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It was halfway through sixth year when sleep stopped coming.
It started slowly. Hermione Granger would curl up as she always did in her bed at Hogwarts, the figures of her friends in their beds around her, and find rest. Every few nights a terror would come to her in her dreams, as they did for most.
They began innocently enough: Falling off her broom, jolting awake before she hit the ground, failing her NEWTS, walking into class only to discover she’d forgotten clothing that day. No matter, they were nothing she couldn’t handle. Hermione would turn back over and put her mind at ease, finding sleep again with little trouble.
Then it happened. Suddenly, when she closed her eyes, she would be faced with the vivid image of Ron’s, struck with fear moments before a killing curse blasted into his chest. Harry, wandless, staring up at Voldemort, an evil grin curling on the latter’s lips. Worst of all, her mind conjured the image of her parents. Her innocent, kind, muggle parents, huddled together before a jeering crowd of venomous Death Eaters, all of them calling for blood. On those nights, she woke up sweating, her sheets soaked through.
No matter, she thought again. She could handle it. Even though the dreams made it harder to simply roll over again and rest, it would be fine.
On those nights, Hermione would sit up, staring out the dormitory window at the night sky beyond, waiting for the glow of the sun to grace her vision. I can handle this, she told herself. I can handle it. So that was what she repeated, over and over, in her mind. Even as the dreams became more frequent. So frequent, in fact, that soon she spent more than half of each night awake, her limbs shaking and her thoughts racing.
I can handle this. I can handle this.
On the night in question, the night that changed everything, nothing seemed to be amiss. There was no sense of impending doom, no anxiety wracking her body as she laid down. With the lights switched off and her head fixed on her pillow, she thought perhaps she might achieve something close to a full night's sleep. With a hopeful sigh, she closed her eyes and let sleep find her.
Of course, she had no such luck. And this dream? This dream was different.
She wandered the halls of Hogwarts, her wand extended in front of her. The castle was cast in darkness, shadows extending over everything she could see.
She cast a Lumos as she walked, not sure where she was going but vaguely aware that there was something she was searching for.
“Harry?” She called. “Ron?” There was no answer. In fact, there wasn’t a sound around her, not even her own breathing to be heard.
In a panic, she lifted her free hand to her pulse, searching for a sign of her own life. Nothing. No faint beat to be found beneath her fingertips.
Suddenly, her wand felt like a weight in her hand, and she dropped it to the floor, her only light extinguishing. Still, her body felt like lead. When she tried to bend to retrieve her wand, she was sluggish and uncooperative, as if she was trying to move through water. She was starkly aware of the darkness all around her, and her chest filled with anxiety at the possibility of what could be hiding there. She was stuck, standing, watching the shadows dance before her eyes for what felt like an age, before she heard it.
“Mudblood,” a voice said from behind her.
She tried to spin to face the person, but once again found herself unable to move with ease. Footsteps approached, and she felt a cold, smooth hand graze over her pulse point, shivers wracking her frame. The arm extended around her shoulders, coming to lock its hand around her throat in a vice grip.
If she had felt the need for breath, she surely would have been choking, but there was nothing. No desperate ache for air and no panic at the lack of it.
The person chuckled, and with a start she recognized it. Malfoy.
“Hardly a wizard,” he said. “And it seems, barely even human.” Her eyes flitted down to his forearm, his frigid hand still vice around her throat, and she saw it. There, just above his left wrist, the harsh black lines of the dark mark.
Hermione woke with a gasp, quickly stifling her sound so as to not wake her fellow students. She looked around the room, eyes moving quickly. Around her, the girls remained asleep. She wrapped her arms around herself, relieved at the feeling of movement, and checked her pulse irrationally.
Don't be silly, Hermione. She thought. Of course you have a pulse.
She sat up, wondering at the nightmare. Despite Harry’s accusations, she maintained the firm belief that Draco Malfoy was not a Death Eater. A spoiled brat and an all around prick, yes, but not a member of Voldemort’s dark army.
And then there was the matter of the setting. Hermione had never felt so afraid in the familiar halls of Hogwarts. She had grown up there, gone through terrifying experiences there, and still felt assured of her own safety within its sturdy walls.
She glanced around the room again, hugging her knees to her chest and listening to her soft breaths, the blankets of her bed bunching at her ankles. A nervous energy rose within her body. Maybe a walk would do her some good, she thought. A reminder of the familiarity of the place she found herself in. She focused on her thought process, drawing her mind away from the tremors in her limbs and the remaining anxiety filling her chest. Yes, she decided. A walk would do her good. Besides, it wasn’t very likely she would be caught outside of her dorm at this hour, as long as she stuck close by and kept quiet.
She stood as silently as she could manage, tucking her wand into the pocket of her linen pajama pants. With a soft click she pried open the chest at the foot of the bed, slipping into a soft pair of house shoes and tugging a blue knit jumper over her shoulders. The item had been a gift from Molly Weasley several Christmases ago, and it brought her a small amount of comfort to wear it.
Hermione padded towards the door, glancing around a final time to confirm she hadn’t woken anyone. It wouldn’t help any of them to have to explain why she was up at such a late hour, going for a stroll throughout the castle’s halls.
She wound her way through the Gryffindor common rooms, the whole place cast in darkness and silence.
Finally, the portrait door creaked open and she stepped out into the hallway. As expected, there was minimal light around her. She cast a Lumos and chose a direction, aimless as she walked. She breathed deeply, observing the curves of the castle walls around her.
See? She thought. This is Hogwarts. This is home.
She turned a corner, opening up into a wider passage. The open space comforted her, and through the grand windows she could see the night sky around her.
Hermione pushed down any remaining fear, closing her eyes as she breathed in. Finally, she felt calm wash over her. This is home. I’m safe here.
Suddenly, in the silent night, she heard it: A voice.
“This way,” a man’s whispered tone, his throat raspy.
She whirled around, not sure which direction it had come from. Her heart rate spiked, but she calmed herself with more deep breaths, knowing it likely wasn’t a true threat, and more possibly a prefect on late night rounds. Hopefully they wouldn’t come in her direction.
She backed up, flattening herself against the wall and sliding to the ground, finding peace once again.
“She went this way,” the voice came again. Another voice murmured a reply. “I’m sure of it,” the first responded.
Her skin prickled with fear, her senses suddenly heightened. There was no way someone had been following her, right? If anything, it was probably just one of her friends who, upon hearing her leave, trailed behind to make sure she was okay.
But no, she didn’t recognize these voices as any of her friends.
