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The Prisoner	By : Nerys Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 63563 -:- Recommendations : 6 -:- Currently Reading : 13
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: I thank everyone for reading, rating and reviewing: DB1, Summer Leah, Lady Miya, MalfoysBitch, m0nt, Gabby0515, Serpent In Red, Al_Riddle, A, Fleur K., moor.

Review replies can be found at: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/19576-the-prisoner-by-nerys/page__pid__264734__st__140#entry264734

xxx

Special thanks to my super betas: Serpent In Red and Cosettex. Also thanks to Lady Miya for commenting on a scene that I thought was missing something and helping me out there.

xxx

The Prisoner

Chapter 14: Complications

Sitting on the ragged bunk with his arms around his knees, Lucius Malfoy—once again—listed all the reasons in his mind why he didn’t deserve to be here in Azkaban. He was tricked, coerced, cursed, tortured, made to feel like a guest in his own home; his house, his priceless belongings, cast aside like rubbish by the Dark Lord; his precious cane was broken, and his wand was destroyed beyond repair.

‘I WAS A VICTIM, TOO!’ he yelled desperately against the empty, stone walls of his cell, hugging his legs tighter. ‘Cissy,’ he sobbed. ‘I want my Cissy.’

He’d never felt so alone in his life. Narcissa couldn’t make it this morning—some appointment she couldn’t reschedule. Didn’t she know that only seeing her thrice a day was already murder? How could she leave him here all alone? Who’d do his hair now? She couldn’t even fix it properly because of the horrific shampoo they had him use here. No Conditioning Potion either! Horrified, his hand clutched to a dull, messy tuft of hair, while he narrowed his grey eyes at it.

By Salazar, no! Split ends, he had split ends!

Clutching to his head in despair, he didn’t understand why he had to go through all of this, why they made him suffer like this. His hair … his precious hair …

Why did he have to live like this? This was a nightmare. He was an absolute mess, and for what?

His wife saved Potter.

His. Wife. Saved. Potter!

Surely, that should’ve counted for something? Why was he even here? It was so unfair. So he tortured and killed a few unworthy specimens—maybe a bit more—but still, he was a Malfoy! He was entitled. All the money he’d spent on the Wizengamot in the past; all those people who suddenly pretended not to know him anymore as if they hadn’t taken every Knut he’d offered them.

Narcissa. Saved. Potter.

He should’ve been given an Order of Merlin!

Did ex-Death Eaters have to be dead like Severus in order to get one? Order of Merlin First Class, that’s what they’d given his oldest friend. Lucius just knew that if Severus had still been alive, he would not have been in here. He’d always mentored Severus back at Hogwarts, protected the younger student and taught him the finer details of the Arts. Severus would’ve stopped them from putting him in here. Severus knew how discreetly unhappy he’d been with the Dark Lord’s resurrection.

That blasted, stupid Gryffindor rat was the reason he was in here and … Potter. That wretched boy’s half-arsed, ambiguous testimony at his trial hadn’t helped one bit.

‘I don’t know if Mr Malfoy was a willing follower. Not to my knowledge. I can’t say if he tried to rescue anyone. I don’t have that information. Not when I was around. I can’t testify if he was a participant at the Quidditch World Cup Attack—I didn’t see him. No, I can’t rule it out. Yes, he was summoned at the gravesite. Yes, Riddle implied that those present had been “wasting their time” at the World Cup instead of trying to find him, but he didn’t state names, so I can’t be sure Mr Malfoy was included.’

And so it had gone on and on and on. Potter had gone out of his way to keep Draco and Narcissa out of Azkaban, vigorously testifying how they hadn’t had a choice and how they’d protected him at moments with severe peril to their own lives. Surely, Potter could’ve given him the same courtesy … for them, as if he’d not suffered enough at the Dark Lord’s hands. He could’ve walked away scot-free with his family if Potter had made an effort.

Instead, he’d got a five-year sentence, which his Orator had claimed was a gift considering how damaging the other testimonies and evidence had been. His Orator, someone else who’d not been opposed to taking his money and then doing nothing. Five years in this hellhole, he had no idea how he was going to survive the few remaining months. He couldn’t even bathe properly. All they had were showers—a measly stream of lukewarm water with disgusting soap and stinking shampoo. And did they honestly think that a Malfoy would shave himself with those ridiculous Muggle things? They made such a horrific noise. It was pure torture.

He wanted Narcissa. He needed his Narcissa. Why wasn’t she here?!

The door to his cell flung open. Lucius lifted his head, glaring at the obnoxious guard. Had she come to gloat again? Doris Farrow, she always acted like he should somehow know who she was. A look of disgust flickered through her blue eyes as she opened her mouth:

‘You’ve got a visitor, Lucy.’

Lucy, Lucy, Lucy … always Lucy and then that snarling, demeaning tone of voice as if she were so much better than him. At least his family name wasn’t besmeared by the presence of Muggles.

‘I don’t want to see anyone,’ he replied coolly, dropping his head so he didn’t have to look at that nasty woman anymore.

‘Fine by me,’ Doris said lightly. ‘I’ll tell your wife you can’t make it.’

His head swivelled up and he jumped from the bunk at once, his spirit fully lifted.

‘Wait!’ he yelled when Doris was about to close the door with a flick of her wand.

Ignoring the mocking expression on that hideous guard’s face, he practically rushed past her, truly in a hurry to get to the visiting chambers. Narcissa was here! Someone with whom he could share his terrible hair discovery. She’d understand. Narcissa always did.

