DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter.
Introduction: Hermione is captured by Yaxley when she, Harry, and Ron are trying to escape the Ministry of Magic without being caught. After being sent to Malfoy Manor, she is forced to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry against her will.
Rated M for very mild sexual situations, language, and dark themes.
AN: I suck at summaries, sorry! It took me a really long time to actually have the nerve to post this up, and it took me a full two months to write, edit, re-write, edit, and re-edit this first chapter. I know it's still not perfect, but it was well worth the effort. Updates will be slow; I won't deny that with schoolwork and such. However, comments are fully appreciated!
Please enjoy (:
Harry Potter was an incredibly odd child, perhaps because of the fact that he was born a wizard and was famous throughout the wizarding world. Perhaps he was incredibly odd because he was the youngest student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to make the House Quidditch team in a hundred-years. Perhaps he was odd because he was the only known wizard to survive the killing curse, Avada Kedavra and because he was widely known as the man soon to bring on the demise of Lord Voldemort.
Or perhaps, he always managed to get into sticky situations like the one he was in now, with his two best friends Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley. Stuck in an elevator in the Ministry of Magic, disguised as an employee by use of the Polyjuice Potion that Hermione had so brilliantly brewed. Polyjuice Potion that was currently wearing off. "Harry, we have to get out of here as fast as possible," whispered Ron behind him. Harry turned to look at him with a look of feigned incredulity. "You don't say?" he answered sarcastically.
The elevator speaker pinged, signaling that they would arrive at the next floor soon. "Second Floor, Department of Magical Maladies and Wizarding Artifacts." The remaining witches and wizards piled out, squeezing past the magically disguised teenagers, before the elevator doors shuttered to a close. "Oh no, we look just like ourselves," moaned Ron, staring at his hands.
Ignoring the red head, Harry spoke to them. "Okay, so here's what we do. Keep your heads down when we exit the elevator. With some luck, we might be able to get to the fireplaces in time."
"First floor, main lobby of the Ministry of Magic. Have a nice day," said the same mechanical woman's voice.
They all exited, walking as fast as possible to the fireplaces which were a frustratingly long way off. Harry held his hand in front of his face, eyes darting from left to right checking to see if anyone recognized them. A piece of paper fluttered to the floor, and he accidentally stepped on it. Looking down, he found himself staring right into the face of his own, with the words "Undesirable Number 1" plastered right underneath it.
Looking back at it a few years later, he should have known something was going to go wrong.
"Hey, hey, is that Harry Potter?" came a man's voice, shouting to catch the attention of everyone in the lobby. "Harry Potter?" came the murmurs of every witch and wizard in the facility. Hermione's head swiveled around, but instead of looking at all the curious and alarmed stares she was receiving, she stared straight into the eyes of Yaxley, a known Death Eater. For a second, he stared right back, grey eyes widening in surprise before he started running full sprint towards them, pushing people out of his way. His face broke into a snarl, barring his teeth as he seemed to part the crowd.
"Harry, Harry, we have to run, Yaxley's behind us!" yelled Hermione, her voice increasing in volume as they hurled towards the fireplaces. She looked back, her hair whipping in her face as she tried to take in her surroundings. All she saw was a myriad of colors, as objects became distorted, light pouring in from the window at the top of the dome-shaped ceiling of the lobby. People flew by in a whirl of shapes, each object blending in to each other as they ran at a break-neck pace. She squeezed her eyes close in an attempt to clear her vision, and opened them again.
She wished she had not.
Yaxley, being a man of tall stature, consequently had longer legs and was gaining on them slowly but surely. Behind her, she saw Harry trip and fall, arms splayed out in an effort to cushion his fall. Ron swore, a string of profanities exiting his mouth as he ran to pick up his struggling friend. "Harry, come on, Yaxley's gaining on us, we have to move!" he yelled, pulling Harry up with an enormous heave. They grabbed Hermione's hand, their gazes locked on the fireplaces before their faces morphed into horror as metal gates started sealing off every single one of them. "We can still make it, there's still one left!" yelled Harry, his legs carrying him forward even though he felt like they would collapse at any given second.
