Hermione may have looked cool and collected to anyone observing her, but inside her stomach had twisted itself into knots. She had to actively try and keep herself together, otherwise she would have ended up a blubbering mess on the floor. Her hands were clenched into tight fists at her sides and she was pretty sure her nails had broken the skin of her palms. Either that, or they were sweating profusely. She wouldn't rule out that as a possibility at this point. Her heart was pounding out a terrifying beat inside her ribcage.
She had stopped paying much attention to the world around her, the words being spoken all blended together, adding to the roaring in her ears. She already knew what was happening. Listening to a detailed description wouldn't save her.
Everything had happened so quickly after Harry had died. The Order had just seemed to lose hope after that. They had been fighting for so long, gaining some wins but still suffering the pain of loss, it all just blurred together after a time. It had been five years since the Battle of Hogwarts. Voldemort must have sensed his impending defeat and had decided on a "tactical retreat", or tucking tail and running away. Depended on who you asked.
Hermione remembered celebrating her twenty-third birthday only the day before. It was hard to believe in less than twenty-four hours, her entire world had fallen apart. In the short pause after Harry's body had hit the ground, everything had gone to hell. The fight completely left the Order as they watched, hoping Harry would get back up, keep fighting the good fight. He always did. Harry was a force to be reckoned with. Only this time, he didn't. His body was still, his eyes wide open, staring unseeing at the stars above.
Seeing the prophesied Saviour of the wizarding world finally defeated seemed to rally the Death Eaters, turning the battle into a raging blood bath. Those who were killed during the battle would soon be considered the lucky ones. Anyone that was brought in alive grew to envy the dead. Azkaban was no longer just a prison, it was a lab.
Voldemort had declared that any prisoners held within could be used for magical experimentation. Being left alone in your cell for days at a time was considered a blessing. There was no way to tell the passage of time- the endless screams became a constant companion. Just more noise to be ignored in the background.
Hermione had learned early on not to fight back when they did come for her. The masked wizards would drag her from her cell, willing or not, and force her up the twisting staircases. The labs had taken over the topmost floor of the prison since it had the best lighting.
The first few times she fought back, they had forced a potion down her throat, causing her to hallucinate her worst nightmares the entire time she was in the lab. When it finally wore off she would be back in her cell, not having any idea what they had done to her. She came to fear the hallucinations more than anything they had done to her so far, and as such, she stopped fighting back. At least she would know what had been done to her body and magic instead of having to guess and find out for herself later on.
Standing before the Death Veil in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, Hermione twisted her wrists, trying to ease the pressure of the restraints. The cuffs binding her wrists together had a double purpose- to keep her from harming anyone physically, and to restrain her magic. After the last experiment they had no choice but to keep her magic suppressed at all times. She shuddered remembering that particular day.
Being forced face-down on the table was never a good sign. She had tried to suppress the urge to run, but being unable to see what was happening had triggered her natural response to run away. She had started to struggle when she realized they intended for her to lie on her stomach and not her back like they usually would. This was something else. This was a break from routine. This was something she couldn't prepare herself for.
Fighting back had been useless, of course. Having spent so long in a small cell, her body being used for all kinds of experiments, she didn't have enough strength left to put up any real resistance. The two wizards that had hauled her in didn't seem to strain at all when they forced her down. She felt one hold her down while the other secured the straps across her body. She felt the leather bite into her skin around each ankle, the backs of her thighs, each wrist, her upper back, and across the side of her head, forcing her to look to the side. Completely immovable.
A bit of leather was forced between her teeth so she wouldn't bite off her tongue. That was never a good sign. Apparently whoever was in charge of these experiments didn't believe in any kind of anesthetic. Each subject was forced to feel everything. 'So as not to interfere with the results' she had been told, when she had begged for something to hinder the pain.
Her range of sight was limited, but she was sure they purposely moved the table holding all of the necessary equipment so she would be able to see everything they were about to use on her. She could see the robes of the wizard who stepped up next to her once she was secure, his voice droning and bored, dictating to a Notation Quill, all the usual information she had heard a thousand times before. Subject number, date of birth, blood status, gender, experiment number, subject number within the experiment.
Hermione didn't pay him the slightest attention. The numbers meant nothing to her since she had no context to give them meaning. Instead, she found herself looking over everything laid out on the table beside her. It had become habit to give everything a cursory look, trying to see if they gave any clues as to what would be happening, and usually there was none. Today was different. Hermione felt a break in the fog as she noticed the slender vinewood wand lying there. Her wand. It was placed next to the usual assortment of scalpels and potions. What could they possibly be doing with her wand?
