Of all the ways Hermione Jean Granger had expected to die, this was not one of them. She knew the risks of the life she led, knew that she'd be caught one day, but this? This was just hilarious.
Her wand was gone, that she knew, and she couldn't think of a scenario where she'd get it back. Not that it mattered. At present, she was surrounded by Death Eaters in Malfoy Manor, staring down the end of her former Potions Professor's intricately carved ebony wand. She couldn't even find the will to be upset or scared; the preposterousness of the situation canceled all of that out.
Funny, that.
She knew she was hysterical, because she was trying to bite back a laugh through the tremors that wracked her body. All that time at Hogwarts, all the times Severus Snape was in the Order of the Phoenix, he could have killed her any number of times.
Of course, the opportunistic bastard wouldn't have done it then. Not when he had a cover to keep. Not when everything he was doing would have blown his cover as Volemort's spy.
Not until he'd killed Albus Dumbledore.
No, it would only be acceptable when he was surrounded by his fellow Death Eaters and Hermione was unarmed and outnumbered. The greasy git, the great bat of the dungeons, had betrayed them, and he hadn't looked back.
If things had gone according to plan, he would have been dead three years prior. She'd known he would be meeting with officials at the Ministry, if that's what you could call it now that it had been overrun with Death Eaters, but they'd been severely outnumbered and he'd gotten away. The last thing she remembered seeing was the red light escape Snape's wand and then waking up in the safe house.
They'd lost Dean that day.
If she had her wand, she'd probably have, at least, a fighting chance before she was killed. She knew she'd lose - even without Snape's assistance, but she would give them a hell of a fight on the way out. She would be just another name on the list of the dead. Labeled as a filthy mudblood, and only those left in the Order would know the truth. Their numbers were so few now, so many of them lost in the Battle of Hogwarts. Of those who made it out alive, most had scattered, resigned to accept whatever fate awaited them.
Some were sent to Azkaban and given the Dementor's Kiss.
Others weren't granted even that mercy.
She knew there was no use in fighting. Even if, in her current condition, she could manage to wandlessly disarm the three Death Eaters flanking her - and she knew for a fact that she couldn't - she would never be a match for Severus Snape. She'd just prolong the torture and die tired and in pain.
There was a reason he'd survived so long while living under the scrutiny and madness of not one, but two narcissistic megalomaniacs. Given the look on his face, an outsider would assume they'd never met before. His cold indifference was only magnified by the steadiness of his arm as the tip of his wand stayed unwaveringly aimed at her face.
Perhaps he would make it quick. He owed her that much. She had saved his life, much to her dismay. These days, she regretted ever going back to the Shrieking Shack to check on him.
She'd thought him dead when she saw him lying on the floor. She'd done all she could in the moment after Nagini's attack. Essence of Dittany had been poured over every wound she could see. She shoved a bezoar down his throat. Forced that down with Blood Replenishing potions. She'd been the last to leave him as Ron and Harry tried to drag her away.
She should have listened to them.
After it was apparent that the war was over, she revisited the shack, hoping that he was still alive. Hoping that he would be able to help them make another stand against the Dark Lord. She may have been an insufferable know-it-all, but there was a limit to even her knowledge - especially in the poison department. But seeing his body propped against the wall, his eyes closed, almost serenely, she assumed him dead - yet another failure to add to the rapidly growing list that night. She'd kneeled down beside him and thanked him over and over for his sacrifice. She'd apologized for not fully trusting him. There were so many regrets, and she couldn't address them all. But this she could do. She brushed back his blood soaked hair from his face, and it was then that she felt him take a breath.
She felt for a heartbeat. Thready, but he was alive. There was a moment of hope; they'd lost the war, but they had to keep fighting, even if there were only a small chance of changing things. And Snape could help them to keep fighting. Dumbledore was dead and they had no one to lead them - who better to take up the position than him? Double spy, Master of Potions, probably the most powerful Occlumens in history, almost unparalleled Legilimens, one of the most powerful wizards alive - Severus Bloody Snape - if he couldn't lead their battle cry, who would?
No one, apparently, because the moment he was able to leave Grimmauld Place, he was gone. Stolen off in the night like the snake he was. He'd turned up in the papers months later, photographed next to Voldemort and Bellatrix LeStrange. In that very moment, she could still feel the anger she'd felt then, the sense of loss and betrayal.
She'd fought by his side, saved his life, trusted and admired him and the moment he'd had an opportunity to take the coward's way out, he did.
Hermione didn't have many people to rely on, and the ones she did have were fighting in their own way. The Order was a mess, desperately needing a leader, and she didn't have the will or the desire to take up that mantle.
No one else did either, it seemed.
