The Prisoner in Camp 0016
Warning: This may seem religious at first, but it's not. It's meant to illustrate how badly people can be brainwashed.
It had no one. It was no one. It lived to serve the Lord and beg forgiveness for it's sins.
Those were the thoughts of 4631-2231, as it lay on it's bunk. It had been in the camp for quite sometime now, and had been rather nicely re-educated, or, brainwashed as some might say.
Prisoner 4631-2231 no longer remembered life before camp 0016. It was glad, or as close as it could be to being glad. One of the first things taught at camp was that there was no sorrow, or gladness except through the Lord. The Bringers of Death showed them the way to true joy. They taught them that they were not truly people, that they were merely things to be used at the Lord's will. Individuality was to be condemned.
Those who accepted the word gave themselves up for the good of the Lord. Their possessions were taken. Their heads were shaved. They were assigned a number. They didn't care about any of this. In an ideal case the only thing that mattered to them was serving the Lord, though some were closer to the ideal than others. They were known as the Faithful.
They worked for the Lord in many ways. Some helped to test new spells. There was great demand for test subjects. The Bringers of Death would curse them with new combinations of old spells. One such example combined the truth spell and the silence spell. The victim would try it's hardest to tell everything about itself but the silence spell would keep it from saying a word. This combination was found to be particularly lethal, but there was always a need for new test subjects as the old ones disappeared.
Some served by cooking. When the Faithful were allowed to talk amongst themselves they gossiped of what the cooks actually used. One claimed that the test subjects often ended up in the stew. It was never seen after that, and the Faithful found new things to gossip about.
Others cleaned. That was about the limit of ways the Faithful served the Lord. Most of the tasks were menial.
One of the Faithful served differently. Number 4631-2231 did not do any of the above mentioned tasks. For most of a cycle it lay alone in it's allotted space, without moving. Not that there was room to move. Anywhere from twenty to forty people might be wedged in the small space with it. It was motionless none the less, and almost appeared to be in a coma.
It did nothing. It just lay perfectly still. Even if it had wanted to do something, there would have been nothing for it to do. There was no room to stand. There were no windows to look out. There were no games to play. Not that it wished to do any of these things. It wouldn't even think of games. In fact, it might not have even known what they were. So it lay there, motionless, barely even breathing.
Once every cycle, of the Bringers of Death, or sometimes one of their masters the Death Eaters, would come for number 4631-2231. They would jerk her up and drag her down the corridor. Her wrists were often shackled.
Then it reached the door. For once it felt joy. It was almost time for it to serve the Lord. The door opened, and it stumbled in. It was dark, but it was used to the dark. It made it's way to the center of the room.
Once there it sat down in a metal chair. A cap fell over it's head. Cuffs slipped over 4631-2231's wrists and ankles holding it in place.
Lights began to flash on the wall in front of it. A voice could be heard softly muttering incantations. It tried to focus but couldn't.
It's brain began swirl and things began to flash in it's head. A wave of a wand. Thick parchment and quills. Hogwarts: A History. Red hair, and a mischievous grin. Sparkling green eyes begging her to come. A funeral. Fighting hard against the Lord, Lord Voldemort. An ambush set up by a trusted friend. Interrogations upon interrogations. It all came back to her.
She shook her head as if to clear it and nearly missed the first question. That wouldn't have been good, the pain would have started earlier.
"Name," asked a mechanical sounding voice.
"46-" she started then shook her head again, "Granger, Hermione Anne." She stuttered with some difficulty as she struggled to readjust to her memories.
"Age."
"26."
"Education."
"Completed Hogwarts," Hermione said as she thought back on those days. She had been such a prig, with her head always in a book. Thankfully Ron and Harry had pulled her out. Those were her best memories. The time Harry had taken her for an early morning broomstick ride and when he gave her the first kiss she had ever gotten. The time she and Ron had snuck out to Hogsmead only to find Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall sharing a butter beer. Studying for the Newts and her elation at receiving 13 of them.
The voice startled her out of her reveries.
"Status," it said almost impatiently, as if it had asked several times.
Hermione knew what would happen if she annoyed the voice, so she quickly blurted out an answer. "Wizard Citizen."
It was the wrong answer. She felt a jolt of pain.
"Wrong answer. Pain level at .5."
She bit her lip to keep from crying out. She would not abase herself before her enemy.
"Friends."
"Ronald Weasley."
In front of her popped a picture of Ron smiling gleefully. Hermione struggled to keep the memories at bay.
"Age."
"26."
Another jolt came.
"Answer incorrect. Pain level at 1.0. New query: Status."
"Dead."
A new picture popped on the screen. It showed Ron cursed from all angles by Death Eaters, as he stood outside a church in a tuxedo. Ron had died early in the fight. It was stupid, really. It had been Percy's wedding and Ron was determined to go, never mind the danger.
Again the voice interrupted her thoughts, "Repeat query: Friends."
"Harry Potter," she said forcefully. She wondered if it was her imagination or if she had really heard a low laugh.
"Age."
"25." Harry had only barely been younger than Hermione but Ron had teased him incessantly about it after they started dating.
"Status."
"Resistance leader."
Again she felt pain.
"Answer incorrect. Pain level at 1.7."
Hermione chafed at her bounds. "What do you mean incorrect?" she screamed though she had long ago realized that talking back only got her more pain.
The Voice chirped, "Harry Potter is now the former Resistance leader."
"Why?" she questioned, as she continued to struggle. In her mind she was searching for a spell she could do wand-less. At that moment it did not matter if the spell set her free, killed her captor, or herself. Without Harry she had nothing. No hope. No reason to live.
A picture flashed in front of her eyes. Harry fighting off Death Eaters with fellow Resistance members. Angle a child of one of the members was there too. Hermione remembered watching Annie's first steps, and her first magic, and was hard pressed not to cry as she saw Annie walk right in front of one of the Dark Wizards.
The wizard grinned evilly as her prepared to torture the child. Just as her was about to curse her, Harry came flying to put his body between Annie and the curse. If nothing else his death was instantaneous.
"NO!" cried Hermione. She could have dealt with anything, as long as she knew Harry, the boy who lived, and the man she loved, was out there fighting. For as long as she could remember he had been her hope.
"No," she whispered.
Then the pain went up to 10.0, the highest level. Hermione screamed, not only because of the pain, but also because of her loss. Meanwhile, the magical energy within her was drained through the cap on her head, till there was none left.
The lights began to flash again. A needle pricked her arm. In the background a voice chanted hypnotically. All Hermione's memories were banished.
4631-2231 was escorted back to her cell. It felt like crying, though it couldn't say why.
Back in the room, Voldemort laughed. She was almost completely broken. When he showed Potter the recording of the latest session, Potter would join him, if only to prevent the Mudblood from more pain. Voldemort continued to laugh hysterically.
4631-2231 was escorted back to her cell. It felt like crying, though it couldn't say why.
Author's Notes: Yes this was a bit serious. Don't worry if you follow Dreams of Flight and are looking for some fluff, I will be posting more soon. Scouts Honor.
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3 Dolores