A Cold and Broken Hallelujah
A/N: This fic has been slowly developing in my mind for a few weeks. I'm not completely sure how it's going to end, but I hope you all enjoy it.
Chapter One: When Evil Prevails
Hermione opened her eyes slowly, feeling the cool ground beneath her. Grass tickled her face, but her mind was on the stinging pain throughout her body.
It was dark out, Hermione realized as she opened her eyes.
The girl had taken a curse towards the end of the battle, after she had gotten split up from Ron. She'd fallen, unconscious, to the ground. She had cutes and bruises everywhere, as well as a dislocated shoulder which caused her to wince when she tried to move it.
"Look for survivors!" A gruff voice called out.
Hermione laid still but tried to recognize the voice. Glancing around, she saw many lifeless bodies on the ground and bit her lip to keep from crying out.
A moment later, a hand gripped her hair and pulled her roughly up.
"Well, well," the man said, smirking. "Hello, again...beautiful."
Hermione shivered, recognizing the voice immediately. Scabior. The snatcher that had caught them in the forest. He grabbed her arm roughly, and she cried out in pain as he pulled her close.
"Miss Granger," he said, looking down at her, smiling. "Don't think you can fool me again with any of that Penelope Clearwater nonsense."
Hermione remained quiet, her chest heaving as he spoke. She could see part of the castle on fire behind the man, and at that point, she knew. Good had lost. That must have meant the worst. "Harry?" he asked, quietly.
Scabior chuckled, reaching down to push a matted lock of Hermione's hair behind her ear. "Oh, he's dead. Have no fear, love." He pulled her body flush against his own. "And don't worry," he added. "Your little ginger wont be able to save you this time."
Hermione felt tears stinging her eyes, and she did nothing in the attempt to stop them from sliding down her face.
"Scabior!"
The man growled. "Looks like we're being interrupted...again." He turned toward the man approaching. "What, Yaxley?"
"The Dark Lord wants everyone to gather in the Great Hall with any survivors," the man explained, his eyes on Hermione. "He's going to...gift them to his most loyal."
Scabior glanced back at Hermione before nodding. "You heard the man, mudblood," he spoke. "Time to go."
Hermione grimaced when he pulled her forward. Her heart was beating faster than she thought possible as they approached the crumbling castle. Hermione tried not to look at the bodies on the ground, not wanting to recognize any of her friends or classmates.
Her head was fuzzy, and she forced air into her lungs to keep herself from passing out. There was a small crowd gathered in the demolished hall. Hermione saw Voldemort seated in the Headmaster's chair from the Head Table, and the sight pulled a sob from her throat. She wished, in that moment, that she were dead.
"Bring our misguided survivors forward," the man requested.
Hermione felt herself being pushed forward and, for the first time, she resisted. With a pull on her injured arm, the girl had no choice but to comply. She was pushed roughly forward, falling to her knees at the feet of the Dark Lord.
Hearing a deep grunt of pain next to her, Hermione looked up to see who had been pushed forward. "N-neville?" she managed, barely whispering.
The boy glanced over at her. She almost vomited. His right eye was completely gone, and his face was covered in blood. He was pale, and she feared he would die there next to her.
Instead, the boy flashed her a weak smile and reached over to grab her hand, squeezing hers reassuringly. He had killed the snake. The much, she had witnessed.
She vaguely recognized Hannah Abbott on Neville's far side.
"Now," Voldemort spoke, stepping over Hermione's shaking form to approach his followers. "I do believe I owe some of you a great deal for your help in my honor. What better way than by giving you a traitor of your own? Or perhaps a mudblood?"
"Severus," the man called.
Hermione sat up and turned to face the crowd, confusion on her face. She'd watched the man die in the Shrieking Shack. The snake had bitten him. There was blood on his neck and the white sneaking up above the black teaching robes he wore.
"I owe you more than anyone else. I am glad that Lucius was able to make it to you soon enough to administer the anti-venom."
Severus nodded, though he looked unsteady and paler than normal.
Voldemort turned back towards the group. "Stand," he ordered roughly.
Hermione watched the others struggle to stand and slowly rose to her feet. She pulled Neville up, seeing the boy swaying.
"Pick, Severus," The Dark Lord demanded. "Pick so you may leave and care for yourself. You don't look well at all."
Severus Snape stood beside the Dark Lord, his eyes locked on Hermione.
The girl met his eyes, unable to read the look on his face. After all he'd been through that day, he was still impeccable at hiding his emotions.
"Granger," he croaked, his voice scratchy and weak.
The crowd behind the two men were clearly angered, which worried Hermione more than it should. She should have know she would be the one wanted by all of the other Death Eaters; she was Harry's best friend after all.
Hermione glanced between to two men.
"Well?" Voldemort asked, expectantly. "You heard him. You belong to him now, mudblood. You're his property. You will adhere to his every whim," he said smirking.
Hermione cringed. She glanced over at Neville and removed her hand from him, watching him swaying slightly. "You're going to be okay, Neville."
Neville sighed. "Go...you're lucky, Hermione. It could be so much worse."
Hermione frowned, not understanding the boy's words. She glanced back up at Snape and walked to him slowly. He grabbed her arm roughly, though she was thankful it was her good arm, and pulled her against him.
The last thing Hermione saw before they apparated was Ron Weasley standing at the end of the line, covered in blood, his eyes glued to her form.
A/N: Does it sound at all interesting? Questions will be answered, don't worry. I couldn't reveal all at once. Please let me know what you think!