When they finally arrived at the corridor to the visitor’s chambers, he stopped at the first door.

‘It’s the one at the far end.’

Lucius immediately hurried on, not noticing the vile smile on Doris’s face. He didn’t question that the door opened before he got there, unlike other times when he always had to wait for the guard to catch up with him, and he ran in at once.

‘Cissy, you won—’ Lucius froze on the spot. In the chair behind the table sat a bushy-haired witch whose face he recalled very well after her brief stay at his house and her vicious testimony at his trial. ‘Granger,’ he hissed, swirling around to pace out.

But at the door stood Doris Farrow with a gleeful smile on her face. ‘Whoops, my mistake,’ she said happily before slamming the door shut in front of his face.

‘Let me out of here, Farrow!’ he yelled, ramming on the door. ‘You’re not allowed to keep me here against my will. My Orator will hear of this. He’ll inform the warden of your deception. You’ll be suspended for abuse of power. Open this door at once, now!’

However, the door didn’t budge or open, no matter how hard he pounded on it. Eventually, he just stood there, leaning with his hands against the door, panting. His physical condition surely wasn’t what it used to be. He’d always been able to outrun the fastest of wizards.

‘Now that was a bit pointless,’ said Granger dryly after a moment of silence.

Mentally, he agreed with the Mudblood; though, he wouldn’t admit that. He knew Farrow despised him for some inconceivable reason and wouldn’t have opened that door had her life depended on it. Clearly, he was stuck here with Potter’s disgusting Mudblood. Well, he might as well listen to what she had to say. If she came here to apologise for her despicable behaviour at his trial, she’d better have something substantial to offer him in return, starting for instance with a full pardon and having his records expunged. His Orator could talk about the monetary compensations with the Ministry later.

He straightened up and, with a haughty expression, turned around to face the Mudblood. She was sitting there like she were a queen on a throne with that obnoxious, know-it-all face she was always sporting. Filth. Though, he couldn’t help but notice that pearl-coloured coat she was wearing. It was clearly expensive. He suddenly felt at a disadvantage with his current state of being: unshaven, messy and wearing those ugly trousers and shirts Azkaban provided them with. Not to mention that they were made of simple cotton. It shaved against his skin and other more private areas.

No Malfoy had ever worn anything but the finest of fabrics: Acromentula’s silk, dragon hide, Manticore fur, and he could continue on naming priceless materials forever. Yet, cotton was and should never have been on that list. That Mudblood couldn’t even begin to imagine what those of true standing wore. And that hair of hers … he’d wear a sack over his head if his would look like a ragged bush all the time.

No, he was definitely the better of the two here. Feeling superior again, he strode to the chair at the opposite end of the table and sat down, waiting for Granger to finally open her mouth.

Did she just smirk mockingly at him?

‘To what do I owe this enormous pleasure?’ he snarled.

In reply, she quietly leaned back in her chair and folded her hands over her stomach, her brown eyes flickering over his appearance in what he now knew was surely mockery. How dare she consider herself above him? He, too, leaned back in his chair and copied her stance to the minute detail. If she were going to play mute, he could, too. Besides, he doubted she was planning to stay long; she’d kept her coat on and it was incredibly warm in this chamber because the main heating pipe ran through it.

‘I’ve been told they don’t use this chamber normally because the magical surveillance on it is damaged. Such a pity, don’t you agree, that nobody is aware of what occurs here?’

Was she threatening him? Without a wand? Stupid Mudblood. The direct surveillance might be down, but Azkaban’s wards worked everywhere—something a proper, pure-blood witch would’ve known.

‘Not really,’ he replied, uncaring. ‘Nothing is going to occur here.’

‘I beg to differ,’ Hermione said softly. ‘I need to know the name of an excellent Orator who’s not afraid to cross a few lines and will do whatever it takes to win, no matter what.’

‘And you’re telling me this because …?’ he replied, feigning disinterest.

If she needed something from him, he’d have leverage over her. There’d be something to bargain over. In his mind, he was already sitting in his parlour, enjoying the peacocks in his garden again.

‘You’re going to give me a name.’

He snorted.

‘And it better be the best one you can think of or this will become incredibly unpleasant for you.’

‘Nothing can be more unpleasant than sitting across from filth like you, and your threats are those of a silly girl who doesn’t know the true ways of the wizarding world,’ Lucius snarled. ‘Why should I help you when you put me in here? What’s in it for me?’

‘You get to stay in one piece,’ Hermione said sweetly.

He huffed and shook his head. ‘You can’t do—’

His mouth stayed stupidly open, frozen in surprise, when the table between them flew to the side, smashed into the wall and disintegrated into a million, tiny pieces. He stared at the destruction in shock, waiting for the Azkaban wards to activate, waiting for guards to storm in, waiting and waiting while nothing happened. The realisation that he was in serious jeopardy rushed through him, turning him paler than ever before, and he closed his mouth, slowly turning his attention back to the predator sitting across him.

Then, he realised what he’d just thought and shook his head. Why did he call that girl a predator in his mind? She supported house-elves’ rights for Salazar’s sake. He must be going mental.