Ron disappeared first as they flew into the fireplace, emerald green flames licking up his body before he was gone. Harry grabbed Hermione's hand, both hurling themselves in before the metal gates could close. For a split second, Hermione felt relief, thinking that they were safe, that they could go back to Grimmauld's Place and laugh in a dazed stupor at how they got out of such a sticky situation.
It was not meant to be.
Her breath caught in her throat when Yaxley caught hold of her ankle. Time seemed to stop as she stared into the face of a triumphant Yaxley. It was the last thing she saw before they were whisked away. She felt like she was being stretched in one way, pulled the other, but she could not concentrate. They arrived with a pop on the steps of Grimmauld Place. For a split second, Harry and Ron stared, mouths agape, in horror when they saw the towering form of Yaxley in front of them, wand pointed directly at Hermione's throat. She looked up into the face of the Death Eater, seeing how his black eyes glinted maliciously in the afternoon sun. He pressed the wand deeper into her throat, making it distinctly uncomfortable for the squirming witch he held in his grasp. She stared Harry and Ron in the eye one last time, before the familiar feeling of being compressed enveloped her senses.
Ron stood stock still, unable to tear his gaze away from where Hermione had been standing seconds ago. "Her ... Hermione. Hermione. HERMIONE!" he yelled, his breaths ragged and shallow. "HERMIONE!" he continued to bellow, as if yelling her name would somehow bring her back. "Hermione ..." he moaned into his hands.
Harry stood rooted to the spot, an unpleasant feeling starting to bubble up from his stomach. He felt his hard twisting and clenching, like someone was forcefully grabbing it. He felt sick to his core. Guilt washed through his prone body; an overwhelming, incapacitating guilt that seemed to gnaw at his insides. He was at fault. He was the reason why Hermione was now captured. Had he not fallen, they would have been able to escape faster. He stared at the spot that Hermione was standing. His hands balled into fists, his nails digging into the palm of his hand. Why did he always manage to screw things up? Why did things just always seem to screw up at the last possible moment, when all seemed to be going perfectly smooth? Then the realization hit him.
Why in Merlin's name was he still standing here doing nothing?
Grieving was natural; yes, it was programmed for one to grieve when someone is lost. But given the situation they were in, given the circumstances, their time for grieving was cut drastically short. They were wasting precious, precious time standing there. Time they could be using to find a way to destroy the Horcrux they acquired, or time they could use to find a way to rescue Hermione. Time was of the essence, because as every second ticks by, they were losing the battle- losing to Lord Voldemort, and giving in to perhaps the greatest enemy to them all: fear.
"Ron ... Ron, I know you - no, both of us - feel bad right now. I know, Ron. But we have to go. Yaxley's a Secret Keeper now, hundreds of Death Eaters can apparate here at any moment. It's better if we get out of here as soon as possible."
The words Harry spoke seemed to reach Ron through a thick fog. The words muddled in his mind, creating incoherent sentences. Go? Secret Keeper? Death Eater? They were words unbeknown to him. Foreign.
"Ron, it's what Hermione would want us to do."
Hermione. That word registered in Ron's mind, clearing through the thoughts swirling through his head. Hermione. He blinked twice, before heaving a sigh. "Hermione," he said, repeating her name.
"Are you okay, mate?"
Silence ... then, "Yeah ... yeah, I'm fine, Harry. We- we should go now."
