"So, she has begun to talk, has she? Good, good. I knew I was right to give her to you."
His cold voice echoed in her ears, and she knew that, had she not been drugged, she would have shuddered.
"Yes, she sings so sweetly for me now that I have decided that I should bring her to you and let you do your work with her, that I may take her back and do as I please with her." Draco's voice was careless but hungry, somehow.
"I told you that you could do whatever you wished." Voldemort said, his voice colder than ice.
"Yes," said Draco, "but I want to kill her. Can't do that if you need to speak with her, can I?" His voice was saucy, laced with contempt.
She heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and realized that Voldemort must have slapped him for his disrespect. Mentally shivering again, she could only imagine what would happen if he learned that Draco had set up this meeting without having learned anything from her.
"I'll have none of that from you. Now, tell me what you have done to her."
Draco's voice, sullen but appropriately subdued, became fainter and fainter as he walked away with his master, discussing the way that he had supposedly forced her to talk to him.
Breathing out a sigh of relief, she opened her eyes and examined her surroundings.
It appeared that she was in a sitting room of sorts. Though she couldn't be certain yet, she thought that she was lying on a couch; it was comfortable and covered in a velvety material. There were two chairs set near the couch, and a small coffee table between them. The carpet was a deep blue, and the walls were an interesting sea foam green. There was a small fire dancing in the fireplace across from her, which appeared to be made of rounded stones. Other than that, there were no decorations.
A strange noise filled the room, and she began to feel uneasy. What could be making that awful noise? She wondered, trying to locate the source of the sound. There was nothing in the room that could have been making it, so where was it coming from?
Suddenly the head of a huge snake filled her vision, and had she been able to, she would have screamed. As it was, she froze, afraid to move lest it bite her. Fangs that long would cause horrible injuries…
The snake flicked its tongue out a few times, and then slithered down off of the couch. She heard it go out into the hall, and heaved a sigh of relief. That thing's huge! She thought, and then was struck by an interesting, if horrifying, notion.
I wonder if that's the snake that bit Mr. Weasly back in fifth year?
She heard the two men returning to the room, and hurriedly shut her eyes, hoping that they hadn't seen her eyes open. She had to buy some time, and pretending to be unconscious, though it would soon be discovered, was certainly a good way to start.
"… and Nagini has just informed me that she's awake. How long ago did you give her that potion?" Voldemort's high, cold voice queried.
"About half an hour ago, Milord." Replied Draco, his voice a bit cheerier. "So she should be back to normal in about twenty more minutes."
"Good, good. Leave me- I wish to examine her at my leisure."
There was no sound.
"I said go!"
Slow footsteps dragged across the floor as he made his way out. The door latch clicked shut, and she heard the scrape of a lock, made of a heavy metal, as it ground into the stone. Then the Dark Lord whispered a few well-chosen words, and she knew, rather than saw, the spell's glow creep up the door.
Silence, loud and heavy, stole across the room. Where is he now? She wondered, as long moments passed and there was no sound. What is he doing?
She started as his high, cold voice rang out, the pressure of his breath heavy on her ears. "Come, now, girl. I know already that you are awake. Open your eyes and look at me."
She shivered at the images that his tone provoked from her imagination. She tried to blank her mind, to ignore them, but they floated back time and time again.
"You would still play at this as though it were a game, and I someone to be toyed with? Very well then. I shall just have to play as well," he said, his silky voice caressing her ears even as she strove to brush away more images.
She heard his footsteps as he went down an unseen hallway, and shivered again as he called for Wormtail.
"… yes, I have need of you," he said, amusement evident in his voice. "Oh, and bring with you…" His voice faded, and she was left to contemplate, with growing fear, what he could have asked Wormtail to bring with him.
Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.
Rough hands seized her shoulders and wrenched her up off the couch. Her eyes snapped open and she opened her mouth, but before she'd gotten more than a deep breath and a jumbled impression of cold, slitted scarlet eyes, he'd smacked her across the face.
The blow stung, and before she could stop herself, she let out an exclamation. He hit her again, and she gasped, which prompted him to hit her again.
When he stopped, and let her go, she fell to her knees. Her face burned, and she could feel welts from his two rings rising. Her blood was boiling, and she wanted to kill him, to murder him where he stood, but she couldn't.
She saw his booted feet turn from her and go towards the door, where another pair, partially hidden by several long poles and coils of rope. They turned aside, and she heard the poles clatter to the ground.
"Get started at once. I want this thing put together immediately. I have work to do."
"Of course, My Lord. Right away."
