School: Beauxbatons
Theme: Shyverwretches Venoms and Poisons
Main Prompt: [AU] Dark!Hermione
Additional Prompts: [Spell] Imperio, [Action] Getting Kidnapped/Kidnapping
Year: 3
Wordcount: 2421
Hermione lay sprawled on her bed in her pyjamas, reading a fascinating book about poisons. Not only were the poisons described in the book deadly, but they also caused great pain prior to death. Of course, she would never actually use these toxins herself, but it was good to have that kind of knowledge.
A loud crash sounded from downstairs. Hermione jumped, her mind rudely pulled away from her book. More crashes rang out, and then her parents' screams were added to the cacophony. Then, she heard a cruel, harsh laugh.
So it begins, Hermione thought, panicked. She had known that Harry had seen Voldemort come back and Cedric die, and she knew that the Death Eaters were going to strike at one point or another, but she had not expected it to be so soon. She fumbled for her wand and bolted down the stairs.
She was greeted by the scene of two men, dressed entirely in black except for their shining silver masks, standing over her parents, who seemed eerily docile, not paying any attention to the blood dripping from their faces. The sitting room was in a shambles, the stuffing from the armchair scattered all over the blood-stained rug.
Hermione watched in horror as her mother was handed a silver knife, much like the ones Hogwarts students used in potions class, by one of the men. Her mum swung back her arm and plunged the knife right into her husband's chest. Blood poured out from the wound, staining the rug further as life slowly drained out of her father's eyes. The pain must have been overwhelming, but he didn't make a sound, still docile as he fell to the ground. The Imperius Curse.
This couldn't be happening. Her father, her rock and the strongest person she knew, couldn't be dying. Hermione's brain conjured up more and more far-fetched explanations, as the pool of blood grew larger and larger. It wasn't from her father. It just couldn't be. Her gaze snapped to the knife, held in her mother's hand, dripping blood, proclaiming the undeniable truth.
Rage coursed through her, entering her bloodstream and demanding vengeance. These men—no creatures—could not just come in here and murder her family. Especially not by using the Imperius Curse to force her mum to murder her dad for them. They will pay. They will not get away with this unscathed.
With that thought driving her actions, Hermione aimed her wand at the head of the man closer to her and whispered, "Reducto!" pouring all her anger and pain into the word.
The result was immediate, causing Hermione to duck. An explosion of crimson fluid coated the walls of the sitting room and everything within it. Bits of a slimy substance—it took her a moment for her to realise that it was part of the brain—flew all around. Shards of bone embedded themselves in everything.
When Hermione finally looked up, taking in the aftermath of the explosion, she realised her sitting room looked like a scene from a horror movie. The lower part of her target's body stood there for a moment, as if unable to believe that his head had been separated from the rest of him, before slumping down.
The other Death Eater was getting unsteadily to his feet by then. The only thing in the room that did not seem to be affected was her mother, still standing obediently, holding the knife by her side. The sight of that fuelled Hermione's rage even more.
Evidently, the Death Eater had noticed her and, unlike his unsuspecting colleague, was not going to go down easily. The two began to trade spells back and forth, although not the typical garden-variety spells. These spells were brutal, fueled with anger and, on the Death Eater's part, dipping into the Darkest of Arts. Hermione had never been so glad of all the time she had spent helping Harry train for the Triwizard Tournament.
Despite all that training, though, Hermione's limited experience was no match for a seasoned Death Eater. Before long, she felt her body tiring but pushed relentlessly on. She would not concede defeat until she had taken her revenge or was a corpse—whichever one came first.
The Death Eater hit her with a curse, causing her to cry out in pain and fall to her knees. While she was distracted by the agony of the burning sensation that overtook her legs, he quickly hit her with another spell, making her world go dark.
When she woke up, she found herself in a dingy cell, lying on a dusty pallet. Hermione blinked a few times as she remembered what had happened and realised where she probably was—Lord Voldemort's headquarters. Without moving or doing anything else that might reveal her consciousness to her captors, Hermione took in her surroundings. There was a metal pail in one corner of the cell, and a torch outside the metal bars provided all the illumination. The entire cell was only about two metres by two metres.
