Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter.

Warning- Strong descriptions of torture. Not fluffy. Perhaps PG-13 romance, but I don't expect that to be a big part of the story.

Note- You are supposed to be confused. If you knew every little detail about what happened, there would be no story, would there?

--

It was not like Hermione to be the one to swoon when things got rough. Everybody and their brother knew that at Hogwarts. She had been subjected to many unappealing situations and faced them with more courage and fortitude than many grown men would. It was amazing, then, that she was feeling a little bit like she was about to swoon as she gazed around at her surroundings. Not a typical cell like she would have been more prepared to face, but a true torture chamber. Dark blood stains seemed to splatter about half of the wall surface, and in the corner there was a pile of white sticks that looked sickeningly like human femur bones.

She didn't remember any of the process of arriving in the cell, nor the situation she had faced at her home very clearly, but she was sure she was underground and she was absolutely sure there was a magic-depleting blanket over the entire cell. She already felt weaker and couldn't help but wonder how Muggles managed to get around without the extra boost of magical stamina that was the norm for any witch or wizard. The whole think seemed to be a bleak affair, and Hermione didn't see herself getting out of any of it alive. She had actually thought it all over and decided that if anybody were to die, she would probably be the least important and therefore less-missed member of the Order.

Maybe it's better this way. Hermione couldn't help but think after another stretch of time passed that seemed to last days. She had no idea how long she'd been imprisoned before she woke up to find herself placed in the cell. She was beginning to feel sharp hunger pains and a fierce thirst, however, and she wondered if she was meant to starve to death. But surely Voldemort would want to deal with her himself.

She was sitting in the corner opposite the pile of bones. There were bloody-looking tools hanging from rusted knobs on the walls, but it seemed as though they hadn't been put to use for a long time. Maybe it was all for show, then? Hermione doubted it. The blood certainly didn't look to be fake, and the pile of bones gave off a distinctly rotten smell that verified that it wasn't. The whole room was about the size of a standard Muggle bathroom without the appliances. The doorway was solid iron, and although Hermione was tempted to pound on it until someone came, she was afraid at what might be on the other side.

And what was all that business back at her house? Surely her father was now dead, and undoubtedly her mother was too. But it was the Killing Curse she had used that had baffled her. Although she couldn't remember too much about what was said and other specifics, she could remember the silvery, translucent Phoenix that had settled inside of her mother and repaired her while taking her life. It was definitely not how Avada Kedavra usually happened, as she had witnessed the impostor Alastor Moody perform said curse during her fourth year. There was a blinding flash of green light, a looming rush of death, and then nothing. Death. No healing, no Phoenix for crying out loud. What was it?

Hermione scoured every inch of her mind for any information she might have had pertaining to such a reaction to the Killing Curse, but she couldn't seem to come up with anything even close. Oh, what she would give for the extensive Hogwarts library! And yet, she felt time lapse by in a cruel fashion until she was dozing off and waking up to a sharp tap upon the door.

Hermione didn't know how long she had been asleep (or had she really?), but she sat up with a jerk and debated quickly on whether or not she should stand up. She settled on staying seated, since she would probably be down on the ground in the throes of the Cruciatus Curse before too long. It was a grim fate, although it was one she had accepted after what seemed like days of thought on the subject. A grim fate indeed, but Hermione Granger was not one to swoon, no matter how much she felt like it, and she intended to go down with dignity and nothing less.

The door opened, and Hermione caught a glimpse of the outside hallway that was a medicinal-white and spotless, before the overwhelming presence of Lord Voldemort himself was standing in the doorway, blocking the view. Hermione remained seated even as a nameless Death Eater filed in before him and stood before her. She was sure her appearance was less than appealing and she couldn't help but wonder what they thought of her and if they knew how strong-willed she could really be. Probably not, but they would learn soon enough.

"So we finally meet, face-to-face." Voldemort said directly to Hermione, his icy-pitched voice raising the hairs on the back of Hermione's neck with ease, "After receiving reports from the Malfoys on you for years now it feels like we should have been introduced long before now, doesn't it?" He laughed a bitter laugh and gestured around him, "I'm sure you noticed the dampening charms placed over your cell. I had them honed in on your magic directly. Your wand is still in your pocket, although you won't find it of much use."

Hermione instinctively reached and pulled her wand out of her pocket in disbelief. It had been there the whole time and she hadn't known? How was that even remotely possible? She held it in her fingers and felt tears burning in her eyes even as she furiously told herself not to even tremble in the Dark Lord's presence. "Convenient." She remarked dryly, wishing her voice didn't sound so weak and that she had some form of liquid to relieve her thirst.

Voldemort laughed again, the high-pitch putting Hermione even more on edge. "Yes, yes, it's quite convenient. And now, to business." He was suddenly quieter, and Hermione saw the Death Eater that was still standing silently in the corner tense up visibly. "You are aware that you cast the Avada Kedavra curse two mornings ago against your own mother. Am I correct?"

