“You have a theory, I'm sure,” he said with a challenging tone. As though he were daring her to refuse to tell him, so he could just force his way into her thoughts and drag the conclusion out for himself.
She felt tempted to lie, but it would be pointless. He would, undoubtedly, be in her mind again before she escaped. If she didn't tell him now, he'd still know by tomorrow. Or the next day. Or whenever he decided to investigate her thoughts again.
“It's probably from being in that cell for so long,” she said after a minute. “There was nothing — It was like a void. Everyone was dead. No one was going to come for me. I was just there, and I didn't even know how long it had been. The walls — were the only real thing. I guess — I came to rely on them. So now — when I try to walk somewhere, and I don't — I don't know where it goes… I don't know. I can't — it feels like—,” she struggled to explain the terror. “It's like — I'm abandoned all over again. That everyone is dead, and I'm just alone — And I can handle it when my world feels small — but when I remember how big it is — I can't. I can't—“
She choked, and her voice trailed off. She didn't know how to describe it. Words failed to capture all the irrational complexity. She stared away, at a loss.
Malfoy's expression seemed to grow harder while she was talking.
“And yesterday?” he asked after a displeased pause.
“I don't know. I suppose my horror exceeded my fear.”
He was silent for a moment before he snorted faintly and leaned back in his chair, studying her.
“I have to admit, when I heard it was you I would be getting, I was looking forward to being the one to finally break you,” he said and leaned toward her slightly with a hard smile. “But I doubt that it's even possible to exceed what you've done to yourself. It's quite disappointing.”
“I'm sure you'll still try,” she said looking him in the eye. She knew that her despair was written across her face, but there was no point in trying to hide it.
His silver eyes glinted when he saw it.
Chapter End Notes
She felt like she was suffocating by grapesodaandpuddin
The High Reeve by boonookie.
Chapter 9
Malfoy didn't speak to her again for the remainder of the hour. He drew a book from his cloak and set to reading it, apparently impervious to the biting cold.
Hermione closed her eyes for several minutes and tried to force her heart not to pound by merely staring up into the sky.
She was going to overcome it.
She didn't care what it took.
The days blurred together.
Malfoy appeared daily, immediately after lunch, and led her out to the veranda. Once there, he usually ignored her, reading the Prophet or some book. Hermione would skitter about on the veranda, trying to find the nerve to take a walk. She could make it down the marble steps, but she froze before reaching the gravel.
Unlike the hallway, she couldn't seem to overcome it. It was a line she was incapable of crossing. The rational parts of her brain just stuttered to a halt.
So she sat on the steps, gathered gravel into her hands, and tossed the rocks, one at a time, as far as she could. Or arranged them into pictures or runes.
There was nothing else to do.
Malfoy never spoke to her, and because of that she couldn't speak to him. Not that she wanted to, but the indignity that she required permission grated nonetheless.
The fact that the Malfoys needed no servants apparently meant that she was not expected to do anything except exist. They provided her with absolutely no means of occupying herself. No books, no paper, not even a bit of string. She was almost as bored in the manor as she had been in her cell in Hogwarts. Except she was also monitored obsessively by a judgemental portrait and knew there was a mansion outside her bedroom waiting to be explored if she could only summon up the nerve to do so.
Hermione had explored all the bedrooms along her hall repeatedly. She had studied the hedge maze through all the windows until she was almost certain she could find her way through it.
She was trying to find the nerve to descend the stairs and explore the other floors. She'd passed through the first floor almost nine times with Malfoy. Yet she couldn't seem to quite bring herself to do it alone.
After eight days, Malfoy did not appear after lunch. Instead, Healer Stroud walked through the door into Hermione's room.
Hermione stood silently and watched the woman conjure an exam table in the middle of the floor.
Everyone Hermione hated seemed to force her onto tables. Voldemort. Malfoy. Stroud. Hermione walked forward before she was compelled to and seated herself on the edge.
“Open your mouth,” Healer Stroud commanded.
Hermione's mouth opened automatically, and Healer Stroud lifted a potion and poured one drop into Hermione's mouth. As the vial was re-stoppered, Hermione caught a glance of the contents and stiffened. Veritaserum.
She supposed it was one way to make medical appointments efficient — prevent subjects from lying. Hermione couldn't understand the point. The manacles already made her obedient; Healer Stroud could just command her to tell the truth.
Healer Stroud seemed to notice the expression on Hermione's face.
“It simplifies things,” Stroud said, waving her wand. “If the High Reeve had ordered you to lie about something you would be conflicted. This way, your honesty isn't your fault.”
Hermione nodded. She supposed that made sense.
“Hmm. Not pregnant yet. I suppose it was rather too much to hope for so soon.”
Hermione nearly collapsed with relief. Then she recalled that it meant Malfoy would come take her over a table for another five days, and her relief faded sharply.
“Look at me, Miss Granger,” Healer Stroud commanded, “has anyone hurt you since you've been here?”
Hermione stared at the woman steadily while her mouth answered of its own volition.
“I have been physically raped five times and mentally raped twice.”
Healer Stroud looked unfazed but somewhat thoughtful.
“The legilimency is painful?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. I'll make a note of that. No other harm to you?”
“No.”
“Very good. That is a relief. There have been — problems, with some of the others.”
Hermione felt horror creep over her like the caress of a ghost.
“Are — are they alright?” she croaked.
“Oh, yes. We got everything taken care of. Some men simply need to be reminded that the Dark Lord's gifts can be taken back if not cared for properly,” Healer Stroud said. There was no trace of sympathy or guilt in her expression as she continued waving her wand over Hermione.
Hermione wanted to reach over and snap the woman's neck. Her hands shook as she struggled to contain it.
Healer Stroud was indifferent to Hermione's poorly-concealed rage. She cast a diagnostic charm targeted at Hermione's lower abdomen.
“No tearing. That's a relief. It would have been problematic. I should have come sooner to check, but I was quite busy. Overseeing all the placements was more tedious than I imagined.”
Healer Stroud appeared to expect Hermione to be sympathetic. Hermione stared pointedly at the clock and didn't answer.
“Your physical condition has declined somewhat. Are you going outside to exercise daily?” Healer Stroud asked with an irritated expression.
Hermione stiffened; her chest tightened as she tried to breathe and answer the question indifferently.
“I — wasn't. But the High Reeve has begun ensuring it.”