Shutting her eyes again, Hermione let the desperation of the situation sink in. Without her wand, there was no way she would be able to get past the hoards of Death Eaters. Even with her wand, she had next to no chance—her attempted escape back at her house had proved that.
It might have been a few minutes—or even a few hours—later when her cell door opened. Hermione heard the heavy thuds of boots approach her, and then pain beyond what she had ever imagined wracked her body. She screamed, every nerve on fire.
As the pain abated, the man chuckled. "That was for Rosier. Pity I couldn't put you under that for longer, until you're foaming at the mouth and begging for death. But the Dark Lord wants to question you, so..." He trailed off before muttering, "Imperio."
Immediately, a light, floaty sensation overtook her, and she forgot any memories of pain. What was pain? All she needed to do was put one foot in front of another.
When Hermione first caught sight of Voldemort, even despite the floatiness, her first thought was that he looked grotesque. A monster. He broke into her mind, and watched all her memories, even the ones that were the most private.
After that brutal mental examination, she was sent back to her cell. Evidently, she was now the Death Eaters' plaything. Torture was apparently very stress-relieving, and the power of having someone under the Imperius very heady. Days began to flow into each other. Hermione lost track of how long she had been there. It was a vicious cycle—of blissful relaxation, of searing, harsh pain, and of just being left alone, in the darkness of her cell.
Being left alone was the worst, though. For when she was left alone, her memories attacked her, haunting her thoughts. Things—horrible, disturbing, and disgusting things—that she had done while under the Imperius Curse danced in her vision, mocking her. Look at what you've done. Too weak to even try to fight. Coward.
Even the searing pain of torture that the Death Eaters engaged in "for fun" was better than that. If anything, those moments of torture and pain only gave her ideas for their eventual demise.
Anything was better than being left alone. For when she was alone, the monsters came.
It was during one of those times, when she had been left alone to her thoughts that he came. HIs arrival wouldn't be unusual, except that he came alone; normally, the Death Eaters came in pairs or even groups, competing to see who could draw the loudest screams from her. He had unlocked the cell door, allowing it to creak open slowly before stepping inside and whispering, "Come. Quickly. We don't have much time."
"Huh?" Hermione asked, disoriented. Still, she got clumsily to her feet, the urgency in his voice stirring her to action.
"I'm going to get you out of here. But we won't have much time," he explained impatiently.
Hermione nodded. She winced as she stumbled toward the door, her legs weak from their lack of use and the prolonged torture she had suffered. However, after a few steps, she was able to regain her footing.
He led her through long, winding passageways. Hermione hobbled after him, desperately trying to keep up. Eventually, they emerged in a glen. Hermione had little time to observe her new surroundings before a pendant was pressed into her hand and a whirlwind-like sensation ensued.
They arrived in a dark house, the walls lined with bookshelves. She sat down heavily in a comfortable armchair, her legs aching. "Where are we?" she asked, her eyes taking in the multitude of books.
"My house," Professor Snape replied shortly. "I need to get back before I'm missed. The bathroom is the first door on the left. Your room will be the second door on the left. The kitchen is on the right." He pointed out the hallway, which she had not previously noticed. "Stay out of the basement, and don't mess with my possessions. I shall be back as soon as I can." With a swirl of his robes, he was gone before Hermione could acknowledge his words.
Despite the weakness in her limbs, Hermione stood up and began browsing the shelves for a book to read. Unsurprisingly, most of the books were about Potions, although some were about the Dark Arts. She selected one of them and quickly became absorbed in the material. While it was gory and graphic, certainly, Hermione treated it as a learning experience. She would find a way to make sure that those bastards who had tortured her received their dues.
When Professor Snape came back a few hours later, Hermione was still sitting in the armchair, nose buried in the book. "Enjoying yourself, I see, Miss Granger," he drawled.
