January 12th

Long after midnight and well into the early morning hours, the pain continued. The Dark Lord enjoyed toying with his followers, reluctant or otherwise. Hermione had had the opportunity on numerous occasions to see it firsthand. Long ago, a lifetime it felt really, when she was so enmeshed in that world that she couldn't even imagine trying to run away, she couldn't understand why there were Death Eaters who would become disillusioned and try to leave. It seemed like an enormous waste of potential.

She laid on top of the couch covered in blankets with her eyes closed tightly and her jaw clenched. This wasn't the first time he'd reached out to torment her personally. Perhaps Malfoy had returned to their master and informed him that she was still unwilling to come back into the fold. The wizard she swore she would serve for the rest of her life wasn't going to give up on her so easily. Why else would he send his best tracker?

Lord Voldemort had been growing stronger every single day since he murdered Harry. With the loss of his horcruxes, there had been a concern that he wouldn't be able to regain his full strength and power. That, however, was quickly proven to be a non-issue. When one isn't concerned about the consequences of performing the Darkest of Magics on one's soul, there is very little that can't be accomplished.

When she'd been ripped out of her broom cupboard and dragged down the corridors of the castle to where the Dark Lord was keeping court in the Great Hall, Hermione had been astonished by how sickly and pale he looked. There hadn't been time to examine him in the heat of battle. Too much was going on around her to focus on his state of health. Thrown at his feet in front of the remaining members of his Inner Circle, she hadn't been able to look away.

"I considered killing you the moment you were captured."

The sound of his voice wasn't easy to get used to. Not even after she began hearing it daily. A single word spoken in his high, cold tenor made her skin crawl and erupt into goosebumps. When he was near enough that she could smell his foul breath or feel it on the back of her neck, it was worse. Power and malevolence poured off of him in heavy, crashing waves. No one was immune to the discomfort it caused. Not even the men and women who had been there for decades.

"Many of my loyal Death Eaters believed that you should be dealt with swiftly and as painfully as possible."

The hardening of Hermione's heart began at that exact second. Listening to him describe how several of his followers wanted her killed stirred something within herself. She didn't recognize it at the time, but it was the moment that she began putting her survival first above everything else. Amycus Carrow suggested she be tortured with the Cruciatus Curse until her bodily functions shut down. Walden Macnair wanted to lock her up in a cage full of starving manticores. Salazar Selwyn thought it would be diverting to chain her up down in the dungeons for target practice or tension release until she was too broken to survive.

She listened to each of their suggestions with a coldness that might've surprised her months earlier. There was no fear inside her heart. Just a cold determination that she would make each one of them suffer in varying and amusing ways. They were the first three on the list she kept only in her head. More would be added the longer she was alive. She resolved to be a person who wrought fear in the hearts of others. Becoming a weakling begging to be saved from slaughter was not a fate she would accept.

"Death is so final. I believe we can find a better use for a woman of your talents and intellect."

The first violation of her mind by the Dark Lord was another event she would never forget. Though she had read all about Legilimency and understood the basics about the branch of magic used to read another's mind, she was woefully ill-prepared for the actuality. Flashes of memories from the beginning of her life to being stuck in the broom cupboard were pulled out of the corners of her subconscious.

He had been looking for something specific. When he discovered the extent of the role she played in finding and destroying his horcruxes, he hadn't been angry. No, if anything, he'd been impressed. His conceit and arrogance meant that he had not even been capable of believing for a second that anyone would learn his secret. It might have been infuriating to learn that he wasn't as secure as he thought, but he wasn't going to let the opportunity to find out more slip through his spider-like fingers just because his followers were clamoring for her blood.

"I will spare you. Not as a kindness…" He grimaced at the very word. "…but because I believe you and I have a great deal to learn from each other."

Voldemort released his grip on her head. She would've crumpled to the stone floor if there hadn't been someone behind her back to catch her in time. Unconcerned in that present moment who it was that was offering her support, Hermione didn't take her eyes off of the evil wizard of her nightmares.

"Your education will not end with the completion of any NEWTs. I have something else entirely in mind."

Though she was uncertain of her eventuality and her heart clenched with each beat from the fear, she was trying to remain calm. Anything else but a mask of cool indifference would be taken as a sign of weakness. Enough of the people in the circle surrounding her wouldn't hesitate to kill her if given the opportunity or the permission. She would need every single one of them to fear what she was capable of. Or… perhaps, more attractive to her plans, they would need to be dead.

"Antonin has graciously offered a place for you in his home."

Ignoring the amused snickers from several of the Death Eaters, Hermione turned her head far enough around to look over her shoulder at the man who hadn't released his grip on her arm. The subject of many of her nightmares stared unblinking back at her with no hint of a smile on his face. If he was pleased by the arrangement or not, he wasn't giving any indication. Her second test of not showing weakness occurred when Antonin Dolohov was given permission to take her from the castle. She was certain she would rather be dead than suffer a minute alone in his presence. At least in the middle of the Great Hall there were witnesses.

As abruptly as the pains in her arm began, they stopped. The Dark Lord was a busy man. He couldn't afford to waste precious time torturing one of his lost sheep from afar. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. When her master called for all of his Death Eaters to come to his side, she still felt the burn. But, it had been several months since he last tried to call out to her specifically. Was he growing weary of her staying away?

No doubt he would double his efforts to find her again. She was thankful to know that he was unable to track his followers through their Marks. The rumor that he could find any of them whenever he wished kept the simpleminded in line. They never strayed very far. Her former best friend was a perfect example. But, Hermione was smarter. If a coward like Igor Karkaroff could elude his fate for an entire year, there was simply no way that a tracking spell was in the Mark. He would've been found within hours.

Hermione pulled one of the blankets over her head to block out the early morning sun peeking through the window of her temporary home.