The voice of the second speaker was thin and nasally, high pitched and wheezy, like the squeak of a rat that's just stopped running from the cat that's chased it for miles. She knew that voice, and the face that it belonged to. And she hated him.
"Wormtail," she hissed under her breath, with unexpected venom.
"Did you say something, My Lord?" he inquired, his voice smaller.
"Did I what? No, not like that, you incompetent fool! Like this!"
There was a clatter of wood, and a hiss of pain as Wormtail's finger was crushed beneath one of the poles. She looked up to see him silently cursing, his head bent over the wooden stand that he was erecting as he lashed one end of the bar in place.
Then she felt the prick of panic as she realized what it was that he was setting up.
It was a whipping stand.
The Dark Lord looked down at her, an amused smirk lighting his face. He saw her fear, her panic, she knew. And from the looks of things, it was only serving to fan the malicious flames in his eyes.
"One last chance, Mudblood," he drawled, his voice dangerously warmed, "to tell me what I want to know without having to use such… methods… on you."
She forced herself to stand, the last of the potion finally gone from her system. "I'll never tell you! Never!" She cried, her voice angrily lashing out.
"Very well, then," he replied, motioning to Wormtail. "Let us play your game."
Wormtail moved forward, the stand finished. In one hand he held a rope; with the other he reached out to her. His face, unseen by his lord, was slightly remorseful as he looked at her, but also slightly eager, to see her punished. His eyes were bright with suppressed excitement, but there was an uneasy cast to them as well, as though he didn't believe in what he was doing.
Maybe I can change his mind, she thought, an almost reckless idea drawing together in her mind. But to do that, I need some time. Still, this isn't likely to work…
And if it doesn't… what happens then?
She had no answer to that, and pushed it away, burying it deep in her mind.
"Why," she asked of the Dark Lord, evading his minion for the moment, "didn't you just cast a spell to set that up? It seems such a waste of time, to make him set it up himself."
His face, a leering mask of cruelty, contorted in a flash of unexpected aggravation. I bet it's because he doesn't have anyone that questions him. After all, he is the Lord of Darkness…
"Because it's rather more fun watching him put it together by himself," was his amused reply.
Wormtail, who had followed her as she moved away, was closing in on her. She had, unthinkingly, backed herself into a corner, with a chair and the couch on her left, the walls behind and on her right, and him advancing towards her.
"Why are you doing this?" She cried, as Wormtail grabbed her wrists and tied them together. "What do you want from me?"
His cold eyes were leveled at her as Wormtail brought her to the couch, and forced her to be seated before tying her ankles together. He checked the knots, making sure that they were tight enough to keep her from escaping, but not too tight. When he was secure in the knowledge, he moved away from her to kneel at his master's feet.
"You cannot guess what it is that I have kept you for?" He mused, a strange glint in his eye, and a tremor of laughter in his voice. "No, I suppose it is too soon for you to know… But still, I had thought that you, of all people, would have realized… But then, you were occupied, and of course it wouldn't have caught your attention, immersed in pain and humiliation as you were."
He paused, letting his thoughts wander, and she wondered what it was that she was to have known.
Sudden footsteps down the hallway halted his contemplation. After listening for a few moments, he called out.
"Bella, what is it? I told everyone that I wished to be alone!"
"Of course, Master, but I thought that this is something you would know right away. It's about the traitor," she said, sinking to her knees before him. "He's been apprehended, and is being held in the cell below, as you commanded."
"Good." He replied, seeming to withdraw into his thoughts. "You may go."
She rose from her knees quietly. In a matter of moments, as she was nearing the doorway, he pulled out his wand.
"Crucio!"
She screamed and fell to the floor, convulsing. She shook, and thrashed, but he never lifted his wand. It seemed to go on forever, until finally it seemed that he'd had enough of watching her suffer.
"Bella," he added as she slowly stood up, knees shaking and face white, "never disobey me again. If you do, I shall make you beg me for what you have just gone through, so harsh will the punishment be. Are we clear?"
She swallowed convulsively, barely able to look at him for the remembered pain, and fear.
"Y-yes, my Lord."
With that, she turned and left.
He turned back to Hermione, scarlet eyes cool. "I have something of yours, something that you will be glad to see. Wormtail, come. I will need your assistance bringing it here."
"But my Lord," he whined, "surely-" He fell silent as his master lifted his wand, unwilling to argue any further. Or at least, unwilling to face punishment.
Voldemort swept out of the room in a blur of crimson, Wormtail trotting obediently, if sullenly, along behind him. She heard the door close, and heaved a sigh of relief that he was gone, and she was alone.
But I'm never truly alone when I have thoughts to keep me company.
And for that, she could have wept.