Prisoners of Love - A Mystery - COMPLETE

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Begun 7-1-07

Welcome to my story. Come in, settle down and get comfortable. I'm just about to start...


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Chapter One

The Cell

“I want a retrial,” Hermione yelled as she was shoved, struggling, into the squalid cell. She instantly turned toward the closing cell door, banging her fists on the scarred, thick wooden panel and jumping up, trying to peer out the tiny grate in the wood. “You have to release me!”

“We’ll be sure to do that – in five years,” came the bored reply from the other side as the bolt was shot across the door.

“I’m innocent! Those people were lying!” All she heard was a fading comment, “That’s what they all say,” as the heavyset guards ambled away down the grey stone corridor to more important business, their delayed lunch.

Hermione pressed her forehead against the rough wood, sighing, her shoulders hunched in dejection, as she hit out her frustration in slow thuds on the door with a slightly grimy fist. A last futile kick at the barrier punctuated the hopeless slump of her tiny shoulders as she closed her eyes in despair.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” a deep voice said.

“YIKES!!” Hermione spun around. “YOU!! What in Hecate’s name are you doing in my cell?”

“First off, you mistake the matter. This is my cell, or rather I suppose now it’s our cell,” he mused. “It just shows how wrong one can be, does it not? I had thought I wasn’t going to get any Christmas presents this year.” Lucius Malfoy sat at his ease on a narrow, neatly made iron cot with a thin lumpy mattress covered with a dingy grey sheet, a flat, sad little pillow, and an old threadbare wool blanket that might once have been blue. “I had wondered why they moved in a second cot, but I only imagined I would have a male roommate and the guards didn’t tell me any differently. Likely they didn’t know.” Lucius proffered his new roommate a charming if somewhat appraising smile, “If I may say so, you are an excellent improvement on what I had feared would be a most depressing addition to my somewhat limited space.”

Hermione felt his gaze on her and uncomfortable prickles rose all over her skin invading her personal comfort zone and giving her the self-conscious urge to cross her arms over her breasts. Futilely, she pulled on the door ring, trying to budge it open, but it remained locked against her. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw her new cellmate regarding her with amused condescension. Abandoning the door, Hermione sidled over to the opposite side of the small space, huddling in the corner by the door and away from the deadly Death Eater.

Lucius waved to the other cot, “I do hope you don’t mind sleeping on that side, I’m rather fond of this side of the cell and would hate to move. It’s the view, you see. I have a clear line of sight from my side to that intriguing darker piece of granite in the light stone wall above your cot. I’ve spent many a happy hour contemplating the meaning of that stone.”

There was nothing in his manner to suggest he knew of her discomfort, but she knew her fear must be obvious. In an attempt to displace his focus, Hermione briefly glanced at the stone in question, not wanting to take her eyes off the wizard, but then she really looked at the dark stone block above the unused cot in dismay. She stared back at her unwanted companion incredulously, forgetting for a second she was speaking to a very dangerous man. “Are you mad?” She skittered along the wall away from the door to the far cot, looking around the dismal cell for a weapon to protect herself with, but she saw nothing useful in the depressing little chamber.

Lucius looked thoughtful, “Mad? It’s possible, I suppose. I imagine one doesn’t really know when one has gone bonkers. I would have said no, but I’m not perfectly sure.”

The war was over, Voldemort was defeated and had been killed by his enemy, the Gryffindor, Harry Potter. Lucius had been granted his release from prison after serving most of the two-year sentence for the Department of Mysteries fiasco, thereby missing the final confrontation between the Dark Lord and Harry Potter, but a year or so after the end of the war and Voldemort’s death, the prevailing political climate had slowly changed. The Ministry officials hadn’t liked Lucius’ continued influence throughout the upper strata of the magic community’s social and financial circles and they had feared his power base of extreme wealth and his many connections even within the Ministry.

Lucius had already been sidelined in prison all during the final war, so sending him to Azkaban for anything war-related wasn’t feasible, but through a shady set of circumstances, the Magic Council had managed to send Lucius back to Azkaban to serve a new sentence of five years for the same previous transgression in the Department of Mysteries, citing irregularities in the first trial.

Lucius had managed to postpone his hearings, then his appeals, and finally his sentencing, but in the end he had wound up in Azkaban with the rest of the Death Eaters, although with a much-reduced sentence next to his cohorts as his offense hadn’t included active participation on the wrong side of the war. This time he had been given plenty of notice to prepare for what had looked more and more like an inescapable inevitability, so when he was finally sentenced and escorted once again to Azkaban, he had an entire arsenal of tricks ready.