“Let us hope you are correct.” The second voice came again, the low, monotone droning of a man. It seemed almost familiar, she thought as she stood frozen in the hall.
They were surely closer, and she had to figure out a solution to her predicament quickly. Then the sound of footfalls raced up on her, and she whirled again to face one side of the hallway, finding the sound of the second voice.
Yes, of course it had sounded familiar. In the arch of the entry stood Professor Snape, the same disappointed look on his face as always. Her heart thundered in her ears.
“Miss Granger,” he said, voice dripping with disdain.
Alright. She thought. So maybe I’ll get detention. It could be worse. But, apparently, it could not.
Because just then the sound of more footsteps rounded the corner, and before she could look to see who was the source, Snape drew his wand.
“Stupify!” He bit out.
It hit her with force, nearly knocking her over. And just before her vision went completely black, she looked up to see Draco Malfoy standing in the shadows of the door.
When she finally came to, her head was pounding. It was the first thing Hermione noticed, the all-encompassing, mind numbing pain in her head.
She slowly opened her eyes with a groan, becoming aware of the cold stone of the floor beneath her. She sat up from her prone position, the memories of the night coming back in a flood. She scrambled into a crouch, her back slamming against a hard wall.
Wherever she was, it was pitch-black and frigid. The stone floors under her body were slightly damp, and she shuddered to think that the substance could be anything more than water.
Her breaths were heavy, blood rushing in her eyes and blocking out any other sound that could have been made in the space around her.
Calm down, she pleaded with herself, the ache in her head still throbbing. Just wait for your eyes to adjust.
She leaned back against the wall once again, trying to steady her breathing.
As she did so, the sounds of footsteps became clear, coming down what sounded like steps and making their way to her. A dungeon, then. She was in a dungeon. But where?
The footsteps stopped somewhere in front of her, and as her eyes became used to the darkness of the space she could faintly make out metal bars before her, and the tall figure in front of them.
“Miss Granger,” the same bored drone of a man that she’d heard before. Professor Snape.
Her breath hitched, and instinctively she felt for where she’d placed her wand in her pocket, already knowing it wouldn’t be there.
“I would expect such a bright and promising student as yourself to know better than to be out of bed at such an hour, traipsing through the school,” he said dully.
She swallowed, her hands shaking faintly. “It seems I wasn’t aware that the punishment for such a thing could be so harsh.” She tried to steady her voice as she spoke, but the anxious waver came through clearly.
Snape didn’t move from his place in front of her. She could make out his face now, the hollow and gaunt lines of his bones as he stared down at her.
He turned as the sound of more visitors approaching filled the dungeon, his expression never changing.
She wished she could say she was surprised at the betrayal by her professor, and yet Snape had always been a suspicious character, his hatred for Harry clear.
At the present moment, she wasn’t concerned with that exactly. Her mind was fixed on her current predicament, and her thoughts consisted only of survival. How could she escape without a wand? Surely there were anti-Apparition wards in place, and several more for the purposes of containing a muggle-born. She shuddered, all of it seeming impossibly bleak.
“Is she awake, Snape?” Another male voice asked, this one not nearly as familiar to her. In the dark, she couldn’t quite make out who he was, but she recognized the style of his robes: a Death Eater.
“Obviously,” Snape replied, again seeming more than a little bored.
The Death Eater shifted down to peer at her, and she suddenly knew the face before her, her heart skipping a beat. It was Antonin Dolohov.
Dolohov smirked. “Well, then, the Dark Lord will be pleased.”
Panic seized her body at the words. No, she thought, scarcely able to believe it. No, no, no.
The Dark Lord. Voldemort. She wondered faintly if he was there, and the urge to run gripped her. She was aware, of course, that she was trapped. There was nowhere for her to go. And yet, the idea of being face to face with He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named was too much for her to fathom.
Hermione had her full back pressed to the wall now, knees pulled up tightly before her chest, trying to keep her face calm.
“Shall we go inform him?” Snape asked, gaze never leaving her. She averted her eyes, staring down at her feet, still clad in slippers.
“Well,” Dolohov replied, a sick hint of amusement creeping into his tone. “We ought to let her become acquainted with her roommates.”
Her stomach rolled. Roommates?
With a flick of Dolohov’s wrist, light invaded the dungeon, and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, no longer protected by the cover of shadows. She felt exposed.
“Look, Mudblood,” Dolohov said. She didn’t move, petrified. Snape was silent as his companion chuckled dryly. “Oh, come now, Granger. Aren’t you intrigued? Don’t you want to say hi to Mummy and Daddy?”
She gasped before she could stop herself, the sharp air feeling like a knife to the chest. Her heart dropped to her stomach, and she crawled forward, hands gripping the bars of her cell.
She noticed nothing else. Not the two men before her, nor the scene around her. Her focus was on the two prisoners in the cage across from hers.
There, chained together, heads lolling against their chests, dirty and bloody, were her parents.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Draco Malfoy sat on his bed, curtains drawn over the windows, blocking the moonlight from filtering in. Next to where he was perched, on his nightstand, a lamp illuminated his bedroom. His blankets and carpet, both a lush, cliche green. The dresser and the mirror atop it.
He lifted his head to the mirror, meeting his own gaze. Though he gave no physical reaction to his appearance, it registered in his mind how rough he looked. His cheeks were hollow and his eyes circled by rings of exhaustion. His blond hair hung around his forehead limply.
He averted his eyes again, staring blankly at the space where the wall met the hardwood floors. He thumbed his fingers over his left forearm. It was strange, he thought. You couldn’t feel the Dark Mark when simply grazing a hand over it. You would have to see it; to lay eyes on it. To him, the Mark and the implications of such a thing invaded his life so fully that it would have made sense for the skin to be raised in a scar.
Around him it was quiet. His bedroom was in the Manor’s eastern wing, and his parents had taken up residence in another room there after the Death Eaters moved in, ceding their own suite to the Dark Lord. Most days, no other Death Eaters ventured so far away from the Manor’s dining room as to end up anywhere near where they slept, hence the silence that surrounded the area.
Even knowing this, he tilted his head toward the door, listening hard. He imagined for a moment he could hear it: The low, rumbling conversations of their comrades. Discussing their next move.
He shook off the thought. He wasn’t supposed to be there, not during the school year. His place, for the time being, was at Hogwarts. Finishing his education. Keeping eyes on the inside along with Snape.
Snape.
The reason for his being there that night re-entered his thoughts. It had been a simple rendezvous, meant for the two of them to ruminate on their next steps. Encountering Granger was simply luck.