However, she did stare at him with an unnerving, I-know-something-you-don’t expression. When she shifted in her seat, he froze, waiting for a curse to impact him. But she merely moved around in the chair, sitting more sideways now as she propped her hand under her head, her elbow resting on the chair’s arm, while she crossed her legs. Now he noticed the long stiletto heels of her boots. He blinked. Not even his sister-in-law had worn heels that high, and Bella’d always loved to stab her victims with them.

‘The name,’ Hermione said shortly.

He raised his head back to her face, calculating his options. Surely, she was bluffing. She was a Gryffindor, a goody two-shoes … a war hero, he added, disgusted. Striking a table was one thing. Surely, she would da—

‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!’

His screams filled the air as he toppled over, chair and all, thrashing and writhing on the ground. His hands grabbed his head, trying to ease the pain that stabbed into him like white-hot needles from every angle. He didn’t even notice Granger getting out of her chair and approaching him until she lifted the Cruciatus Curse and planted her foot on his chest.

‘Yo-you ca-can’t do this,’ he stuttered.

‘Why not?’ Hermione asked lightly. ‘I don’t recall you coming to my rescue when Bellatrix did this to me. Why should I possibly have mercy on your pathetic person?’

‘Because I’ll tell them you used an Unforgivable. You’ll be imprisoned, too. The wards—’ he coughed.

‘The Cruciatus leaves no physical traces if used for brief intervals. It’ll be your word against mine. Wanna take a bet on who’s going to win that, too, Ferret?’ She stepped away and began circling him, her coat flowing around her like a travesty of a white halo. ‘I like my chances, don’t you agree?’

He remained silent as he had no reply to that and he had to buy time. Visiting hours were only for an hour. Someone would come. Soon.

‘Also, if you’d paid attention before, you would know that the wards aren’t observing anything. I blocked them.’

She blocked the Azkaban wards? But that was impossible. They were ancient, like the ones on Malfoy Manor, erected in the past by someone who never bothered to document the method. No one even knew precisely how these types of wards worked or could block them without attracting attention except for …

He stared up at the witch standing above him in horror. Impossible. No, no, no. Impossible.

‘The name,’ Hermione repeated coolly, her arms crossed over her chest.

‘How do you know how to block those wards?’

Hermione crouched down beside him, her face set in a vicious smile. ‘How do you think I know?’

‘No,’ Lucius said, shaking his head, ‘no, he wouldn’t. You are a Mudblood.’

Her expression was beyond furious, and she flicked her wrist in a familiar movement. Terror filled him before his screams echoed through the chamber once more, though not from the Cruciatus Curse this time. If only that were the case. His eyes rolled to the back of his head; his back arched off the floor; his skin was visibly moving, showing insects that suddenly crawled underneath it. Bugs, flesh-eating bugs, he could feel it; he knew it; he knew the effects of this curse; he’d seen Him use it on others. They needed to be removed. Desperate, he clawed with his nails over his face. Wherever he lacerated his skin, bugs fell out, giving a new rise to his panic. They’d eat him alive. Slowly.

‘Stop!’ he yelled desperately, praying she’d know the counter spell, too. ‘Jensen, you need Alan Jensen! Please stop!’

It ended at once.

‘Alan Jensen?’ she questioned, not giving him even a chance to let out a breath of relief.

He nodded silently, his hands rapidly investigating his face. She’d healed him fully. How did she know? The Dark Lord had never shared any of this with any of his followers, not even Bellatrix knew this curse or the counter for that matter. Why her?

‘If I find you’ve giving me a wrong name …’ Hermione trailed off threateningly.

‘No, no, he’s the best,’ Lucius immediately said, worried she’d turn him into bug-food again.

‘He better be, or I promise you that whatever the Dark Lord did to your precious furniture will be nothing compared to what will be left of it when I’m done with your manor, Ferret. Trust me when I say that there will be nothing left but ashes.’

On that note, she rose and stalked out of the chamber, leaving him lying stock-still on the stone floor. It took a considerable amount of time before he dared to move and curled up into a ball, wishing his wife was here so he could warn her against this obvious, new threat. Granger had somehow, for some inconceivable reason, changed sides. He was going to die. They were all going to die.

‘Cissy,’ he whispered ever so hoarsely in fright.

xxx

On a high, Hermione left the visiting chamber, satisfied with the result and the process to it. When she turned the corner, however, Doris stood there, apparently waiting. Wasn’t she supposed to be at the front desk again by now? Hermione frowned when immediately the short-stature guard approached her.

‘I take it your business with Mr Malfoy is done then?’ Doris asked loudly.

Hermione nodded silently, a bit bemused with the guard’s behaviour.

Had she been waiting for that or perhaps—the more likely scenario—had she been eavesdropping at the door?

Hermione nearly snorted at that. Doris would’ve been disappointed then. Her Muffliatos were impenetrable.

As Doris walked past Hermione, she whispered under her breath, ‘Just giving you a heads-up that Warden Walden wants to see you in his office about some items they uncovered in the Dark Lord’s cell. Blame me.’

‘What?’ Hermione started, appalled at that suggestion, but Doris’s quick steps indicated that she had already moved on.

Blood drained from Hermione’s face as she recalled all the things she’d left behind there: some very illegal books, newspapers, food, notebook, pens, her underwear! And who knew what else Riddle had nicked that she’d not even missed? A groan nearly left her mouth, yet, she kept her composure and walked on as if nothing were amiss—her mind rapidly going over her very limited options here. She couldn’t possibly blame it all on Doris. She liked Doris. They’d become friends over the past few months. She’d even visited her home once, met her three children. No, she just had to keep her mouth shut and let the warden do all the talking. Apparently, this was something else Jensen had to fix. As she reached the door to the central hall of Azkaban, Hermione looked back one more time, meeting Doris’s blue eyes. The guard nodded adamantly, seemingly understanding Hermione’s reluctance to put the blame on her. Hermione shook her head determinedly.

