Disclaimer: I do not own anything familiar in this story. All rights to these characters belong to the remarkable J.K. Rowling.
A/N: This is my first attempt at fanfiction in years, but I had a plot in my head that kept popping up. It's a darker one, so don't ignore the warnings. It's also unbeta'd so any mistakes are my own. There are a lot of Flashbacks as well, so it helps to pay attention to the dates to avoid confusion.
Enjoy!
xx
Drarryfan322
Chapter 1: Prologue
June 30th, 2002 (present day)
"Ron? Are you ready to go?" Ron looked up at his fiancée with an apprehensive expression on his freckled face. Hermione had donned her black robes already, her thick hair pulled tightly back in a neat bun on top of her head. Her cheeks were flushed in obvious discomfort, even though he could tell she was trying hard to remain poised. Ron could understand why; the summer was always the hardest for them all. Being a Muggleborn however, must've been even more so daunting. He adjusted his green robes, hating the way they clashed horribly with his red-orange hair and hating everything they stood for.
"Yeah, 'Mione…are you okay?" She nodded once, jaw set, and took his larger hand in her own. Together they walked outside, luggage in their free hand. Hermione pulled out a large silver coin from her pocket and held it out to the red-head. Ron grimaced at the Dark Mark emblem that suddenly appeared as he took hold of one side.
"Portus."
"We swear our allegiance to the Supreme Leader. May the Dark forever reign."
Hermione grasped at Ron's clammy hand as they got up from their kneeling position on the stone floor of the Great Hall. She stood amidst the Weasley Clan; she was a black speck in the swarm of green robes. The green figures, however, were a minority. Few purebloods were blood traitors, after all. No, there were many more of those in black robes, and even more dressed in silver—the half-bloods.
This was the forth—had it really been that long?—Summer of Atonement. The annual event that required every family that had once supported the Light Side to spend their summer months at Hogwarts in order to affirm their loyalty to Voldemort and study in depth, the dark arts.
Convert to their twisted ideals, or be executed in front of our friends and family…" thought Hermione bitterly. So she did what she had to do to survive another day—they all did. So many of them remained hopeful that one day they'd be able to bring down that monster and his disgusting followers. Hermione felt a twinge of pain in her heart…they didn't know that it was impossible. They didn't know of the horcruxes that allowed Voldemort to sustain his immortality. Someday, when these people surrounding her faced their own mortality, that evil man would still be sitting on his throne in the Ministry, deciding who was allowed to live.
If only Harry had been allowed to live.
Flashback- March 25th, 1998 (3 days after capture)
"Potter, drink the water."
"No."
"You're going to dehydrate if you keep being so unreasonably tenacious."
"Your point?"
"Damn it, Scarhead!" Draco snapped, losing his cool as fear trickled through him. "He'll punish you if you don't do as he wishes. And then I'll be punished, too. If you haven't noticed, the cruciatus curse is terrible. Do you really want more of it?"
"I don't care, Malfoy." Harry rasped. He looked up from where he was chained against the cell wall to peer at the blond boy stubbornly. "The bastard will use it on me anyways. He just wants me standing so he can take pleasure in knocking me on my arse again."
Draco shook his head slightly, glancing up the stairs to see if anyone had heard the Boy-Who-Lived's asinine outburst. He whipped his head back at him, angrily. "Think of your bloody friends, Potter. If you die, HE wins, and they're screwed. You really think HE will let them live? The Mudblood—" Harry let out a growl "-and the blood traitor…if not for yourself, do it for their sakes."
Still furious at the Slytherin's slur, Harry lowered his head to stare at the water goblet Malfoy had slipped through bars of the cell. As much as he hated to admit it, Malfoy had a point. He had to stay alive and healthy…healthy enough, so he could escape.
…Since when had Malfoy ever wanted Harry to stay alive? He scowled. Who was he kidding? The blond would say anything to save his own hide. He raised the goblet to his lips and took a sip, ignoring the other boy's relieved expression and nod. The water felt heavenly against his tongue. It soothed his scratchy throat and eased the cracks in his dry lips. It hadn't been long that he had been prisoner here, but it had been long enough.
I hope they're okay. Wherever they are, I hope they're safe.
Harry set the now empty goblet down on cold ground. He didn't acknowledge Malfoy's presence anymore. Instead, he brought his scraped knees to his chest and wrapped his thin arms around them with a new resolve. People were counting on him. He had to live.
It wasn't until later that evening, when Harry lay before the Dark Lord, panting and groaning in pain from the aftershocks of another crucio sent his way, that he knew without a doubt, that he would live.
It was then, when Nagini slithered besides his sweaty body as it shuddered weakly on the ground, hissing at Voldemort one sentence that would, without a doubt, ensure his survival.
"He smellsss like usss… He too, carriessss your sssoul within hisss body, my lord."