At the thought of Granger, his mouth hardened into a sharp line. He remembered her body, limp and vulnerable, on the floor of the Hogwarts hallways.
So unsuspecting,
he thought.
Stupid git has no idea what's coming.
With a
crack,
a house elf Apparated into his bedroom, disturbing his thoughts. It was Fimpy, the elf the Malfoys had acquired after that meddling Potter had freed Dobby in second year.
"Fimpy is here to tell Master Draco his presence is requested in the great hall,” Fimpy quipped, his large eyes wide and shiny as always.
Draco sighed, standing from his bed. “Yes, thank you, Fimpy. I’ll be going, then.”
Fimpy seemed a bit surprised at the thank you, something he had likely not heard since the invasion of the Manor by the other Death Eaters.
“Is she awake, Fimpy?” Draco asked, not bothering to specify who he was speaking of.
“Fimpy is thinking yes, Master.”
Draco nodded, steeling himself for what was to come and grasping his wand in his hand. Fimpy Apparated away again without another word.
Draco made his way out of his bedroom and away from his wing, ignoring the curious gazes of the ancestral portraits he passed on his way. It had been good, getting Granger this early on and with little trouble. The Dark Lord was pleased, no doubt, so it wasn’t any possible retribution from his master that made his grasp on the railing of the staircase falter.
It was what would come now that they had her.
Draco wasn’t aware of all the details of her parent’s capture. It had been Yaxley and Dolohov’s doing, bringing them alive instead of killing them instantly. It had angered the Dark Lord at first, their defiance. But soon he became convinced of their plan: Kill the entire Granger family at once. Wipe out the bloodline altogether. The blow would be devastating to Potter, no doubt about that. It was a win for them. And yet something about the whole thing made Draco’s stomach turn, not that he would ever admit it.
He shook off the thought, swallowing as he continued down the winding staircase and throughout the halls. He passed the library, it's great wooden doors closed to the rest of the house. Granger would probably combust, he thought, if she knew such a space existed just above where he found herself imprisoned.
He tried to take a modicum of pleasure in the thought, reminding himself how much he hated the swotty Mudblood. How much he had always hated her.
Around him, the ornate halls of the Manor swirled, and he fixed his eyes on the dark fresco above him. He was standing in the entry hall, aware of the fireplace next to him and the doors to the outside in front of him. But most of all, he was aware of the emptiness of it. The Manor, which had once seemed so full of life, now drained by the presence of the Dark Lord’s army.
He pushed on, his hand stilling when it found the handle of the entrance door to the dining room. He already knew what he would find. The others who were once friends, family, partygoers, or acquaintances. They would be, for the most part, clad in Death Eater robes, standing on the sidelines of the room. The dark oak table would be, as always, in the center of things, and there on the dais would be the Dark Lord himself, Nagini curled loyally by his side.
He breathed deeply, and entered.
It was just as he predicted. Due to the late hour, the number of Death Eaters present was greatly diminished from its normal volume. On his throne, on the dais, as expected, was Voldemort.
He looked as he always did: his face, smooth and gray, gazed down at Draco as he entered. Nagini circled at his feet, the sheer size of the animal enough to threaten with a glance.
Draco made his way around the dining table, vaguely aware of his father standing somewhere to the Dark Lord’s left, and Snape and Dolohov at his right. Snape wore the same even expression as always, but Dolohov looked vaguely pleased, as if preparing to see a wonderful show.
When he reached the head of the table, Draco bowed to the Dark Lord, dipping as low as he could manage in a show of respect. He was still clad in his Hogwarts robes.
“Draco, my boy,” Voldemort uttered, a hand curling out as if to touch him. “You have done well tonight. I am pleasantly surprised.”
Draco didn’t let the subtle jab get to him. Lifting his head, he offered the man before him-if you could still call him such a thing-a small smile. “Thank you, my Lord.”
“My Lord, if I may.” It was his father. He looked nearly as tired as Draco had, his chin covered in stubble. He gazed up at Voldemort with admiration, eyes gleaming. “I hope it will be the first of many important missions.”
The Dark Lord’s mouth hardened into a straight line. “We shall see, Lucius,” he replied, turning his attention to Snape at his right. “Severus, retrieve our guests.” He gestured lazily toward Draco. “Take the boy with you.”
“As you wish, my Lord,” Severus said, and they both bowed again.
Draco followed Snape out, not allowing himself to look back. He already knew the Dark Lord was watching.
The entrance to the dungeons was on the opposite side of the Manor. Perhaps the idea had been to keep the filth and dishonor of any present prisoners away from the finery of the grandest parts of the home.
The two were silent as they walked, moving side by side through the darkened halls. Draco kept his sight fixed squarely on the path before him, focusing only on the task at hand. Exhaustion threatened to overtake him, but he held it back, squaring his shoulders.
It was only as the entrance to the stairway came into view that Draco spared Snape a glance. He swallowed, evening his voice as he spoke.
“Will they die tonight?” He asked. He was sure to not sound too invested, trying to communicate that no, he didn't really care. He was only curious.
Snape didn’t speak for a moment, waving his wand as he disabled the wards on the doorway. “Perhaps,” he said. “And perhaps not.”
Draco gave a small nod, and gestured for Snape to move first through the doorway, just before he did, he slipped a pair of heavy cuffs into Draco’s hands. He stuffed them into the pocket of his robes and followed close behind.
The winding stone staircase to the dungeons was cramped and dark, illuminated every so often by a barely-burning torch. Draco felt his way along the passage. Finally, the dungeons themselves came into view.
Before the Death Eater’s invasion of the Manor, the dungeons had been unused for generations. It was a large room, cells lining either side of the walls. Many of them still sat dusty and uninhabited. In fact, the only two cells that were in current use were housing the Granger family.
All was quiet, save for their footsteps. As they moved closer to the prisoners, Draco became aware of the sound of barely stifled cries. Then Granger herself came into view.
Still in her pajamas, Granger sat on her knees, head leaning against the bars of her cell, hands clutching them so hard here knuckles were white. She’d clearly been distraught the moment before their entrance, though now she seemed to be attempting to present some semblance of calm. It wasn’t working very well.
Soon Draco stood in front of her, and she looked up at him. At first, she seemed almost relieved to see a familiar face. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, her cheeks and nose a rosy red from her apparent breakdown. Then, in a moment, her expression flickered, turning to an unbridled rage.
“Malfoy,” she muttered, teeth clenched.