‘Trust me,’ Doris mouthed and then she vanished around the corner.

Trust her, trust her? That wasn’t the issue!

Every movement she did from thereon was mere routine, because her keen mind was considering options and scratching them through as quickly as they arose. She didn’t even comment on Russell’s rude behaviour as she followed him to the warden’s office silently.

Everything you say can and will be used against you.

‘Mr Walden will be with you in a moment,’ Russell said coolly as he closed the door of the empty office behind her.

Why wasn’t he here? Meeting Katie outside, perhaps? Did Azkaban personnel even know about her marriage to Riddle?

Unlikely.

Finally, Hermione realised she’d no idea what to truly expect and what they did and did not know, so she had to think on her feet and not worry prematurely. She took in a deep breath and loosened her shoulders, her eyes going over the luxurious surroundings—a seating arrangement with big, black-leather Chesterfield couches near a burning hearth, a huge, clearly expensive, wooden desk, wall-to-wall cabinets, crystal chandeliers, thick Persian carpets on the marble floor, her eyes couldn’t take it all in at once. There was too much to see. The Founder of Azkaban, Emmanuel Floris Azkaban the Third, was prominently present above the hearth, showing off his many awards in his large wizarding painting. His behaviour was reminiscent of Gilderoy Lockhart’s and it made Hermione snort in amusement.

She walked around, taking in the many titles on the open cabinet shelves with interest. The closed cabinets raised her curiosity and she couldn’t resist giving them a go. Unfortunately, they were locked so she moved to the desk. Those drawers were all locked, too. The desk itself was incredibly neat: an empty, brown-leather desk pad, an inbox that was slowly filling in the warden’s absence, an empty outbox, a crystal ink jar with a seagull feather quill resting in it, a stack of empty parchments with the official Azkaban seal on it, a prominently placed silver letter opener that rested on an oak wood holder with the inscription ‘Warden of the Year ’—Hermione shook her head in disbelief at the meaninglessness of said title since Walden was the only warden in the wizarding U.K.—and several family photographs. There was nothing on the desk that she’d left behind in Riddle’s cell.

Well, she figured that would’ve been too easy.

As she moved to the appropriate position for her to be at, namely the front of the desk, her eyes fell back on the photographs. Interested, Hermione picked them up one by one. Two boys flew in and out the photo on toy broomsticks while a blond woman stood in the garden with a potted plant in her hands, laughing. Another had all four of them and a girl in her late teens, clearly posing for a family portrait. There was one of him and his wife alone. And another, this time immobile, portrait in which Hermione recognised a slightly older version of that teenage girl who was holding a tiny baby on her arm while a clearly Muggle male had his arm around her shoulders.

They all seemed happy, Hermione thought.

The door creaked open behind her and she placed the photo back on the desk, turning around to face the slightly obese man walking indoors with his thick overcoat still on.

‘I’m terribly sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs Weasley,’ he apologised, placing his overcoat on the coat hanger next to door.

So, he didn’t know the details of her situation. One point in her favour, for now.

‘My daughter Elena,’ he said proudly, pointing to the photograph Hermione’d just placed back on his desk. ‘She gave me this Muggle phone—’ He waved with the tiny device. ‘—so I’d be able to reach her and James faster. However, the Azkaban wards interfere with the reception. If I’m lucky, I’m getting one bar at the edge of the east cliff. The disturbance makes it nearly impossible to hear them.’ He sighed. ‘But I’m being rude, my telephone problems aren’t yours and we’ve not even been introduced.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Honorus Walden.’

‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr Walden, and I honestly didn’t mind listening to your technology issues. My parents are Muggles, too. I’ve had similar problems at my job at the Ministry,’ Hermione said, smiling as she shook his hand.

So far so good. He seemed kind enough and wasn’t hostile towards her at all. Actually, she felt she’d taken a rather unusual, instant liking to this seemingly warm individual.

‘I’m Hermione,’ she introduced herself.

‘Ah, then you have to call me Honorus,’ the man said pleasantly. ‘I wish I’d had time to meet you before, Mrs— I mean, Hermione. I’m sure we could compare notes on the annoyance of not being able to use technological advances.’

Hermione laughed. ‘Yes, the wizarding world can be a bit behind on the times.’

‘A bit?’ Honorus said, making a face while making a dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘Understatement of the year, Mi— Hermione. I never knew how much we were missing out on, until my daughter married James Connor. I daresay our educational system needs some serious upgrading.’

Hermione shrugged. ‘Somehow, I doubt that will happen,’ she replied mildly.

Honorus snorted. ‘I know. We’ve got complacent with everything that can be solved by magic. If I see what James knows about the world and why things work the way they do, I feel so embarrassed.’

‘What does he do?’

‘He’s a physicist at Cambridge University, very clever,’ Honorus said proudly.

‘Ah. How did he take the whole magic thing?’ Hermione asked, amused.

‘Shocked at first, naturally, but he takes it rather well. He desperately wanted to investigate its origins and inner workings, of course.’

‘He’s a scientist,’ Hermione added knowingly.

