Expectations

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and its characters belong to JK Rowling This fan-fiction had been written purely for entertainment purposes. No infringement had been intended and no profit had been made out of this.

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A/N: Yes, I know it had taken me years to update this. But here it is, if anyone is still reading this!

Expectations Chapter 5

(by elle6778)

Hermione looked up from her book in surprise when the door to her room slammed open with a loud bang. Then her eyes narrowed when she noticed who it was.

What is he doing in here? Probably to rub in the fact that I’m still stuck here, the prat, she thought irritably.

“Let’s go, Mudblood,” he snarled as he picked up a cloak and threw it at her, barely sparing a glance at her.

She caught the cloak, watching him with a frown. A cloak? Were they going somewhere? “Malfoy, what’s this all about?”

“You’re in no position to ask questions. Now put on that damned cloak and come here,” he said impatiently as he fished a small matchbox out of his pocket.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me where we’re going,” Hermione said, her voice not wavering although she felt like shrinking with fear inside. This was it. Malfoy was going to bring her to Voldemort for whatever sick torture the Dark Lord had in mind for her.

There was no way she was going without a fight.

His face displaying his displeasure, Malfoy strode towards her. “I have no time for this, Granger. You’re coming with me whether you like it or not,” he barked. She resisted the urge to back away from him. As he reached her, he looked at her in distaste and said, “Give me your hand.”

Hermione glared at him. “No,” she said stubbornly, clenching her fists behind her back.

Without a further word, he grabbed her arm and yanked it to her front. Hermione struggled to pull it back, but he was too strong. He pried her fingers open and forced their joined fingers to touch the matches in the matchbox he held in his other hand.

Portkey, she thought in realisation as a familiar tugging feeling pulled at her midsection.

Suddenly, she was in a swirl of wind and clouds, being propelled by some unknown force towards some unknown destination. Choking in fear, she began to struggle, which resulted in Malfoy wrapping his free arm around her in a bid to restrain her. Roughly, Hermione yanked her hand away from the portkey, not knowing the repercussions of her action, but not caring either. Anything would be better than facing Voldemort.

She saw the expression of shock flashing across Malfoy’s face just as the yanking motion of her hand caused the portkey to fly out of his hand as well. His lips moved; Hermione guessed that he was cursing at her but his words were blown away by the wind.

Then everything suddenly became still.

The wind stopped as the clouds thickened around them ominously. They remained suspended in the eerie stillness for an unknown amount of time, neither of them speaking. It was as if they were too scared to break the silence. Too scared to break the fragility of the situation, not knowing what it might bring.

Almost as abruptly as it had stopped, the wind began to swirl around them again. This time it was faster, harsher and more violent than what Hermione had felt previously. Hermione’s heartbeat increased and her eyes grew large. What was happening?

As if in answer to her question, the direction of the wind changed, sweeping the two of them along with it. Cold air rushed past Hermione’s ears, almost deafening in its intensity. And just as she thought she could not take it anymore, it suddenly stopped.

A loud thump later and the jarring of her bones against something solid told Hermione that she had landed. Rolling over, her body aching, she saw Malfoy getting to his feet a couple of metres to the left of her, looking completely bewildered. As she pushed herself up, she took in their surroundings.

They were in a grass-covered clearing in the middle of what looked like a forest with very tall trees. Hermione looked up and saw the tree trunks extending up endlessly, topped by caps of leaves which tangled with the ones belonging to the adjacent tree, forming a tight knit roof over their heads.

The sound of swearing brought Hermione’s attention back to Malfoy.

“Look at what you’ve done, Granger,” he spat, glaring at her murderously. His face was flushed with barely restrained anger.

Hermione shrugged. She honestly did not care. “Anything is better than Voldemort, not that you can understand that, Malfoy,” she said carelessly, brushing away the dried twigs from her sleeves.