“Granger,” he replied, his voice void of emotion. “I would say it's funny seeing you here, but it isn’t.” He smirked at that. Yes, he told himself, he was enjoying this. Seeing one of his oldest adversaries this way. Broken, bent to his will.
“
Malfoy!
” She said again, this time louder, nearly a shout. She shook herself against the bars.
Draco sighed, turning his eyes away. “Yes, that’s my name Granger. Is there a point to this?”
He suddenly became aware of Snape’s presence beside him, having momentarily forgotten he was there.
More tears fell from Granger’s eyes, slipping down her already wet cheeks. Her mouth curled in rage. She really did look pathetic, trying to seem threatening in such a situation.
“The Dark Lord is requesting your presence,” Draco told her nonchalantly. His eyes slipped to Snape for a moment. The man stood beside him, seeming uninvested and perfectly fine to let Draco do all the talking.
Perfect,
Draco thought.
Just perfect.
Granger tilted her head, regrasping the bars with more vigor than before, if such a thing was possible. “Oh, he did, did he? Tell him that while I appreciate the offer, I’ll unfortunately have to decline.” She gave him a mock smile, but her voice shook with distress.
He gave her the smile right back before turning to Snape. “Take the parents?” He asked in a low voice.
“Yes. I trust you’ll handle the girl.” Snape glanced at Granger, his expression as unreadable as always, and turned to the opposite cell, where the Grangers were still slumped over, unconscious.
At the movement, Granger stood up straighter. “What are you doing?” She asked, panic entering her tone. “No. Leave them alone, please. Please leave them. It’s me you want.” The emotion was apparent now, her speech devolving into desperate cries, tears flowing freely from her eyes. “Please,” she murmured. “Please.”
Draco looked away again, clenching his jaw. He slipped the cuffs from his pocket and retrieved his wand, unlocking the cell door.
It was easy to get the cuffs on her. She didn’t resist, her body wracked with violent sobs. Behind him, he knew Snape was doing the same to her parents.
“Get up, Granger,” he ordered, tugging at the chain between the two handcuffs. She stumbled to her feet, meeting his eyes again. Her face was washed with a mix of devastation and pure rage.
He leaned in closer, and her breath was on his face, hot and heavy.
“You try anything,” he whispered. “You’re dead.”
She clenched her teeth, her jaw ticking as she tried desperately to hold back her emotion. “I imagine I already am.”
Across from them, Snape cast a
Leviosa,
and the Granger parents floated behind him, chained together and unaware.
Granger moved to look back at them, but Draco tugged the long chain again, dragging her ahead.
Draco looked at Snape expectantly, waiting for him to finally take the lead. Snape only raised a brow.
“After you,” the man said.
And so the five of them began the journey up the staircase, Draco’s grasp firm on Granger’s chain, his other hand clutching his wand. Behind them, her parents floated just in front of Snape.
He imagined the group of them were quite a sight, indeed.
The journey was silent, Granger’s sobs having died down. When he glanced back at her as they walked, her gaze was far away and disconnected, the same sort of look he knew appeared on his own features when he Occluded.
But Granger wasn’t an Occlumens, no. She was steeling herself, readying for what was to come.
It was an eternity when they reached the dining room, and when they did, Draco waved his wand, swinging the door open. It slammed back against the wall with the force of his magic, and the chittering voices of the gossiping Death Eaters silenced upon seeing them.
Draco walked faster, desperate to be out from under the watchful eye of the crowd. He paid no mind to the falter in Granger’s step, the way she almost stumbled as he sped up.
He heard Snape’s footsteps behind him, and as Draco deposited Granger on the floor before the dais, her body falling to the ground violently, he heard the thud of the professor placing her parents on the table like a grand Christmas feast.
To the crowd of Death Eaters, he supposed they were.
Voldemort sat on his throne, exactly as he had before. Upon seeing them, his face twisted into a demented smile.
“Hermione Granger,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “At last. Potter’s little Mudblood. I welcome your family to my home.”
Around him, the Death Eaters chuckled coldly, but Draco shuddered at his words, the way he’d referred to the Manor as
his
home. He shrugged off the uneasy feeling, moving to stand beside his father off to Voldemort’s left.
“I hear you’re a capable witch, Mudblood,” The Dark Lord said mockingly. He stood, gesturing around himself. “My subjects, can you fathom it? A Mudblood, the brightest witch of her age.”
Laughs sounded throughout the room again. On the floor, Granger was gritting her teeth, staring at the ground. The frizzy strands of her hair had settled around her face, some of them falling over her forehead in an unruly cascade. Her wrists had begun to chafe from the cuffs, and yet there was a fire in her eyes. An untameable anger. A spark of intelligence, the same Draco had seen for so many years in Hogwarts.
The Dark Lord descended his throne, Nagini following behind him. The snake slithered on the ground, curling around the base of Granger’s body, her legs and feet. He hissed, but she didn’t flinch.
Voldemort stood in front of her, staring down with a cold gaze. “If you’re so bright, girl, then you already know your death will not be quick and painless, nor will the deaths of your parents.”
At the mention of her parents, Draco could see Granger’s resolve begin to crack. Her face twisted in agony, and she whimpered. The Death Eaters laughed another time, and Draco joined in, aware of his father standing next to him.
“Please, not my parents,” Granger pleaded, still not looking up. “They haven’t done anything. They’re innocent.”
In a sudden movement, the Dark Lord bent down, grasping Granger’s face in his long, slender fingers, nails digging into the tender flesh of her chin. She inhaled sharply at the contact, horror plain on her features.
He forced her eyes up, his own boring into them. “Oh, but they have, Hermione Granger,” his voice lilted in an almost sing-song tone. “They’ve brought another Mudblood witch into the world.” He released her face, and she fell forward, gasping for air as if she’d been choked. Voldemort retreated to the dais, seating himself on his throne and calling Nagini to him with a flick of his fingers. The snake obeyed, again curling himself at his master’s feet.
“And for that,” The Dark Lord said. “They will die.” He looked around the room as if the lot of them were simply out to tea. “Tell me. What do you think Harry Potter will say when he learns I’ve killed his dear Mudblood?”
Granger’s emotions had burst forth again, no longer able to quell the tears that had threatened to spill over the entire time. She was leaning forward, her head bent down, trying to keep her sobs as silent as possible. Draco swallowed, trying to take amusement in the display as the Death Eaters lining the room obviously did.
Granger choked on her wails. “Please,” she murmured. “Please.”
