The war was over. What had started so many years ago; a full lifetime, to some, ended with a simple curse. When the word had spread through the castle; the word that Harry had died, I couldn't believe it. I simply wouldn't believe it.
Something deep down had told me that he would wake up. That he'd do something incredibly ridiculous. But he wouldn't die. It just wasn't possible.
He was the boy who lived.
Unfortunately, that past tense correctly defines his life. He lived. But does not live. Harry never regained consciousness while laying in the arms of Hagrid, who's expression was one of a man who had lost the reason for his life. A man who had lost his purpose.
When he laid Harry on the ground, and clutched his face, trying to control himself, Voldemort's words became a blur, as did my vision. My mouth opened in silent horror, as tears slipped down my face.
A hand touched my shoulder, and I met Ron's equally teary eyes. I clutched the hand, and stepped closer, clinging to his shirt for dear life.
It couldn't have been true. It just couldn't. After all this time. All the effort. He was gone. Just like that.
But, inevitably, something had to be done. I felt the rise in determination as I looked up to look at the pale monster of a man standing in the center of the crowd.
"Ladies and Gentleman," his deep voice rang throughout the courtyard, "I am but a humble man. I offer you the opportunity and the gratitude that many would never give me. I give everyone of you the choice. You may step forward, and surrender to my ways. We will forgive and forget- on my word of honour, and you may start a new life of fame and fortune, or."
He paused for a long moment.
"Or. We will take you by force and have you charged to the full extent of the law."
"What law!" I cried, "your ways are nothing but cruel and volatile! Any law you create is a law worth protesting!"
Voldemort's mouth curved into a cruel smirk, and his eyes tightened.
"Hermione Granger, is it?" he asked, and I felt myself nod quickly.
Ron's hand on my waist tightened slightly.
"My dear," he said, "the act of taking over the world and controlling it are two different things. As I said; I am but a humble man. I have what I want now. I'm.. civilized."
"Like hell!" Ron yelled back.
His hand reached to his waistband, where his wand laid. As his hand touched it, he froze. Not like shock. But spell froze. I pushed him slightly and my eyes widened. I felt someone approach behind me and reached for my own wand in a hurry. But, I too, froze. I heard it this time. A small voice cast the spell. A hand reached into my sock and pulled my wand out. I was hopeless. Lost. I saw Voldemort watching the events with fascination.
"Behave," a deep voice said behind me.
I felt my body relax, and automatically turned and swung at the person,, only to have cool hands grip my wrists and bring them together. I looked at the person and gasped.
"Malfoy, you bastard!" I screeched.
He sneered, and turned my around, gripping my wrists behind my back.
"My Lord," he called, stepping forward, "I would like to surrender to you. With me, I bring a first of many captures."
Voldemort smirked, and turned to Lucius Malfoy.
"You have a very brave son, Lucius," he told him.
Lucius nodded, looked at Voldemort, and then looked at the ground.
"Tell me, Draco, why now?" Voldemort said with wary words, "from your glare a few minutes ago, I thought your side had been chosen. What has made you think differently?"
Draco paused.
"I think it best to fight for the winning side, my Lord," Draco said carefully, "with all due respect, for a while there, I was reluctant."
"And rightfully so," he said, "the mudbloods in Potter's army were particularly.. stubborn."
I struggled in Draco's grip for a moment, and I felt a swift and hard hand hit my head, and my vision blurred again.
"You fucking bastard, Malfoy," I sobbed quietly.
"I don't see any of your so called friends stepping up against me," he hissed in my ear, "in fact, they don't seem to be making a fuss at all."
His grip lessened for a moment, allowing me to shift my head and see his words were true. Every person in the group, except Ron, had their eyes to the ground, silent and in dismay.
With another sob, I fell to the ground, my knees hitting the concrete. Draco's grip lessened significantly, but I felt no desire to move, and no desire to fight. The surety left me, as did my friends.
"Very well," Voldemort said decisively, "Draco, you may mind her until the trial. I'm sure you have sufficient dungeons at Malfoy Manor?"
He touched my shoulder, and pulled my up to his side, less rough than I had expected.
"We have the room, yes," he says.