Malfoy stared at her disbelievingly, his eyes wide. “All of this is because you thought I’m bringing you to Voldemort?” he asked, then sneered. “I knew I was right to be doubtful when they called you the smartest witch of our generation. How can that be when you don’t even THINK before you act?”

Hermione stilled. What did he mean by that? “You’re not bringing me to Voldemort?” she asked, almost hesitantly.

“Much as I hate to say it, no. But thanks your so-called brilliance, we’re now stuck in the middle of some god-forsaken forest. Well done, Mudblood,” he jeered. “Ten points to Gryffindor for an exceptional performance of stupidity.”

Bristling at his words, Hermione snapped back, “This wouldn’t have happened if you just told me where we were going when I asked, would it?”

“I’m not justifying myself to a Mudblood,” Malfoy sneered condescendingly, waving a dismissive hand.

Hermione straightened. “Admit it, Ferret. This is just as much your fault.”

“I’ll admit to no such thing.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Anyway, it’s not like we’re stuck here for good. You’ve got a wand, right? Just apparate us back to wherever.”

Malfoy glared at her before saying, “Yeah, I got my wand.” He proceeded to extract the said object from his robes and held it up to her face. “But as you can see, it’s quite useless.”

When the implication of what she was seeing sank in, Hermione gasped, her eyes still locked on Malfoy’s broken wand.


…*-*-*-*-*-*…


The dungeon was cold and dark, the smell in the air dank, as all dungeons were supposed to be. The only source of light was from a single lamp, barely flickering at all in the still air, casting shadows against the slime-covered wall.

Narcissa stood in front of the tall robed figure, fighting to hold herself up with dignity under the scrutiny of those gleaming pair of eyes. She had to admit to herself that she was scared, but she knew that showing it outwardly would only earn her more pain.

“So, tell me, Narcissa. Where’s your son?” the Dark Lord asked in silkily.

Bowing her head slightly, she said in a respectful tone, “My Lord, Draco left the mansion just before the Aurors came in. He had to leave, otherwise the Aurors would have captured him.”

Narcissa watched in trepidation as Voldemort’s lips tightened. “And the girl? The one he was meant to be watching over?”

“He took the girl with him. We can’t risk keeping her in the mansion because the Aurors might find her there. So Draco brought her somewhere until it is safe enough to bring her back to you, My Lord,” Narcissa explained, hoping that it would appease Voldemort.

He stared at her with an unreadable expression.

A small nudge of pain suddenly appeared in her head, and then quickly intensified. The next thing Narcissa knew, she was on her knees, shutting her eyes in an attempt to block out the building pressure. She tried not to whimper, but it was futile. The Dark Lord was probing her mind, intent on finding out if one of his servants were lying to him.

As abruptly as it started, the pressure ceased, leaving Narcissa drained. Her chest heaved with the effort to breath.

She looked down at the muddy dungeon floor. Her dungeons. Malfoy’s dungeons. Her dress was ruined from the knee down, she noticed absently. She was being punished in her own dungeons for trying to keep her son safe. Never in a million years would she have thought that she would be in this humiliating position. The urge to laugh hysterically suddenly came upon her, but she knew that she had to keep her mouth shut, lest she anger the Dark Lord further.

Keeping her head bowed, she peered at Voldemort through her lashes, dragging her breath through her teeth.

“You boy had been missing for three days. Surely by now it is safe to return?” Voldemort asked, his voice tinted with anger, an ill-omened sign. “So where is he?”

“I don’t know, My Lord,” she said softly.

His face became pinched. “You don’t know? Your son is weak, a selfish child who knows nothing but depend on those stronger than him. And you’re telling me that you don’t know where he is?”

“My Lord, you’ve seen my mind. It is true that I’m not aware of his whereabouts,” Narcissa said, quivering slightly at the flash of anger in Voldemort’s eyes.

“Perhaps I’m wrong. It is possible that he’s more like his father than I’d expected. Perhaps he has decided to follow his father’s footsteps, hmm? Perhaps your son has decided to carry out something on his own, without my knowledge. What do you think?” Voldemort asked, placing his fingers under her chin to tilt her face up to him.