Harry stared at Ron, watching his dazed expression. He went inside to tell Kreacher to escape, find a new place to live, and grabbed their things. He grabbed Hermione's belongings for good measure, just in case. He stepped back into the bright sunlight, feeling it warm his face. Ron was leaning on the wall, arms crossed as he gazed at nothing in particular. His mouth was pulled into a frown, with his eyebrows furrowed. Harry remembered Hermione had told him that she thought Ron had the emotional range of about a teaspoon. How ironic, that certainly was not the case now. Harry clasped his best friend on the shoulder, mouth set together in a thin line, his jaw muscles flexing. "Let's go, Ron."
They disappeared with a loud pop, leaving behind their first home since they had left Hogwarts. Such was the sacrifice of war.
Hermione found herself standing in front of a cobblestone path leading to what she assumed was the Death Eater's headquarters.
She felt the tip of a wand press into the back of her head, heat permeating from the point it made contact with her skin. She felt Yaxley's mouth bend toward her ear, whispering to her in a voice that made her want to throw up. His breath swarmed in front of her face, making it almost unbearable. His voice came out in a hiss. "I wouldn't struggle if I were you, my sweet. I seem to be in a position of power, no?"
Hermione's eyes widened as she searched her pocket for her wand.
"Looking for this?" mocked Yaxley, holding up her wand. "What a silly girl! You think I would forget to take your weapon? You are mistaken, my sweet." He chuckled quietly to himself; a small, almost indistinguishable chuckle. "Now do as I say, or you'll be dead even before I say Mudblood." Yaxley straightened up, patting his robes, before quick as a snake, so fast that Hermione did not even see it coming, his fist connected with her stomach. Her mouth formed an tiny O, the wind forced out of her with the impact. The Death Eater standing before her threw her a glance out of the corner of his eye. "Oh, so sorry," he apologized amiably.
He pointed her wand straight at her face. It was a foreign feeling to Hermione; she never had to face someone without having a weapon of her own. "Walk until I tell you to stop."
She obeyed. There was nothing she could do. Yaxley was a full head taller than her, and trying to take him on physically would just exhaust her energy. She watched the snaking path lead up to a looming structure, a large manor with Victorian style architecture with large, towering marble columns that rose from the ground all the way up to support the roof. The building was magnificent, gorgeous in its architectural details with large, colonial style windows, and yet, the building held no warmth. This was not a home; this was, in all sense of the word, a prison. And that prison was just about to get its next inmate.
"Stop," she heard Yaxley say when she arrived at the entrance. She saw him raise his wand out of the corner of his eye, and pointed it straight at herself. She felt a tingle of fear, before a rush of adrenaline kicked in. Gone was the rational part of her mind; it was replaced with an instinct to protect herself. Her heart felt a thrill of terror when Yaxley started moving his lips, and she started to break into a run before she felt strong hands clamp around her mouth, pulling her towards Yaxley until she was flush against his heated body. "Stand still, you fool!" he said vehemently, his hand muffling any sound that tried to escape her lips. He chuckled, a low sinister chuckle as she struggled to escape, squirming against the cage that was his body. "You rather like this, don't you?" He pushed her off of his body, and Hermione spun around, her finger pointed straight at his face as she struggled to catch her breath.
"You are the lowest of the low," she spat at him, her chest still heaving from unrestrained gasps.
Yaxley smirked at her. "I know," he said smugly. He raised his wand once again, and muttered a spell. Hermione felt as if something like warm liquid was seeping through her body, making the tips of her fingers tingly. "Walk," he commanded. She raised her eyebrows at him. "I said walk!" he shouted again, this time pushing her towards - no, through - the doors of the Death Eater's headquarters. She looked back as she saw first Yaxley's foot, then his arm and finally his body and face emerging from the seemingly solid wood. "Incarcerous," he said, ropes flying out of the tip of his wand and trapping Hermione as they wound their way around her body. The Death Eater looked at her bound form, his eyes glinting from the candles that lined the walls. Hermione could feel the plush velvety green carpet tickling her face, watched the fibers move in rhythm to her breaths. She looked at her surroundings. Portraits of blonde-haired, grey-eyed man lined the green walls, hissing at her. What is a mudblood like her doing in this household? Why is this filth permitted into the noble home of the Malfoys? Her eyes narrowed.
