As the Death Eater retreats from the cell chuckling maniacally, I finally concede. I will not survive this day. I no longer hope to leave this cell alive, and I will not suffer another humiliation of his dark whims. My mind is still intact, my secrets safe for now. But how much longer? I must not let those secrets fall into evil hands.
I bow my head and begin to will my life to drain away before the pain makes concentration impossible. The Cloak of Glass lays heavy on my wounds, a fabric of matted horsehair dipped in powdered dragon scales and other vile things. Every pore of my skin screams for release from its insistent grinding. Finally I am still and it is nearly bearable.
What creature is this moving the pain over me in waves, I turn slowly to look and my horror is complete. It takes a moment to realize you are really there, not an apparition from my mental concentrations. I force my voice to work despite the pain in it from screaming, "You?" I ask in utter confusion, you can't be here. Hermione Granger, or rather a crumpled, battered and filthy wraith bearing her likeness. So distant, so haunted you look, my rage is choking me. I know this look. I've worn this look and caused it as well. How many, lost to the Dark in one way or the other. Those I'm charged to protect and I find myself increasing unable to even put off their slide into the abyss. They will pay for bringing you to this!
I somehow do not understand, how are you here? Why can't you answer me? Trying to gently probe your thoughts I'm assaulted with your mental cry, you also gesture your muteness. Why keep you silent while in your cell and not just for their amusement?
I find myself gaping at the thin, battered shell They have made of a once vibrant and stubborn young girl I knew, and then quickly compose my face into a blank stare. Ah, you prefer this, maybe you can't recognize me either. I know I can't. I am suddenly so very old and tired.
I implore you to look me in the eyes, your thoughts are so random and so very near madness, I can almost see the thread your frail sanity hangs by. You have visualized it even; a single red strand no thicker than a hair, a small child version of yourself grips it with innocent concentration. There, concentrate on the eyes, I remind myself so as to stay in your projected thoughts, slightly more coherent and much less horrifying. Your mind is so painfully clear and strong, utterly defenceless.
"How long have you been here with me? Is there anyone else here? I should have noticed..." I ask, buried in the puzzle. Why didn't I know it, hear you or see you, or just sense you there? My eyes search the dark corners of our cell; it is larger than I observed before, much larger. Ah, a charm, to hide you until you could actively make yourself known to me. As I look once more into your eyes you begin to drift into your imagination of what happens when the hooded ones take me away and I won't let you go back to the horror of that thought. 'What can They gain from this pairing?' I ponder mostly to myself and am shocked by the speed of your answer. I hear your thoughts in the voices of your tormentors, fragments of their taunting of you, arrogantly telling you anything knowing you will never live to tell tales. Soon you drift into their actions on you as well and I cringe with my own helplessness again.
"No, don't show me that image girl, I can't bear it," I snap suddenly overwhelmed with anger and renewed spirit to fight, if not to survive than to ensure that you will. I will not lose one more, not now! This is the line I will not cross.
"We will leave this place, I swear it!" I all but scream to try to find some small corner of hope buried deep within your troubled body. I feel nagging guilt at this flippant statement of false hope, chastising myself for abusing your obvious trust, as you so readily believe me. Then the most curious thought floats between us, your hope becomes my resolve and I know my words were not empty. I need release from the brutal images in your swirling mind and the physical effects of Riddle's interrogators' latest attempt to show me the errors of betrayal. My reluctance to stay connected to your mind while I retreat into myself to meditate is overpowered by the tenuous nature of your psyche, I worry that you will be gone if I abandon our link.
I'm suddenly aware of your presence, the site of you standing before a path, imploring me to follow. This is not like any mind I have tapped into. You draw me into your madness focused so strongly that it appears as clear as a Pensieve. I pull back to myself trying so hard to bring you with me. Are you too far gone already? OH! Oh no, how strong you are now, I find I can't pull back. Ok, you responded to the authority figure, then the lofty Professor Snape shall offer a deal. A peek only, then reality...
A very disturbing fact is dawning on me. I am no longer in control of this link. You are nearly seductive in appearance and manner, begging me to join you. The flowing white gown you are wearing is clinging to a lithe but fully mature frame, one I recognize! Our last meeting, this is what you wore. I look down, this is what I wore. Muggle clothes, black and highly tailored. When that fails, you begin to regress in your appearance, growing smaller, younger, not quite a woman yet, no longer a girl. Same dress, but it now hangs loosely, only faintly catching the curves that aren't fully defined yet. The schoolgirl I struck this deal with! Suiting your appearance to whatever might make me bend to your will. How have you mastered in so short a time an art I have struggled to perfect for a lifetime?
'Time to go back,' you question me as a reach out and touch one of the many beautiful flowers. Actually touch it; I can feel the silky petals against my skin. I feel an overwhelming need to run from your paradise lest I soil it with my presence.
Finally I am free of your mind, but I begin to suspect it is only because you let me go.
I concentrate to return my mind to its careful shroud, wind all my waning power around me tightly.
Soon you are following my methods and I feel the calming in your train of thought. I decide to try some desperate measure of escape at the first opportunity, if only to provoke them to end your suffering and though I don't deserve it, mine as well.
"Be ready," I admonish you sternly, though for what I cannot begin to imagine. I suddenly feel the need to make the Dark ones believe your concealment remains intact. If I can only sleep until They return and the pain is returned in full, maybe I can keep it hidden within my thoughts for a little longer.