‘Exactly, but he understands the need for secrecy now. Their daughter is already showing magical signs, so that made him more cautious, too.’

‘I suppose it would.’

Honorus was staring fondly at his photos before shaking his head and turning back to Hermione. ‘I’m holding you up.’

‘No problem. I enjoy talking to someone who understands the trouble of manoeuvring between Muggle and magical society.’

‘Yes, that can be nice; most are so ignorant to it,’ Honorus said, smiling. He gestured to Hermione to take a seat as he sat down himself and unlocked a drawer of his desk.

Now we’re going to have it, Hermione thought gloomily.

When all Honorus placed on his desk was an Arithmancy textbook, several loose papers, a pen and a Daily Prophet, Hermione had a hard time keeping her face from not showing surprise. Where was the rest?

‘Yesterday, McGregor ordered us to check Mr Riddle’s cell for property not belonging there and inform her of it,’ Honorus said calmly. ‘Now I don’t know where she gets off on with her constant interference in the operations of my prison, but I do have to say that we do not allow certain items to be kept in cells of certain inmates—no matter if a guard okays it.’ He stared at Hermione sternly.

‘I’m sorry,’ Hermione said apologetically. ‘I can’t really go into why that was there other than that I needed those things for something he was explaining to me that I didn’t understand, and it’s not Doris’s fault it was there. I overruled her by using my Unspeakable privileges.’

‘Ah, I thought as much,’ Honorus said. ‘It’s not like Doris to disregard the rules, though she really should’ve reported it to me.’

He grumbled something incomprehensible underneath his breath of which Hermione only caught the word ‘McGregor’, which wasn’t spoken in an affectionate tone, too. She quickly made a mental note of the clear adversity between Warden Walden and the Head of the Department of Mysteries—something she could use to her advantage if she played her cards right.

‘I’m afraid I can’t really say much about this. You’re aware I’ve secrecy vows to consider,’ Hermione said apologetically. ‘But please don’t blame your staff for this. I had the full authority of the Department of Mysteries behind me when I took those items in there.’

It was a blatant lie, but if he disliked McGregor as much as he seemed to do, she kept her fingers crossed that it would have the effect she’d hope for.

Honorus looked at her contemplatively, before pushing the items and a paper bag towards her.

‘I’ve not contacted McGregor yet about what we found, and I’m not going to. As far as I’m concerned, we didn’t find anything since there really wasn’t any harm done. Now, I don’t know what happened between you and your boss or why you’ve clearly been taken off a case you’ve been working on for quite some time, but—’ He leaned forward, looking at her in an almost paternal manner. ‘—Hermione, I’ve seen this before. My father used to work for the Department of Mysteries when I was a child.’

He quieted, staring into thin air for a moment while his face contorted at what had to be a bad memory. Hermione waited patiently for him to continue, her face showing polite interest.

‘I recall very clearly how he got sacked one day and the subsequent fallout that ruined his life. Watch your back around McGregor, dear,’ Honorus said, concerned. ‘Those Heads … they just … they don’t care who they trample over as long as their arses are covered.’

Hermione smiled and leaned forward, too, touching the man’s arm. ‘I know,’ she replied, ‘don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.’

‘I don’t doubt that,’ Honorus said. ‘I know what you did during the war. We all owe you a debt of gratitude. Just don’t expect that to come from the Department of Mysteries.’

‘I won’t. Thank you for your concern … and discretion,’ Hermione said, as she picked up the items and put them in the bag. ‘Can I suggest something in return?’

‘Naturally,’ he replied, holding up his hands openly.

Her eyes flickered to his photos briefly before she said, ‘I understand that you like to have a reminder of home in your office and that you want to show off how proud you are of them, but for your family’s safety, I’d remove those pictures, Honorus.’

‘I’m not letting inmates into my office,’ Honorus replied, smiling brightly at her.

‘You never know what can go wrong,’ Hermione countered. ‘Do you really want to risk it?’

‘Thank you for your concern,’ Honorus replied, rising from his seat as she did, ‘but it’s not like my family is a secret, and we’ve learned from past breakouts. The personnel quarters are much more secure nowadays.’

‘Okay,’ Hermione said, nodding, ‘that’s good to hear.’

‘I hope everything works out for you at your job, Hermione,’ Honorus said as he walked her to the door.

‘I’m sure it will.’

They shook hands again before saying their goodbyes and parting ways; both considered that the other party was underestimating the threat to their personal situations.

xxx

Hermione simply ignored the assistant who was trying to stop her and barged into the no-nonsense, typical Orator office. Orator Jensen and some bloke looked up, startled.

‘Leave,’ Hermione ordered, gazing at the man in the chair while playing demonstratively with the wand in her hand.

For a moment, it seemed the client planned to object, but his eyes flickered from her wand to her face nervously before hurrying out of the office in a flash.

‘Now that we’re alone,’ Hermione added, flicking her wand at the door which slammed to in front of the assistant’s face who was making her apologies through all the commotion. A humming noise accompanied the ward that rose simultaneously with the closing door, and Hermione calmly sat down in the chair the other client just vacated. ‘I have some legal issues I need taken care of,’ she finished matter-of-factly.

