Hermione stared up at the dark ceiling, and willed herself not to lick her lips. They were chapped, and peeling, and bleeding in a few spots, but any thought of reprieve had long since left her. The only thing she could do was try not to make it worse. She was in worse pain in other places, anyway, so she wasn't giving too much thought to it. To give herself something to do, she started naming all of the different brands and flavors of chapstick she knew. Lemon, strawberry, any berry actually…er… mint. That was a good one - a nice, cool mint would be lovely right now. She didn't want to fall asleep - that's when bad things happened. She sat up, and was immediately hit with a wave of nausea. A few deep breaths, and she was able to keep the bile down. Not that she had anything in her stomach to throw up anyway.

She'd been here for days, she wasn't sure how many, and she had no idea if any help was coming for her. Ron had been killed. Harry had escaped, but on his own…. She didn't think about it. The thing was to focus on herself. That was the only way she might survive. She thought back...back to before she'd sent her parents off to Australia. The memory was, looking back, a rather bleak one. Still, she smiled as she lay back down and closed her eyes.

Oswald Granger was more than used to finding an abundance of books in his daughter's room, but this lot stopped him dead in his tracks. It wasn't that there were twenty books stacked on her little study desk - that was perfectly normal. The issue was that his daughter's interests had all taken a dark turn. He picked up the book that lay open on the desk and sighed. There was very little she told them about...her world. In a few weeks' time, she'd be starting her sixth year at Hogwarts. He knew there were strange things going on that had to do with one of her friends (what was his name? Oh yes, Harry….), but why on earth was she reading about hostage negotiation and how to survive as a prisoner of war?

Mr. Granger turned at a sound behind him. "Hello, love."

"Dad," Hermione said, staring at the book in his hand.

"Some interesting research you're doing," he said. "Care to explain what's piqued your interest?"

"Just a bit of light reading," she mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

He smiled, and put the book down. Walking over to where she stood, he pulled her into a gentle hug. "It's not nice to lie to your poor, dear father."

She snorted with laughter. "I don't want you to worry…."

"Hermione, I've been worrying about you since you first learned to roll over. There are things happening, aren't there? Things in your world?"

"Yes," she answered simply.

He nodded.

Hostage negotiation...it seemed so childish now. But never in her wildest dreams, or more inventive nightmares, had she pictured being captured by….

The door banged open.

Hermione immediately sat up. She doubled over a second later, wracked with a fresh dose of pain. It subsided after a moment, and she said, "Hermione Granger, Seventh year, Muggleborn." It was the only thing she'd spoken since they'd brought her down here - the only thing she'd said once the torture started.

"Your little friends seem to think it's funny to break into Gringotts and steal things from my vault. I would've thought Potter would know you'd suffer for it."

Hermione said nothing, but continued to stare directly into Bellatrix's eyes.

Bellatrix seemed affronted by her silence, and hoisted her up by her chained hands. "When I'm finished with you, you won't be able to trust a single thought in your head," she said quietly, firmly, and without a trace of her normal insanity. "Every one of your senses will be destroyed. What we did to the Longbottoms will look like child's play when your friends find you."

Something about the mention of Neville's parents ignited a fire in Hermione, and she gave up her resolution to remain quiet other than her take on the name/rank/serial number game. She glared daggers at her captor, and said, just as levelly, "You'd better get on with it, then. I think Harry might cut your fun short very soon."

Bellatrix smiled and dropped her onto the floor. "It speaks," she said. She took out her wand. "Crucio!"

Hermione didn't bother with the whole "dignity of trying not to scream" act. At this point, survival was everything. It was the only thing. She cried out in pain, and was left gasping a little later when it finally subsided.

But apparently Bellatrix was out to prove a point. She waved her wand, smiling when Hermione flinched, and lifted the girl by the shackles again.

And then Hermione was rising…. Hermione looked up and saw the chains wrap around a hook in the ceiling, and flinched as the spell was removed and suddenly she was dangling by her wrists. She closed her eyes when Bellatrix came closer, and tried not to vomit when she felt the older woman kiss her stomach.

"Just so you know," Bellatrix said. "This isn't going to end quickly."

Hermione opened her eyes. She'd been healed overnight. While she lay unconscious, the cuts, scrapes, and bruises had vanished. The dull throbbing in her head and between her legs, however, had not dissipated. She groaned and sat up. "Hermione Granger," she whispered to herself. "Seventh year, Muggleborn. Best friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Birthplace, London, England." She did this each morning, to make sure she wasn't cracking up. "Hermione Granger, Seventh year, Muggleborn."

"Oh, please don't start that again."

Hermione sighed. How long would it go on today?

"You've not been a very fun plaything, Mudblood," Bellatrix said, levitating something large into the room behind her. "But it occurs to me that we haven't been playing the right games."

Given the type of "games" they'd been playing for the past three days, Hermione was genuinely terrified as to what the bulky, linen-covered item was. But the cover fell away, and it was simply a mirror. Overlarge and…. Hermione noticed the inscription on the stone border, and her mouth dropped open.

"Yes, you know what this is."

Hermione, automatically, shut her eyes. She didn't know what was coming, and the presence of the Mirror of Erised made her anxious. She hadn't seen it with Harry and Ron, and they'd never come across it again. But she knew what it did, and Merlin only knew what it would betray if she looked.

"Imperio," Bellatrix whispered.

Any lingering pain that Hermione was feeling vanished. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, a voice said,

"Open your eyes."

She did so, and gazed into the mirror to find herself there. She got a good look at her emaciated frame for a few seconds, and then a more healthy vision of her was there, standing next to Ron. It wasn't just them, either - there were dozens of people behind them. Harry was there, and Seamus, and Ginny, and their families. Ron had his arm around her, and he was glaring at Bellatrix. That made her feel inexplicably better.

"Disgusting," Bellatrix said. "Of all the things in the world -"

"You're nothing but an animal. I don't expect you to understand."

Bellatrix cackled. "Just another weak schoolgirl, fawning over the boy who -"

"It wasn't just Ron in that picture," she ground out. And then, taken by a sudden urge, she kicked Bellatrix firmly in the shins. It couldn't have been a forceful kick, but Bellatrix howled like a wounded hippo, and blasted Hermione across the room. She hit the far wall with a crack, and blacked out.

It couldn't have been long that she was out, because the pain was still there and still intense when she woke up. Her vision swam as Bellatrix dragged her back in front of the mirror.

"I've made a few adjustments," she sang in her babying tone. "Take a look."

Despite herself, Hermione did. She saw the Sydney Opera House and flung herself back, away from the mirror. She forced herself to replay memories of Hogwarts in her mind. Anything to keep from thinking of….

"What exactly is it about Australia that frightens you, hmmm?" Bellatrix asked.

Time slowed. In a fraction of a second, as Bellatrix raised her wand, Hermione knew what was coming. Not pain, but Occlumency. And she knew she wouldn't be able to block her out - not like this. A thought occurred to Hermione then. Mirrors, just like people, were breakable.

It had been two weeks, according to Harry. George felt a tight knot in the pit of his stomach. He'd seen his brother's body hanging from one of the balconies. Birds had been at it. Fred hadn't been able to come in after that, but Kingsley and Lee were there. He couldn't hold back the tears as he made his way down the stone steps to the dungeon, and the smell nearly overpowered him. This had to be done. They hadn't been able to rescue them - the least they could do was lay them to rest. He opened the door.

Hermione's body lay there, amongst the shards of broken glass.