Yaxley raised his voice. "Bellatrix, guess who I've captured today." The face of a witch poked around the entrance to a room, long black wiry hair following in its wake. The pale gaunt face of a witch who held former beauty stared at Yaxley, before her eyes moved to see Hermione bound on the floor. Bellatrix's mouth broke into a smile. "Bring her in," she whispered, before waving at Hermione and walking back to the room. Yaxley bent down to Hermione, his eyes level with hers. "Welcome, my dear, to Malfoy Manor."
He grabbed her by the shoulders and hoisted her up, pulling her along with him into what Hermione presumed as the living room. Yaxley released her from her bindings, and Hermione stood up, glaring at everyone in the room. She saw her old Potions master, Professor Snape, standing next to a fireplace. She saw Draco Malfoy sitting in an armchair, refusing to make eye contact. She saw Narcissa Malfoy, standing next to Lucius Malfoy. She saw many things, but her eyes focused only on Bellatrix. "Tell me, Severus," the Dark witch whispered, "is this the girl that Harry Potter has been traveling with?"
Snape looked at Hermione through his greasy locks, eyes downcast as he stared at her blankly. "Yes, it is," he replied in his nasally, dull, flat voice. "Same bushy hair, same know it all aura around her. I could recognize her anywhere in the world, Bellatrix."
"My my my, it seems like we have a Hogwarts reunion. What do you say to our guest, Draco?"
Hermione stared at Draco, willing - no, daring - Malfoy to say something degrading. He stared at her through vacant eyes, almost like he did not want to be there. She challenged him silently. Do it. Do it, Hermione thought. Say it. Say you knew I would be captured. Say it, Malfoy. But he did not. He looked away towards his mother and father, who both gave him a reassuring smile.
"Bellatrix, I do think I shall take this matter up with the Dark Lord," said Snape, breaking the silence.
"Yes, yes, I do think that is wise. Bring Yaxley and the rest of them with you, please. I'll," she paused, searching for the right word, "entertain myself with this charming little creature before me." The rest of the Death Eaters shuffled out, leaving her alone with Bellatrix. "What a pretty little Mudblood," she whispered as she circled her, almost like a predator circling its prey. She picked up a lock of her chestnut hair, and sniffed it, inhaling the aroma. "Absolutely delicious." Hermione felt Bellatrix's hands all over her body, touching where people should not touch. She felt a hand snaking down her belly, and stop when it reached her inner thigh. Bellatrix's fingers stroked there. Hermione closed her eyes. She would not be able to handle this for very long. She would snap, and Merlin save her when she would incur the wrath of Bellatrix.
Bellatrix's hand stopped at her most private area, and before Hermione could stop herself, she pushed Bellatrix away from her. "You are filth, Bellatrix! Get your hands off of me!" she yelled, her hair seeming to frizz with her anger. Bellatrix stared at her, tilting her head to the side and blinking twice almost comically, before throwing her head back and laughed a long, maniacal laugh. Hermione felt rooted to the spot. She could not tear her gaze from the crazed woman in front of her. There was no where to run, no place to hide. She was completely at her mercy. Bellatrix stalked over to where she was standing, and pushed Hermione to the floor. She crawled on top of the witch, trapping her beneath her body. "I wouldn't run if I were you," she whispered into Hermione's ear. "It'll only make things worse."
"Where is Harry Potter?" Bellatrix asked, her face inches from Hermione's.
"I don't know."
"Crucio!" Hermione writhed underneath Bellatrix, feeling as if a hundred burning needles were being stabbed into her body. A burning fire seemed to lick at her limbs, climbing higher, higher, until they consumed everything. But Hermione was strong. She refused to let Bellatrix hear her scream. The pain stopped only when Bellatrix lifted her wand.
"Where is Harry Potter?"