Hermione looked up into his red eyes and detected more malice in that one stare than any look she'd ever seen given to anyone. She couldn't understand how someone so monstrous could act so civilly and even humored. "And why," she asked, nevertheless with a nerve of steel, "Did you think that you could possibly even come in here and talk to me like I don't hate the very air you breathe?" It was a fair question in Hermione's opinion, but fair didn't stop the Cruciatus from being cast her way so quickly it made her dizzy.

And then she was suddenly in more pain than she had ever been in her life. Her head was being pounded with hammers. Her chest cavity had surely exploded from beneath her sternum. He would be showered with bits of her any moment. White-hot knives were slicing her throat and stomach and legs and everywhere they could touch. Someone was screaming in her ears so loudly it hurt them. And then there was no more pain and the only one screaming was she. Hermione lay on the floor for nearly half a minute panting and twitching before Voldemort's boot caught her on the side and flipped her over on her back.

"Your first experience with the Cruciatus Curse?" He asked and he sounded most delighted, as if someone had just told him Father Christmas was bringing him every toy he could possibly ever ask for. "Oh really, Hermione?"

It was his saying of her parent-given, Muggle name that sent Hermione flying over the edge and she was leaping from the ground and at his throat before she had time to draw a breath. Needless to say she was blocked before she had a grip on even his collar, but Hermione was panting so hard and struggling against the seemingly invisible assailant so strongly that it was a difficult task. "You monster! You're the reason my parents are dead, you absolute hypocritical, evil monster!" She was screaming again now, but of her own accord. The Death Eater that had been standing to the side quietly hit her with a spell so quickly, she was caught off guard and sent falling back to the ground again.

"Monster, indeed." Voldemort remarked and walked out of the cell with the Death Eater and shut her back up again.

Hermione spent the next several hours trying to quench her impossible thirst. There was a slow trickle of water of questionable origin down one wall, and she found herself having to lick the concrete to get the moisture in her mouth. But thirst was thirst, and she seemed to be positively dying of it. She used the corner of the room with the bones in it to urinate in. At first she had tried very hard to not do so at all, but it was impossible after a while.

Lord Voldemort did not come with the Death Eater the next time. Some other nameless, unremarkable drone placed a bowl of water in front of her and cast a cleaning charm over the corner Hermione had been using for relief purposes. His eyes glanced quickly at her face and Hermione caught his eyes and raised her grimy chin defiantly. She wasn't one to be broken easily, and she wasn't about to go down without bringing havoc in her wake.

The dampening field that was over her cell had indeed made her magic dissipate almost completely. It was typical for any witch or wizard to feel their magic inside of them even when they weren't directly casting spells, but Hermione definitely felt far weaker. She still locked her jaw and stared the Death Eater down for what seemed like well over a minute.

"You think you're brave by putting up a fuss?" He hissed after a while, "You think that a stoic Mudblood such as yourself makes an impact on anybody around here? It's a do or die kind of world we live in, and you're about out of time." His eyes looked restless, and Hermione could tell whatever he was saying was a lie, but she didn't say anything about it.

"Now I'll tell you," she said, "I may not be a pure blooded specimen such as yourself and I may never be rich or powerful or any of the things you thrive for, but I have more dignity than you in my little finger simply because I don't serve some hypocrite shell of a man that twists lies around you so much you don't know what you believe." She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, waiting for him to kill her. She wasn't scared at all. Death had crossed her mind far too often for her to be scared at the moment of truth.

She was awarded with the sound of her cell door slamming shut.

"Lovely." Hermione said.

--

Lord Voldemort was angry. Not in the "oh I can't believe you didn't replace the toilet paper roll" kind of angry, but spitting, venomous, "the next person I see I am going to kill" kind of angry. His red eyes flashed dangerously as he mulled over what he was discovering bit by bit. His special dampening charm over the cell his little Mudblood friend was in was giving him readouts of Hermione Granger's magical capacity. Figuring out what made her work was of the utmost importance, and now he was sure he had at least a bit of it figured out.

Because of her blood, her Muggle-born blood, Hermione Granger was a strong witch. It was undoubtedly so, even to Lucius Malfoy, who detested every pigment of skin on the girl's body. Voldemort had kept a slight secret from his followers that would make their beliefs be taken for a spin. According to the readouts, Hermione's magic inside of her body was a more pure stream of magic because it wasn't tainted with many bloodlines of generalized and streamlined pedigree.

Her magic was a raw, nearly untamed, threshold of absolute power and undoubtedly awesome capacity. And she was stronger than even the most powerful Mudblood he had ever known- Lily Potter. And Voldemort had thought that Lily was the ultimate in Muggleborn power. How wrong was he? He now had in his possession the girl that could possibly change the entire outcome of the Wizarding war. And did her precious Order know this? Obviously not, or they would have tried to protect her far better. Not that it would matter. Lord Voldemort was a frightening sight when he wanted something.

Voldemort now considered everything that had happened thus far, and smiled an eerily pleasant smile that still looked grotesque when draped over his pale features. Albus Dumbledore, the very man that Voldemort considered a huge threat, was now dead by the hands of his own faithful spy Severus Snape. Voldemort didn't know whose side Snape had been on at times, but he was absolutely sure where he stood at the present. Power had been something that Severus had wanted more than anything, and Voldemort, the powerful giver that he was, could bless anybody with an unnatural amount of it.