“Why did they put me in with you?” Hermione backed up slowly, keeping her eyes trained on the Death Eater as she felt for the cot behind her and sat on it, pushing her back against the side wall under Lucius’ dark stone block. “I should have thought they would put women with women and men with men.”

The little witch was beginning to feel alarmingly like she was a side of meat thrown into a hungry lion’s cage. She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms protectively around them, pressing her spine against the cold granite wall behind her, not knowing how else to make herself inconspicuous, but trying to get as far away from her cellmate as possible in the small, square room.

“I believe normally they do put like sexes together,” Lucius agreed. “However, the prison is getting extremely crowded with all the convictions lately, and nearly all of them are men. They’re bunked up already in twos. I may have been the only one left in a single cell and they finally had no choice but to slot you in here.” Lucius smiled whimsically, “You might be forgiven for concluding my single state was a tribute to my political influence or winning personality, but more likely it’s because I bribed the guards to leave me as a lone occupant in this rather Spartan apartment. I guess my bribe wasn’t enough to make them overlook my cell one more time. Pity – for you.”

Lucius shifted slightly on his thin mattress, smoothing the rough cotton of his prison uniform over his thighs and drawing Hermione’s unwilling attention to the ugly black and white stripes of the material which lovingly delineated her cellmate’s intimidating physique of wide shoulders and long legs.

“Although it could have been worse, I suppose,” he continued, enjoying her perusal of his body even though he knew she wasn’t really seeing him in a favorable light. “Your only other choice at this point was Bellatrix, I’m afraid. I believe they were actually being kind to you settling you here in my cell rather than hers. But if you wish, they would probably listen if you asked to be put in with her instead.”

Lucius gazed speculatively at the frightened young woman shivering on her cot, his arctic gray eyes noting her wildly curling hair and odd clothing. All he had explained was true, but he ticked over in his sharp mind if there was another reason why the Mudblood Hermione Granger had really been installed in his cell.

“Bellatrix? Lestrange? But I’ve heard she’s insane. Is she also violent, then?”

“Oh, yes. Undoubtedly. She’s in the cell block for the lunatics. A special door was installed on her cell with a slot to slide in her meals because none of the guards wants to open her door to feed her. And I’ve heard they only clean out her cage once a month because of her unrestrained attacks on anyone who tries to enter.” Lucius leaned forward, his pale hair swinging across his shoulders and down his striped shirt as he whispered gently, “Bella bites.” He observed his new roomie’s horrified expression with quiet satisfaction. “I do think I’m a better choice, all in all.” He got up off his cot and saw Hermione shrink back farther against the cold stone.

“What are you doing?” She glared at him suspiciously, swiping her tangled brown hair back behind her ears to keep him in sight as he moved a couple of paces toward the back of the cell.

“Merely showing you around the place.” Lucius went to the end wall at the back of the cell and raised his hand to point out a small glazed window centered high up in the wall near the ceiling where weak sunshine was struggling to light a patch of the stone floor near his cot. “First, the high point of our tour - a bit of a pun for madam’s enjoyment.” Lucius pointed up. “Our delightful window on the world. If you drag a cot over to it – no, you’re too short to see out of it anyway. Never mind.”

He stepped one pace to the side and gestured elegantly with long, slightly dusty fingers to a small bucket tucked into a corner filled three-quarters full with water, which emitted an unpleasant fishy smell as Lucius kicked the side of it with his bare foot, sloshing a bit of the brackish liquid onto the stone floor. “Here madam has the bathing facilities. A new bucket of water is distributed once every two weeks but perhaps they may allow us water more often as we are now two. I do not recommend it for drinking.” He strode two steps over from the bucket to another bucket in the opposite corner, this one covered with an old piece of flat wood roughly the diameter of the bucket. “Voila the loo. They look remarkably similar, so please, don’t get them mixed up in the night.”

“What! You are kidding me, aren’t you?” Hermione’s big brown eyes searched his icy gray ones for the joke, but none was forthcoming.

“No, I’m sorry milady, those are our only facilities. I’m glad you’re wearing that cheap perfume. At least it will smell better in here for a little while anyway.”