The answer was quick to come and Hermione cursed herself for allowing her mind to clear, even for a short time. The first incision was quick, and she thanked whomever cleaned the equipment as they always made sure everything was sharp, so as to make cleaner cuts. The sting that followed was greater than usual, and Hermione had to bite down on the leather strap to keep from whimpering.
The second swipe cut deeper, and she was sure they had hit the bone. She instinctively tried to move away, but the straps held her firmly in place. She heard the wizard's continued observations as he cut through her flesh. At one point she saw him pick up the spreader, and this time she didn't bother trying to choke down the scream that came. She felt the cold metal press against either side of the opening in her back, pushing her flesh apart, opening her up for a clearer view of her spine. She tugged at the restraints, the leather chafing her skin raw, but she was beyond caring at this point. She vaguely heard the wizard exclaim, not for the first time, 'that her blood status was so unfortunate- so much potential wasted. Yet, at the same time he was so grateful to have such a powerful individual at his disposal. So few would have been able to withstand everything she had.'
She had learned long ago, that her magical core was strong, stronger than most of those in the magical community. As a student she had been proud of her strength, her knowledge, skill and proficiency. Now though, the only thing she wanted was to sink into the ground, disappear from this earthly existence, join her fallen friends in the after life. Here, in this hell, being strong only meant she was saved for the more difficult experiments, the ones that kept failing as subjects kept dying. If she couldn't survive what they did to her, then it wasn't possible for anyone to survive that particular experiment.
The tears rolled freely across her face as Hermione watched the wizard pick up her wand with his blood stained gloves- her blood- before it disappeared from her line of sight. She could feel the warmth of her blood flowing freely from the opening in her back, the skin inflamed as it was stretched open by the spreader bars. She knew she was drooling around the leather, but she really didn't care anymore. She just wanted them to stop. She would give anything if it meant they would stop!
She felt a pressure and instinctively knew it was her wand being placed along her spine. She had a brief moment to wonder what they could possibly be hoping to accomplish, before her exposed nerve endings erupted in pain and she lost consciousness.
Hermione tried not to remember the horror she had felt upon waking back in her cell, her hands desperately feeling her back as the memories assaulted her. She had felt the scar tissue running along her spine, remembering the press of her wand before everything had gone black.
With the added power of having her wand fused with her spine, leading directly to her magical core, she had blown apart her cell upon waking, accidentally killing the prisoners on either side. She still felt no guilt or remorse over the lives she had accidentally taken. It could only have been a mercy to the poor buggers, a release from their own miserable existence.
Her attention continued to wander as the wizard continued to gesticulate wildly, explaining his latest idea to Voldemort himself. The man was clearly trying to impress, but Hermione thought he just looked like an idiot. If he really had any confidence in his theory, he wouldn't need to keep waving his hands about. He would have given the information quickly and methodically, without the need to continually reassure the Dark Lord of his surety that whatever it was, it would work this time.
Hermione found her attention settling on the witch standing behind the pompous idiot. She hadn't seen Millicent Bulstrode since their time together at Hogwarts. She took in the girl's- woman now, really- hunched shoulders as she jotted notes on everything that was being said. She hadn't gained any more confidence in herself it would seem, though there was something about the witch that made you want to give her a hug. From Hermione's stand point, she would guess Millicent hadn't grown since third year, when she had seemed bulky and broad for a thirteen year old. The added womanly curves softened what had once been harsh lines. If she wasn't about to be shoved to her death, Hermione would have admitted the witch could now be considered quite pretty.
Her attention was snapped back to the proceedings as Hermione felt the sting of a slap across her face. Though taken by surprise, she made no sound. This kind of treatment had become routine. The pain of her nails digging into her palms helped ground her enough so she wouldn't retaliate. Looking down, she noted she had indeed broken skin, as blood was dripping from her clenched fists onto the stone floor. Watching the droplets brought to mind some of the older, more ancient tomes she had read in the Black Library. A few had been impossible to read without providing droplets of blood in the correct pattern- usually the constellation that particular Black author had been named after.
"The least you could do is pay attention, Mudblood," the wizard that had been presenting moments ago, spat in her face, "You should feel honoured to be a part of history like this. It's the best you could ever expect."
Hermione brought her eyes up to meet his gaze. She gave nothing away, her expression completely dead, having learned long ago to show any emotion brought another beating. He continued to stare at her for a moment before nodding his head, pleased with what he saw. He turned his attention back to Voldemort.