"Take her now, to make less of a fuss."
Within a second, I felt the movement of apparition.
Every emotion in my body hit me like lightning, and I crumbled to the ground. I cried for my best friend. I cried for Ron. I cried for Dobby. I cried for the loss of my friends. Every single nerve in my body felt like concrete, and I cried until my tears ran out.
I didn't know and didn't care where Draco was. I knew there was no escape. I only hoped for death, because anything else I'd get would surely be worse.
I didn't know how much time had passed when I heard movement behind me.
"Come on, Granger," the voice said softly.
A hand gripped my wrist and pulled softly, but I just couldn't move. I tried.
"Come on," he said, irritated.
"I- I can't," I said quietly.
He sighed, and released my wrist, which fell immediately to the carpet. I expected him to leave me laying there, with his arrogant impatience.
But I felt two hands roll under me, and I was lifted into the air with ease. I cried out, surprised. His hands adjusted their position, and I lifted my head to see his expressionless face, not meeting me eyes.
There was nothing mean about the way he held me, and there was nothing rough about the way he walked. He just.. did. There was nothing in it.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked him, "you could have stepped up without a fuss. He still would have taken you."
He shrugged, and the movement shifted me.
"Figured I'd have a better chance of living if I did my proving now."
"Proving?"
He didn't reply, but I got the idea. As we approached the end of a hallway, I heard the clicking of heels on tiles.
"Drakey," a voice said.
I lifted my head, and my eyes widened.
"Pansy Parkinson?" I asked.
The girl curled her lip at me.
"Why the fuck did you bring the Mudblood here?" she asked Draco.
Her attitude was vomit worthy, and I felt my throat constricting. I glanced up at Draco, who remained unchanged. His pace never slowed.
"His orders," he said quickly, "leave her alone."
"Why? I can't hurt her even a little?" she sneered.
"She's to remain. Unharmed. Leave her be."
Pansy shrugged.
"I couldn't care less about her. I have things to do."
"I'm sure you do," he replied snidely.
I heard her clicking away, and I felt his arms shift uncomfortably.
"I- I can walk, if you'd prefer," I say softly.
"I'm fine," he says, "she just gets my teeth on edge."
"Why did you stand up for me?" I asked him.
"Because anything Pansy wants, I don't."
"Why is she at the Manor?" I ask, not even recognizing the fact that I should be silent.
"Why do you ask so many questions?"
I look away, and try to focus on the walls as we pass them. He sighs.
"She's a new recruit. Death eater. The mark can be painful in the beginning, so she wasn't allowed to join the heist."
"Heist?" I ask.
He smirks, "it's my nickname for the takeover. Nevermind."
I almost smile.
"The lucky bitch got away with troubled sleep."
"Was it worse for you?"
He meets my eyes for a fleeting moment.
"Yes."
The hall falls to silence, and I feel like we were almost there. The air tensed, and I expected to feel the descending of stairs. I had made many expectations, and, much like the others, it didn't come true. I heard the turning of a handle, and the squeak of an aged door. His arms loosened, and my heels hit the ground softly.
"Well, here we are," he said, stepping inside.
My eyes widened.
"I thought you were taking me to the dungeons," I said softly.
"I said we had the space. Your punishment hasn't been decided yet, so until then, you're a guest. This is my wing, so they don't have a say where I place you."
I walked around the room. It was what I compare to a very expensive hotel room. I looked around, but I couldn't see any bathroom door. Not a suite.
"Thankyou for this," I said.
I'm sure that if I was in my right mind, or thinking clearer, I would have avoided speaking altogether. But I wasn't. And all I could think of, was that things could be so much worse for me if he hadn't intervened and helped.
"I'm not on sides. I just enjoy life, Granger."
I walked over to the sofa, and took a seat. I watched as Draco pulled out his wand and started casting spells with unintelligible murmurs. I assumed it was protection spells to keep me in, and others out.
"Is there anything you want?" he asked after a few minutes.
"No," I replied.
"You sure? It's going to be a while, you'll probably be bored."
"Um," I said, squinting, "no. I'm fine."
He sighed, but didn't insist.
"Well, I don't know when I'll be back."