Chortles sounded from a few spectators, and Voldemort watched, looking thoroughly entertained. It was so pathetic, her stance on the floor. But Granger wasn’t what shook him. It was the sight of her parents, still slumped against one another, laid out on the Malfoy dining table. They were not the first to grace the polished oak, and they certainly wouldn’t be the last. But something about the sight of the two of them, two people who had never had anything to do with anything of it being punished for the crime of having a family, turned his stomach.
That was why. It must have been. Because it surely wasn’t Granger’s desperation. It surely wasn’t the way her cries echoed in the large chamber. And it could not have been the fear and fire he saw in her, still raging.
No. It wasn’t that. If he was honest, he didn’t entirely know why he did what he did next. But before he could stop himself, his feet were moving. He stepped forward, out of the crowd of Death Eaters, away from his father, and, as confidently as he could manage, he spoke:
“Don’t kill her.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Back in the dungeon, Hermione awaited Malfoy.
She no longer knew if it was night or day. When she had been escorted back to her cell, the sun was still set firmly beyond the horizon, but that could have been hours earlier. With no way to tell the time she had no way of being sure, and she’d given up on counting by singing to herself in her head. Too many of the songs she knew were ones played for her by the two people across from her.
She tried not to look at them, but every so often her gaze slipped involuntarily through the bars to their cell. The Death Eaters must have used some kind of curse to keep them unconscious for as long as they had been. She dug her nails into her palms to suppress the urge to tearfully reach out for them. She would allow herself no more of them, at least not before she had come face to face with Draco Malfoy once again.
She closed her eyes, leaning her head against the cold bars of the cell, letting her mind wander to before.
“Don’t kill her.”
Hermione instantly lifted her head at his words. Her heart pounded in her eyes. There he was: Draco Malfoy had stepped out of the line of Death Eaters, his face even as he spoke the words. He was collected. He wasn’t begging. He said it like a command, right to Voldemort’s face. The question was why? She could think of no reason for it, no reason as to why her oldest adversary would defend her, would try to stop her impending death.
Voldemort turned sharply at the sound of his voice. He swept his arms in a wide arc, moving towards the youngest Malfoy.
“Oh but Draco, my boy,” he said, his voice almost mocking. “I do so want to.”
Hermione watched with wide eyes, blinking away her remaining tears. She pressed her hands to the floor to steady them, her whole body petrified with fear.
There was the slightest tick in Malfoy’s jaw, though his eyes were just as even as before. “But why would you, my Lord?” He asked. “Why would you when she can be of such use to our cause?”
Around the dining room there was a smattering of noise, low voice gossiping, questioning the young man's words.
Voldemort’s eyes darkened. “Explain yourself,” he ordered, his eyes dark.
“Her death would surely hurt Potter,” Malfoy said, spitting Harry’s name the way he always had. “And it would undeniably serve as a symbol for our cause. And yet-” his eyes flickered to her momentarily. “There’s one thing that would hurt them more.”
Voldemort raised an eyebrow-or, what was left of his brows. “Do tell.”
Hermione sucked in a quiet breath. She knew that whatever game Malfoy was playing was a dangerous one. One misstep and it would be over. She shuddered to think of what it was he was about to say if his plan was devious enough to warrant going against his Dark Lord’s plans.
She tried not to consider the way he spoke. The way he called it
“our cause.”
It was true, then. Draco Malfoy, the boy she had known since childhood (despite there being no lost love between them), was a Death Eater. Or, if he wasn’t one, he would be soon.
“We could use her against them. Think of what it would be like for Potter. The Boy Who Lived, who has gotten everything he ever wanted. Who probably believes that “good” will prevail with the power of friendship.” He sneered at that, looking at her again. “What would it do to him to see his precious Mudblood working for our side? Or better, his precious Mudblood, a
Death Eater
.”
The murmuring in the room resumed, louder this time. Behind him his son, Lucius Malfoy looked enraged. He stepped forward, a firm hand coming down on Draco’s shoulder.
“My Lord,” he said, turning his eyes down. “I beg you to forgive my son’s foolish ramblings.”
Voldemort played him no mind, still examining Malfoy. He turned, staring at her, and Hermione dropped her head again quickly, quivering with the weight of his eyes on her.
“A Mudblood Death Eater? And how do you suggest we gain her loyalty? An
Imperius
?” The Dark Lord asked, sweeping closer to Malfoy.
Malfoy, to his credit, didn’t back down. He shook off his father’s grip. “Nothing of the sort, my Lord.” He gestured to the people on the table, her poor parents. “We already have her parents. And besides, if that isn’t motivation enough, I’m confident that I can break her.” He looked at her as he said it, his gray eyes boring into hers. “As for proving herself loyal, that can be handled in other ways.” He looked back to He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named.
Hermione shuddered again, the air sucked from her lungs, his words sounding in her head.
“I’m confident I can break her.”
In the present moment, in the dungeon, neither option for her future seemed better. Die or pledge loyalty to the Dark Lord? She would rather be dead, she told herself. She would sooner let them kill her.
But then, against her better judgment, her eyes flickered again to her parents. As much as the loyal Gryfinndor parts of her told her to honor her morals no matter the cost, and as much as she knew her kind parents would want her to do nothing for their sake, she couldn’t ignore their presence there.
Hermione closed her eyes again, this time laying down fully on the dusty stones of the floor. She let the cold seep into her bones, the darkness of the dungeon washing over her, holding her like a vice. In her chest a deep pain had taken root, something palpable, like a flame just beginning to rage inside of a hearth. She laid a hand on her stomach, feeling her skin contract and expand with breath. Surely someone had realized she was gone. Surely that had located her. For a moment she let herself dream they were on their way to the rescue. She imagined she was at home in London laying on the kitchen floor, hiding away from the dreadful heat of the summer as her mother mixed lemonade at the counter, her father reading in the next room. She didn’t dare open her eyes again, didn’t dare to be faced with the harsh reality. With the fantasy of home still rich in her mind, she fell into a merciful sleep.
When she awoke, the first thing that occurred to her was that she couldn't recall her dreams.
The second thing was the low light flooding the dungeon and the man standing over her.
Malfoy leaned over her figure, still supine on the stone, a scrutinizing expression on his face, as if he was studying her.
She scrambled up, backing up against the bars. He was
inside
the cell with her, now dressed in dark robes, no longer clad in his Slytherin garbs. Her eyes whipped over him, now far enough away to take in his full figure. In his left hand was his wand.
