As a child, I had the penchant of staring into the mirror for hours at a time. Not for the sake of vanity but of wonder. I used to keep a notebook of all the various things about myself and from who I had inherited it from. Deep down, in spite of the dull life of an orphan, it was always known, had my family been alive I would have been on a throne. The world at my feet.
The alarming revelations of my mother shook me to the core, but I conceded there must be a viable explanation.
So, I searched high and low. Every magical archive that I could get my hands on, but any mention of Tom Riddle eluded me. The house of Salazar Slytherin did not choose me for nothing. I was steadfast in my determination. There was still one thing I have not investigated yet.
Marvolo. The middle name I haven't paid attention to. If it was of importance, then it should have been given to me as my first. But that mattered not. It was a lead I clung so desperately onto.
Imagine my astonishment when after months of tirelessly searching to have finally found something.
Marvolo Gaunt, father of Merope and Morphin Gaunt. The last surviving descendants of Salazar Slytherin.
I couldn't breathe. Somehow, I always knew that I was from the blood of the greats.
My father, Morphin, will be pleased to know his heir was alive and well. The pride he will feel when I tell him that his son is among the most brilliant minds to have walked this earth.
Ever since Hermione was a child, she expressed an insatiable desire for learning. While most children stomped their foot and demanded ice cream, she politely asked for more reading material. So, it was no surprise to anyone when she declared proudly that she wanted to be a librarian. No one took her seriously, but she had her heart set on it.
For somebody who simply abhorred divination, she intuitively knew from a very young age that if somehow anything happened to her, she would always find a sanctuary in books.
It did something to you, those words, no those souls, forever bound between their covers. The crackle of pages turning. The scent of ink and parchment. She could sense it all.
Hermione ran her finger down a page, feeling the slight roughness of mass-produced paper. A tree branch knocked against the window and she pulled her knees closer to her chest as a draft of cold air sneaked in.
But she didn't care. She was home. Safe.
The shelves reached the ceiling, filled to the brim with all her favorites titles.
Except for one.
It laid on the floor, at the foot of a shelf, as if it had fallen.
Hermione awakened from the rock-hard reading chair she enfolded herself in and went to pick it up.
It looked like any other book sans the customary title.
She flipped it open to a random page and brought it up to her nose. A weird quirk that most bibliophile's share.
For some odd reason, it smelled of cinders. Just the way the living room does when you are roused from slumber at three in the morning because of sofa cramps.
Hermione closed the leather-bound book, setting it back on the shelf. She walked to the reading chair pausing every few seconds to run her hands vigorously over herself to stop the tingling.
Ever so slightly the sensation morphed into a cruel burn.
The next thing she knew, everything around her was on fire. Flames crawled up her legs and she whimpered in pain as the heat melted the fibers of her jeans into her skin.
She searched wildly for an exit, but she was trapped within the flame. Her surroundings blurred into one as her world spun wildly.
Hermione woke with a gasp. Though the unforgiving concrete ground was no help with the aftereffects of a torture curse, it was mercifully cold. In that moment she felt as if she'd been immersed in scalding hot water.
A minute passed, or maybe a few hours, she couldn't tell. All she was aware of was that the pain suddenly dissipated out of nowhere. Slowly, she flexed her fingers and toes, sighing in relief when her appendages abided to her will.
Hermione was thoroughly confused in her apparent healthy state, but she didn't linger on the possible reasons. The stronger she was, the sooner she could make a break for her freedom.
She pulled herself in a sitting position. Her palms splayed out on the concrete as she scrutinized the room. It was completely bare save for the muck and dried blood on the wall. The cell itself had no bars or windows, just a tiny hatch to slip food in. Hermione has never seen anything like it.
The walls must be keyed to something, she twisted her mouth deep in thought, much like the wards to old ancestral homes.
There was absolutely no way she could escape without a wand and she knew it. She nearly gave up all hope there and then, when a slight breeze made her still in trepidation.
Her mind instantly kicked into overdrive. There was no possible way that a breeze could trickle in a cell such as this. Someone was there with her and where a wizard goes, his wand goes with him.
Scavenging every last iota of energy within her, Hermione pictured in her minds eye a sphere of magic cradled in the palm of her hand. It grew brighter as it dragged the magic right from her center. Hermione likened it to a thread being pulled from a sweater or scarf.
When the spell reached its peak, she was instantly on her feet.
She flung the enchantment with a grunt, "Revelio."
There comes a time, actually many a time, in a person's life that most people would call "The point of no return". A crossroads in the wake of a mundane event in your life that would set the dominoes tumbling with no way to stop it.
Draco Malfoy, ripe with old age, would often sit back and wonder to himself just how would his life turned out if he opted for a less flowy robe that day. The young man in question didn't exactly comprehend what was happening until it was too late. She wasn't supposed to wake up nor was she supposed to see him. At that moment he truly feared his fate if the bushy head Gryffindor pulled a fast one. There was absolutely no way he could slither his way out of this dare his father question him.
Hermione, at first never recognised the person who stood before her like a deer caught in headlights. The last she saw of Draco Malfoy was roughly four years ago right before that heinous raid of their school. He has changed a lot since then. That arrogant air was still there, but something was amiss.
As she scrutinised him, she noticed that he was skinnier than a twig. His aristocratic cheekbones protruded from his face much like one of her overstuffed bookbags. The pallor of his skin was grey instead of pale and his frame trembled as if he could collapse at any moment.
He gave of a vibe that many junkies did in her muggle hometown.
"You look like shit." She remarked nastily, satisfaction flooding her when his sunken eyes widened in anger.
"Fuck you Granger," he hissed just as nastily, covertly slipping something in his pocket "you're not exactly the most prettiest picture either."