She and Ron drifted apart after a while - she'd thought, at one time, she would marry him. Start a family. Before the war, she thought that was what she wanted, but once reality set in, she realized she couldn't settle down. Not when there was so much to do. Being married, possibly starting a family with the state of the world as it was? Absolutely not. It was selfish and rash and the most terrible decision she could think of making.
Ron had brought up the fact that Neville and Luna had married, and Hermione made her feelings on that situation perfectly clear: they were selfish for forming attachments that could potentially drag their attention from the war. There were more important things and Hermione didn't have the time or the energy to do much more than try to figure out another way to kill Voldemort. Ron had apparently accepted what happened at Hogwarts that night and decided to just move on. To live in secret for the rest of his life. Part of her didn't blame him. It was the easy way out and exactly what most of wizarding Britain had done.
But she couldn't.
She wouldn't.
Ron had stormed off after their last argument and she hadn't heard from him for weeks. She had contacted Molly and Ginny, but neither of them knew where he was, either.
The last she heard was from an article in the Daily Prophet about his capture. Snape hadn't been there if the pictures accompanying the article were accurate. There had been no word whether he was still alive or not, but Hermione's inquiries had turned up nothing but dead ends.
Harry was, for all intents and purposes, dead. Voldemort's Avada hadn't quite killed him (for the second time), and, were Hermione being honest, it definitely should have. It didn't, but Harry had never woken up. His body had been moved in the scramble after his and Voldemort's duel, and Molly Weasley had been looking over him. Not that there was much that she could do. After Fred's death, she barely had the will to go on. When Arthur died, Molly became a shell of her former self. After Ron's capture, she'd broken down completely.
That had been a year ago.
Hermione had plenty of time to theorize why they'd lost. Harry didn't die, therefore the Horcrux that Voldemort unknowingly transferred to Harry hadn't been destroyed. And neither had Nagini. Neville had tried, but the snake had attacked a second time that night. Neville's injuries were nowhere near as bad as Snape's, but when they found him, they'd realized the sickening truth: the war was over. The good guys lost.
The sheer number of people who'd given up after that night wasn't exactly surprising. The allies who'd shown up after the war were.
Six months after their defeat at the battle of Hogwarts, Hermione received a letter via an owl she'd never seen before. On the paper were three words:
Don't stop fighting.
Hermione had no idea who it had come from, and she didn't need its encouragement to keep fighting. Laying down and dying was not an option for her. If she were to die in this fight, and she was completely sure she would, she would go down with her wand in her hand and a hex on her tongue. So, even with every Death Eater looking for her, even with the bounty on her head, a bounty that was printed daily in the Daily Prophet, Hermione kept going. There simply wasn't another option.
It would be another three months on the run before she received another. It was simply the location for a meeting. She knew she could be walking into a trap, but she was willing to take the chance if it meant there was someone else willing to help. She was prepared to fight whomever she encountered at this meeting, but if there was even a slim chance that someone could help her, she would take it gladly.
Of all the people she expected to see there, Draco Malfoy was not one of them.
After a very rocky start that involved a lot of hexing on both sides, they'd finally settled down to talk.
Voldemort had completely infiltrated the Malfoy home and taken residence there. He and his mother had watched as Snape tortured Lucius for hours and hours for his constant failures over the years. He'd been made an example of, and, according to Draco, he could still hear his father's screams if he closed his eyes long enough. It had taken days of torture before Snape finally had him tossed into Azkaban. How he had avoided the Kiss was a question on more than a few minds.
So when Draco Malfoy came with intel about the whereabouts of certain people that may be helpful to her, she took it willingly. When new information was available, Hermione was contacted via a charmed Portkey.
Hermione had never seen anything like it before - unlike a normal Portkey, the one provided by Draco did not need to be associated with a place, but a person. It looked like an ordinary locket around her neck, but warmed when she was being summoned. Draco always picked the place, as he was the one who would know where the Death Eaters were stationed throughout the country.
Twice she showed up expecting to see Draco, but Narcissa was there instead.
The first thing Hermione noticed was how tired she looked. This beautiful woman - and no one could argue that she wasn't beautiful - had lost all the light from her eyes. The last time Hermione had laid eyes on her was when she was called to receive a book from the Malfoy family archives regarding defense spells. Narcissa came with a few more books than Hermione had expected.
The first was a set of books on the expected subject; she'd seen them before but she'd never had the opportunity to read: Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts . Harry had been gifted them from Sirius, but to her knowledge, he'd never read them, either. Hermione had been severely lacking in that department as the only person who had ever actually taught them any defensive magic turned out to be Barty Crouch, Jr. and Hermione was not prepared to cast any Unforgivables unless it was absolutely necessary.