Hermione stood slowly, the two of them never taking their eyes off of each other in a sort of impasse. Then, without warning, Hermione pounced.
She dove on top of Malfoy, and he groaned as his head cracked against the tile. He recovered quickly, prying her off of him. They rolled on the floor in what was probably a ridiculous display. Finally he gained the upper hand, pinning her down, his legs on either side of her pelvis. He slammed her wrists on the floor, holding both of them in his right hand, the tip of his wand jabbing into her pulse in his other. She heaved beneath him, her breath gone. She squirmed, trying to wriggle free, but his weight on top of her was too much.
“Give it up, Granger,” he said, mouth curled in a grimace. Locks of his pale blond hair had fallen onto his forehead and his delicately pressed robes had been wrinkled.
“
Fuck
you, Malfoy.” She spat at him, the wet glob of her saliva landing on his forehead. Looking disgusted, he wiped it away with his sleeve before returning to his threatening stance. Then he smirked at her.
“No thanks, Granger. Now, are you going to cooperate or not?” He spoke to her as if chastising a child, slowly and loud.
She felt weak, exhaustion suddenly flooding her. She ignored it, not willing to surrender to Malfoy. “Why the hell would I do that?”
Malfoy’s face twisted into something like frustration before smoothing back over, a smirk emerging on his lips. “Because you want to
live,
Granger.” He rolled off of her in a smooth movement, standing over her once again.
She didn’t move, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. Then she pushed herself up on her forearms, glaring at him. She gathered her energy to put bite into her voice. “Since when do you care if I live?” She sneered. “You were the one that brought me here.”
He sighed like a babysitter tired of her antics. “Yes, Granger, and now I’m giving you a chance. Not because I
care
, but because killing you would just be so boring.” His voice dripped with exasperation, twirling his wand in his fingertips, no longer looking at her.
She stood finally, sizing him up as best she could. He stopped twirling his wand, meeting her eyes again in silence. She shook her head, anger and confusion seizing her. Her head ached. She was so, so tired.
“I don’t…” her voice trailed off as she rubbed her temples. “I don’t understand what you want from me.”
Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “Well then why don’t you use that
brilliant
Mudblood brain of yours and figure it out?” With that, he swiftly unlocked the bars of the cell, sweeping away from her and relocking them again.
She watched him. He looked as worn out as he had in the dining room, darkness circling his eyes.
Good,
she thought.
It’s the least of what he deserves.
She was too tired to think of a comeback to his vague words, or even to be angry at the slur. She watched him walk away toward the stairs, her legs feeling like jelly.
“Malfoy,” she said quietly, part of her not wanting him to hear.
But he did. He turned at her voice, his face glowing in the yellow light of the torches. He looked at her, his face blank, walls up behind his eyes.
She stared right at him as she spoke, eager to know that he heard her, that he understood.
“You should have let him kill me.”
He stood looking on for one more moment, studying her. Then, without a word or a reaction, he continued on, extinguishing the torches again with a wave of his hand, his footsteps echoing as they faded away, and the darkness overtook her once again.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
In the unknown amount of time she spent in the darkness, Hermione thought of many things. Sunday morning tea with her parents in their London home, curling up in the library to pour over ancient texts, her red and gold Hogwarts blankets smooth on her bed. She thought of many things. She thought a great deal and slept little, obsessing over every moment of her life that had led her to where she found herself. Most of all, though, she thought of Harry and Ron. She thought of sitting with them in the train, all those rides full of chocolate frogs and anticipatory laughter. Their nights in the Gryffindor common room. And of course, those less than pleasant memories: the troll in first year, the Chamber of Secrets, the Triwizard tournament, that night in the ministry. She missed all of it dearly. She squeezed her eyes closed, wishing with all her might that when she opened her eyes she would find that all of it had been a bad dream.They’re looking for you, she told herself. They’re coming.She dreamed of it. Dreamed of it in those moments where she wasn’t sure whether she was really asleep or awake. Imagined them bursting in, grabbing her and her parents and Apparating them away. Home.But time passed in the dark. How much, she wasn’t sure, and she vaguely realized that she should have come up with a way to count. Every so often, a house elf brought her a tray of food, more sludge than anything. The first few times she had jumped up hopefully, asking if they knew Dobby, if they knew what day it was. The elf hadn’t even answered, their eyes averted all the time. Eventually she’d given up.Across the room, she could see the outlines of her parents' bodies. They still seemed to be in some sort of magical stasis, never stirring or making a sound. She never looked at them long, a great pain blooming in her chest every time.When someone finally came for her, she was laying with her eyes closed, body curled in a fetal position on the floor, drifting in that half-awake half-asleep place. Somewhere across the dungeon, a bang sounded, filling the space violently. Hermione jumped, jerking her body to a sitting position. She scampered back, pressing herself to the wall. For a moment, everything was silent, and she wondered if maybe she had imagined it. Then, another bang. She gasped, jumping again involuntarily. A heinous giggle ricocheted throughout the room at her reaction.“Oh Mudblood,” the voice hissed. “What lovely entertainment you are. I see why Draco wanted to keep you around.”A shiver ran up Hermione’s spine. She knew that voice, that cackle.Without warning, a face popped up in front of the bars of her cell. Teeth glistening, coils of hair dripping like slick oil from her head. “Boo!” The visitor shrieked.Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione slid down the wall, a deep dread settling in her stomach at the realization that there was no one coming. No one was running to rescue her from the psychotic death eater in front of her. In the darkness of the dungeons, it was only her and the witch. She bit back the sob threatening to break free from her throat, clasping her fists by her sides. Bellatrix had withdrawn her wand and paced lazily before the bars, dragging the weapon back and forth upon them. The action created an eerie sort of music, echoing around Hermione’s head.“Oh, little Mudblood,” Bellatrix sighed. “I do so badly want to have my fun with you.” She pouted, eyes glistening as they met Hermione’s.The witch felt her tightly drawn fists begin to shake, and pulled them into her lap. Even with her back pressed to the wall and the space of the cell between them, an uncanny darkness radiated off of Bellatrix’s body.A beat of silence passed before the death eater ceased pacing and leaned in, sticking her head just between two of the shining bars. “Well Mudblood?” she whispered. “Don’t you remember how to SPEAK?”The last word came out as a great shout, voice booming through the space between them. Hermione whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut as a tear trickled out. In any other situation, she would have felt humiliated to show such fear in front of anyone. But this was different. This was Bellatrix Lestrange. She was alone.They’re coming for you. Someone has to be coming.When she opened her eyes again, Bellatrix was grinning. A wide, genuine thing, like their whole interaction had been some wonderful show.