The air was stiff and dirty. It was no big wonder considering the circumstances. Still, Hermione kept pondering this stray thought over and over again in her head as she tried to stretch her cramped muscles with no huge success. The ceiling of an abandoned shack at the end of the world kept pressing on her temples. The headache born from using too much of Occlumency shields started brewing inside her head.
She felt dirty and extremely exhausted. She hadn't slept much since that night. They didn't even have proper beds anymore. They just slept on the ground on the remnants of their robes as they watched each other for signs of danger. And every time she closed her eyes it was a new nightmare or another battle that awaited them in the morning.
She tried to keep her thoughts at bay, not letting them take control over her will. Thanks to Auror's training and her Occlumency shields, most of the time she succeded. But at some full moon nights, when the pale rays could be seen through the battered broken windows... Those days still came back to haunt her.
Hermione sighed and sat down on one of the crates, leaning against the wooden wall. The walls were rough from years of neglect but it was better than nothing. At least if any enemy showed up there would at least be something sturdy to lean on.
There wasn't much space left for battles, and after those few when she managed to win, she was severely punished afterwards. If her scars were proof enough. Her hands ran over her face, tracing the marks on her skin. Some old ones were so deep she might need several months to recover properly. Others she could barely remember where they had come from. But it was all superficial. There were worse things in life, she knew.
Hermione looked around. The shack was dark, almost claustrophobic. The only source of light came from a tiny window at her side. It was covered by two tattered curtains, which hung loosely at the edge of the roof. She suppressed a nervous laugh. Curtains! Those excuses for humans and wizards kept moth-eaten rags on windows! Were they trying to hide their victims from the prying eyes of passers-by? As if there ever could be any!
Despite her doubts, she pushed away the feeling of being watched. No one could see her here, and if someone did find their way inside she wouldn't let them see anything. They would only find more of her. And if that happened then what? Then they'd kill her too. That was why it was safer to stay alone. As alone as it might be surrounded by other captives.
Hermione did not know anymore how many of them were left alive. Sometimes she could hear females' cries tearing through the strongest Silencio those poor excuses for Death Eaters could come up with. The thought brought a bitter taste to her mouth. It sounded like she was among the last survivors; like they didn't really believe anyone else could survive the massacre.
Hermione's hand went to rub at the scarring on her throat. It burned slightly, reminding her of the pain she experienced in that place when she was captured.
She closed her eyes, willing her hysterical burst of laughter to hide behind her shields. Headache be damned. She, the leading Auror of the Foreign Intelligence Department, had been caught, tortured and imprisoned by the bunch of Albanian idiots who imagined themselves the new rulers of the world! Hermione felt her fingers curl into fists and a barely suppressed spark of magic broke the pitch-black darkness.
She took a deep breath and slowly let it out again. Calm. Think. This was exactly what you needed. The fear. The panic. Will them away. A very familiar voice whispered in her ear, "You're safe. Just breathe". She shook her head, telling herself to shut up. She wouldn't admit she had been missing that deep baritone. Not now. She would have all the time in the world to tell him about everything, once she was out of here. If...When.
Her gaze fell upon the dusty cracks on the floor in front of her. There were so many of them. They looked like her memories. Memories of her childhood. Memories of home. Of the man she loved. Of freedom, and adventure. Of the life that was supposed to be hers.
What was the point of fighting? What was the point of hoping? What was the point of sitting here and mulling one thought over and over again instead of trying to get some sleep? They would come by dawn and her nightmare would start again. She shook her head stubbornly and scratched at her "Munblood" scar absentmindedly. She was not going to hand them the reins. She was the epitome of everything they hated, and yet she was still here and fighting.
It seemed like hours later when the first ray of sunlight found its way into the shack through a small gap between the ragged curtains. Hermione squinted and rubbed her eye. She stretched her legs and stood up on wobbly knees.
It wasn't a great sign of progress for her mental state, to say the least.
Yesterday's evening made itself known via the blinding pain in her abdomen and smears of dried blood on her thighs. Hermione grimaced, recalling the scene as though it was imprinted on her retinas. A flash of silver and a deafening scream. Blood everywhere. A body cradled in her arms, limp and cold. She wanted to close her eyes and pretend it never happened, but she couldn't shake off the memory of another woman crying, begging for help. Asking for mercy. Mercy from the Death Eaters?
Hermione bit down a sob and pressed on her temple to drive out these thoughts. That wasn't important right now. It would never be. Only now, right now there was work to do. With a switch of her wrist, Hermione sent a cleaning charm in a general direction of her lower body and winched as the new wave of pain washed over her. At least, they didn't shackle her yesterday after... Well, after very much everything. She was still breathing, and that meant something.
A soft clank on the hard floor startled her out of her reverie. Hermione turned around, a burst of magic still available to her at the tip of her fingers and ready to defend herself. Nothing was there. The only thing moving was the rats that scurried along, seemingly unbothered by the dust and grime.
She took a shaky breath and lowered her hand, returning to her previous spot. She had done what she could in a limited amount of time. Maybe now it was time to focus on getting out of here before another storm hit.
With slow steps and trembling hands she came to the broken window and peered outside. For the first time since they arrived, they didn't have an audience with death, which was good. Or bad depending on whom you asked. The view wasn't spectacular, just a rocky desert in the distance. There was only one problem with the terrain that could make any sort of hope. It was completely empty. Hermione clenched her jaw tight. She killed two of the Death Eaters yesterday. It was not only her blood that was spilt but theirs as well. The perspective was not promising. Once the remaining lot of them would have found out, she would be punished. Hermione felt her hands shaking and grimaced with disgust at herself. So much for being the big bad Auror.
And the rest of them were nowhere to be seen either.
She shook her head, irritated, but forced herself to remain calm despite the growing tension of her nerves. She had survived this long without giving the Death Eaters the satisfaction of seeing the fear on her face. The best thing was to keep going. Get out of this miserable place. Do whatever the hell she wanted.
For a single moment, she allowed herself the liberty of imagining Severus' dark eyes looking at her. She would give anything to have him beside her, holding her hand, whispering comforting words into her ears and making sure no one would hurt her. He was more than her best friend. He was...More. Fullstop.
Hermione sank to the floor and covered her dirty face with her palms. She couldn't think about the future. Not right now. Today she had to live. And tomorrow she was determined to fight.
She wiped the tears from her face and glanced up as the sun reached the apex of the sky above. She rose to her feet and cast another cleaning spell. The sun would rise again one day, it was what Severus had always taught her about anyway.