"Okay."
"I'll need your wand."
I didn't protest, but I made no effort to move. He walked over with another sigh, and plucked the wand from my hand.
He left without another word, and the tears resumed their freefall. I fell asleep curled up on the sofa.
Thus began the pattern of my time. There was no clock, no way to see the passing of time. It felt like eternity. Every so often, maybe an hour, maybe 10, a tray of food appeared on the end table by the bed. I barely nibbled at the trays, but my thirst was unending. As soon as I stood up and walked away from the tray, it disappeared. The first time I discovered this, I hadn't even finished with it. So I had to lay by the tray everytime I ate to ensure it wouldn't disappear on me.
Draco came by twice. Once, to allow me to go to the bathroom, and another to ask again if there was anything I needed. I had asked him about my friends, and his response was to leave the room, shutting the door tightly behind him.
It felt like a comfortable prison. I felt desensitized to everything. I simply couldn't accept the situation.
The third time Draco came, his expression was hooded and somber.
"Come on," he told me, as I watched his entrance from the sofa.
He gave me a look I didn't recognize. Almost a warning glare.
"Where are we going?" I asked him.
He stepped forward and gripped my arm, pulling me roughly from the sofa. His hand pushed my back and forced me to stumble out the door.
I then understood his reasoning for being so unkind. Three masked death eaters stood, waiting, out the door.
I looked at the ground, and Draco pushed me into a walk. The halls were eerily quiet, the only noise being the sound of 5 footsteps moving in odd intervals. I glanced up at the death eaters, trying to name or identify them, but I couldn't. Suddenly, I felt a hand at the back of my head, a quick and rough tap.
"Eyes down," Draco's voice sounded harshly.
I complied, letting my head fall significantly. I had figured that he'd probably do his best to insert his authority; to almost show off. I had no care about it. Hell, I had no care for anything.
"Almost there, kitten," a bulbous voice echoed through a mask tauntingly.
I swallowed deeply, and kept my eyes to the ground.
We stepped through a small hallway, and opened a small door to what seemed at first as a large hall. It was, in fact, a makeshift court room. Rows of people, well dressed, and well posed people sat, their expressions wary and mean.
"Ah, at last," Voldemort's voice rang through the courtroom.
The three death eaters stepped away, and I felt Draco's hand push me forward.
"Keep quiet," he whispered in my ear.
"In line, if you will, Draco," Voldemort said.
I looked around as far as I could without raising my head. Voldemort sat at the front. The back lined a row of cloaked death eaters, one with striking bright blonde hair. On both sides of the room, either under watchful guard, binded or shackled, was my friends. I looked desperately for Ron, but I couldn't see him.
The crowd at the back of the room began to murmur, and I took the opportunity to talk.
"What's this all about?" I asked him in a whisper.
"Trial. You'll be sentenced."
"Where's Ron?"
He didn't reply, but we stopped walking suddenly. I looked up, my neck aching. I looked at the line of people ahead of me. One in particular, a boy I didn't recognize standing right in front of me. His pitch black hair and striking green eyes reminded me of the young Tom Riddle. I refused to admit any resemblance to Harry.
The boy nodded to me, with a wary expression. Almost a question. I nodded back, and forced a small smile.
"First," Voldemort's voice rang through, catching my attention.
A man stood up who was sitting to Voldemort's right.
"Luna Lovegood," the mousy man spoke with clarity, "charged with affiliation and aid to one Harry James Potter, resisting arrest and attempted harm of a death eater."
Luna was forced forward, to stand in front of the pedestal that Voldemort was sitting upon.
"Anything to say, Lovegood?"
"Not really," her feathery voice spoke, "but I would like to say that I didn't try to harm him. I tripped on a branch, and he took it the wrong way."
Her head looked over to the end death eater in a row.
"Sorry about that, I did try to tell you."
Voldemort blinked at Luna.
He cleared his throat, "does anyone wish to speak for her?"
The room rang in silence, and he nodded.
"Luna Lovegood, I sentence you to The Offering, and following a ten year sentence to Azkaban."
"Excuse me?" she said.
Voldemort blinked again, "what?"
"What is The Offering? I've never heard of it before."