Orator Jensen leaned back in his seat and looked at her questioningly in silence. He’d not said a thing or moved once during her previous display of taking over his office. Hermione mentally noted that Lucius Malfoy obviously hadn’t sent her to some cowardly moron. Jensen seemed unperturbed, his sun-tanned, wrinkled face revealing nothing of his thoughts. His overall demeanour was in clear contrast to his looks. He made a messy, disorganised impression with his uncombed grey hair, the dark-grey stubbles on his unshaven chin and the stained, dark-blue Orator robes he wore. His robes could do with some ironing, too.

That’s deliberate, Hermione thought, observing the keen sharpness that spoke volumes in those brown eyes. He uses his messy appearance to lure opponents into a false sense of security.

She’d expected him to say something by now, but Jensen seemed determined in waiting for her to elaborate.

‘Legal issues that need to be dealt with promptly and without failures,’ Hermione added sharply.

‘I was under the impression you were a client of Orator Anderson-Wolsby, Mrs Weasley. He is one of the best in our field.’

‘The name is Riddle,’ Hermione corrected, noticing Jensen’s sudden stiff posture, ‘Hermione Jean Riddle-Granger. And no, this is not something I can leave into the hands of Orator Anderson-Wolsby—no matter how excellent he is. I need someone who can do a bit … “more”, if you get what I mean?’

Jensen ignored the latter and said questioningly, ‘You’re married to the Dark Lord?’

‘Yes.’

‘Got anything on you to substantiate that claim?’

With a flick of her wrist, her scarf vanished, displaying the collar. Jensen leaned forward, his face blank, looking first at the collar and then at the wedding ring on her finger.

‘Moirae,’ he stated, leaning back again. ‘I can’t undo any marriage made by her by any means available, Mrs Riddle, if that’s whom you’re really married to.’

‘I’m not asking you to undo my marriage. I have other issues I need dealt with; however, it seems you’re still questioning the validity of my words regarding my marriage?’

‘Well,’ Jensen said, raising his hands in an apologetic gesture, ‘don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m having trouble imagining the Dark Lord stepping into a marriage with a Mudblood.’

‘Yes, how could I possibly take that the wrong way? Thanks for using that mighty original endearment,’ Hermione snarled, pressing her wand between her hands so hard that both ends buried themselves deep into her palms. ‘Say it again and you’ll be extremely sorry.’

‘I would need to see actual proof of marriage before I proceed,’ Jensen said, eyeing her wand briefly.

‘Bullocks. You can proceed without proof and simply take my word for it if I am the only client you’re taking under consideration right now.’

Blinking fast a couple of times, Jensen stared at her.

‘Now I don’t really care if you run to my husband after my visit here, since I know he’ll second whatever I’m telling you to do. No need to look so shocked. I’m well aware you’ve handled his financial affairs so they’d remain invisible to the Wizengamot. Vault seven, three, four, eight, nine, five at Gringotts. Very clever, especially since he didn’t use it to hide his Horcrux in so nobody would think twice of checking if he had an account there—not that the Goblins would actually assist in that inquiry. No, you can ask Tom if I’m telling you the truth here and you can surely ask his permission to assist me. I’m one-hundred percent certain that he’s not amused that I didn’t show up today.’

Hermione folded her arms over each other and looked at Jensen; though the Orator’s face wasn’t giving away anything, she could tell he was weighing his options by the silence. A lot of what she’d just said had been a well-educated guess, a spur of the moment decision to see what the reaction to it would be. Ever since she’d learned of the existence of that vault, she’d wondered how Riddle had kept it a secret. The second she’d laid eyes on Jensen, she’d just known that he’d been the one to handle Voldemort’s financial affairs—something no one had ever paid attention to because Lord Voldemort had never shown any interest in financial gains or other material belongings.

Well, apart from his insane obsession with collecting trophies.

Her face darkened briefly at the memory of all those wonderful, priceless, historical items she’d had to help destroy. Such a waste.

Jensen scratched the back of his head, giving her a sharp once-over before reaching a decision.

‘Mrs Riddle,’ he said slowly as if he still weren’t quite sure but began to consider the possibility of its truthfulness, ‘theoretically speaking—since I can’t confirm or deny who my clients are—if you need legal representation, it would be better to get another Orator than the one you suspect is already representing your husband.’

‘I’m not in need of legal assistance against my husband.’

‘What do you need my services for?’

‘They’re denying me access to Tom at Azkaban. I need that undone asap.’

Jensen frowned; his body moved forward as he placed his elbows on the desk and leaned with his chin on his folded hands. The wide sleeves of his robe dropped, revealing his hairy lower arms and the long scar on his right arm that marred his skin severely. It didn’t seem to end at his elbow either, but she couldn’t see more.

That had to have been some accident … or curse since it had healed so badly, Hermione considered thoughtfully for a moment.

‘They’re denying you access?’ he asked disbelievingly. ‘While you’re his spouse? That’s against every rule in the book, not to mention possibly life-threatening considering you’re in a Moirae bond.’

‘Exactly. Well, they don’t know that I’m married there, at Azkaban … I think,’ Hermione said, pondering about that briefly. She hadn’t had any indication of it from the warden anyway. He’d called her ‘Mrs Weasley’. ‘And I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea for me to bring it up first, so I kept quiet.’

‘Good thinking. The more you’d said, the more you’d boxed me in. But maybe you better start from the beginning, so I can get a complete picture.’

