Disclaimer: All credit for characters and world belong to the genius that is J.K. Rowling. Otherwise, plot is mine. :)
She was standing in front of the mirror in the girl's bathroom again. Her eleven-year-old face stared back at her and than morphed into her current face. Her arm was splinted and her face and neck were covered with fading bruises and cuts. It seems since her dreams had new fears to play on, they were happy to add any novel and bizarre terror they could from her last few days.
She held onto the cool sink and then turned to wait for the troll to come.
With a squeak the door of the lavatory swung open and she instinctively cowered back towards the wall expecting the troll. However no troll arrived, instead the faces of two eleven-year-old boys looked in and her stomach plummeted. One had tousled raven hair and the other had a shock of ginger locks and freckles. No. No no no. This couldn't be happening.
"Hermione, are you in here?" the raven-haired one asked and she recognized the voice as Harry's pre-pubescent voice.
"Lady, have you seen Hermione? Short, bushy brown hair, frightfully large teeth," the redhead who was Ron asked. She was too panic stricken to balk at the painfully accurate description of her eleven year old self coming from the young lips of the boy who would one day manage to hold her heart.
They both looked expectantly at her and she realized that they didn't know or recognize her older self. Then again how could they?
"You need to leave here," she heard herself say hoarsely, "It's not safe."
"Huh? We asked about Hermione… What're you talking about? Anyways, this is Hogwarts. We're all safe here" young Ron pointed out optimistically the way only a child could.
"You heard me, Ronald, you too Harry. Now shoo," she heard herself say and motioned for them to scat. She was more terrified than she had ever been and she wasn't sure why. She knew something terrible was going to happen. Harry and Ron were never in her dreams. Her subconscious was never that cruel. She felt guilty like she needed to spare them of what was to come. She would do anything to protect them.
"How do you know our names?" young Ron asked, looking intimidated and slightly awed while Harry grabbed his arm and hauled him into the room letting the door bang behind him.
"Yeah who are you and what's going on? You look like a 7th year but you're not wearing robes," Harry pointed out in the perfect image of his precocious eleven year old self.
"Let's just say I'm a friend," she replied cryptically, dodging the question and praying they'd leave.
"Are you in trouble?" young Harry asked, his face gaining the familiar look of determination she had seen in his eyes so many times.
"Nothing I can't handle. Now go…please…" her voice gaining a tremor of desperation. It was too much. She knew they had handled the troll before but they just looked so young and she was scared for them. She couldn't bear to see them get hurt.
"H…Harry, maybe we should go," young Ron suggested, grabbing Harry's arm. "I think something bad is gonna happen and she says she can handle it."
"No, Ron, we have to help!" young Harry replied, pulling his hand away from Ron's now trembling grasp.
"Please, please just go," she begged. "I can't save you!" exclaimed, her terror mounting as the door banged open again, the troll stomping in. Both Harry and Ron turned around, alarmed at the noise and they backed up to stand on either side of her along the wall.
"I told ya so," Ron's voice called, his fear palpable. She noticed the looks of sheer terror and unadulterated excitement on their faces and her heart nearly broke.
The troll lumbered to the middle of the room and looked at them. Everything seemed to freeze and then he began to shape shift again, like a bogart. The form swirled and as it slowly recondensed blood red eyes peered at them. She knew those eyes and shock ran through her. He had never been in her dreams. Ever. He was her very worst fear however he'd never appeared here.
Adrenaline surged through her and as his corporeal form finished materializing, she leapt forward and pushed eleven year old Harry and Ron behind her. He couldn't hurt them here. She wouldn't allow it.
"Noble effort, Miss Granger, but Lord Voldemort has no need for them," Voldemort drawled with a hiss. He extended his wand and a flash of green light blinded her momentarily. Instead of hitting her in the chest, it seemed to go through here as if she were a ghost.
She looked around as the young versions of Harry and Ron sunk to the floor just behind her the looks of innocent excitement still on their faces.
"How? How did you…? How could you…? I was in front of them. I was protecting them!" she screamed her fury and grief mounting.
"Lord Voldemort has his ways," he replied with a thin lipless smile. "Time to wake up Miss Granger."
She opened her eyes to find herself crying silently and being examined by Lord Voldemort. The way he was looking at her made her feel dirty and exposed and as he noticed her eyes open he smiled slowly.
"I see you've responded to your summons. You even dream of the two of them. How nauseatingly heartbreaking," he hissed, appearing pleased. She didn't acknowledge him, her mind baffled at how he could possibly have invaded her dreams like that. She tried to block him out of her mind and looked up.
"What do you want?" she snarled as she tried to rise to her feet but realized she couldn't push herself up with her broken arm. She readjusted and stood, meeting his eyes and ignoring the protests of her wounded body.
"Ah such insolence is dismaying," he replied with a tut-tut and lifted his wand subtly. Suddenly gravity felt immensely heavy like something was pushing her back down to the floor and she fell to her knees and then to all fours.
"How…?" she breathed, as the gravity made it hard to fill her lungs. She loathed that he had this kind of control but without a wand she was helpless and even if she had her wand she would have no idea how to counter his attacks. It was beyond even her knowledge. She knew that in extreme duress a wizard could inflict magic without a wand but she'd never lacked the necessary control over her magic and even if she didn't have control she doubted that she could call upon the ability spontaneously.
"You'll find that I can do anything I want and now you're in your place, groveling before your lord, as all the impure should" he said, smugly.
"You're not…my lord…" she forced out with some difficulty as the pressure had yet to let up. If it kept going like this, her arm wasn't going to be able to take it she realized as the pain swelled in her right arm.
"I see you have found a way to patch yourself up. Since you are wand less it must have been an outside job. You will tell me who has helped you," he commanded and she felt a violent jab inside her skull almost as if she had a sudden headache.
