Mirror, Mirror
Standing naked in the mirror, Hermione examined her body. It had been awhile since she'd had a proper look at herself, and the change was startling. A few weeks at Shell Cottage, with three full meals a day, had taken some of the edge off her appearance but months on the run had left Hermione looking lean and hardened. Her eyes flicked up to the reflection of her face, a haunted young woman stared back, smiling grimly.
"My name is Hermione Granger," she said defiantly, watching as the lips of this stranger moved to form the same words, in the same voice, and with equal defiance.
"Of course it is, my dear. But that's neither here nor there anymore," vocalized the mirror, the resonant tone of its articulation mocking her. "A name is all well and good, but who is Hermione Granger?"
'Filthy mudblood.'
"She used to be me, but I'm not so sure anymore." Hermione's fingers traced a pale scar across her neck. It was cold and smooth, etched into her skin like a crooked smile.
"Then you are not her and therefore must be someone else."
Her image slowly disappeared from the lifeless photographs, Hermione Granger never lived here. Her parents never had a child. She never existed.
"You must be right."
"I'm rarely not."
Hermione contemplated this, her hand lazily travelling from the scar down her body, feeling the shape of this new person. Beneath her touch, the nerves in her body began to seize, as if lightning shot from her fingertips. It hurt, but the pain intrigued her, so acute it was that it shook her to the core.
'CRUCIO!'
"Bellatrix…" she whispered, and for a split second the eyes of the reflection were steely grey and pregnant with ill intent.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Bellatrix," cackled the mirror.
"Pleasure…" Pain. "The pleasure is all mine, undoubtedly."
The knife pushed into her skin, slicing into the flesh, violating her being. It was cold, vibrating with power, as its wielder hissed in her ear. Their bodies pushed close together, hearts beating in tandem; pounding out a raging tattoo.
"Is everything alright in there?"
"Everything's just fine, Ron." But it wasn't. "Just getting over the smell is all… You know how this stuff is."
"I reckon adding bits of that bloody psycho didn't improve the situation much," he laughed nervously, but it couldn't cover the worry in his voice. "Anyway… I only came up here because Harry is getting anxious to leave. He's in one his moods again."
She could hear the lie in his voice, that's one thing that would never change. When it came to emotions Ron was a bit of dolt, he couldn't even admit to the concern that was so obvious in his tone. He'd almost lost her once, and he felt he was losing her again.
A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, determined to find solace in this familiarity. However, there was none to be found. The smile was a shadow of its former self, a distortion of emotions that cut across her face like a wound. The effect was disquieting.
"That's the spirit, dear. Slap a dumb smile on your face and no one will ever know your despair," interjected the mirror, not even feigning helpfulness anymore.
"Oh hush you," she snapped back, her face returning to a state of emptiness.
Abandoning the mirror, Hermione stepped closer to the door, reaching her hand out to touch the wood, determined to make some connection with the boy she once thought she loved. She could feel Ron on the other side, hear his breathing rise and fall.
"Hermione?" The timbre of his voice resonated within her, and for an instant she felt like Hermione Granger again. However, the moment passed, the stranger inside her refusing to answer to the name of a silly little girl.
"You're worth less than the dirt on my shoes, filth… My nephew tells me you're clever, but that won't save you now. When I'm done with you Frenrir is going to have his fun, the Dark Lord cares not for mudbloods and scum. You'll die anonymous and alone, another causality on our path to purity. No one will remember Hermione Granger."
Ron.
The synapses in her brain began to sizzle as Bellatrix's malice ripped through her body, flashes of memories slowly fading out as she convulsed on the stone floor. The pain was unbearable, but even worse was the hollow feeling that remained when it all ended. Her identity was slowly being burned from her, and all that was left behind was the faint taste of Hermione Jean Granger.
"I'll be out soon."
"Everything will work out, you know that right?" He sounded appropriately put out. When she didn't respond he sighed despondently, his footsteps fading away down the staircase.
"I wish I knew that," she whispered to herself, turning back to face the room that had been her prison since their escape from Malfoy Manor.
Gray light filtered in through the warped glass of the windows, settling over the scene with a lackluster gloom. Folded atop a chair in the corner was a set of black robes, weighted down by an ashen colored wand that seemed to crackle with magic as her eyes alighted upon it. So much pain and death caused by something so simple. The power in that slight piece of walnut was enough to fill her with an overwhelming sense of dread.
Unable to cross that bridge quite yet, Hermione sat down on the bed, her naked skin cool against the freshly washed linen. Resting at the foot of a bed was an old trunk, the name "Bilius Weasley" etched across the front in fading gold letters. Perched on top was a plain silver goblet, filled with a tar like substance that in the light appeared deep red, but when Hermione picked it up and cast her shadow over it, looked blacker than night.
It was strange how the essence of a human being could be encapsulated so succinctly in a single strand of hair. Yet, even when she added this tiny piece of Bellatrix's wild mane to the polyjuice potion Hermione had been keenly aware of the energy it possessed, the hatred emanating from it was intoxicating, threatening to overwhelm her weakened composure.
Now sitting there, staring at the concoction, she was again overcome by the power it promised. She was stricken with the desire to drink it all in a single gulp, to fill the empty spaces of her being with definition and purpose. Bellatrix was a woman who knew she was, despite her slight instability. Possessed with righteousness and terrible grace, Bellatrix Lestrange would never allow anyone to harm her the same way she had harmed countless others. Even the dementors of Azkaban were unable to rob her of this strength, instead concentrating these traits into a higher potency, making her venom that much more lethal.
"Bottoms up."
Instead of sliding down her throat, the potion felt like it was slowly creeping through her body, coating her insides; systematically burning out Hermione Granger. The goblet slipped from her fingers, hitting the ground soundlessly as her ears filled with the crackle of bubbling flesh. The urge to scream was tremendous, but could not surpass the pain of Bellatrix Lestrange crawling her way to the surface of one's being. Skin pulled taut over bones while a cascade of black mangy curls ensnared Hermione's shoulders.
As the change set, Hermione stood up and once again faced the mirror, her gaze meeting those stormy grey eyes. This time, however, they were soft, almost warm. Her lips curled into a weak, yet undeniably kind smile. Expecting to be revolted, Hermione was struck with how harmless and frail the witch's body looked unclothed and unarmed. On the outside she was the picture of horror, but nothing else had changed.
"Filthy mudblood!" She screeched at the mirror and was immediately taken aback at how hollow the words were, bordering on comical.
Now she couldn't stop her lips from spreading into a genuine grin. A minute ago she'd been sure that Hermione Granger was dead, that this time Bellatrix would swallow her whole and leave nothing left. Yet, as those grey eyes analyzed the mirror with sharp knowing Hermione was only reminded of herself, for the first time in weeks. On this end of the transformation, her previous despair seemed embarrassing and uncharacteristic. Taking its place was a quiet determination. Bellatrix and her Dark Lord hadn't won yet; and wouldn't as long as Hermione Granger lived and breathed.
"Changing your face like that, when you don't know who you are, a bit daft isn't it?" the mirror teased Hermione as she began playing with the mess of hair she now possessed.
"Don't be silly, I know exactly who I am," she replied curtly, hurriedly pulling the robes on. Time was precious and they had a horcrux to find. "Hermione Jean Granger. And you can take that to the bank."