Healer Stroud rolled her eyes and sighed. “Clearly there is no reasoning with you. You are still too emotional about everything. Perhaps someday, a witch with your intelligence will come to appreciate what I am trying to do.”
Hermione said nothing. She squinted and tried to read the calendar again. Her fingers twitched.
Healer Stroud dropped a file on top of the dates and stood up. Hermione looked up.
“The Dark Lord is eager for you to be under the supervision of someone capable of monitoring your memories. I had requested an extension, in order to see how the training affects you, but you'll reach your window of fertility in a few days, and the Dark Lord wants you pregnant as soon as possible. I would have helped you prepare physically but — you don't seem to want my help. The High Reeve is married. I'm sure he knows what to do and won't mind training you to suit himself.”
Healer Stroud gave a cold, thin smile and Hermione flinched. Her stomach twisted painfully.
Healer Stroud reached into her drawer and pulled out a bag.
“This will take you to the High Reeve's estate. They're expecting you.”
She reached toward Hermione. Hermione skittered back.
She dropped her chin down and tried to breathe. She just needed a moment to brace herself. To prepare for what she was about to face — and what she was about to do.
”Put out your hand,” Healer Stroud said as she walked around the desk toward Hermione. Hermione's heart was pounding painfully in her chest as she bit her lip and tried to swallow the dread rising up in her like a tide.
Helpless. Defenseless. Obedient.
Hermione's hand began to raise itself. A coin fell onto her palm. Instantly she felt a tug behind her navel as she was whisked away.
Chapter End Notes
"You will be quiet. You will be obedient." by keerthi_draws.
Hermione in uniform by graciek_217
Hermione reappeared in a dark foyer. It was an immaculate, empty room. A black, lacquered, circular table sat in the center of the room. There was a large bouquet of white flowers on the table.
She turned slowly. She didn't want to miss any details, but the stupid wings of the bonnet acted like blinders. She could only see straight ahead.
A large stairway lay to the right. Cold hallways led into darkness and further into the house. It was a manor, and an enormous one based on the width of the staircase.
“Hello, Mudblood.”
A cold voice made her freeze.
Slowly turning all the way around, she found Draco Malfoy.
He was older.
Her last memory of him was fifth year when he was on the Inquisitorial Squad. He had grown taller. He towered over her, and his face had lost every trace of boyishness. There was a dangerous, refined brutality in the way he held himself.
The way he looked at her...
His eyes were like a wolf's; cold and feral.
The deadliness in him was palpable. As he looked down at her, she felt certain, he could lean forward and cut her throat while staring in her eyes. Then step back, only caring that she not get blood on his shoes.
He was the High Reeve.
Voldemort's right hand. His executioner.
The number of her friends that he had murdered: Ginny, McGonagall, Moody, Neville, Dean, Seamus, Professor Sprout, Madam Pomfrey, Flitwick, Oliver Wood... the list went on and on. Aside from those who had been tortured to death immediately after the final battle — every person that she knew to be dead following the war — the High Reeve had killed them.
The girls had whispered to her during the first few nights. Telling her about the world of horror she had missed while locked under Hogwarts.
She hadn't thought he could be someone she knew.
Someone so young.
Terror welled up inside her. She wasn't sure what to do to handle the shock.
Before she could react — or even process the realisation — his eyes locked into hers, and he abruptly slammed his way into her mind.
The force almost made her black out.
His mental intrusion was like a blade, driving straight into her memories. He sliced through the fragile barrier that she tried to erect with the shreds of internal magic she could summon. He drilled into her blocked memories.
It was like having a nail driven into her head.
The precision and the unrelenting force.
He wouldn't stop trying to break through. It felt almost worse than the cruciatus curse. It lasted longer than the torture curse could without driving the recipient insane.
When he finally stopped, she found herself lying on the ground. Malfoy was standing over her, staring down at her as she shuddered from the trauma of his intrusion.
“So, you really have forgotten everything,” he said as he appraised her. “What is it you think you're protecting in that brain of yours? You lost the war.”
She couldn't answer.
She had no answer.
“Oh well,” he said, straightening his robes slightly. “The Dark Lord was kind enough to send you to me. If ever you do recover your memories, I'll be the first to know.”