney?”
“I don't, I don't! I swear on everyone I love!” He cried out. His voice bounced off the walls of the damp, dark warehouse.
Pier 41. Her little playhouse.
Hermione stared back at him. Watching the sweat beads run down his temples and he fought against the magic binding him to the large metal beam holding up a partially collapsed part of the roof.
“You swear… on your wife's life, you don't know anything?” Hermione asked again. It was harder to hold the mask of a meek, strangled soul in place with people like this. With people who served no real purpose in her grander plans.
“Yes! I swear, but… but I could try and find something. I could do a little digging—”
Her feet closed the distance between them, her heels clicking on the concrete foundation. He struggled against her hold as she tipped the small vial of vertaserum into his mouth and cut off his air supply with her hand pinching his nose closed and covering his mouth.
The same way he had done to her a few hundred times over the years, maybe more, who could really tell anymore.
Was he thinking about those times too? Their special little moments of bonding?
She didn't lessen her hold until she watched the bobbing of his throat, swallowing down the potion he did not want. “Vertaserum is so hard to come by these days, expensive too… or it would be but thankfully I made a few connections while in that hell hole you helped keep me in. So, let's try that again. Do you know anything at all about my captivity, my conditioning, the tea you force feed me, the person behind all of it, anything.”
“Yes, the—”
Her hand raised to silence him, aided by Flora's tongue tie hex because he had lied the first time around, and she wanted him to understand that for every action, for every word that fell out of that mouth of his, consequence would exact what it was owed.
“Bunny?” She called softly in the direction of the grim, dark office just off the factory floor.
Adrian Pucey was easily as tall as Barney, but he was much quieter. In Anzka, she had learned to tell who was coming for her by the sound of their footsteps. A useful tool. Adrian had no footsteps. He moved silently. Quickly. Proficiently.
Abigail Stillwater, did not. She fought against Adrian's hold, like a bunny caught in a trap, Adrian, being the trap, didn't even have to try.
The snapping of vertebrae was louder than her struggles. Abigail's body hit the floor, limp and lifeless before Barney could fully register her presence in the warehouse. But his muffled screams of anguish that followed soothed the itchy feeling under Hermione’s skin at being so close to him again.
“Thank you, Bunny.” She offered quietly with a small smile in Adrian's direction. Humming in approval as he held out a lit cigarette for her.
The smell of the smoke was normally enough to keep her grounded but the burn of it in her lungs didn't quite cover the taste of blood in her throat that had never gone away, tugging and pulling that thought to the forefront of her mind.
“It is good for you, sweetheart. Doctors orders.” Barney grinned over her as he forced the tea down her throat. “It helps you, you want to get better don't you, you want to be a good girl for us and do as you're told? Then stop being a little bitch and swallow.” His breath was hot on her ear, whatever the tea was laced with was already causing her body to hum and lose its grasp on gravity. “Unless you would rather I find something else for you to choke on.”
She couldn't even properly understand his words because the only thing she could taste was death, her body gave out the fight and she swallowed the vile concoction, trying to get it away from her taste buds. Rotting wood.
There was no reason for her to know what that should taste like but it was exactly that. Like the crumbling damp trunks on the deep forest floor, covered in moss and decaying leaves.
It became her. Her back rooted itself into the ground and bugs crawled over her, burrowing into her flesh and making her body their home. Kingsley’s boney half rotten fingers grabbed at her from below the ground and pulled her into the dirt.
You did this, you did this, you did this. Whispered in her ear over and over. Relentlessly.
Moss covered her, smothering her, pushing her down deeper into the dirt, down to Kingsley’s waiting clutches—
“Hermione.” Hestia's voice cut through the haze, dragging her back to the warehouse. Iron. Smoke. Concrete.
The bugs vanished, the earth fell away, she was standing not sinking and she had to focus, Draco was waiting for her.
Another sharp inhale of the cigarette, she looked at Barney, still sobbing, equal parts trying to look away from his wife's body and drawn to where Adrian had let her fall, contorted and bending in unnatural ways. “Such a shame, she seemed like such a lovely lady. Clearly had no idea the kind of life you lead at work though.” Hermione tutted, nudging one of Abigail's hands with her foot.
The glistening of her wedding ring caught her attention. It wasn't hard, the rock on her finger was huge. Far too large for a man working a career's salary. Just as his house had been. “You seem like you really loved her.” Hermione noted as tears streamed down the man's face. “Probably shouldn't have sworn on her life when you were lying huh?”
Her attention returned to Adrian, “Now what would you say that is Bunny?” A thin curl of smoke rose into the air from between her fingers.
“Justice.” Adrian drawled, his eyes and cold as they had ever been.
“Justice huh… There was no justice for me when I was locked up you know, the world didn't give a shit what happened to me but that's okay. I'm far better at getting justice myself anyway.” the cigarette, flicked and discarded into a forgotten corner of the warehouse. “Time tends to be a good motivator for perspective, don't you think? Maybe that's what you need Barney. Time, to uh… jog your memory.”
“Its supposed to be sunny tomorrow, it'll be a hot box in here.” Flora pointed out, her hazel eyes locked on Abigail's body with a mild curiosity.
“Good point. A day or two should be plenty of time to reflect on your actions, don't you think Barney?” Hermione smirked, indicating for Adrian and the Carrow twins to move out.
Barney's muffled sobs were cut off as the warehouse door closed behind them. “Polyjuice and bank records please Bunny.” Hermione called out walking away.
“On it.”
His hand was warm against her longer back, gentle, guiding her and reminding her that he was here, that they could do this.
“The court is now in session.” The chairman announced, his purple robes rustling. “The Wizengamont will now hear the case of Miss Hermione Granger, for whom it has been petitioned that she may be released from Anzka Asylum following Nine years, eight months and thirteen days of intensive treatment—”
Treatment. Her jaw clenched and she pressed her teeth together. Near ten years of fucking treatment.
“and released into the custody of Mr. Draco Malfoy, to act as sponsor in her rehabilitation.”
Draco pressed his hand further against her back and she blinked, offering a small, demure smile to the panel, like a mask.
Be calm. Be healed. Be reformed. Be a puppet.
Play the game.
A mental reminder to herself that they needed to see a miracle not a monster.
“Doctors in charge of Miss Granger's care agree that in the last few years there has been a significant improvement in her behaviour and that she demonstrates a clearer understanding of the events that happened—”
Play the game.
“And that she shows signs of genuine remorse for her actions. Mr. Malfoy, you understand what your role would be if it is voted through with release being the outcome?”
“Yes, your honour.” Draco’s voice was like velvet, smooth, steady. Carefully designed to make each and every cunt up there in the stands believe him.
The word remorse bounced around in her skull, like a sick joke but she played along, knew her part. Remorse was necessary. It was expected.
She had killed two of her own people. Ended the life of one of her oldest friends and struck down Kingsley when he tried to restrain her. That was the story she had no choice but to be a part of.
“Miss Granger, how do you feel about the prospect of release? Do you believe you are safe to rejoin society?”
No.
“Yes, your honour. I am not a danger to anyone anymore.” She smiled with restrained politeness.