The second book, Moste Potente Potions , Hermione had seen before - it was the book she used to learn how to brew Polyjuice Potion. She'd never had an opportunity to look at it beyond her initial perusal. Now that she had it in her possession, she had used it several times.
The third book was one she'd spent a lot of time reading, but had lost in the Battle of Hogwarts: The Dark Arts Outsmarted . This copy was old and tattered, as if it had been read hundreds of times. There were pages earmarked and notes had been scribbled into the margins. Most times, the notes were more helpful than the actual book text.
The last was one that was confusing, but immeasurably helpful: Advanced Potion Making . As Hermione hadn't had the opportunity to finish her education at Hogwarts, she'd never had the opportunity to read completely through that book, either. It was easy to follow, and when she was unable to locate ingredients on her own, Draco had managed to supply her with them.
Her opinion of Draco had changed so much since their days at school. At first, she hated him - just another cog in a wheel that was intent on watching the world burn down around them. But once she realized the position he was in, she understood that he was trapped as well.
He was smart, always had been. If Hermione Granger was an insufferable know-it-all, then Draco was an insufferable almost-know-it-all. He'd constantly been right behind her in grades at school - something that used to infuriate her for reasons she didn't understand at the time. Her brain was all she had to offer - or so she thought - and she didn't like her territory intruded upon. She tried so hard to keep up, considering her 'handicap' of being a Muggle, that she'd kept her nose in a book and threw herself into whatever hairbrained nonsense the boys were involving themselves in, walking a thin line between breaking the rules and keeping them out of trouble. Or danger.
Draco never had to do those things. He was a pure-blood and his status was established long before he was born. Draco Malfoy was the antithesis of Hermione Granger and she'd hated him for it.
Ironic, now, that his status and knowledge had gotten her out of trouble more than once.
Even more interesting was the fact that some of the knowledge Draco bestowed upon her - learning Occlumency, for one - could be tracked directly back to Bellatrix LeStrange. Bellatrix had done a magnificent job teaching it to Draco and he had all but mastered it. He'd managed to hide his mind from both Snape and Dumbledore before the war. Hermione was nowhere near as good as Draco, but what he'd taught her helped - and saved her - more than once. If she were faced with a powerful Legellimens, however, she doubted she'd be able to keep her mind shielded for long.
Draco and Narcissa were in an impossible situation. Narcissa wasn't a Death Eater, but her husband was. And more importantly to her, her son was. She loved her family, and there wasn't anything she wouldn't do to protect them. Even if that meant staging a coup d'etat against one of the most powerful wizards that ever lived. Hermione knew that Narcissa and Draco's alliance with her wasn't completely unselfish. If they could bring down Voldemort, Draco and his mother would be free from him. Perhaps Luscious would survive. Perhaps they could live out the rest of their days without a black cloud hanging over their heads for eternity.
Hermione doubted it, but there was always hope and hope could be a powerful motivator.
As for Hermione's current situation, she had a plan and knew she should have stuck to it. One of the Carrow twins would be alone in Diagon Alley, and it would be an opportunity to snatch him without too much of a fight. Neville had become quite good at obtaining information from people when they needed it, and though Hermione had her suspicions, she refused to ask him about his process. All Hermione had to do was deliver the Carrow to Neville. She thought her intel was good, even though it wasn't confirmed with Draco. She should have known better than to be so careless.
When Hermione arrived, Amycus wasn't alone, although she didn't know that. She moved in to cast Confundo and Side-Along Apparate him, but Alecto had stunned her from behind.
Lucky for them, really. Because Hermione Granger was at the top of the list of fugitives the Dark Lord wanted to have several conversations with. She'd punched and kicked and scratched, but when she'd been hit with the Cruciatus once from each twin, she'd, thankfully, passed out. She awoke on the floor of Malfoy manor in a very familiar room.
The hexing had started again almost immediately after she opened her eyes. Hermione's screams didn't even sound like her own voice after a while as she writhed around the floor, her body contorting in unnatural positions as she tried to block out the pain, but there was no use. In the face of the Cruciatus curse being thrown at her from several Death Eaters at the same time, she wondered if Neville's parents wished for death as much as she had in that moment.
The pain never stopped, even when they weren't actively hexing her - it was a constant ebb and flow that had her gritting her teeth to keep from screaming out. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of her pleas or her tears.
She assumed she'd be dead soon anyway; she suddenly remembered what it looked like when Bellatrix had cast her Avada on Sirius. It looked almost peaceful and happened very quickly. She was bracing herself to find out personally, until she heard the familiar sound of dragonhide boots clicking across the floor. It was a sound she'd heard for years, and she was able to identify the source immediately.
"Ah, Miss Granger," a familiar baritone purred; Hermione shivered - it was all over now and there was nothing she could do about it. "How lovely for you to join us. We have been looking for you for quite some time."