"You took my heart and you held it in your mouth
And, with a word all my love came rushing out
And, every whisper, it's the worst, empty out by a single word
There is a hollow in me now."
Hermione Granger can't quite remember where it all started.
No, that's wrong. She remembers. But she doesn't want to remember. Because it is all her fault—all her fault, all her fault. If she hadn't been so vulnerable, if she hadn't had that fight with Ron, if Ron never left, if her heart was never cracked open, if, if, if…
If.
But the truth is that she set unleashed the greatest evil ever known to the Wizarding World. And oh, that evil was—still is—so seductive. It told her tender words with a smirk—and she knew how evil but she fell anyway. It felt so good to fall into the gaping darkness.
It started in the forest.
The forest… It was full of thin trees, and Hermione felt safe for a moment.
But was that safety an illusion?
It's so hard to tell what's real anymore.
He came to her in a dream. She had sobbed herself asleep, thinking of Ron leaving and how little hope they had left. He seemed unstoppable. Voldemort seemed unstoppable, too powerful to beat.
He came to her in a dream.
He came to her in a dream.
At first, she thought he was just a figment of her imagination. She babbled to him about some properties of unicorn blood, and he only smirked as he raised his hand to her jaw and caressed it gently as if he was an angel.
He wasn't an angel. He was so much worse than a demon.
The second night, he listened to her as she cried. Just patient. Just calm. His handsome, sharp face stared at her while she relived all of her terrible nightmares. When the horrors died away, he offered her a hand—a seemingly bright light in the mountain of bloody memories. And he pulled her out and said, "Everything will be fine."
Lies, lies, lies.
But she believed me. And as she slept, she clutched that horcrux around her neck even tighter, as if it was an innocent stuffed animal.
It was not.
The third night, he opened up his arms and shielded her from phantoms of her nightmare. She held him even tighter, not letting go like how he wasn't going to let go of her. He was her shelter from her past, and he was her present. He was all she knew in that dream, and he wasn't going to let her know anything else but him. She was his, even though she didn't know it yet.
The fourth night, she relived through her better memories and the devil saw what made her her. The good, the bad, the days of studying, the panic, and the strength. And the courage. And he even had to acknowledge how powerful her loyalty was.
Is.
The fifth night, he gently closed her eyes and let her rest. She was at peace with herself, her dreams, her sleep. She slept better than the boy with the lightning-shaped scar.
He was patient. Very patient.
The sixth night, he kissed her on the forehead and promised her the world. He promised her knowledge, but she didn't want it. He was frustrated, yes. But then he kissed her again and said, "I'll bring back Ron. I'll bring him back to you. And everything will be the same as before."
And oh.
He saw the temptation in her eyes.
He knew she is so close to taking the bait.
He resisted a smile.
Almost…
And she said no and woke up.
In the empty night, he smiled to himself. She was much stronger than he ever thought. Taking every single bit of her soul would be sweet.
He wished it would last much longer, but he was running out of time.
"So I'll put my faith in something unknown
I'm living on such sweet nothing
But I'm tied of hope with nothing to hope
I'm living on such sweet nothing
And it's hard to learn
And it's hard to learn
When you're giving me such sweet nothing
Sweet nothing, sweet nothing
You're giving me such sweet nothing."
The seventh night, he gave a piece of himself to her. She closed her eyes with happiness, and he captured her breath in his mouth. He wrapped his hands around his shoulder and asked if she wanted him.
And she said yes.
He absorbed that strength. She was weaker.
And he was stronger.
He asked if she would give him what he wanted.
And she said yes.
He took away that spark in her eyes.
He sipped away parts of her soul.
He drained her courage.
But he didn't touch her love.
It was poison to him. Sweet, delicious poison. A glorious poison to die from. But he, Lord Voldemort, will never be that foolish to drink it. Love was useless, and through the years he had lived through, he knew that it was one thing.
Weak.
She gave him everything.
But he grabbed what he wanted.
The eighth night, she was there. She was barely hanging onto the world of the living. She was grey, and her eyes no longer held that brightness he liked. She was… empty. Unpassionate. But that wasn't entirely correct. Love was what she had left.
And regret. He saw it growing in her.
He pitied her. So he granted her one mercy.
He went over to the mess that was her soul, her life, her spirit. He, so full of color and brightness and beauty that was once hers, placed his lips on her chapped mouth. He breathed in her scent and then breathed out. He breathed out a breath that went to her.
He gave a piece of himself to her.
After all, Lord Voldemort rewarded those who deserve it.
He backed away from the girl to see a little tiny spark in her brown eyes. He… for a moment, stumbled as he slipped back into the locket. He wasn't quite sure what he saw there. But he was proud of her for not begging him to stay. She was strong, and he so admired her strength.
As if he didn't take all of it already.
She was powered on love, regret, remorse, sadness…
And that piece of soul he gave her.
He stared at her for a long time.
He wasn't quite sure what to make of her. Of the love that shined through her. It wasn't anything like silly Harry Potter's love. It was dark, passionate, and oily. It was the sort of love that would burn everything in its path. It would burn him, if he set it aflame.
But he liked it.
And his soul was the match, was the spark to light up dry wood.
He watched Granger's soul go up in relentless fire.
He burned.
He was poisoned.
"And it's not enough
To tell me that you care
When, we both know that words are empty air
You give me nothing."
She was awake.
And she knew what she did. She gave him everything.
He gave her nothing.
And she was so, so empty of anything.
But rage. It came to her in droves, igniting her from inside. She threw down the locket and panted. The locket burned against her skin.
On the floor, Harry Potter woke up and asked, "Hermione? What's going on?"
With determination, she answered, "We need to destroy the locket. Before he gets any stronger than before."
"Too late," whispered a voice. "Too late."
And with a pop, the Slytherin locket disappeared.
It's all her fault.