"I don't know."
"Crucio!" Again, Hermione writhed, but again, she bit down hard on her lip, drawing blood, refusing to scream.
"Where is Harry Potter?"
"I don't know."
"Crucio! Crucio, crucio!" The pain was excruciating, blinding, but Hermione still clamped her mouth shut. Physical pain was something that she could handle. The fire seemed to rage on forever, like it was squeezing the life out of her already thumping heart. The pain rose to a crescendo, her heart feeling like it would explode, until it all abruptly stopped. Bellatrix lay panting above her, her eyes wild with ruthlessness. "You're not an easy one to break, are you?" she panted, her hair hanging limply at the sides of her face. "No matter." Hermione's heart seemed to almost stop as Bellatrix pulled out a dagger. It was crooked, with rough edges, and it glinted in the light. Was this how her life was going to end? Killed by Bellatrix Lestrange? Killed in Malfoy Manor, with no friends or family members around to say good bye?
Alas, that was not the case.
Hermione saw stars when the tip of the dagger pierced her delicate skin. She felt the tip of the dagger drag its way down, tearing her skin along the way. She felt hot red blood trickle its way down her arm, collecting itself in a little pool on the floor. She felt Bellatrix slowly, agonizingly, carve out a letter into her arm. She felt Bellatrix's nails dig deep into her skin, holding her still with each letter she branded onto her skin. She thought about Harry. She thought about Ron. She thought about her mum and dad, and found just the tiniest piece of comfort knowing that they were safe from it all. She pursed her lips together in an effort to hold in her screams. She turned her head to watch in horror what Bellatrix was doing to her arm. She saw what Bellatrix was carving.
She screamed.
It was not from the physical pain. It was from the shock. The shock of seeing how one human being could do something so cruel to another. It was the realization that she really was deemed as inferior to them. She was a Mudblood. She was filth. She was dirty. She was next to nothing in their eyes. This was how people like her, people of muggle descent, were viewed as. This was what they would be viewed as, as long as people like Bellatrix and the Malfoys existed. She never thought she could hate someone with such a burning passion as she did now.
All of her thought process went by in a blur in Hermione's mind. The pain was excruciating, and her screams seemed to reverberate off the walls and pound in her eardrums. She could still feel the hot trickle of blood slowly trailing its way down her arm onto the floor. The tug of the dagger cutting through her skin did not stop. Hermione's world seemed to stall. She started to become disoriented, confusing her memories with reality. Black spots appeared in her vision, steadily overtaking her vision. She blinked her eyes in a wild attempt to stop the impending blackness. A glint of glass caught her eye, and she looked up at the dangling chandelier, reflecting the light coming in from a sliver in the curtains. She blinked again, vaguely surprised by the beauty of the rainbows being reflected off the glass.
The beauty was short-lived. Darkness closed in on her, finally blocking her from the physical pain as she stopped screaming, unconscious.
Severus Snape walked briskly down the steps of Malfoy Manor into an adjoining room, decorated with rich furniture. A plump armchair rested behind a dark stained mahogany desk, with matching bookcases lining all four entire walls. A large stone fireplace was the main attraction of the room, its fire merrily crackling away. But to Snape, the room held no warmth at all. It was the same with this whole damned house. Everything, its physical appearances, its people inside, was just a show. A show used to disguise what really went on in the house.
Everything was fake.
Yet again, Snape could not criticize the whole of Malfoy Manor and its residents without criticizing himself, or else he would be a bloody hypocrite. He could not deny it- he was fake; as fake as Bellatrix, or Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. Perhaps the most genuine out of the whole lot was the Dark Lord himself.
Footsteps could be heard coming down the steps, accompanied by the occasional cough. Yaxley emerged into the room, straightening out his robes before he caught sight of the wizard standing before him. "Ah, Severus," he said aloofly, "what brings you here?"
