Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Summary: What would of happened if Harry had never been born and Neville was chosen by Voldemort instead? Story about Hermione and her fight against her evil.
I have to shout out to Sam-453 cos she was the one who gave me the idea. So this harry never been born thing is completely hers, im just developing the idea and stuff, so everything else is mine. Thanks franny!
I don't know if I will continue this, so if you want me to, please review and tell me.
On with the fic…
It was cold in here. Cold and dark with evil seeping into the room so tangible that Hermione was almost choking on it. But this was no change for her. Hermione had been living like this for almost four years now, so she was used to the cold. Used to the sobs of the surrounding girls on the floor. Used to the screams of pain from the dungeons below.
She had read once in A Hogwarts, a History that the school was supposed to be warm filled with happy students. Friendly teachers and children laughing and playing Quidditch. Love. She had read about love once, she had read about all these things. But she knew that it wasn't true. It was so long ago when she had been loved. It was so long ago when she had truly been happy. She could not remember it now. It seemed to be like one of those stories that she used to steal from the school library. Fiction. Lies.
Hermione couldn't remember much about her childhood, with her parents. That's what the Cruciatus curse did to you when you had had it directed at you hundreds of times. That was what being around hundreds of Dementors everyday did to you. It sucked out every happy thought she had ever had, every pleasant memory, every nice feeling. But Hermione was strong. She hadn't given up all her memories to the Dementors. She had one left. It was just her and her mother. Hermione was about seven years old, and she was being pushed on a swing by her mother. They were laughing and having a fun time, when Hermione's mother had stopped pushing her, and had frozen still for just a few moments. Alarmed, Hermione had asked what was wrong, and as if she was in a daze, her mother had answered in a flat tone of voice.
"Even if they hurt you, do not be afraid to forgive and forget Hermione."
And then her mother had held her close, and Hermione had felt so loved and so warm at that moment, that she did not even care to think about why her mother had said such a thing. Her parents were dead now, killed by the Master.
"Hermione?" Whispered a timid voice next to her. Hermione snapped out of her daze and smiled at the girl. She was only twelve, one of the youngest slaves at the school.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked. The girl bit her lip, and pushed up her torn and dirty sleeve to reveal a large purple bruise surrounding a deep gash. "Don't touch it, if you leave it, it will get better, okay Daisy?" Hermione whispered, blowing softly on the wound. Daisy nodded and rested her head back down on the cold concrete floor.
"Will you be quiet? Goyle might come up any moment now and punish us!" Another girl hissed from across the room. Hermione nodded quickly, the last time she wanted was Goyle punishing them. His punishments were always painful, but not as painful as Malfoy's, or the Master's himself.
Voldemort.
They had to call him master, otherwise the slaves would get a severe punishment, probably two or three doses of the Cruciatus Curse. One girl two months ago had talked out of turn and Voldemort had killed her right on the spot. She was only eleven years old.
Hermione had always tried to keep out of Voldemort's way, now that he had his body, he was free to walk about, hissing at the slaves as they scurried past. But unfortunately, Hermione was Voldemort's favourite slave, and she had to do almost everything for him. The only reason why she was his favourite slave was because she had tried to get the Philosopher's stone with Neville in their third year.
Neville.
The boy who lived.
Who was locked away in the deepest dungeon, where he was abused daily by Voldemort himself. When Neville was a year old, Voldemort had come to his home, and had killed his parents and had tried to kill Neville. But the curse did not work and instead wounded Voldemort. Because of the curse, Neville had a large lightening bolt scar on his forehead. Voldemort had fled far away that night, never to be seen again until Neville's first year. Hermione's first year. The two had quickly become friends, and once they had found out about the stone, they had tried to get to it before Voldemort. But Voldemort reached it first and had taken it. With the stone, he was free to do anything. He had taken over Hogwarts, he had killed Dumbledore and he had taken over the Ministry. The wizarding world had fallen in a matter of months and all the mudblood girls had been kidnapped and were forced to work as slaves. Prisoners of Azkaban ran free. Hermione's fellow Gryffindors were dead. Ron was dead. Seamus and Dean were dead. Lavender was dead. Parvati was a slave with Hermione and together, all the slaves lived in the Gryffindor tower. Except the tower was not comfortable and warm. It had been stripped of all furniture and the Death Eaters had piled in two hundred mudblood slaves in the tower.
But the Slytherins were living in comfort on the other side of Hogwarts. Malfoy and his fellow Slytherins were living in fancy warm beds and eating three meals a day, while the slaves only got one.
Hermione hated Malfoy.
Please review if you like how it's going!!