The death eaters behind Voldemort all moved around suddenly, laughing amongst themselves.
"Silence," Voldemort commanded, and the sound fell.
"The Offering," he said slowly, "is a punishment of my own making. A group of men and women may step forward to claim ownership of you. The other sentence is a followup if nobody wants you."
"Ownership?" Luna asked.
Voldemort's wicked smile brought a shiver to my spine, and the shudder that ripped through my limbs couldn't be stopped.
"Some people call it slaves. I prefer the professional term."
Luna fell silent.
"Now that that's settled," he said, condescendingly, "I commence The Offering of Luna Lovegood."
He looked around at the crowd, and glanced behind him at the death eaters. The end death eater stepped forward.
"I request ownership."
"Ah, Keith," Voldemort said, "ownership granted."
The man called Keith lifted his wand and the mask disintegrated.
"I'm going to have fun breaking the calm out of this one."
His dead, cold words made me step back in shock. I accidentally walked straight into Draco, and I stumbled away quickly. I turned and met his startled look.
"Slave trade?" I mouthed to him, and he replied with a bewildered expression.
"Next," Voldermort sounded.
"Neville Longbottom," the mousy man spoke, "charged with the affiliation and aid of one Harry James Potter, resisting arrest, and the physical harm of three death eaters, Lucius Malfoy, James Pock and Bellatrix Lestrange."
Go, Neville.
"Anything to say?" Voldemort asked, as Neville was forced to stand.
"No," he replied, his voice cold.
"Neville Longbottom, I sentence you to The Offering and following twenty years in Azkaban."
Neville didn't flinch, and didn't argue.
"I commence The Offering of Neville Longbottom."
A death eater stepped forward. Bellatrix Lestrange.
"I request ownership," she said snidely.
"Ownership granted."
"No," Neville said softly, as she stepped forward, and, gripping his hair, dragged him from the room.
I almost chased her. I tried to, but the first movement I made to step forward was immediately blocked by Draco's firm hand gripping my arm.
"Don't be foolish," he whispered.
He pulled me back to him, and stayed close and wary from then on.
Time went past, and more and more people were taken and claimed. Eventually, unable to take it, I turned around, away from the crowd. I couldn't hear it, I couldn't see it. I instead concentrated on the fibres of Draco's jacket. A deep, dark purple. It was almost black, but it wasn't. It seemed to change shades as it shifted in the light. The vest he was wearing beneath the jacket was black though. I could see the difference distinctly.
I spend what seemed like ages standing there, facing Draco, almost touching him, but seeming so far away.
"Hermione Granger," a voice rang around the room.
Draco stepped forward, turning me and pushing me towards the stand. When I had reached the stop, he stepped back near the crowd of people.
"Charged with association, affiliation, aid and companionship of one Harry James Potter, attempted murder of uncountable death eaters, the use of Polyjuice potion to replicate a death eater to gain access to private storage at Gringotts Wizarding Bank, to counts of resisting arrest, the refusal to give information to authorities when requeste-"
"That's quite enough," Voldemort said.
The mousy man retook his seat.
"Well well, Hermione," Voldemort said, "does one third of the Golden Trio have anything to say?"
"Nothing," my voice rang steadily.
"Very well," he hissed, "Hermione Granger, I sentence you to The Offering following life in Azkaban."
I swallowed deeply.
"I commence The Offering of Hermione Granger."
The voice was almost immediate. The death eater with striking blonde hair stepped forward. The recognizable voice of Lucius Malfoy spoke loudly.
"I request ownership."
Voldemort's smirk that followed was beyond cruel.
"Ownership g-"
"I request ownership," Draco said loudly.
The room fell silent. So silent, I could hear the breath of everyone in the room.
"Draco?" Voldemort asked with a raised eyebrow, "I didn't think this was.. your.. thing."
I could hear a shifting of clothing, to what I assume was a shrug.
"The mudblood makes me curious."
Voldemort smirked.
"Ownership granted to Draco Malfoy."
Lucius stepped back, and I felt a hand press my back, leading me forward. I follow the movement, and am lead out of the room.
"Well," Draco said to himself, "that went better than I expected."