Snape glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, before replying in a tone laced with distaste. "I should think that somebody would have to inform the Dark Lord of the matter at hand. He would be quite displeased if he was, so to speak, 'left out of the loop,' no?"
Yaxley raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow, but none too surprised at Snape's attitude. "Yes, yes he would be quite displeased. Although ... he does not seem to be here at the moment."
"One would find that obvious if one had two eyes and a brain to go along with it."
Snape was going into dangerous territory, he knew. It was risky instigating an argument, which would draw more unwanted attention than he already had. But something had changed since the arrival of the Granger girl. With her, she brought not only hope that Harry Potter was still alive, but that Harry Potter was well and safe, traveling the countryside in search of who-knows-what or hiding from the eyes of the Dark forces. It marked the beginning of the end, the epic finale to the waging war between the Dark Lord and those who opposed them.
It also brought increased scrutiny on Snape, making sure that he could secure Hogwarts and inform the Dark Lord at any moment when Harry Potter or his accomplices attempted to make a sort of entrance into the castle. If he "screwed up," Snape would have a lot more to answer to than just the wrath of the Death Eaters. He would have to answer to the Dark Lord.
Yaxley strode over to an armchair, before sitting down and crossing his legs, his elbows resting on the armrests. He surveyed Snape, trying to figure out why exactly the Dark Lord favored him above everyone else. What was it about this rather unextraordinary man standing before him that made him so important? What was so spectacular about him? Why did the Dark Lord confide in him, and not anyone else? It was hard to fathom. Yaxley chuckled to himself. Soon, he would be the one in favor. Snape, sensing that Yaxley was brooding to himself, walked over to the bookcase, reading the spines of the books. Purebloods and the Key they Hold for the Rest of the Wizarding World, Pureblood Society, Mudbloods and Non-Magic Folk who Defile Wizarding Society, Dark Objects and their Magical Uses. What boring taste, Snape thought mildly.
Yaxley, meanwhile, still wanted to blast Snape's head with a well-aimed Reducto spell, but decided against it, closing his eyes to the world around him.
The sound of footsteps could be heard again, and Yaxley turned his head to see Bellatrix Lestrange standing in the doorway. "Say, Bella, what happened to the girl?"
The witched smiled, her hands still pressed against either side of the doorway. "She's upstairs. Fainted apparently."
Snape felt sick to his stomach; he knew what Bellatrix was capable of. He never liked the Granger girl, but he could at least try and ease her suffering at least one bit. He owed that to Dumbledore, and the trust that he had in Snape.
"How now, Snape." came Bellatrix's voice. "Why are you so silent today?"
"Nothing," he spat out, his back still turned to the both of them.
Bellatrix was affronted. Nobody ever had the nerve to speak to her in such a rude tone. She was Bellatrix Lestrange, famed Death Eater and murderess who tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom to the point of madness. She commanded respect.
"You cannot speak to me in that tone of voice, Severus," she said through ground teeth, eyes narrowing dangerously.
"I could say the same for you, Bella," came Snape's reply.
"What are you to the Dark Lord compared to me?"
"I am worth one-hundred or more of you, Bellatrix. Don't deny it, you know that it is the absolute truth."
A loud thud could be heard through the room as Bellatrix smacked her hand against the wall, her face contorted into a snarl. "The Dark Lord holds me in the highest esteem!"
"That is false, Bellatrix, and you know it."
"Prove it!"
"Has the Dark Lord confided in you anymore? Has he talked to you? Has he even glanced your way in these past few weeks? No, Bellatrix, he has not, because you are nothing, nothing to him. You are a toy, thrown away and discarded when he has lost interest in you. You are of no lasting influence to him, no lasting importance. You may once have been his most loyal, most brave lieutenant, but you no longer are. You have been usurped."
"Take that back! You lie, Severus, you lie!" Bellatrix raised her wand, aiming it at the back of Snape's head, her chest heaving from her fury.
