A hero never dies. A hero can't die, he has to rise from the dead, or be reincarnated. You can't lose a hero, they just become recluces. Or thats what she keep on telling herself. That the hero isn't dead. That Harry's only gone on holidays. That the darkness outside is just clouds and that it will go away. That she's alive because she's powerfull and they are afriad of her.
Then she looked down. The half-shreded robes. The bare stone walls. The few sheets of precious parchment. The guttering candle. She know that it wasn't true. She fell again. Into the abyis of memories. Of finding Harry's corpse half-burned. Then seeing Ron, laughing. She had hoped beyond anything that Ron was just distraught, or mad. Then Draco talking to him like an alie. Ron was a true Gryfindor, but he was also mad. Ron wasn't evil, she promised herself and belived it.
The door scraped open and a tall blond man walked in. "Now, Herm," he said, his voice shadowed with false pitty "we can do this the easy way, or I can get the truth potion out." She looked up at him, her face a violent shade of anger-induced red. "Fuck off Malfoy. You know I won't talk, truth potion dosn't work on mudbloods," she said with a hiss. He smiled.
"Ah, but this time, Herm, we have something stronger," he said, as she pailed "I was not the star potion student for nothing." He held up a small glass vial, inside was a glittering, clear liquid. She had seen it all to may times before, and laughed. "No, Malfoy. We had stronger protection against such things than blood. Why do you think Severus was so quiet?" she said, looking up into his eyes a look of contempt radiated out from her. He left, slaming the door behind him.
She collapsed on the floor. It would be so easy to give up. So easy to follow orders. So much simpler than this, the torture, the threats. However, she knew she was a Gryfindor and she wasn't going to give in. Even if it killed her. She fainted
Draco was fuming. The mudblood continued to sidestep their best efforts. It was time to try torture again. He threw open the door to her tiny cell. "Crucio," he called into the dark. A small thing figure writhed on the floor in silence. Dumbledore was good, he had to admit that. Suddenly the movement stoped. He walked over and kicked the figure, not releasing the curse. "Lumos," he whispered, turning over the body to examin it. It was dead. Draco took a step back. The curse didn't kill. Not like that. He fled the cell, his eyes wide with fear. Her body lay on the cold floor. Her head was stuck out at an imposible angle and had a thin, deep gash on her neck.
No one could explain her death. They burnt her body with all the others.
For the first time Draco woke up screeming.