She blocked him out, focusing on the dirt beneath her fingernails until the headache faded. She didn't know why she didn't just blurt out Draco's name but it didn't seem right plus she didn't actually know that it was him who helped her. She knew he had been here but there was only a tenuous image in her head of him healing her and she wasn't positive it had actually occurred. A smaller part of her said she wouldn't betray him and no matter how awful he'd been to her in the past, he'd shown her a kindness.
"Disgusting," he commented apparently having only received her fingernail examination and strode forward. She tensed, but could not see his movement above her for her gaze was forced to the ground. She flinched as she felt a finger touch her neck and run down her spine idly. She trembled reflexively and felt vulnerable. Draco hadn't returned her sweatshirt and she was left in the tank top. It was filthy and far to thin and she could feel him run slowly over every one of her vertebrae. She had no idea why he was doing it but the simple action made her gut clench in alarm. He stopped at her lower back and a faint rustling of his robes told her he had bent down. She could feel his breath on her neck and she tried in vain to shy away but found she couldn't move.
"Dear Hermione, I don't need a wand to make you suffer beyond your wildest nightmares so it would be prudent if you were to tell me who helped you. Perhaps then you won't have to suffer…as much…I would even consider leaving your pitiful dreams alone," he whispered into her ear, his words barely audible.
"Never," she replied defiantly. She had no way to fight back other than her words and there was no way in hell she would ever give in. She'd never break before him. She was stronger than that.
"That's unfortunate," he responded but the obvious tone of glee said differently. Suddenly invisible bonds wrapped around her wrists and yanked her upright again and dragged her flush to the wall. Her pain became nearly unbearable and she grimaced in an effort to keep from shrieking as her very bones protested the rough treatment. The invisible manacles held her to the wall but she was still able to stand. Her shoulders screamed as the unnatural lift left her muscles shaking but she stoically refused to show her thoughts. His face came into view and his smile scared her more than anything he said or did. It was the maniacal smile of a sociopath and it occurred to her that she could refuse or relent but either way he would never have the mercy to kill her. The thought of torture made her shudder and his smile widened in response.
He came closer until she could feel the whisper of his robes against her but they did not quite touch. He lifted his hand to her temple and twisted a stray cur around one of his fingers and combed in back into her scalp, his fingernails dragging painfully through the knotted hair. He was too close for her to see anything but the eerie whiteness of the skin where his neck met his torso. He leaned down again to her ear, his hand drifted from her hair to roughly pull the nape of her neck to his mouth.
"I see your secret helper removed my last marking. Pity for it was something I enjoyed giving to you. You have one last chance. Your lord is not usually so lenient but with you I'm willing to make an exception. Tell me who helped you and I'll consider benevolence."
"No."
"There is no one here to see your attempt at bravery. There is no one here to judge you for submitting to a superior force. Tell me and I will be compassionate."
"I will not tell you. I will never tell you," she replied, each word needing to be forced. Her words were defying her basic instincts but she couldn't allow herself to believe he'd let her go. It wasn't possible and she would never forgive herself for weakness even if he were to be telling the truth. She refused to give in to him.
"Impressive," he breathed, the derisive tone unmistakable.
He drew back and looked down and she followed his gaze. He lifted a single finger and with one long nail drew a trail from the neck of her thin shirt to the hem. The material frayed neatly and tore along the line than disintegrated leaving her shivering and bare.
He smiled slowly and bent down. Her skin erupted in goose bumps and she shut her eyes willing this to all be a dream. The sudden blossoming of pain told her otherwise as he bit the skin of her collarbone. She could feel him breaking flesh and every molecule of her being longed to kill him for everything he had ever done and had yet to do. A lucid thought wondered why on earth he seemed so keen on biting her repeatedly but it was washed away with pain and rage. Her anger and fear was so intense that in an instant his mouth was ripped away and he was sent flying across the room. She opened her eyes at the sound and saw him staggering against the opposite wall, his face flushed with awesome and terrible fury.
He straightened up and drew his wand and her body began to convulse against the restraints as he subjected her to the crucio spell again and again and again. After an indeterminable amount of time as her mind started to drift away the spells stopped and he approached.
She watched him with listless eyes, her body still thrumming from the spell.
"Your tenacity is amusing if not inspiring, but you will loose and I will enjoy watching you shatter no matter how long it takes," he said, leaning in close, his gaze capturing hers. He bent lower and licked away the blood from earlier.
"I couldn't resist the taste," he mocked and pulled away.
He lifted a finger back and pressed against the new wound viciously and the spot erupted in fire like boiling oil had been pressed to her skin and was seeping under. She tried in vain to keep silent but the burning was too much and she shrieked as the sensation spread.
It quickly ended and he smiled than turned around and exited. This time he left her hanging there and her head drooped to her chest.
A fresh scream was released from her chest as she saw what he had done.
The wound was there still but over it was a patch of black that before her eyes dispersed under her skin into a writhing snake. It seemed to sense her gaze and it looked up and hissed at her as if it were alive. It mimicked the snake on the forearms of the death eaters, the same color ink and the macabre design without the skull.
The scream went on and on as the snake adjusted and coiled itself neatly, closing its eyes. She was unable to tear her eyes away and she watched fascinated as a rivulet of blood flowed from the new wound and took a path over the marking between the grime dripping down and staining her bra.
Her scream faded slowly as her parched throat gave up and turned into sobs. She began to cry in earnest and lost track of time, the tears now flowing silently. She wasn't quite awake or asleep and after a time a pang of cramps seized her abdomen and she realized if he didn't kill her the starvation would. She was going to die here eventually and she thought grimly, the sooner the better.