"P-professor!" Hermione jumped, not having noticed him arrive.
"They haven't discovered your disappearance yet, incompetent fools that they are. But that isn't the main issue I'm concerned about."
"Oh?" Hermione closed her book. His eyebrows rose in shock at her choice of reading material, but he made no comment. Perhaps he had expected this thirst for the Dark Arts, especially after having had such exposure to it.
The professor sat down heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The thing is, Professor Dumbledore never told me to rescue you; in fact, I was explicitly told not to do so. I insisted that we needed to get you out of there—you should never have had to deal with the horrors that the Dark Lord and his cronies could inflict on people. But he was steadfast in his refusal. Something about the 'greater good'. Apparently, my position as a spy is more important than your life." He sneered at the thought.
Hermione was shocked. "Then why did you rescue me?"
"Because I couldn't bear to see what they were doing to you. I would have cracked a long time ago, if it were me," came his solemn reply.
"Thank you for saving me," Hermione said, emotion leaking into her words.
Internally, her mind raced. Why would Dumbledore do such a thing? He knew what it was like! Anger rushed through her veins. Anger at Dumbledore. Anger at Voldemort. Anger at the Death Eaters who had tortured her. Anger at the Death Eater who had got away with murdering her parents. They will pay, she promised herself. No one maltreats Hermione Granger.
As her mind raced with thoughts of revenge, Professor Snape stood up. "Rest. We shall make plans in the morning. There should be some clothes on the dresser." With that, he disappeared behind one of the bookshelves. Before it clicked shut behind him, Hermione saw stairs leading downwards, presumably to the off-limits basement he had mentioned.
Hermione got up, her mind still full of plots for vengeance. After washing off all the grime that had accumulated during her kidnapping and subsequent imprisonment, she fell into bed. Her dreams were full of a crimson red fluid and the detached head of Dumbledore.
For once, Hermione was thankful that she had been kidnapped by the Death Eaters. Because of all the pain she had gone through, she came out stronger in the end. She had been cured of her fervent belief that Dumbledore could do no wrong—in fact, she was angry at how mistaken her younger self had been. And as for the deeds that she had been forced to do for the Death Eaters' entertainment? She was actually taking inspiration from those to plot and dream about what she would do to Dumbledore.
The next morning, Hermione woke up refreshed from her sleep, but still craving revenge. She walked into the kitchen, where Professor Snape was sitting, reading the Daily Prophet. "I want vengeance," Hermione announced boldly, without any kind of introduction to the topic at all.
He raised his eyebrow at the abruptness of the statement, but otherwise seemed to be unperturbed. "On whom, exactly?"
"Dumbledore," Hermione answered.
Professor Snape sighed, putting his newspaper down. "And what exactly do you want from me?"
"Your help and support. I am well aware that you are a talented wizard, trusted by Dumbledore—"
"Dumbledore doesn't trust anyone," he interrupted, scoffing.
"He trusts you as much as he trusts anyone. Why else would he trust the information you give him from your spying missions, especially knowing that you avidly supported the Death Eaters before. You clearly proved your loyalty to him in some way, and he trusts you because of that," Hermione retorted. Upon seeing the expression of pain which crossed his face, she focused on the point at hand. "I want your help, Professor. Will you give it?"
"Very Gryffindor of you, Miss Granger, to say it so plainly," Professor Snape observed.
Hermione flushed. "Well, I am a Gryffindor, after all. Are you going to help or not?"
"I have been wanting to destroy that slimy, scheming bastard for a long time. So yes, I will help you," he answered.
"Thank you, Professor Snape."
And with that, a pact between the two of them was formed. While they might have had their own reasons for seeking revenge on Dumbledore, they both had the same goal: the complete and utter destruction of the man, even if they had to delve deep into the Dark Arts for that. And if Hermione ended up torturing and murdering a few Death Eaters along the way, then so be it—she had heard, after all, that torturing people was so very stress-relieving.