Hermione’s delicate chin lifted with disdain and she gave him the disgusted look he deserved for his callous comment, but he merely smiled with a gentle, wicked contentment entertained by her prissy reaction, “I can be a gentleman if you wish, but all I can offer, I fear, is to turn my back when you use our bucket.”

Hermione turned a little pale at the thought of doing her personal business with him not five paces away in the cell.

“Of course, I’ll expect the same courtesy from you.” He heard a stifled gasp and laughed to know that up to that point Hermione hadn’t gone past her own discomfort at using the bucket with him in the cell. She was now realizing that she would have to turn her back while he used the bucket, too.

“Ugh, is that our only possibility? No one will come and let us out to use another loo if we ask? Are there no shower facilities?” Her situation was beginning to feel decidedly disagreeable as more and more, the full scope of her incarceration was unfolding. All through her speedy trial she had maintained total faith in her innocence being recognized; incarceration hadn’t crossed her mind as an option. She’d done nothing to deserve it - the charges leveled against her were so much smoke. But the Magic Council had willfully disregarded her evidence and convicted her of conspiracy against the Ministry, sending her to Azkaban for five years.

Lucius snorted in disbelief at the naïveté of his new cellmate. Mild sarcasm laced his response, but he tried to keep a sneer from fully forming on his face, “It truly pains me to be the bearer of such shocking news, but we never get out of our cells ever, for any reason, unless we have a visitor. Then we’re shepherded to a visiting room for our half hour time limit. There is one bright spot, however…” he offered, standing in the shaft of pallid sunlight which hit his long, white-blond hair, making a halo effect on the premier Death Eater.

“What is it?” Hermione slumped onto her cot in despair. How could she live in this small space for years with him?

“You were given five years, yes?”

“Yes,” she answered with a sigh, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands and trying desperately not to cry. Her cot smelled musty and her hands had come away from the blanket covered in fine dust.

“Well, I was convicted – again - and sent here for five years also. But I’ve been here four months already.” Lucius explained, twisting his lips in sarcasm at the Ministry’s flawed logic. “That means you’ll get to have this lovely cell all to yourself for four months after I’ve finished serving my term.” Lucius gave her a spiteful smile and returned to his cot.

“You’re a real bastard, Malfoy.” His comment had the positive effect of lessening Hermione’s desire to cry; she would never give that detestable man the satisfaction of seeing her break down. Hermione lowered her arms from her legs and glared sullenly at the dark wizard, wishing it were a little warmer in the cell as all she had on was her old, voluminous flannel nightgown and bare feet.

The cell itself was solid hewn granite blocks mortared together for the walls and some kind of dull gray stone blocks for the floor. A grate-covered drainage hole sat in the middle of the floor between the cots and Hermione really didn’t want to speculate about why a drain like that was needed in a prison cell.

“Just so we understand each other, tidbit.” He was inwardly annoyed at her epithet disparaging his lineage and retaliated with a reference to her insignificant size, but he let her see only ennui as he sat down again.

Hermione ignored the reference to her petite frame and began to examine her new surroundings more minutely as Lucius made himself more comfortable on his cot, leaning up against the wall on his side in the same sitting position as the disconsolate witch. There wasn’t much to see other than what Lucius had already pointed out and a pair of carefully polished, men’s black leather shoes neatly tucked under the edge of Lucius’ cot with a pair of socks tucked inside them. When she looked more closely at the wizard himself she got a jolt and another tendril of fear slid through her system, “Why are you wearing iron cuffs? They aren’t going to put those on me too, are they?”

“Oh, these old things? Just something I hastily donned for my unexpected company,” his eyes were half-shut in apparent boredom, but he was keenly observing his tiny comrade all the same. Lucius was starting to assess exactly what use dear little Miss Hermione Granger, his son’s previous constant irritant, could be to him in his privation. A selection of enticing ideas traveled through his mind entertaining him with the various possibilities. The woman didn’t exist who could resist him if he put his mind to it, but that camouflage tent thing, or whatever it was she was wearing, would have to go.

“Your skin’s chafed, so they look like you’ve been wearing them for a while,” Hermione observed dispassionately. She didn’t care about her cellmate’s well-being but didn’t want to be surprised by a set of cuffs made for her.

“Well, fiddlesticks,” he mocked, “you’ve caught me out. Would you like to kiss them and make them better?” Lucius held up one reddened wrist for her inspection.

“Ugh, no.” Hermione’s grimace of distaste added an insulting emphasis to her words, her distant mien firmly in place. “Do all prisoners have to wear them?”

