December 30th

Or maybe she never left it. Was that a possibility? Hermione didn't know what it was. There was no way to tell time inside the darkness of the broom cupboard and her wand was nowhere to be found. Of course her captors wouldn't allow her to keep it. She was too much of a threat when she was in good form.

With no way to tell time, she didn't have any clue how long she'd been locked in the cupboard. Hours? Days? Years? A loud laugh, bordering on the edge of hysteria, exploded out of her at the thought that she'd never actually stepped outside the cupboard since her captivity. If that was the case, every single thing that happened to her over the past twenty years didn't actually happen at all. It was all made up inside her head. Was that how she kept herself from going mad as she was trapped inside? And if so, why didn't she imagine a much happier life for herself? Did she feel like she deserved to be punished because she failed to save Harry?

Dozens more questions with no answers flooded her mind. She was overwhelmed and close to the edge of a full-blown panic attack if she wasn't careful. Her prison was too small if she started hyperventilating. She couldn't rely on anyone to save her if she started to gasp for air. A thought suddenly struck her. If she was still in her cupboard, did that mean her protector was outside?

"Augie? Augie, are you there?"

The tremor in her voice made her sound weak and terrified like the child she hadn't been in a lifetime. When no one answered back, she wasn't sure what to think. Was Augustus' presence outside her cupboard nothing more than a figment of her own troubled imagination? If she stopped to think logically, Augustus couldn't have been outside her door the entire time she was locked inside. Even if his duties as a Death Eater didn't take him occasionally elsewhere, he would've had to leave at some point to sleep, eat, and take care of his personal hygiene. How could he always be just outside her door? It made no sense. What the most logical and probable explanation was was that she heard a kind voice outside her cupboard, because she knew there were some kind people even in the midst of the Death Eaters, and in her desperation for human connection in her most terrified and vulnerable state, she imagined a wizard who had a friendly voice who didn't make her feel alone. It probably wasn't even Augustus Rookwood to begin with. It could've been anyone. And was it all that strange in her need to deceive herself she constructed a fantasy world where she fell in love with the man outside the door?

The more she thought about her predicament, the more it all made a sick sort of sense that she'd simply constructed a highly complex world inside her mind to help her cope with the uncertainty of reality. Losing the war and witnessing Harry be murdered by the Dark Lord… no, Lord Voldemort, must have made her go temporarily insane. Or permanently. For all she knew she was just experiencing a temporary period of lucidity. Had that happened before? She tried to remember all of the times she thought to herself that she'd never left the broom cupboard. It was distressing to recall she had the thought many times, especially in the last year.

How could she ever actually believe that she'd spent the previous thirteen years married to Antonin Dolohov, of all people? He tried to kill her when she was a teenager and he'd been the star of her nightmares for years. There was no possible way that that deranged man who smiled at her as he tried to kill her in the Department of Mysteries was deeply in love with her and certainly no way that the feelings of love she had for him were real. If someone suggested she be given a bed next to Neville's parents in the Janus Thickey ward of St. Mungo's, she wouldn't even argue. Clearly, she was completely insane. Her mind couldn't handle the defeat of the side she was on. That was the only explanation that made the least bit of sense. How could she be in love with a lunatic?

Every piece of the past she'd built for herself made less sense than the piece before it. She would never willingly become a Death Eater, would she? And if somehow she did become one, she wouldn't take so much joy in being such a loyal and destructive one. She'd sat at the feet of the monster that killed her best friend and felt privileged to do so. Part of her had always been afraid that she could give in to the darkness that lived inside of her if she was given the opportunity and allowed it to happen. What normal person trapped a person in an unbreakable jar for weeks or led a woman out into the middle of an angry herd of centaurs knowing full well the sorts of deplorable acts they had a reputation for committing on human women? Even before the war ended and her fantasy world began, she'd been a little frightening and cold-hearted when it suited her purposes to be so.

She'd allowed her fantasy to grow too complicated and unrealistic. It was hardly any wonder that it cracked enough to wake her up out of her delusions. Nothing that happened in the previous twenty years could've really happened. The spell that Rodolphus was planning to use was the most ridiculous part of all. What made more sense? A madman was planning to trap her in her own mind so he could bring his wife back from the dead to take possession of the body or that a scared girl locked in a broom cupboard dreamt up a fantasy world to help her cope?

She never left her broom cupboard. Likely only hours or mere days passed since two large Death Eaters threw her inside. Based on the fact that she wasn't the least bit hungry, little time must've passed. She had her life ahead of her again. If she was ever allowed out, she would make drastically different decisions. The feeling of killing someone, even if it existed solely in her dreams was disgusting. She didn't want to be that person. Madam Dolohov was just one awful, vivid nightmare.

The temperature in the broom cupboard began to drastically drop. It had happened before. Still unwilling to open her eyes to look at the ghost of Fred Weasley, Hermione covered them up with her hands. It was too cruel to see him in that state. When he'd come by before, he didn't linger long when it was clear she didn't want to see him. All she had to do was be patient and the cupboard would warm up again. But, he seemed in no hurry to leave. After a couple of silent minutes, she began to lose patience.

"Go away, Fred. I can't look at you right now."

"Are you all right, Hermione?"

There was the slightest note of panic in his voice. He was worried about her. Not that she could blame him. With his new abilities to go wherever he pleased inside the castle, he must've seen a great deal to concern him in the hours since the battle ended.

"No, I don't think I am. The Death Eaters have taken over the school and the Dark Lord won. How can I be all right? Harry's dead. You're dead. Nothing will ever be all right again."