“But I’ll get my chance,” she remarked, the uneven whisper once again returned to her voice. “Of course, the Lord’s wishes come first.”This piqued Hermione’s interest, and she lifted her head to speak. But, fearing the recourse of such an action, she couldn’t seem to force the words out. The darkness around her seemed to close in, hugging her vision until the only thing she could focus on was Bellatrix’s alabaster skin and fascinated expression. She swallowed hard. Bellatrix went back to pacing, dragging her wand across the bars once again. A mischievous smile adorned her face.“Well? Speak up, Mudblood! Ask me.”Hermione swallowed again, wringing her shaking hands. “Wha-what are his wishes?”Bellatrix once again froze in place, grinning gleefully. “It seems our Dark Lord has requested your presence for a private audience.”Hermione’s blood ran cold. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t expected it. They couldn’t keep her locked in Malfoy's dungeon forever. In that moment, however, she would have much preferred it to the reality she was facing.Bellatrix was giggling again, and the door to the cell swung open. The dark witch sauntered in, blowing an unruly lock of hair off her forehead. With her arms behind her back, she stepped forward slowly, swaying gently as she went. Her eyes were wide with excitement. Then, without warning, she stopped and whipped out her wand. Hermione felt her body seize up as magical bonds gripped her. She lost her footing and tottered before falling. She squeezed her eyes shut as the ground came up to meet. She slammed into the cold stone violently, pain spiking through her body. Despite her attempts to break her fall with her shoulder, her skull ricocheted off the floor. She moaned lowly, rolling onto her side.She heard Bellatrix’s footsteps approach, but didn’t dare look. Spindly fingers seized her hair, and Hermione whimpered again as the Death Eater yanked it back, forcing her chin up.“Look at me, Mudblood.” Bellatrix hissed.Hermione could feel hot breath on her cheek and her heart pounded in her eyes. She squirmed, finally ceding to the witch, opening her eyes to stare Bellatrix in her deranged eyes.
Another twisted smile appeared on her face. “Good girl.” She said, a hateful venom present in every word.Bellatrix stood from where she had crouched to speak to Hermione, pulling the young witch up by the locks of hair tangled in her fingers. Hermione cried out sharply, feeling hair rip from the roots of her scalp. Unsteadily, she got to her feet. Her head burned and her breathing was heavy as she shifted from one foot to the other. The slippers she had come there with were covered in scuffs and tearing apart, and one had fallen off her foot during her fall. She didn’t dare move to put it back on, feeling the dusty, frigid floors beneath her bare foot.“Now, you can walk there like a good little Mudblood,” Bellatrix said. “Or I can drag you by your hair the whole way. Your choice, scum.” She pouted a bit, her bottom lip stuck out.Hermione nodded weakly, eyes fixed on the floor.“Good. Oh, and Mudblood, if you try to run…” Bellatrix trailed off, getting closer again and twirling a strand of hair around her little finger. “I’ll have such fun carving off little pieces of you, one by one.” Her voice was a whisper, her mouth close to Hermione’s left ear. Suddenly, her hand left her hair and pinched the ear between her fingers, nails biting into the skin. Hermione gasped. “Maybe I’d start here.” She tugged on the cartilage. Hermione bit her tongue, refusing to react. “You wouldn’t need this to serve the Dark Lord.”Hermione’s stomach churned at the words, but she swallowed the nausea. Bellatrix grinned and swept away from her, the obvious expectation for Hermione to follow hung in the air.With her legs and arms bound, Hermione struggled to walk at a pace quicker than a shuffle, and the seemingly everlasting darkness of the dungeon didn’t help the matter.When they reached the stairs, Hermione trailing pathetically behind Bellatrix, she had to tilt her body from side to side to make her way up, teetering unsteadily. Her palms sweat, and she felt relieved that she at least still had the good sense to be humiliated. Bellatrix’s lithe figure disappeared around the bend of the steps, and the sound of footfalls stopped.Focused intently on her careful movements, Hermione didn’t notice until she rounded the bend and Bellatrix popped out in front of her, yelling: “Boo!” Hermione shrieked and felt her body edge backwards instinctually. She became airborne as she fell, and braced herself for the impact of the stone steps.It didn’t come.Bellatrix had stopped her and was levitating her in the air, bellowing with laughter. She didn’t speak a word, just giggled at the expense of her muggleborn prisoner. She placed Hermione back down on the steps, laughing for a second more before the smile fell and her expression returned to a deadened stare.“Hurry, Mudblood.”When they reached the top, Hermione found herself retracing her steps from the last journey she’d made to the Manor’s main floor. The one in which she’d been sure she was going to her death. She still could be, she realized, and couldn’t decide if the thought increased her terror or gave her relief. For a moment, she thought that maybe it was both.Bellatrix had stopped in front of the grand mahogany doors. She turned sharply and seized the younger witch by her shoulders, pushing her up to the entrance to the room from behind her. The Death Eater’s chin grazed her neck, and her reedy voice whispered in her ear once again.“Let’s see how smart you really are, scum. No Draco to save you now.” Her tone was mocking and her hands dug into the flesh of her shoulders, which even after what must have been a short imprisonment had diminished from malnutrition. If her body hadn’t been shaking with fear and exhaustion, her voice strained from hours of going unused in the darkness, Hermione might have laughed. What a ridiculous idea it was. Draco Malfoy, saving her. No, he hadn’t saved her at all. That much had been made clear. He’d only condemned her to a unique type of Hell.With that, Bellatrix’s right hand shot down to the doorknob and pushed it open, shoving Hermione inside. She tripped and fell forward, surprised to find that her binds had been removed and able to catch herself on her hands and knees. She caught her breath for a moment before daring to raise her head. Her tangled, wild hair was falling over her eyes, obscuring her vision, but Hermione could see that the dining room was much more empty than it had been last time. Last time, the Death Eaters had been prepared for a show. Now, beyond the long stretch of the dining table that occupied the center of the room, Voldemort sat on the dais, Nagini curled around his feet. The snake hissed, its forked tongue flickering in Hermione’s direction. A chill ran down her spine.“Thank you, Bella,” Voldemort said, his voice filling the empty space. Bellatrix came up from where she’d been standing from behind Hermione. The younger witch, still on all fours, crouched low as if she could camouflage herself, watched her curtsey to her master.