“No, I believe I’m the only one.” Lucius replied, enjoying her recoil. “And before you ask your next question, I’m wearing them because they dampen my transfiguring abilities. The guards didn’t like me wandering around the prison after I transfigured a hole in my door. I don’t know why they were so irate, the prison has such strong wards on it, no one can get away anyway. Or…I suppose they could have been unhappy that I was creating better living conditions for myself in my cell.” He mused for a space, “Yes, the balcony through my back wall might have disturbed them, too. Hence, the cuffs.” Lucius shrugged, but his sly, playful expression invited Hermione to share in the absurdity of the situation.

Hermione choked, a small laugh escaping. “You put in a balcony? Here? You can transfigure without a wand? I’d like to learn that.” Her thirst for knowledge instantly outweighed the disadvantage of having her erstwhile enemy as her teacher.

“If I can work you in between my many social engagements, I might teach you IF you have the intelligence.” Now Lucius’ sneer was full-blown and it said he doubted she was smart enough to master the advanced conjuring spell.

Hermione let that bit of nastiness go to ask instead, “What’s on the other side of this wall, then?”

“Ocean, ocean, and more ocean. But it was much better to look at than my dark granite square. Unfortunately, the wards on the prison weren’t corrupted at all by the balcony, so I don’t see why they couldn’t have allowed me to have it. I suppose it would have been too nice a feature for a prisoner. Could you perhaps move just a bit sideways? Your head is cutting off a corner of my special rock.”

“Oh! Sorry.” Hermione scooted to one side, and twisted to look up at the dark piece of granite, trying to see what the attraction was. It was just another piece of stone to her. Rolling her eyes in mute disgruntlement she relaxed back down onto her cot, watching while Lucius gazed up at the dark fixture in apparent absorption.

As she listlessly regarded Lucius, his continued intense focusing on his piece of wall began to awaken her keen intelligence and she began to add together the pieces of information he’d fed her on his activities. He’d only been in the cell for four months, this time around. Hermione mentally started to string together all those pieces of information assessing the length of time most of them might have taken - he’d gotten out of the cell to roam for a while, and he’d had a balcony for a short while, too, if he could be believed, and that was always problematic for a Malfoy. Totaled up, she didn’t see how such a strong-minded wizard could have gone over the edge of sanity so quickly, so something else must be going on.

She began to carefully watch his eyes, the pupils contracting and expanding as the moments dragged by. The bastard was watching something and it wasn’t a piece of granite. She twisted around again and focused her concentration on the dark square. Nothing. She redoubled her stare, becoming very still like he was, and pressing her magic power onto the spot. Slowly a picture emerged from the center of the stone. She first saw the outside of the prison, then a view that looked like it was an office with a prison guard standing to attention, then the scene shifted again and she was seeing the corridor outside their cell. “How did you do that?” she demanded.

Lucius lost his concentration and looked down benignly at Hermione. “Do what?” he said, all innocence, but his gaze sharpened on the little witch.

“Oh, nothing,” she said sarcastically. “But I think I can get a better view of your rock if I sit on your cot. NOT that I’m seeing anything interesting, mind you. Or if you could just place an additional dark stone square on your side so I can see one without having to twist my head or sit with you, that would be preferable.”

Lucius stared at the little female. Sweet Goddess, the fetching witch-bitch hadn’t been in the cell for an hour yet, and she had already seen through his painstakingly constructed glamour to the hidden crystal orb detailing the activities of the prison? Lucius was reluctantly gaining a sliver of respect for her intelligence, which he had snidely discounted not half an hour ago. Oh, he’d heard about her from Draco and several others but never truly believed in her abilities as more than an occasional fluke. How could a dirty Mudblood really have that kind of power after all?

“Well?” she said, stabbing at him in silent but defiant accusation with her wide brown eyes and making him aware of her for the first time as something more than a lowly Muggle-breed good only for sex.

Lucius looked at her for a moment, his fingers tapping a tattoo on his knee as he wrestled with his choices. Finally he drawled in a bored tone, “What exactly are you NOT seeing, my dear?”

She looked up at the square, much more easily seen now that she was able to precisely calibrate the power she needed to view the orb. “I see two guards playing checkers in a barracks. The bigger one is going to lose with the stupid strategies he’s using. Even I have a better game than he does and that’s not saying much.”