‘Okay. For the past couple of years, I’ve worked as an Unspeakable at the Department of Mysteries. Last year, my boss—Katie McGregor—asked me to visit Riddle for reasons I can’t get into. However, I visited him and went back on a daily basis ever since. During that time, he sent me to Madame Moirae, and yesterday, this became known to my employer, after which I was suspended from active duty. This morning, I figured that since I had nothing else to do that I could go visit Tom in Azkaban as a regular visitor, but when I got there, I was informed that I wasn’t allowed to see him. Special orders from the Head of the Department of Mysteries.’

‘McGregor’s not allowed to make that call,’ Jensen said quietly. ‘Only the Wizengamot or the Warden of Azkaban can deny access under special circumstances to spouses and they have to be properly documented.’

‘There are a lot of things that Unspeakables do that aren’t strictly allowed. However, our secrecy vows stop that from coming out into the open. McGregor can deny me access as long as nobody is aware I’m his spouse. I got the impression Warden Walden isn’t happy about the following, but she’s technically in charge of Riddle’s imprisonment now.’

‘She is? How did that happen?’

‘She took over full responsibility after the Rumsfield incident.’

‘Oh yes, the slacking ward maintainer. I see.’ Jensen rubbed his chin contemplatively. ‘I take it your marriage scroll isn’t where it should be officially now.’

‘No, Katie has it and I am sure she’ll want to bury it.’

‘Well, that is probably in your best interest to some degree, too, but I may need it to enforce them to give you access. How much noise am I allowed to make about your marriage, given your Unspeakable Vows?’

‘As much noise as you need to. My marriage is a private, personal affair, not a part of my job,’ Hermione replied. ‘I’d prefer it if it was handled discreetly, but if there is no other way, then I don’t care if it ends up on the front page of the Daily Prophet whom I’m married to as long as you can assure me that you will succeed.’

Jensen pondered about that briefly, before saying, ‘What about your friends and family?’

‘Everyone I care about already knows, and I’m not discussing their reactions with you so that you can relay to Riddle how they took it,’ she added when she noticed Jensen was about to open his mouth.

‘It may also get you into trouble at work if it becomes public knowledge,’ he added warningly.

‘I’ve thought about that on my way over here and I decided I’m going to resign my position as an Unspeakable tonight, so that’s not an issue.’

‘You’re going to resign, why?’

‘I like my work, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t need it. After what happened at Azkaban this morning, I figured I can move more freely if I’m without any obligations to the Ministry for Magic.’

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Jensen mimicked, ‘I know it’ll make my job a lot easier if I don’t have to worry about the consequences for you at work, but I’d still recommend you sleep on that decision.’

‘Thanks for the advice, but I made up my mind.’

‘Very well. I don’t think this should be too much of an issue. I’ll need to … ermm … “convince” some people how it would be in their best interest to not make a fuss about allowing you spousal access in secret, but I doubt that will take me more than an afternoon,’ Jensen said. ‘I would have to discuss it with the Dark Lord of course.’

‘Naturally,’ Hermione said, rising to her feet. ‘You have my permission to talk to him about whether or not he wants me to be able to visit him. Since you estimate it will take you one afternoon, I shall be here tomorrow at eight to inquire about your progress. Good day, Mr Jensen.’

She casually flashed her wand, lowering the ward, and then Disapparated.

Jensen blinked a couple of times, then he started laughing as he realised the sneaky witch had only given him permission to discuss one thing with her husband. Anything else he would have to tell the Dark Lord would be a breach of client-Orator confidentiality and she’d have that hanging over his head for the rest of his life.

‘Crafty,’ he muttered in slight admiration as he got to his feet. ‘Elena!’ he shouted at the same time that the door flew open and his assistant barged in, looking at him in concern. ‘Cancel my appointments for the rest of the day and tomorrow. Once you’re done with that, you can take the rest of the day and tomorrow off. I’ll be out.’

‘Is everything all right?’ Elena asked. ‘She just walked past me; I tried to stop her but—’

Jensen held up his hand. ‘It’s fine, Elena. You didn’t do anything wrong. Mrs … She’s a client. Now go and have some fun with your spare time when you’re finished with your work, and I’ll see you again Thursday.’

xxx

He was bored.

Tom Riddle put the book away that under normal circumstances he would’ve found incredibly interesting. He stared at the ceiling in annoyance as the realisation washed over him.

He. Was. Bored.

Lord Voldemort was never bored. Mildly disinterested, yes, but never bored.

Damned Granger.

If she didn’t fix this situation soon, he’d be beyond displeased. He already was. He’d always been perfectly happy entertaining his mind on his own. Other people were just too stupid to comprehend the marvelousness that were his thoughts. Not that Granger was that much better. She could be terribly close-minded, stubborn, obnoxious, irritating, and so overly, smugly self-righteous that it made him want to—it made him want to—

A frustrated growl escaped his mouth, and he flew to his feet, pacing in his cell to and fro like a caged tiger in a zoo.

Once she got back, he’d show her.

He had a perfect excuse to touch her now since she hadn’t shown as agreed upon. A satisfied, vile smile grew on his pale face as his vivid, creative imagination ran wild. That blasted Mudblood would learn what it meant to displease Lord Voldemort.

And displeased he was.

First that disgusting house-elf had shown, stating she had to confiscate his items in that despicably weak, apologetic, servant attitude of its race. Of course, it had not been difficult to get Wispy to only take the useless items with her. For the past years, she’d been the one who’d cleaned his cell and brought him his meals, and he’d taken full advantage of the house-elf’s constant presence. He’d always been able to charm even the most pitiable of creatures, and Wispy was no exception.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose when he recalled the fit Granger had had upon learning house-elves were made responsible for these medial tasks.

