Stuck in a Serpent's Nest

...

He was supposed to be dead.

They all were suppose to be dead.

Despite the sunlight shining from behind him and casting his face into shadows, Hermione could easily recognize the dark eyes that stared back towards her. She could feel the depths of them as they bore a hole into her bared soul.

How could I have been so stupid!

Of course, this all had been a trap, and she had crawled half-dead right into their hands.

Hermione flinched backwards as Dolohov took a step forward, his hand extended towards her. Hermione felt the scream that had been bubbling inside of her finally become too much. "Don't bloody touch me!"

The words came out louder than she intended, only originally meant to be a hiss. She quickly looked around as the air wavered in and out of darkness. The witch knew that without her wand she had very little chance of making it out of this house alive. It would be only a matter of time before she was writhing on the floor from whatever manner of torture the twisted man wanted to place on her.

She had survived him once, there was no way that he was going to let that happen a second time.

From where she sat on the floor, she watched as Dolohov took out his wand while another man-steeped in shadow-stepped behind him, his wand already trained on Hermione. The silence in the room was palpable, it pressed against the young witch's ears as she tried to focus.

Turning her head to the side, she let in a quick breath and closed her eyes to think.

Focus. focus. focus...

She had to be smart.

"Antonin." The dark haired man who now stood behind her spoke in warning, whether to her or the Death Eater, she couldn't be sure.

All Hermione knew, as she felt her body wavering again as if she were going to slump to the ground, was that she had to do something and do it quickly. But, instead, she felt herself being pulled up. Opening her eyes, the witch found herself face to face with Antonin Dolohov. Pushing her against the sharp edges of a wooden table, the wizard's fingers dug into her upper arms, pinning her in place. "Don't touch you?! Who are you to speak to me like this?"

His accent wrapped around the words artfully, but the expression he wore only conveyed surprise and anger.

Words were lost on the witch as she examined the Death Eater. He looked to be twenty years younger than she remembered him being. His long black hair grazed eyes, mouth set in a scowl—distorting appealing features. He looked different and Hermione couldn't wrap her mind around it.

But, his eyes were as cruel now as they always were in her nightmares, making the witch try to twist away from his harsh grip. At her motion, the Russian wizard seethed and grasped her harder. The shadow of a figure moved closer to them, making the witch believe that these were her last moments-she was surrounded.

Instead, Dolohov turned his attention to the person beside them, "Tom—"

"Antonin!"

Hermione felt the wizard's grasp tighten briefly, pinching her cold skin underneath the still wet fabric of her clothing, before he scoffed and let go of her altogether. Falling to the ground, the witch found herself looking up at the man that had healed her. The dots began to connect. The familiarity of the dark-haired wizard, the difference in the Russian wizard.

Amidst her panic Hermione felt her eyebrows pinch together, an image floated up in her memory: the man who she had seen pictures of at Hogwarts, shown to her by Harry, the words HEAD BOY sprawled underneath the name:

"Tom Riddle."

Darkness crept at the edges of her vision as the name escaped her lips. The horrible realization finally and completely dawned on her. Hermione closed her eyes as her breath shortened—strangling against her throat. The Death Eater didn't send me somewhere, he sent me some… when.

...

"I find it most uncomfortable that you know my name, but I have yet to learn yours."

The words murmured by the future Dark Lord were spoken softly, but Hermione could feel the underlying danger tinging them.

Hermione silently stared at the cup of tea steaming in front of her, doing everything in her power to avoid looking up at this new nightmare that sat across the table from her. The tea was too sweet, but under the dark gaze of the Death Eaters surrounding her, Hermione chose not to complain. She didn't say a word as she brushed her fingers along the edge of the delicate cup and looked up instead at the Russian wizard-as he growled at her silence-from behind a curtain of curly and snarled hair.

"Hermione," she whispered.

There was no point in lying, Riddle could probably pluck the thoughts out of her head without even looking into her eyes.

In the dim light, it was unmistakable that the Russian wizard was the same Death Eater that had cursed her all those years ago. Dolohov.

But, he was definitely so much younger. The harsh years in the service of the Dark Lord and imprisonment in Azkaban hadn't yet left its mark. Her eyes glanced down at his sleeve covered arm, before resting once more on his face. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than her.

The witch's gaze moved to follow the wizard's high cheekbones and sharp jaw thoughtfully. Dolohov's messy hair brushed just above his dark eyes and she felt a shiver wrack her body. Those hadn't changed. They were the same ones that promised pain and death. They were the same ones that had made her want to run and hide from her nightmares every night for years.

On the other side of the future Dark Lord sat the man that opened the door when she had knocked. Although Hermione didn't recognize him, with his soft features and seemingly-kind green eyes, she had recognized his name when Riddle asked him to escort her to the table only moments earlier. Evan Rosier: another known Death Eater.

Two other men stood behind her, neither of whom she had been able to get a good look at.

"Granger. A muggle name."