"Do it, Bellatrix. You want to kill me so bad? Here's your chance." Snape turned his head to look at her, hands still behind his back.
The witched stared at the Death Eater standing before her. She hated Severus Snape with a burning passion. She wanted to kill him, murder him slowly and torture him until he was crawling on the floor, begging for mercy. The nerve of him, the audacity of him to insult her straight to her face, brought her blood to a boiling point. She glared at him, wishing to blast his sickly greasy head off his body, watch his body slump to the floor, motionless. She was crazy, demented, and mad- she knew all of this, but it meant nothing to her. She would bring down anyone in her and/or the Dark Lord's way. She would let nobody escape.
But Snape would win this round. She would not be able to kill Snape without incurring the Dark Lord's anger. The wizard smirked at her. He knew he had won.
Silence hung thick in the air, the tension between Bellatrix and Snape so palpable it felt like they could reach out and touch it. A rift had opened up in the innermost echelons of the Dark Lord's highest ranking Death Eaters, creating a dangerous chasm that could threaten the unity that Lord Voldemort had tried so hard to achieve.
Almost as if Lord Voldemort had sensed the threat to his well-established order, the hissing of a snake could be heard, slithering its way towards the three Death Eaters, announcing the arrival of the Dark Lord. All three of them dropped to the floor, their heads touching the floor as the Dark Lord entered the room. "My Lord," they said in greeting. They saw feet moving as their master walked slowly inside, making his way to his armchair. Voldemort surveyed the three people kneeling on the floor, his eyes resting on each and every one of them as he analyzed them. Yaxley, he thought, was the least intelligent of them all, useful only in his strength and ambition. Bellatrix was loyal to him, but also too emotional. His eyes slid over to Snape. Snape was perhaps the most loyal to him, but at times, he felt unsure whether or not Snape worked for him, or for anybody else.
Either way, he would still be able to become the most powerful wizard in the world without the help of his servants. He needed no one. "You may rise," he whispered. They all stood up, looking at the Dark Lord, waiting for him to speak first. "So," he said, "it seems like a capture has been made. Who is the girl upstairs?"
"My Lord, it is the Granger girl, whom Potter has been traveling with," said Snape, looking Voldemort straight in the eye.
"How was she captured?"
Yaxley spoke up this time. "I was at the Ministry of Magic, alerted that there was an intruder when a worker found Dolores Umbridge unconscious. I saw Potter with the girl and the Weasley boy running towards the fireplaces. It was obvious they were trying to escape without being noticed. I spied them first, and I ran after them. I managed to grab a hold of the girl before they disappeared, and I brou-"
"Enough." Voldemort silenced him with a raise of his hand. He remained silent for a moment, putting thoughts together in his head. "I wish to speak to Severus alone."
"But. My Lord, I captur-"
"I said," paused the Dark Lord for emphasis, "I wish to speak to Severus alone."
Unable to protest, Belatrix and Yaxley left Severus alone with the Dark Lord, closing the door behind them as they walked up the staircase. Voldemort waited until the sounds of their footsteps faded into silence before speaking again. "Severus, you know the Granger girl better than I do. What do you think I should do with her?"
Snape looked at the Dark Lord, surprised and wary at the Dark Lord's question. Lord Voldemort was not one to ask for anyone's opinion, let alone follow them. He chose his words with caution, weighing the consequences if he conveyed the wrong message- his priority right now was to get the Granger girl out of Malfoy Manor. "My Lord, I think the Granger girl should return to Hogwarts with Draco and I. I believe that she is more likely to tell us about Potter's whereabouts if she lets her guard down in a familiar place, in the company of familiar people. I'm afraid you will only meet resistance if you confront her directly."