"My Lord, we will be using the Mudblood to determine if there is any difference between sending a live subject through versus a deceased. She is of no further use, and has been deemed too hazardous to keep any longer, considering the continual magical outbursts. She has put too many of my assistants in St. Mungo's. I've had to accept Leonidas' daughter simply because no one else was willing to take the position at this point because of her."
A small sliver of pride warmed Hermione's heart. It may have been accidental magic that put those idiots in the hospital, but it meant there were less people available to proceed with further experimentation on anyone else.
Seeing as everyone's attention had been turned from her back to the wizards explanations, Hermione returned her gaze to the floor. The blood had formed a small puddle now, all the individual drops coalescing together. Her thoughts drifted back to those dusty, forgotten shelves in the Black Library. She had been amazed at the number of volumes dedicated to the Veil hidden away in the Department of Mysteries. Naturally, she had consumed every word hidden in those books, including the ones requiring her blood. She had been careful and only read those ones after everyone was asleep at Grimmauld Place. Everyone would have been disappointed in her if they found out she was reading something requiring a blood sacrifice of any kind.
As her mind whirled from one thought to the next, with no coherent pathway, a sudden realization struck her. Those books had contained everything there was to know about the Veil she was about to be shoved through, including how to protect it. She would be taking that one-way trip no matter what, but she could possibly save anyone else from having to endure the same fate.
Bringing her hands together, she carefully looked around, making sure no one was paying her any attention. The binds had just enough give between them for her to draw runes on the back of her hand using her blood. She had pulled all-nighters with those books and had memorized some of the spells she felt might come in handy one day; protecting the Veil had been one of them, thanks to her lack of trust in the Ministry, which was apparently well founded. She began murmuring the incantation under her breath, thanking whatever Gods were listening that nobody was standing close enough to hear her. That was the only downside to blood magic- the incantations all needed to be verbalised, as it was a more archaic form of magic.
A hand suddenly gripped her arm and she snapped her head to the side, almost breaking her concentration. She had finished drawing the correct runes on one hand and had moved to the other, but she still had a fair bit of the spell left. Panic rose up, clenching around her heart when she realized everyone was done talking and they had proceeded to the practical part of the experiment- sending her through the Veil.
Hermione started to whisper as fast as she dared, not wanting to get it wrong, she wouldn't have time to try again. She could see she was moving closer to the Veil but felt completely disconnected from her body. There were only two steps between herself and the filmy Veil when she whispered the final syllable.
Not wasting a single moment, Hermione took a final step forward and placed both her bloody palms against the stone Arch. She felt the magic swell instantly upon contact. The runes drawn across the backs of her hands began to glow, light spilling from them in a fog that spread out across the room. It was a few moments before anybody realized what she had done, and were thus captured in the swirling force of the spell. She watched in horror over her shoulder as everyone who had been caught in the fog began to rapidly age, their life force and magical cores being drained to help fuel the rest of the spell. As more life left their bodies, the fog swept higher, forming a dome around the Veil. The dome began to shift from silver to gold, the pulsing light growing brighter until it hurt to look directly at it.
Surprised at feeling the hand still clutching her arm, Hermione turned to look over her other shoulder. It seemed Millicent, having a hold of her as the spell had activated, had not been caught up in the spell. Hermione found herself slightly relieved she hadn't caused the death of the Slytherin girl. She may not have been on good terms with her at Hogwarts, but the only altercation they had ever had was in second year during the dueling club, and Hermione had instigated the fight so she could get hair off her robes for the Polyjuice Potion.
Millicent looked just as surprised as Hermione to find herself free of the spell's effects and could only gape as the others fell to the ground one by one. The dome gave one last pulse before shuddering to a halt. It held for a moment, before a wind began rushing through it. It whipped Hermione's hair into her face, making it difficult to watch what was happening, but she could hear chunks of stone crashing against stone as the ceiling of the Chamber was brought down. Hermione tried to look around to see just how many had been caught in the dome and was disappointed to see Voldemort staring back at her, pure rage written across his inhuman features.
The force of the wind picked up and Hermione found she was leaning into the stone of the Arch to try and brace herself. Millicent had let go of her arm and was now clinging to the rock alongside her. Hermione clung with all her might, but the force of the gale winds was too much for her weakened muscles, and she found herself tumbling free. The last thing Hermione saw before she slipped beyond the Veil was the red slits of Voldemort's eyes staring back at her.