Chapter 11
(How It Happened—Part I)
Only a few hours ago, Hermione had been fighting off Death Eaters at the Department of Mysteries, experiencing an exhilaration like none she'd ever felt before. She had been scared, of course, but that fear had somehow been muted by a fierce determination and a singular willpower that had been growing in her ever since her friendship with Ron and Harry had been concretized the night of the troll incident. It was more than just bravery: it was a headlong charge at the very real, very adult circumstances the trio were finding themselves in, and an unwavering acceptance of the responsibility those circumstances entailed. It was making a conscious decision to grow up too quickly, and doing so without regret, accepting the necessity of it. She didn't know if Ron or Harry felt the same way about what they were going through, but even if they were struggling with it, she believed she had the strength to carry the both of them with her: she could be strong for them, show them how to do what must be done.
But now, as she sat in the cold, dank dungeon that Dolohov had left her in, her strength was faltering. She wondered if this was because she was alone; whether her strength relied on having the boys to rely on her. As far as she knew, they might've been back at Grimmauld Place with Sirius and Lupin and the rest of the Order, worrying about her and trying to figure out where she'd been taken. None of them had seen Dolohov snatch her amid the commotion; they might have no idea how to find her...
Somewhere in the distance she could hear the hollow sound of far-off voices in argument. As she realized they were gradually approaching, she strained to listen, gripping the bars of her cell as she leaned in toward the sound.
"I found her! I brought her here! She's mine to present to the Dark Lord!"
She recognized the voice as Dolohov's, shuddering at the memory of his hands on her. The second voice was quieter, but even more malicious, and it only took a moment to identify it as the voice of Lucius Malfoy.
"The Dark Lord is in no mood for your boastful attempts at ingratiating yourself with him, Antonin! You cannot seek an audience with him tonight!"
"Don't try to fuck with me, Lucius! You're just desperate to make yourself look good after your catastrophic failure!"
"Why you insolent..."
"That's right, you arrogant piece of shit! You can't talk down to me for much longer! You're going down! Your days are numbered!"
"I WILL NOT be spoken to in this manner by my inferior!" Lucius spat out the last word with heavy malice, and in his voice there was the telltale quiver of a mind coming unhinged.
"Get out of my sight Antonin, I'm through with you!"
There was the sound of a tense shuffle, and if Hermione could look into the corridor beyond she would have seen the most terrifying expression on Malfoy's face as he seethed against Dolohov, who had backed him into a wall and had him pinned there with bulging eyes and a deep red face as he spat his next words in low, primal tones.
"You're through alright, Malfoy. You might still be able to pull rank around here for a little while, but when you fall— and you WILL fall— I'll be wiping my ass with your hundred galleon, poncy fucking robes... do you hear me? You'll be less than shit on my shoe..."
"GET. OFF. ME."
Lucius was so irate that he could barely force the words through his teeth, but after one last, hard look, Dolohov shoved off and disappeared down the corridor while Lucius summoned every ounce of his willpower not to hex him in the back. He was treading on thin enough ice as it was, and could not risk incurring any more of Voldemort's displeasure. Since Voldemort had returned, the Dark Lord had not allowed anyone to speak to him for hours as he tortured Lucius repeatedly in front of the rest of the Death Eaters, pausing only to deliver drawn-out, accusatory monologues directed at Lucius and others, though only Lucius received the full brunt of it. When he'd at last dismissed Lucius and the rest of the room from his sight, Lucius felt certain he wouldn't be spared from being sent to Azkaban for his failure, and was nearly resigned to this fate until he'd overheard Dolohov and Grayback arguing over how to approach the Dark Lord with the news of Hermione Granger's capture. Recognizing this as a last chance, Lucius wasted no time asserting his not yet retracted authority over the two and demanded that he take charge of the prisoner.
At the sound of his approach, Hermione slunk back as far as she could into a dark corner, hopelessly wishing the ground would swallow her up. Aside from Voldemort himself, Lucius Malfoy was the last Death Eater she wanted to see at that moment. She had watched him battling at the Department of Mysteries after he'd lost the prophecy; had seen the rage that distorted his features as he took on Sirius Black— and after hearing his exchange in the corridor with Dolohov, she expected he'd be in fouler spirits than ever.
His face was obscured by shadow as he stood before the bars of her cell, tall and dark and ominous as Death itself. He was so still and quiet that he almost didn't seem real to her, and in her terror she irrationally wondered if he was only a phantom, until he silently moved to enter the cell.
"Get up." He demanded in a voice that was so unexpectedly calm that it frightened her more than a shout might've, and every muscle in her froze. She wanted to obey him, but couldn't get her body to cooperate with her.
Lucius visibly tensed as his latent rage started seeping back over the calm composure he'd attempted to display.
"GET. UP." He tried again, still frozen in place. For the life of her, Hermione could not stand.
"I—I can't..."