She cursed the tears rolling down her cheeks. Hadn't she gone through enough without embarrassing herself in front of Fred? The ghost of her friend didn't linger long. Within just a few moments, the temperature in the broom cupboard began to rise. Hermione didn't have the first clue what was going to happen next. Though the castle seemed eerily quiet outside in the corridors, she knew that she couldn't get too complacent. Something terrible was going to happen before her ordeal was all over. She wasn't sure how she knew that, just that she did.

A long time passed with her alone in the dark once Fred left. Every second that ticked by seemed to take an eternity. How much longer would she be expected to remain inside the too-small space? Did the Dark Lord have some horrible plan for her? She was almost anxious just to get it over with. At least her fantasy world taught her not to fear death. It would even be a welcome change.

The rattling of the doorknob startled her out of her increasingly depressing thoughts. Still seated on the hard stone floor, Hermione pushed herself backwards as much into the corner as possible. Experience taught her that whatever was outside the broom cupboard was likely to be much more dangerous than what was inside. She searched the space for a suitable weapon, but found nothing. Certainly nothing that would work against a fully armed Death Eater. With her heart pounding in her throat, she waited for whatever horrible fate awaited her.

Someone on the other side of the door cursed in a quiet tone, but didn't give up. Able to feel the presence of protective and confinement wards on the door, Hermione knew that it wasn't going to be just anybody who would be able to make it through. It would have to be someone who knew advanced wards or, like her imaginary husband, had a natural ability to tear down and build up the spells. Assuming the person jiggling the doorknob was powerful enough to remove the enchantments, she was in even more danger once they were inside. The click of the lock opening was deafening. She held her breath as the door opened.

It was nighttime based on the darkness in the corridor. Impossible to see the face of the person in the doorway, Hermione could only tell that at least they weren't as massive as the Death Eaters that threw her in there to begin with. Maybe she might have at least some chance against them in a physical contest. Muttering lumos, the end of their wand erupted into a ball of light. When she saw the familiar features that belonged to her son Oliver staring back at her, she wasn't sure what to believe. Even when his face split into the wide grin that was so like his father's, Hermione didn't think she could trust her own eyes. She could've just imagined him into existence, dimples and everything. A glance just over his shoulder showed the transparent form of Fred Weasley hovering in the corridor watching the scene unfold. Had he gone to find her son where he should've been tucked in his bed inside Gryffindor Tower? No, it wasn't possible.

"Mum, are you okay?"

His voice was a little deeper since she'd last seen him when he was in the infirmary after the suit of armor attack. Sounding more and more like his father, she couldn't help but notice he'd also grown at least a few centimeters. It wouldn't be long before he'd look more like Antonin's brother than his son. Wizarding genes were incredible. Just as she was tempted to stand up and wrap her arms around the young wizard, she stopped herself. It was just another hallucination. Oliver wasn't real. She wasn't old enough to have a son his age.

"You can't be real. No, no, you can't be. I've been stuck in here. The last twenty years didn't happen."

Oliver gave a dramatic roll of his eyes and sighed. Clearly, he wasn't deterred by her outburst.

"Calm down, Mum. You're not that crazy."

Offering her his hand, she didn't know if she should take it or not. Deciding that it couldn't hurt if he was just a figment of her imagination, Hermione took it. Solid and comforting, the hand helped her to her feet. Realizing that she could feel him which proved that he was most assuredly not just in her head, she felt dumb. She placed her hands on the outside of both of his cheeks to stare into the familiar brown eyes. His smile put her instantly at ease. She kissed both of his cheeks and pulled him against her for a tight embrace. Oliver wrapped his arms around her back, another reminder that he was real. When they broke apart, she reached for his hand again needing reassurance that he wasn't about to float away.

"It's really late. I shouldn't be out of bed, but Fred told me you were here. He's worried about you. Headmaster Mulciber locked all of the portraits into the House Common Rooms to keep those of us who stayed for Christmas inside. Fred showed me a secret passage out of the Tower I didn't know about."

She looked up into the smirking face of her old friend as Oliver led her out into the corridor away from her damned broom cupboard. He shrugged his ghostly shoulders.

"I've been able to learn a lot more about the castle since I died. You wouldn't believe how many secret rooms and passages George and I never found. I'm embarrassed by our failures."

It hurt to listen to Fred sounding just like he did when he was alive. Somehow she didn't think she would ever get over his death. It was so unfair, so cruel. Turning her attention back to her son, she could see that he was worried too.

"Why did you not think I was real, Mum?"

"I was just a little confused. That was… many years ago I was…"

There hadn't yet been a chance for Hermione to share the details of her story with her son. Not all of them. She'd hoped that he wouldn't have to know anything until he was much older, but unfortunately, the world had a terrible way of forcing children into wars they had no business fighting.

"Fred said they thought it would be funny to put you in the same cupboard you were in after the battle ended."

"Who thought it would be funny?"

"I did."

The sound of Rodolphus' voice behind her startled her back to reality. Pushing her son behind her back, she tried to shield him from the madman that was threatening to ruin their lives. With the same friendly smile that used to make Hermione believe him to be handsome, Rodolphus stepped closer to the Dolohovs. He held up the spell book that turned Hermione's stomach. Would she never be rid of it?

"It's very interesting that young Oliver will be here to witness the ritual I've been planning for a few years now. He will get quite the education, I think."

She pushed her son even further behind her body. Without a wand, she couldn't do much. Just the act of shielding him with her body was enough to help calm her just a little. All she succeeded in doing, however, was make Rodolphus laugh.

"Oh, don't worry, my dear. Thanks to what I heard Headmaster Mulciber witnessed him do in an empty classroom with Emmy Rowle, little Ollie doesn't have as innocent of blood as I need."

Rodolphus reached behind a tapestry hanging on the wall where a hidden alcove sat to tug on a tiny arm. Recognizing Maisie at once, Hermione couldn't breathe.

"Your husband's bastard, however, will do perfectly."