“Of course, my Lord. I cannot wait to see what you’ve planned for the Mudblood.”Voldemort raised his head, catching Hermione’s eye. The breath caught in her throat and she averted her gaze, looking down at her hands. Dirt was caked in her knuckles and underneath the broken fingernails. “And you will know in due time. For now, leave us.” “But, my Lord-”“Leave us, Bella.” Voldemort’s tone was firm, frustration bubbling beneath the surface of his words. Hermione shivered at the low, brittle voice of the so-called Dark Lord.Unsurprisingly, Bellatrix bowed low, her knees bent, thin fingers grasping at the tattered edges of her black robes to lift them. Her hair fell before her as she lowered her head. Hermione watched from her crouch as the witch rose again slowly, making a show of her love for the man-no, creature-before her. “Of course, my Lord,” she trilled, then spun on her heel and left the room, letting the doors slam behind her.Then there was only silence. It was only Hermione and Voldemort. She once again let her eyes fall to the floor, to her hands and knuckles. She tried to regulate her breathing, steeling herself for whatever was to come next.Without warning, she felt a dark presence grasp her body, and before she could act she was being dragged across the floor by magic and deposited at the Dark Lord’s feet. When the spell was released, her weight fell hard back onto the floor, her knees hitting first.She bit back a yelp. Only then did she realize how close she was to Voldemort. Up on the dais, at the base of his throne. So close she could see the pale skin and gray veins of his feet sticking out from beneath his robes. Behind him, Nagini slithered up the throne, curling herself around her master’s shoulder.Then Voldemort leaned down, his face coming uncomfortably close to her own. When she backed away, hoping to put a bit of distance between them, his hand shot up, grasping the tender skin of her chin and jaw in his cold hand. He drew the other up, and, strangely, began to caress her hair. She shook with fear, confused for a moment by the action until he tugged one more time, grasping her curls and yanking them back, forcing her to look straight up at him. “Oh, don’t worry, girl. I simply want to observe you. The little mudblood that Draco thinks could be so helpful.” His voice crackled and hissed, like hot water from the faucet hitting a porcelain basin. Hermione clenched her jaw in his grasp. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see the great snake moving about the dais, coming closer and closer before venturing farther away. Teasing her. Playing with her. Voldemort tilted her head, inspecting both sides of face.She had no idea how she looked, probably terrible. She no doubt would have terrible bruises and a bump from her many falls. She probably looked like a madwoman. Good. She thought. Let him see he wants nothing with me. She wanted to spit in his face. Tell him she would never be helpful to him. Tell him to kill her. But when she opened her mouth to follow through, she couldn’t do it. Her instincts overtook her, screaming at her from every angle: SURVIVE. Her stomach curdled in disgust at her own cowardice. “Hm. Well, Hermione Granger, do you want to know what I think of his little proposition?”She was frozen, not by magic, but by terror. She kept looking at him, doing as he asked, not blinking even as a hot tear rolled down her cheek. Something that may have been intended as a smile appeared on the Dark Lord’s face. “I think he is an utter fool.” He released her, standing at the same time so that when Hermione collapsed, heaving for breath, her skin free of his touch, she did so at his feet. She caught herself on her forearms, swallowing her cries. Down there before him, she looked like a worshiper. Willing to kiss his unholy feet. She scrambled back, falling ungracefully off the dais and rolling on her side a bit. When she stopped, she quickly collected her bearings and got to her feet, her heart pounding. She hoped, head fuzzy with fear, that it wasn’t too late to pretend to be brave.Voldemort left the dais as well, Nagini at his heels. She was close to death, she knew it. This was it. Voldemort had changed his mind and she was going to die. She swallowed again, suddenly feeling very faint. She tried to remind herself it was better this way. She began to pray that her end would come from Voldemort’s wand, not Nagini’s mouth. The lesser of either terrible end. The two evil creatures circled her in the space in front of the dining table, and Hermione’s resolve wobbled, a whimper leaving her throat. This was it. This was the end. And her parents, they-“However, I have a…proposition for you, Miss Granger,” he spat her name like it tasted foul in his mouth.Her whole body stilled. He stood to her right, and slowly, she turned to face him. She realized, faintly, that she was still only wearing one slipper.“What?” she whispered before she knew what she was doing. It was more confusion than inquiry.Voldemort strolled lazily back to the dais, taking his seat once again. Nagini, on the other hand, continued to circle at her feet menacingly, like she was waiting for a sign from her master to strike.Hermione’s gaze followed the Dark Lord, her blood rushing in her ears as she waited for him to finish his point.“I have assigned Draco Malfoy a task. Of course, as you have seen, the boy is not as committed as he should be. So I have deduced that, even while…motivated, there is a good chance he will fail. He is soft, Mudblood. He is weak.”Voldemort droned. His face was emotionless, but Hermione, through her lasting fear, could sense an urgency and anger underneath it. In the moment, she didn’t have the good sense to be shocked at his words: Draco Malfoy, soft and weak. “But you will not let him, Mudblood, no. Do you know why?” Hermione’s hands shook at her sides. “Why?” She asked softly.“Because of your poor, sweet parents, of course. You will do what it takes to protect those you love. I know this of you due to your undying loyalty to the boy.” He hissed. Nagini hissed as well, flicking her tongue as she sensed her master’s displeasure.
He meant Harry, of course, and her heart was like a baby bird when she thought of him. Hopping, fluttering, then plummeting back down. Hermione lifted her head, taking a deep breath. She released the tension in her hands, instead channeling it into her voice to imbue it with necessary confidence. “And what is the task?” A strange smile appeared on his face. The same one that did every time the Dark Lord felt any sort of sick joy. A smile like he was performing a shoddy impersonation of a human being.“You are to assist Draco in his task to dispose of an important enemy of mine.”
No.
The shaking was back. All she could think when he said it was: Not
Harry not Harry not Harry.She didn’t even process it, not really. Not the killing. Not the fact that he really, truly wanted to use her the way Draco had suggested. Not the fact that there was no clear way out of it other than down into the depth of Voldemort’s evil grasp. Only the fact that he had said enemy and everyone knew who his number one foe had always been. There was an urgency in her voice as she asked: “Who?” And she was so struck with the fear that she may be trapped there, forced to help facilitate her best friend’s death, that she didn’t have time to worry about any other outcome. Didn’t have time to comb through the possibilities in the classic Hermione Granger fashion. Didn’t have a single other thought.
So his answer struck her right in the center of her chest, air pummeled from her lungs.
Not Harry not Harry not Harry not Harry not Har-
“I would assume you know him quite well. He is the headmaster of your precious school, after all.”