Oh yes, Voldemort was angry, though, even through the smiles he was giving. That Mudblood had no right to even begin to talk to him that way. He had thought to preserve her character by not torturing her, but he was quickly reconsidering. The water he had given her was laced with Veritaserum, but Voldemort was sure Hermione would know that. But after a couple more days of no water, even she would begin to reconsider very nicely.

It wasn't that Voldemort wanted an enemy out of her; on the contrary, he would rather delight in having her on his side. But persuasion played a very large part of getting people on one's side, and persuasion is not always the prettiest of actions.

He was looking over some of his old notes before he became what he was- Voldemort. A name he had made for himself with years and years of hard work, and he would be damned if he had labored this long to have some witch with no idea about the power she really possessed to take it all away from him. No, he wouldn't, but his tactics had suddenly taken a sharp one-eighty.

I talked to Horace Slughorn about creating Horcruxes again. He was ever-so reluctant to pass on the information, but men of his nature are rather easy to persuade with simple gifts. I shall dispose of him later to make sure he doesn't pass on his knowledge of my ideas to someone who might stand in my way, but for now he holds the key to my becoming immortal and bringing glory to the name of Salazar once more. It's only a matter of time now. My followers are becoming weary of me, but I will show them what rewards the followers of Lord Voldemort will reap. It is almost too simple.

"Only a matter of time." Voldemort hissed to himself, his scarlet eyes gazing at nothing. He had work to do.

--

Hermione looked at the bowl of water sitting exactly where the Death Eater had placed it. Surely an entire day had already passed, and it was becoming more and more difficult to refuse drinking a tiny sip. Surely it was laced with something, but a tiny drink wouldn't hurt her, right? Her brown eyes were puffy and swollen with little sleep and spurts of heart-wrenching sobs. She would have never guessed that she would be in Voldemort's stronghold with nothing but a bowl of water and a pile of bones to keep her company. She longed for a shower and at least a blanket.

Just a sip, then? Just a small sip. The water was so calm and clear in the bowl it was almost taunting her. She imagined throwing the bowl at the wall and watching the water splatter the bloodstains and wash them clean. She imagined throwing herself face-first into the bowl and drinking the entire contents in less than three seconds. She would do it, too. Thirst was cruel.

"Just a sip." Hermione cracked out between chapped, dry lips and then buried her face in her hands. It was so weak of her. So, so weak. People were out there dying for their cause and Hermione's only dilemma was whether or not to drinking a bowl of water. Well. It wasn't so much a matter of whether or not to drink it, it was a matter of how long she had until she caved and drank every last drop of sweet, cool water that would ease the pain in her throat and wet down her voice. "Just a sip and that's it."

She reached out a thin, trembling hand and grabbed the edge of the bowl. The tips of her fingers were submersed in the water and she moaned in longing. She pulled the bowl closer and then pulled her fingers up to her mouth and sucked the water off. She repeated the action, and then suddenly she was lifting the bowl to her mouth and drinking all of it down as fast as she could. She stopped about halfway through the bowl and began to sip it to make it last a little longer. She felt groggy and stupid, her eyelids drooped a little bit, and then someone was walking into the cell and looking down at her.

"What is your name?" Voldemort whispered to her, his voice barely audible.

"Hermione Moira Granger." Hermione answered in a curt voice that was not like the one she normally used to talk to anyone. Inside her head, she was barely aware of talking at all, but farther back in the corners of her brain she was fighting like mad to get control back of her mouth.

"Where is Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked, and he even conjured a chair for himself and sat before her, his thin mouth quirking a little with the present he had before him. All sorts of knowledge just waiting for him to discover.

"With the Order of the Phoenix in the safehouse." Hermione responded automatically.

"Where is the safehouse?" Voldemort asked.

"Only the secret keeper knows that information." Hermione answered.

"And who is the secret keeper?"

"Remus Lupin." Hermione answered, but her voice was an unwilling whisper.

"Are you the secret keeper for anyone?"

"Yes."

"And who?"

"Minerva McGonnagall." Hermione even winced as she said this, but she still had not gained control of her mouth.

"Were you aware that you held the ability of controlling life and death, Hermione?" Her named rolled off of his tongue smoothly enough, but Hermione did not respond to him calling her by her given name as she had before.

"I was not." Hermione responded, sounding even a little hesitant.

"Is the Veritaserum wearing off of you?" Voldemort asked her, his eyes narrowing in consideration.

"Yes."

"Very well." Voldemort rose and the chair disappeared immediately. "Severus Snape will be your next little guest. He will move you to a new chamber and you are to cooperate if you don't want your father to die." His mouth curved in the shadow of a smile as Hermione gasped and seemed to be shaken from her Veritaserum stupor. "Oh yes. He is still very alive and will remain so for as long as you cooperate nicely." He stepped from the room and the door shut behind him.

Hermione gazed at the pile of bones in the corner, her only friend, and curled up on the floor and wept at the realization of what was to come.

--

A little longer than the last chapter, I might mention. Still setting everything up. I should have an update in a couple of days.