It was true. Hermione was filthy and matted with blood. Her face was terribly scarred, but she was grown now, hardened by war and most recently unbridled suffering. Nothing he could say would hurt her now.
"I was tortured by your sicko father," she sniffed, inconspicuously inching closer to him "what's your excuse? Generations of inbreeding?"
He didn't fire off as he would typically do much to her surprise. Instead he vigorously massaged his temples.
Hermione, whilst observing him made a realisation that brought with full force the reality of her situation. Hope bloomed in her breast as she deduced that if Malfoy was in here, she was closer to home than she thought.
With that in mind, she centred herself and prepared for a physical confrontation.
Malfoy on the other hand seemed to have found himself. In a flash he whipped out his wand and pointed it at her face.
"Oblivi-"
Hermione leaped into action, ramming into his chest with her shoulder. He went down like a sack of feathers, sprawled on the ground heaving. Remembering his father's humiliating torture and treatment in general, Hermione lifted him by the collar of his designer robes and rammed her fist in his face with a gratifying crack.
She wondered briefly how many other times Draco Malfoy bared the brunt of his father's actions but tossed the thought aside along with his unconscious body. She couldn't care less about him. Her only concern was finding Ginny and getting out of Malfoy Manor.
That is if she's alive, Hermione remarked to herself.
Grabbing Draco's fallen wand, she blasted the wall with such ferocity, the entire dungeon seemed to rattle.
Chaos ensued. Shouts from guards reverberated throughout. Two men hurled curses at her back. Hermione could feel the warmth of magic catching up to her. Without turning around, she tossed their spells back at them, Malfoys wand obeying with little resistance.
Her heart thudded in her chest as she threw herself in a corner, bending down with her palms held to her ears as a violent explosion lit up the hallway.
"Vélos tou íliou," she drew an invisible line connecting the tip of the corner wall to the opposite end.
A thin film of golden light veiled the bend to the corridor she was in, building up intensity until it was a dense wall of blinding rays. It began to ripple sluggishly, as a hand emerged.
They watched in amazement as a stark-naked man stepped out of the light. He was beautiful, cut in all the right places like a statue crafted with the utmost skill. His golden eyes were stoic as he summoned a bow and arrow from thin air, not even flinching when an array of dark curses rocketed towards him.
While the guards were occupied with shielding themselves from flaming arrows, Hermione wasted no time watching the show.
She placed the wand onto the floor "Point me."
Hermione twitched impatiently as the Hawthorne wand spun lazily, attempting to find Ginny's general location.
Finally, it stopped with a tiny jilt. She picked it up and sprinted down the corridor in one swift motion.
Footsteps echoed behind her as higher-ranking officials made their way through the labyrinth that is the dungeons. Prisoners were kicking their hatches and screaming on the top of their lungs amid the chaos.
Hermione tuned it out, her concentration locked onto dodging and avoiding death eaters. Two men jumped her from the front, sending disarming spells her way. She rolled out of the firing line, throwing two stunners in quick succession.
Perspiration dripped from her face and her sides ached with stiches, but she dared not slow down. Another curse trailed after her. This time cold enough to leave a layer of sleet as it inched closer.
She flung herself into a passage to the right, the unknown curse crashing into a gaggle of men making their way from the front, freezing them solid on the spot.
Ignoring the bite from sliding on abrasive concrete, she gritted her teeth and got to her feet, looking straight ahead.
The amount of guards and officers pouring in from all sides began to tremendously overwhelm her. Tears of frustration rolled down her blotchy cheeks as she fired rapid stunners when they got too close for comfort.
"Ginny! Ginny, where are you?" she shouted out in desperation, shielding herself just in time when a man she recognised as Yaxley managed to launch an attack from a blind spot.
Hermione cut through the air in a V formation "Arresto Momentum."
Yaxley's curse wavered, stilling in mid-flight.
"Bombarda Maxima."
Hermione's spell lit up his face as he worked hurriedly to recalibrate his own. His attempt proved futile as the magic effortlessly crashed into the levitating curse and soon after Yaxley himself went flying through the walls.
Without looking back, she weaved her way through the maze of corridors, screaming Ginny's name as she fought off attackers from all sides. Eventually, Hermione found herself facing the foot of a guarded staircase.
Without breaking her speed, she had the stationed men on the floor, writhing in pain.
Hemione's body screamed out for her to stop as she bolted up the stairs, calling out to her friend in spite of her breathlessness.
Finally, her shouts were met by cries of her name.
She quickened her pace, letting Ginny's voice guide her.
"Hermione over here." Ginny had her face pressed against the hatch when the fatigued girl found her.
Hermione breathed heavily as she leaned her back on the cell wall, grateful that the stream of pursuers lost her. At least for now.
"Stand back, I'm gonna have to blast you out of here."
Ginny's eyes were wide with fear as she nodded frantically, scrambling away to the farthest corner of the concrete block.
She turned around, wand held in position, when she was abruptly sent flying. Her head hit the opposite cell with a crack, her ribs mimicking the sickening sound when she landed flat on her face.
A furry hand plucked the stolen wand from next to her and Hermione watched helplessly when her only defence was snapped into pieces.
"M'ione what's going on?" Ginny yelled, unaware of the werewolf creeping up on her companion.
Hermione eyed the beastly man wearily "Stay back Gin. Everything is going to be fine."
Fenir Greyback smirked at her, saliva dripping pass his pointy teeth "No need for false comfort. She deserves to know that nothing will save her now."
Something inside Hermione snapped. She wasn't sure if it was the mind-numbing exhaustion or the various knocks to her head. She threw Greyback a snarl that would rival his own and consequences be damned, spat on his face all while looking him dead in the eye.
If she died that day, no can say that Hermione Granger went down like a coward.
To all those who clicked favorite, follow or review thank you!