Hermione's grip on her cup tightened as her eyes snapped from their place on Dolohov to meet Riddle's. She hadn't said her last name, she had very carefully avoided wrapping her tongue around the syllables. But, of course he already knew who she was.

Probably knows where I came from too.

"And a Gryffindor." Long fingers pulled gently on her uniform tie, the pale skin contrasting harshly with the red and gold, before he dropped it just as quickly. "Regulus, you are still at Hogwarts?"

A voice spoke from just behind her "Yes, sir. My seventh year."

"Hermione looks to be nearly your age, do you recognize her?"

"No, sir."

"No." The singular word was hissed into the air, and the witch closed her eyes against the death-sentence behind it, "leave us."

The sound of scraping chairs and footsteps echoed around her, but Hermione kept her eyes closed.

"No, not you Antonin. Sit down."

At the feel of heat brushing against her arm, the witch clenched her fist to stop herself from flinching away. Slowly opening her eyes, Hermione stared back into the stony face of the the future Dark Lord-carefully making sure she kept her gaze away from his. From the corner of her eye, she could make out the imposing figure of Dolohov-only inches away from her, leaning towards her.

Exhaling slowly, the witch allowed the only question that consumed her mind to escape, "What are you going to do to me?"

"Nothing if you answer my questions, understand?"

Hermione wanted to scoff at that, but thought better of it at the last moment and instead pressed together her lips. The witch doubted that even if she did cooperate he would allow her to live. At her lack of response, her lack of acknowledgement to his statement, Riddle tapped his fingertips impatiently at the table between them and sighed.

Whatever the communication meant, Hermione felt the Death Eater beside her lean closer until his chest was pressed to her shoulder and his wand dug into her side. His presence was suffocating her: it caused a ripple of fear as the familiar phantom pain of his curse tingled through her body and settled in her palms.

"You're not fond of Antonin, are you Hermione?"

Despite her effort to remain apathetic, she felt her head shake rapidly. "But, you knew that."

At her words, the dark wizard's lips twisted into a smile. It was a satisfied smile, and Hermione felt her heart drop as she realized she had just confirmed what ever knowledge he had gathered from her mind already.

"Antonin, what have you done to this poor girl to make her despise you so?"

"Nothing to my knowledge, Tom."

"Hm... and yet you seem to have made such a loathsome impression on her."

Riddle considered her another moment before speaking again, "How did you get here?"

"I do not know." Hermione found herself staring at the cup in front of her, hands gripping the edge of the table as she punctuated the words. Perhaps he couldn't read all of her-anger coiled through her body-either way she wasn't going to willingly provide him with any information.

"Look at me when you speak."

Despite the overwhelming fear of her current situation, the witch wouldn't allow herself to be cowed, "No."

A movement next to Hermione made a shiver move down her spine and as cruel fingers tangled into her hair to jerk her head back, Hermione felt herself grunt with pain. The movement forced the witch's eyes to align with Riddle's. Unable to force her eyes closed, they stared at each other. She couldn't feel him sorting through the files of her mind, but there was no doubt that that was exactly what the wizard was doing.

After what felt like ages, the man leaned back in his chair.

"Go find Rabastan," the words were followed by the abrupt scraping of a chair as the tension in Hermione's hair was released. Tilting her head down, the witch found that her hands had moved to the tea cup. They trembled as they grasped the delicate porcelain. As the door snapped close behind her, the witch heard a chuckle from the dark wizard across from her.

"Aren't you a little gift."

Hermione bit her lip against the words, the copper tang of blood tinging her gums with the taste. Before she could respond, the door behind her opened and the echo of two pairs of feet reverberated behind her-coming to a halt too close to her back.

"Ah! Rabastan, please come here."

A tall wizard stepped into her view, to stand rigid next to Riddle. Although Hermione attempted to keep her eyes averted, she couldn't stop her gaze from flickering upward with curiosity.

"YOU!"

The word seemed to hiss out of her lips on its own. Fury welled up inside her as spots of darkness shadowed her vision. Before she could stop herself, the cup of tea was flung across the table. It hit the standing wizard on the chest and fell to the floor with a crash. Hermione found herself following the cup's flight, her hands outstretched, ready to scratch his eyes out. Screams, so incoherent that Hermione herself couldn't understand what she was saying, were spat towards the man in front of her. The look of surprise on his face propelled her-his warm grey eyes and chestnut hair sat upon a younger face, but it was the same nonetheless.

The Death Eater who had cut open her hand, who had flung her back in time, stood only inches from her.

Before she could get fully across the table, Hermione felt her body being roughly jerked back. Pressed once more against the chest of Dolohov-the witch felt her breathe fighting in her chest in ragged waves.

"Most interesting," Riddle tutted. His words made the reality of the moment too much for the young witch and a scream of total despair collided with the feel of fear and phantom pain throughout her body. She didn't know how long she screamed until the impact of a spell collided with her body.

As Hermione passed out, murmurs filled her ears. The last words turned crisp as she sunk against the body behind her.

"Put her in the guest room."

"Tom, do you trust it is her?"

"No... but I trust her anger."