He held his breath, waiting for the Dark Lord's response. Voldemort looked away from Snape, letting his eyes flicker across the room. Leaving the girl out of his eyes, putting her as another person's responsibility, was incredibly risky. She was extremely valuable, the perfect bargaining tool in exchange for Potter. To let someone else watch over her opened doors, possibilities that the girl could escape. He had learned throughout the years to never underestimate one's opponent. The girl was obviously brave ... brave, but cowardly. But what else could he do? Keep her in Malfoy Manor where, like Snape said, she would only be silent? To hold her in here and for her to speak nothing of value would be a waste of time. He would be no closer to finding Potter than when he first embarked on his journey to kill Potter.
"Very well," he whispered. "Very well. She will go to Hogwarts come September. But I do say, Severus, should something happen to her, somebody will have to answer to me."
"Of course, my Lord."
"You may go." The Dark Lord dismissed Severus with a wave of his hand, and waited for his form to disappear up the steps. He sat back in his armchair, still deep in thought. He had took an enormous gamble in sending her to Hogwarts- all he could do was watch how events unfolded. Then again, he thought with a crooked smile, if the girl resisted, he could always just resort to torturing her until she begged for death. Yes, the threat of death was always a strong incentive. He could use Legilimency and probe into her mind, creating images of torture, although there was always the possibility that she had learned Occlumency. No, he decided. He had done the right thing. A strange calmeness seemed to settle throughout his body. He stroked the head of Nagini, before speaking in Parseltongue. "Soon, Nagini, soon. Soon, Harry Potter will be dead, and I will be the greatest wizard to have ever walked this earth. Soon, I will be victorious."
Hermione had regained consciousness after what felt like an hour. The happenings of that day had come surging back to her memory, causing a momentary headache. She closed her eyes for a long time, ignoring the dull throb that could still be felt coming from her arm. She sat analyzing her situation. Her eyes fluttered open when she heard footsteps coming down the stairwell into the dungeons, before the form of Severus Snape emerged. Hermione glared at him with disgust, wishing to hurl obscenities at him. '"Damn you." she spat. "Damn you to the deepest depths of hell. I should have known all along that you were a traitor, servicing the Dark Lord. That's what you did when you were supposedly Professor Dumbledore's most trusted friend, right?" She sneered at him viciously. "Right, Snape? You are nothing but filth."
He turned to look at her with cold indifference. "Miss Granger, I would have some respect for your new Headmaster if I were you. Then again, you never were one for respect, were you? Roaming the school at night with that Potter and Weasley of yours, breaking school rules because you all thought that you were invincible."
"You are not, were not, and will never be my Headmaster."
"On the contrary, I am your Headmaster. You will be going to Hogwarts with Draco and I on September 1st. We will get your books for the school year, along with any other materials you need. Your wand will only be returned to you when you have arrived at Hogwarts. Is that clear?"
She ignored his question. "And if I refuse?"
"Then I'm afraid you will only have the Dark Lord as your companion."
"Should I be grateful?" she mocked.
Snape paused, surveying the girl in front of her. Should she be grateful? He frowned at her. "That is for you to decide."
Surprised, Hermione turned to look at the grim face of her former potions master. She searched his face for some hint as to what his cryptic answer meant, but found none. That is for you to decide. She winced as a particularly painful throb shot up her arm. "Leave me," she said simply, turning her face away from his eyes. Snape looked at her intently. He wished he could slap some sense into the stubborn girl, but seeing as she had not immediately shot him down, he took that as an encouraging sign.
He left, his black cloak swishing behind him as he left the girl to her own musings. Hermione sat staring at the wall worrying about Harry and Ron. What would they do without her? What would she do? What could she do? There were not many options available to her right now. All she could do was wait and let events unfold, hoping that they would open new doors, and new opportunities. Above all, she needed to get in touch with Harry and Ron. There had to be a way.
Her arm throbbed, sending little spasms of pain through her body, but she ignored it. She closed her eyes, blocking out the problems of the material world until her breaths evened out, and her chest rose slowly up and down steadily. At least the gods allowed her some sort of peacefulness for what was to come.
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