Lucius suddenly lunged forward and gripped her arm, roughly dragging her to her feet. As he released her with disgust, her legs wobbled but she managed to stay in place, somehow functional again after his physical contact broke the temporary spell her mind had put her under. He was no phantom, no matter how much she wished to pretend otherwise. She was really there, alone in a Death Eater dungeon with Lucius Malfoy, with no wand and no plan and no Ron or Harry.
Lucius stayed silent for a long while; danger seemed to roll off him in waves, smothering Hermione as she second-guessed every moment, waiting for him to strike. She knew he wanted to hurt her; she could feel it as sure as she could feel the erratic spasming of her own heart.
Finally he spoke, and though his words were deadly quiet and almost chillingly seductive, to hear them was a release, and her chest ached as she allowed air into her lungs once more.
"...Do you know what you and your little friends have cost me? ...Do you have any idea how your foolish game may well have destroyed my entire career?"
Hermione stared at the ground, hoping he didn't expect her to answer him.
"...look at me, child."
"I'm not a child."
Hermione muttered it so quietly that she didn't realize she'd spoken it out loud, but Lucius hadn't missed it. The next moment he had seized her chin and forced her eyes to meet his, and the fury behind his eyes hurt to look into.
"You are a child... a little fool who believes she's big enough to play games with Death Eaters... ...but it's not a game any more, is it?" Lucius' mouth drew up into what might've resembled a smile if his eyes weren't still drilling fury into Hermione's.
"...No... it's about to become very, very real for you... ...you're about to learn what happens to little girls who try to pass themselves off as adults in the real world... and I daresay you won't be a 'child' anymore, once I'm through with you..."
Hermione's eyes went wide and her heart lurched up into her throat as she watched Lucius step back and pull out his wand, his eyes half-crazed with ferocity, half-glazed in what resembled a perverse lustiness. Whatever he was about to do, he was going to enjoy it.
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When Hermione at last began to regain consciousness, she was certain she was dead; she could see tiny lights passing over her as she floated weightlessly along, drifting down some dark and endless path. She closed her eyes and let herself be carried to who-knows-where by who-knows-what force, too tired to care.
Soon she started to become aware of her own body, and the unrelenting pain that seized it. This couldn't be right; there shouldn't be this much pain... she'd always heard that death was painless...
She winced as she flexed her fingers, fearing they might be broken. As she opened her eyes again and tried to focus, she found that her left eye was quite swollen, and so she relied on her right eye alone to discover that she was floating down a long hallway underneath flaming sconces. Someone must've been levitating her, but she couldn't see who it was.
Finally she stopped, and was released from the magic that suspended her only to be dropped brutally onto the hard floor. She managed to roll onto her side, clinging to her aching ribs as she sucked in labored breaths.
"Wait here."
She froze at the sound of his voice, which by now was the most hated, most offensive to her ears. She didn't dare look up at him, less out of fear than out of a need to spare her exhausted eyes from the loathsome sight of his cruel face.
A door opened, and Lucius cleared his throat.
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Severus was grateful for the interruption, having listened long enough to Voldemort's acerbic denunciations of Lucius in between his persistent questioning to determine whether Severus would be fit to take his place. Severus appeared gracious for the opportunity, but secretly detested the idea, knowing it meant he'd have to spend even more time with Voldemort. He suspected that Dumbledore, however, would be thrilled with the promotion, which made him even more bitter about it.
"Luciussss..." Voldemort hissed, narrowing his eyes as they landed on his most despicable servant, "You dare to appear before me again tonight?"
Severus tensed as his eyes met Lucius' for a moment, instantly recognizing the hatred radiating from him. Lucius must've realized why Severus had been called for a private audience.
"I beg your pardon, my Lord, but I have something I think you'll be pleased to see..."
"Is it the prophecy, Lucius?" Voldemort mirthlessly joked, "Have you somehow restored it? That is all I asked of you... anything less will be sorely disappointing..."
Lucius swallowed his fear and pressed on, determined to redeem himself.
"It is a prisoner, my Lord!" Lucius tried desperately, betraying his anxiety.
Voldemort paused and bent his head back, eyeing Lucius sternly.
Severus braced himself, afraid to know who Lucius had captured in his desperation. Voldemort was clearly bloodthirsty after his unsuccessful fray with Dumbledore, and whoever Lucius presented would certainly not be shown a shred of mercy.
"Unless you've brought me Potter himself, you're wasting my time..."
"Not Potter, my Lord," Lucius sputtered, "but someone whose death would surely hurt him! Ruin him, even!"
Voldemort considered the offer silently, concealing his curiosity. After another tense pause, he spoke softly,
"Show him to me."
"Not him, my Lord..." Lucius corrected as he flicked his wand towards the door, sending Hermione flying forward to land on a heap beside him.
"It is Potter's little companion, the mudblood Granger."
Severus' eyes widened and he held his breath as he took in the battered sight of his young pupil bent and shivering on her knees before him, her eye blackening and her lips bloodied. As she slowly raised her head to survey her surroundings, her eyes immediately fell on his, as if he had drawn them to him. A look of astonishment overcame her and her mouth fell slack... she then managed to form one word, which was whispered in bewilderment:
"Professor?..."
