Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Really.
(Inspired in part by jbern's fabulous Bungle in the Jungle. Go read it.)
1.
Four years ago, if someone had told you that you were a wizard and would eventually fight off a troll, a basilisk, and a possessed teacher while attending a school for magic (more specifically, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry) you likely would not have believed them. If, by some miracle you had continued paying attention to this hypothetical person, you would be told that, at the age of thirteen, you would have a mass murderer out for your blood. A mass murderer who wasn't actually a mass murderer, as it would turn out, but a dog. Well, he would also be a man and your godfather as well. After you turned fourteen, you would be forced to compete in a tournament that you didn't want to compete in because of a magical contract that you didn't sign. You would, naturally, have told that person that they needed medicine, and fast.
Now though, you take it all in stride. It was your life after all, and now that you've lived through plenty of bizarre things, it doesn't seem so bad.
However, your current situation looks to be bad. Very, very, bad.
You, along with your best friend and your most hated teacher, are locked in a very small cell, in the dungeons of the rather malevolent dark lord who's been after your blood since you were born. Your friends, not to mention the rest of the Wizarding world all think you are the next Dark Lord, and that you killed the two people who are now sitting next to you. Obviously, you didn't, but the world doesn't know that, now do they? So, there'll be no rescue on the horizon.
To top it all off, you have no magic. You hate to admit it, but what choice do you have? You're a squib now, plain and simple. Just like Snape and Hermione. Squibs the lot of you.
You shake your head, and try to turn your mind to less depressing thoughts. It's hard to ignore the deep seated ache in your chest, though. You feel a bit cliché, but you honestly never noticed your magic until it was gone. Now the emptiness haunts you, just like the look in Hermione's eyes when…
No. You won't think about that. You won't think about how Voldemort took control of your body, and how you could only watch helplessly as disgusting, horrible things came out of your own lips. You won't let yourself remember the look in Hermione's eyes as she stared you down, pleading for you to fight him off. Or how she accepted it, and forgave you in that moment when the syllables escaped your lips. The flash of green that haunts you still.
She's still alive, you remind yourself. But to what point? A part of you whispers. You took her magic, committed the worst possible crime under wizarding laws. And not only that, you took Snape's as well. You blew his cover, and then took his magic. After all he, and she, tried to do for you, that's how you thank them? What's left?
You see the futility of the situation. You have no magic, and the world thinks you dead, or worse. Actually, they believe your companions to be dead, and you to be evil. You're bleeding from several places, and bruised in countless more. Neither Hermione nor Snape are any better off. And now you can hear boots tramping down the hall towards your cell, no doubt for your daily Session, and wonder what type of fun it will be today.
Bellatrix and Lucius open the door with a bang, wands out. Both you and Snape groan. Hermione just burrows deeper into your already bruised side. Crucio it is.