There was a bed, a half empty trunk of clothes and that was it. Where was a sharp-edged something or other when you needed one! Finally, she found a brand new quill at the bottom of the trunk and nearly swooned with relief.
Hermione stashed the thing into the waistband at the back of her skirt. She then walked over to the door and tested the handle. No surprise that Blaise had locked her in.
There was no time to reconsider her plan. What choice did she have? Draco was being tortured nearby and she had the power to do something about it.
Still, it was one thing to be brave in the face of possible death, it was another thing to be a woman, braving possible death. There might have been worse things than Blaise Zabini prowling the dark corridors outside the room.
It didn' t matter in the end. Hermione pounded on the door and began to shout.
It was not Travers who came this time. It was Pettigrew who unlocked the door and pulled it open, nearly falling over in shock when he saw her. He stood with his mouth hanging open, looking even more atrocious than when she had last saw him.
"You!?" Pettigrew exclaimed with such surprise that Hermione knew her gamble had paid off.
"I think you have a problem, Wormtail," Hermione said.
It didn't take him very long at all to put two and two together. "Zabini! That little fool!"
"You really didn't know he was planning this, did you?" she said, trying to further goad his anger towards Blaise.
Pettigrew was looking at her with new speculation. "My master wants the Malfoy boy. You, on the other, may be an added bonus."
"Maybe," Hermione allowed. "But he's taken me from Hogwarts," she informed. "Right from Dumbledore and Harry Potter. What do you think that' s going to achieve?"
Pettigrew had nothing to say to that, but she noted with satisfaction that he did look a bit worried.
"If your Master wants Malfoy alive, then I suggest you check on Zabini. He's killing Draco right this minute. Go and find them if you don't believe me."
"What is this?" It was Travers standing beside Wormtail now. His wand was pointed at her chest. He had an incredulous look on his face, but even as she watched, it changed into a leer as he took in her dishevelled school uniform and wild hair. She couldn't tell if he knew who she was or not.
"What the hell is that doing here?"
"Watch her," was all Wormtail said, through gritted teeth. "I'm going to see about Malfoy."
"You'd better. He stopped screaming about five minutes ago."
Hermione paled when she heard this, but then Travers entered the room and closed the door behind him. She decided that she'd best focus her worries on her own situation, for the moment.
**
Blaise lowered his wand and the torture abruptly ceased. Draco stopped spasaming and gave all his weight to the chains that held him. His flesh was in agony.
There wasn' t any, one, specific pain. It was a hundred times worse than the pain in his injured shoulder and it was everywhere. It felt like all his skin had come off, all at once.
The pain repeated and repeated itself. He had stopped wishing for death at some point, only because the wish never got granted. If Blaise taunted as he tortured, Draco did not hear him.
Random muscles still twitched from the remnants of the curse as it spent itself in his body. But he was young, he was healthy and already, feeling was returning, senses switching back on.
There were voices. A small man had entered the room. Draco heard him and Blaise argue. He ought to have paid attention to what the argument was about, but something else had just captured his complete focus.
"Hermione" he croaked, his voice thick with awe and relief.
She was there, yes. She was very afraid, but she was safe for the moment. Her existence flooded his senses, sweet ambrosia that was already dulling the pain.
He swam in his discovery, smiled and then he shook with silent laughter.
How typical. It had taken torture to make him finally accept how he felt.
Blaise and the smaller man stopped and stared at him as if Cruciatus had broken his mind.
**
He was alone.
No, he was never alone. Not since Graduation. Not since Fida Mia.
Draco had no idea how long he hung there for. Ten minutes? An hour? Two hours?
His head dropped to his chest and he remained unmoving.