Narcissa fought the urge to shake his hand away. “No, My Lord. Draco will not betray you,” she said urgently.

“I don’t expect so. He’s too much of a coward. But his foolishness will cost us dearly,” Voldemort said meaningfully. And then his eyes seared into hers while he hissed, “And it will now cost you.”

Narcissa’s eyes widened in alarm as Voldemort extracted his wand from his robe. No. NO! No, she protested silently, shaking her head side to side. Her heart was thumping so loud that she could not hear anything but the frantic beats.

Pointing the tip of the wand at her, his face twisted into a grotesque smile, he barked, “Crucio!”

Narcissa screamed as waves of pain enveloped her.

…*-*-*-*-*-*…

“Argh!” Harry yelled as he clutched at his burning scar.

Moody jumped up from his seat and rushed across to the younger man. “Harry!” he said, grabbing Harry’s shoulders. “What is it, Harry?” he repeated urgently.

“My scar. It’s-” Harry stopped and then froze, his eyes glazing over.

The voice in his head grew louder and the images became clearer. Harry knew that it was important for him to concentrate, and not let his pain get in the way. A familiar looking blonde in black robes entered his vision. Malfoy, Harry realised, very surprised. His training worked after all.

Knowing that the Aurors have been trying to track Malfoy and Snape down, Harry forced himself to delve deeper into what he was seeing. A blonde woman appeared in his vision.

“…The Aurors. They’re here to search the Mansion for you. If I don’t let them in, they’ll get even more suspicious,” she said, sounding agitated.

“Mother, stall them as long as you can. I’ll get myself out.”

“Draco! The Mudblood!” Narcissa called out.

“She’ll come with me.”

A sharp pain pierced through Harry’s head, breaking the link, making him gasp. That bastard Malfoy got Hermione. Malfoy was the one who kidnapped Hermione, not Voldemort. Gritting his teeth, he vowed to find the slimy Slytherin worm. Focus, Harry, focus, he told himself.

The fuzziness of his vision cleared to show him what appeared to be a dungeon.

“No, My Lord. Draco will not betray you,” Malfoy’s mother said.

“I don’t expect so. He’s too much of a coward. But his foolishness will cost us dearly,” Voldemort said. Pointing the tip of the wand at her, his face twisted into a grotesque smile, he barked, “Crucio!” And then he laughed.

Ignoring the shrill, tortured scream of the blonde woman in front of him, Voldemort continued to laugh.

Harry gasped, breaking the link, but the sound of Voldemort’s laughter continued to echo through his head. The horrible sound of someone who was deriving joy out of someone else’s pain which made Harry want to retch.

He turned a pair of red-rimmed eyes towards Moody.

“What is it, Harry?” Moody asked urgently, leaning so close that Harry could see his own reflection in the older man’s magical eye.

“Narcissa Malfoy,” Harry choked out. “Voldemort is torturing her for information on Hermione and Malfoy.”

Moody inhaled sharply at his words. “We’ll send someone out to Malfoy’s mansion again. Tonks led a team in a couple of days ago but they didn’t find anything.”

“Malfoy’s probably hiding somewhere with Hermione. Maybe his mother knows where they are. She’s probably lying to protect her son,” Harry said, hope beginning to dawn in his eyes.

“We’ll see,” Moody said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. Then he turned back his attention to Harry. “Get some rest, Harry. I’ll make sure someone goes over there.”

“But I should be there too,” Harry protested.

Moody shook his head. “No, Harry. We’ll let you know if we find something.”

Knowing that there was not much use in arguing with Moody, Harry sighed in resignation. The throbbing in his scar was lessening but he felt the approach of a major headache. It had always been this way, he thought resentfully.

One day, he would make sure that Voldemort paid for all he had done.

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t.b.c.

A/N: Please review and let me know what you think!