Hermione J. Granger (verybritish) wrote in afic, @ 2011-01-14 12:46:00 |
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It was the screaming that Hermione heard first. She had been ordered into a small room, the black tiles slick under her feet. The chair looked like something out of an old muggle prison movie, the leather straps menacing as she sat down. A ministry employee turned her arm over, exposing the pale flesh of her forearm. The lights were brilliant in the room, almost too bright as the employee left, the door closed heavily behind him. She waited, the minutes feeling like hours as she began to feel the knot in her stomach constrict painfully. It was as if a snake was wrapping itself around her organs and squeezing with all it's might.
The thick bricks did not hide the scent of something being cooked, and for a horrible moment she considered the fact that fire had once been used by muggles to kill wizards. It was silly, and Hermione knew full well that the ministry would rather use the Dementor's kiss. It was far cleaner and quicker- and there was less moaning and pleading for one's life involved. But after a night in custody, her mind was not nearly as sharp as it usually was. Fear snuck in faster.
The door opened once more, and Hermione's head snapped up. She had only just come from work, her cream blouse wrinkled from a day at her desk. Her gray skin had a bit of ink on it, and her shoes were still damp from the snow. She looked so small in that big, imposing chair.
"Ron?" she asked, making out the red hair easily. "What's happening?"
Ron could feel the dread growing in his chest as he walked, every step feeling like he was one closer to some unknown doom. This wasn't unknown--not really--but it reminded him of the summer he, Harry and Hermione had set off to find Voldemort's Horcruxes. They'd known what they were hunting, sure, but that didn't make it any less daunting or their quest any less directionless.
This was what Harry had been so upset about, that they were being charged with marking the Suspected Terrorists. He felt stuck, torn. He wanted to rationalise what the Ministry was doing, because it would make it easier to be a part of it, to stick it out even if he didn't like it. Some part of him wasn't entirely opposed to the idea, but that was the part that truly wanted to believe the only people the laws were intended to affect were the dangerous ones. The former Death Eaters who still held tight to their antiquated and barbaric beliefs, or even just the gits like Malfoy who had slipped out of the public eye, but who Ron just couldn't bring himself to consider trusting, no matter how benign they might seem now.
He recognised the man who greeted him, however gruffly, in the hall, but he didn't know the bloke's name, and he didn't care. All he could do was stare at the thing the wizard handed him. He was still looking down at it when he was ushered into a little room. They'd said he'd be marking ST's, but this was metal, so hot that it was glowing orange. What the-- The sound of the door closely loudly behind him might have made him jump, if not for hours on end of Auror training that prepared him for that sort of thing.
They hadn't prepared him for what he found when he looked up, actually taking in the room for the first time.
"Hermione," Ron said. His mouth went dry, and then all at once his brain caught up with what he was seeing. "No," he said, dropping the brand to the ground. He rushed up to her side, reaching for the straps that were fastened around her arms. "We're leaving. That's what's happening."
Hermione looked at Ron and slowly made her way down to the brand that he dropped, the metal making a loud noise on the tile. She knew what it was, knew in an instant what the burning smell of meat had been. Her skin paled, and even as Ron made his way for the straps, she knew that she was not getting out of the room untouched.
Because Hermione was able to apply logic- there was more coincidence in her being assigned to Ron, she was sure of it. The Ministry wanted to see if their precious National Treasure was their own, or Hermione's. And right then, it seemed that Ronald was very much her's. Even if it was in a terrible way.
"Ron- stop," Hermione said, feeling her legs starting to shake. She clenched her knees together, tightly. "What are you going to do if you can get me out of this chair? Take me outside into a corridor full of hit wizards and aurors?" she asked, trying to make Ron think rationally.
"Bloody well right I'm taking you outside," Ron said with no hesitation, though he paused without undoing the straps. Only because she asked you to stop, said a voice in the back of his head, as if he was trying to convince himself it was all right. "They're crazy if they think they're going to do this to you."
He spoke the words, and he wanted to believe they were true. He wanted to believe that no matter how many people were waiting out in the corridor to stop them, that they would both be able to make it out of the Ministry and--do what? Go into hiding? He cursed. "This is mad!" He turned away from her, running a hand across this face. He had to think. There had to be something. "This is what Harry was trying to tell us, what he's known for days. Fuck." He swallowed, looking at the thing he'd dropped on the tile. "Now I understand why they hexed him so he couldn't talk about it. Fuck. Why didn't we just leave the country when he asked us?"
Ron glanced at the door, checking that their chaperone was still leaving them alone, then turned back to her. He put a hand on her arm, squeezing it. "We have to do something, Hermione. If we're quick, we can think of something."
Her mind raced to a million ways this could work. Ron could claim that Hermione was having a heart attack, and go get a healer. Nick polyjuice from the auror offices, and when they were alone with the healer... knock him out, let Hermione drink the potion. Leave slowly, and run like all hell. Sure, it was risky- but it was doable.
But there was the fact that it would forever label Ron a ST... and Hermione was sure to become just a T. Terrorist. A convict who would be running away forever. No matter how clever the plan was, they would get caught, or have to stay away from England forever. Ron would have to leave his family, and Hermione could never help run the DA from another country.
"Ron," she said, voice tight and soft as she looked up at him. Her lower lips quivered, her fear evident on her face. But her eyes had that same hard, determined looked in them. "We both know that I'm leaving this building with that... mark," she said, swallowing down a lump. "It can either be you... or someone else," she said, offering him the out. Ron leaving would mean another person coming in and doing it. Someone she couldn't cry in front of. Someone that wouldn't care.