Lucius was totally nonplused. Now what? Was she going to make trouble for him?

Hermione interrupted his fast-growing internal funk, although nothing showed on his face but faint interest, “Now look at that idiot guard; I hope the oaf’s not got any money on the game. He’s just lost and doesn’t know it yet.” She turned quickly toward Lucius in time to see a wisp of apprehension, before it winked out of his face as though it had never been.

She smiled thinly, “Worried I’ll tell the prison guards about your little peep show?” She considered her fellow convict, cocking her head on one side as she took stock of her knowledge and what it could do for her. “What good does the orb do you if you’re stuck here in the cell all the time?” She knew Lucius had assumed she would never be able to see his little toy and he had felt secure enough to play with her, telling her he was watching a piece of rock and having fun at her expense.

Lucius gave Hermione a smile as cold as the North wind that howled against the walls of the prison outside, “Well, my dear little tidbit, it seems I’ve taken on a new partner.” He regarded her unblinkingly as a snake stalking a particularly tasty mouse - unmoving, assessing, weighing the possibility of a nice warm feminine armful against a few injuries and a virago being unleashed in his trap with him.

“Partner for what? What is your little peephole for? Can you make it see anything at Azkaban or does it do the selecting for what you see? It looks like you weren’t just wandering around the prison were you?” Hermione resettled her gown over her knees, “I’m fascinated by your little project, Mr. Malfoy. You, of course, had prior knowledge of your incarceration and I see you came well-organized. Unlike you I was taken out of my bed, run before the Council and sent here before I could draw breath. That’s why I’m still in my nightgown.” She lifted a portion of her voluminous nightwear out to the side as evidence.

“Oh, is that a nightgown?” Lucius affected a start of surprise, “I thought perhaps you’d been convicted of stealing a horse blanket. Not that any self-respecting horse would be caught dead in it. What is that color? It looks like someone’s been sick all over you. However,” Lucius continued to bait his little interloper with a certain newfound sense of camaraderie that surprised him with the flicker of warmth that stole through him, “you’ll certainly need that fuzzy material. It gets rather cold in here at night when the sun goes down. The stone walls don’t keep the heat very well after dark.”

Hermione jibed right back at her tormentor, “How interesting. Is your arrogance that uncontrollable or are you just plain stupid, indulging in your petty backbiting when I’ve learned something so detrimental about you?”

“My dear, you’re not going to say anything to anyone about your discovery. I may be arrogant, no - I’m definitely arrogant, with good reason - but I’m not at all stupid. What do you imagine you would accomplish by telling the prison guards about my little hobby?” Lucius observed her with something akin to pity, hiding his pleasure. It was so refreshing talking to someone whose vocabulary actually extended past one syllable words.

Hermione thought for a moment, then she replied bitterly, “Probably nothing much.”

“Precisely.” Lucius added a caustic rider even though he had already handily won that round with his little combatant, “You would likely only propel yourself into that cell with Bella. So I think you’ll keep my little secret, don’t you?”

“I only have your word that Bellatrix LeStrange is violent,” Hermione dared.

“Ask one of the guards to show you the bite marks on his arms. Or wait until she starts howling, if you don’t believe me. You’ll choose wisely, I think.”

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“So she’s history,” the first voice said, gloating. “The paperwork sent her right into Malfoy’s cell where she’ll have to contend with a vicious, known Muggle-hater. I wouldn’t give much for her chances.”

“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? If she’d kept going everything would have been discovered,” the second voice replied. Anyway, she’s thoroughly discredited now, which is the important thing.”

“I just hope Malfoy does our job for us,” The first voice worried. “If he kills her, that makes him a lifetime inmate of Azkaban. His investigation of lingering Death Eater moles in the Ministry nearly cost us everything. Ironic isn’t it, that a search for Death Eaters would be a problem for us?”

The second voice cautioned, “Yes, well, for now he’s tucked away too, but five years isn’t that long a time and that bastard has a long memory, plus the immense resources to dig us out if he realizes he was railroaded too. We’ll just have to hope all our plans are completed before he gets out.” The two voices trailed away down a corridor.


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I hope you've enjoyed the first chapter. This is a long journey we've embarked on, so you might want to get into the habit of "read and review", "read and review", chapter by chapter. The review link is below. If you aren't registered, it's easy and you can sign in as Anonymous if you prefer. I'd love to hear from you. Actually, I'd be thrilled!!
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