As if wizards should do it.

She’d almost cost him all the advantages he’d gained from Wispy with her tirade about slavery and freedom in front of the silly creature. All the work it had taken him to undo her words with Wispy and regain the house-elf’s trust …

He sighed.

Nobody within their right mind gave a damn about those insignificant, bothersome house-elves.

Wispy, what kind of name was that anyway?

It meant vague, shadowy and faint, a perfect description of those blasted creatures. He’d tried to explain this to Granger, but then, she’d latched onto him and dared to give him a long lecture about S.P.E.W.

On Salazar’s beard, he swore that the Cruciatus Curse was less painful to suffer through.

He groaned, feeling a splitting headache approaching rapidly.

Sometimes, Granger really was more trouble than she was worth. Like. Right. Now.

Sure, it had been less than twenty-four hours since he’d last seen her, and he’d been expecting this turn of events in advance. People were always so predictable and stupid. They couldn’t foresee several steps ahead and realise how badly they affected their future with their silly, knee-jerk reactions. In the end, every step McGregor took right now would be a part of her downfall.

However, surely, Granger should be a tad more creative and fix this faster. He’d known that telling her in advance what would happen and how to best counter it would have the opposite result with the stubborn Mudblood, so he’d settled for subtly giving her the right information over time in order for her to solve this situation. All. By. Herself.

He kicked the table in frustrated anger. Difficult, insolent witch.

He swore if it took her much longer—

A knock on the door interrupted his tirade. Bemused, he looked in its direction. Granger never knocked, so this had to be one of the few of his insipid followers that were allowed access to him because they’d remained under the Ministry’s radar. No doubt they came to bother him some more with meaningless, silly questions that he had no time for or interest in. Whoever it was …

A vile smile grew on his handsome face.

Soon, Lord Voldemort would be slightly less bored. He cracked his knuckles and turned to face the door fully.

‘Come in,’ he said, plastering an overly sweet expression on his face.

When the door opened to reveal Orator Alan Jensen, his anger spiked through the roof. What was that idiot doing here? Their relationship was supposed to be kept under wraps. Did he really have to do everything himself all the time?

‘My Lord, I’m sorry to disturb you,’ Jensen said quickly, noticing the expression on Riddle’s face. ‘I know we agreed I shouldn’t visit you, but I have a cover story for my presence here. Hermione … er … Granger hired me to regain the right to visit you. She claims to be your wife, which of course, I need to verify. I also, as her Orator, need to check if there is a point to me making a ruckus over this, which I wouldn’t do if you are going to deny her access anyway.’

Silently, Tom watched the man in front of him. She’d gone to Jensen? Interesting. Not something he’d expected.

‘My Lord?’ Jensen inquired nervously.

‘Did you fix it already?’

‘No, I wanted—’

‘Then, you’d best do so, Jensen, and fast or I won’t be pleased.’

He turned away and took his book off the table. Maybe now he’d feel like reading?

‘My Lord, she is aware of your private vault.’

Tom sighed and looked up from his book. ‘Of course she’s aware of it; I handed her that information.’

‘She also knew I was the one who buried the knowledge of your vault and basically threatened me with it.’

‘Did she now?’ A cold laugh left his lips.

‘Do you wish me to change the contents’ location?’ Jensen inquired. ‘I can have that done before she gains access, which as your wife, she will have. The Goblins won’t deny her when she provides them with the proof of her marriage to you.’

‘That won’t be necessary. I need her to have access to that vault, Jensen.’

He could practically see the wheels of the Orator’s mind turning. Jensen was above all a quick study. He never needed to explain things in detail; the man had enough at half a word to know what needed to be done. So, why was he still here?

‘Anything else on your mind, Jensen?’ he inquired.

‘She told me she was going to resign her position at the Ministry today,’ Jensen said, watching him closely.

Tom immediately dumped the book back on the table. ‘She is what?’ he hissed furiously.

Jensen retreated a step in a reflex.

‘She loves her job; why would she—?’ The answer struck him like a bolt of lightning. ‘Oh, those blasted, self-sacrificing Gryffindors.’

‘Do you wish me to prevent this?’

‘Yes, you idiot. She is of no use to me if she loses that job. I need her there.’

‘Consider it done,’ Jensen said, turning around and rushing to the door.

‘Jensen,’ he said sharply, halting the man in his footsteps, ‘failure is not an option. I need her to keep her job and to remain coming here at whatever length of time it pleases me; is that clear?’

‘Crystal,’ Jensen said, swallowing lightly. ‘I have to run.’

‘Then go,’ he said, dismissing the Orator.

His previous good mood had completely evaporated upon Jensen’s bombshell. There were only a few more months to go before he would be out of here. Now was not the time for things to go haywire on his carefully executed plans.

xxx

A/N: I realised after writing this chapter that the part about Lucius in jail was most likely inspired by the wonderful, hilarious drawings of Makani. If you’ve not seen her artwork, you’re not really a Malfoy/HP fan. I'll mention her site in my review reply topic since it's not allowed to link to outside sites here.

I thank Serpent In Red for supplying me with the name Wispy. As always I hate naming house-elves and drew a complete blank again. I also thank Lady Miya for suggesting the name Jensen for the Orator I had temporarily named McSlimy in anxious anticipation of something better. XD
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The Prisoner