A/N- I know this chapter is REALLY short, but I've been really busy and I didn't want to go another week without updating. If any of you are reading Into the Past, I swear I will sit down on Friday and finish the chapter and post it.
On a better note, spring break is next week, so I'll be able to relax and hopefully get some stuff done. School is going to kill me someday.
I also had to explain 'shipping' to four people this week... I wanted to bang my head against a wall repeatedly.
Thanks to those who left me reviews! They were lovely. Also to those who faved/followed.
Disclaimer- I'm broke. 'Nuff said.
Chapter Twelve
"Hermione Granger," A cold voice that echoed down the young woman's spine said, "What a pleasant surprise. You will be rewarded for this, Lucius,"
The blonde smirked in satisfaction, a pale hand on Voldemort's shoulder, "Of course, my Lord," Voldemort glanced up at Lucius, pride nor anger showing on his features. He merely stared into Malfoy's eyes until the latter glanced away uncomfortably. A bead of sweat could be seen trickling down the blonde's forehead. So he wasn't as calm around his Dark Lord as he pretended to be. Interesting.
Voldemort turned back to stare at Hermione, a sadistic smile flashing across his face. It was absolutely terrifying.
Hermione whimpered in fear, but bit down on her lip to prevent it from escaping. She was Hermione Granger, Gryffindor, not a scared First year. The worst that Voldemort could do was torture her, kill her. Perhaps kill Ginny in front of her… or Orion.
She immediately banished that thought from her mind. It was simply too terrible to think of.
"It's lovely to see you again, Mudblood. Enjoying life without Potter or Weasel?" A Death Eater jeered from his spot in the corner. Voldemort raised his wand, his thin red eyes never leaving the brunette in front of him.
"Silence," He hissed, before muttering a curse that Hermione had never heard before. Judging by the screams coming from that area of the room, however, it was not pleasant, "You are not allowed to speak, Alecto,"
Lucius removed his hand, somewhat cautiously, as Voldemort stood, his snake-like nostrils flaring, "Besides, we have another… guest in our presence this evening,"
Ginny exhaled slowly; Hermione could hear it.
"We mustn't be rude to her. She might feel self-conscious due to the lack of… attention," The evil wizard murmured, dropping into a crouch in front of the two women sitting on the floor. He'd instructed them to be that way, trying to assert that they were below him on both the physical and social level.
Hermione tried not to gag as she felt the man who'd killed her best friend turn his attention to her. She loathed him with every fiber of her being, and wanted nothing more than for him to be dead.
"And little Miss Granger," A single pale finger stretched out to curl one of her brown curls about it, it's whiteness contrasting sharply with her hair color, "Such a lovely thing, aren't we?"
Brown eyes met red, "Lovelier than you," She bit out furiously.
The playful look dropped off the cruel face, "Respect your uppers, Miss Granger," he said, reeling back to slap her harshly on the cheek. She blinked several times in order to clear the stars away from her vision.
Voldemort stood then, turning his back to Ginny and Hermione. He stalked across the room, staring at a snickering portrait of a man who looked similar to Malfoy, only with several wrinkles creasing his eyes.
"Oh Abraxas, my dear departed friend. If only you could be here in person to see this," Voldemort stated, somewhat regretfully. Hermione cocked her head to the side, confused.
"See what, my Lord?" The painting responded, a smirk growing on his features.
"This," Voldemort responded flatly, twisting about to face the rest of the room. He drew his wand and shouted, "Crucio,"
Hermione awoke with a shout. She was drenched in sweat, and it made her shirt cling to her chest thickly. Orion was asleep in the other bed. The clock on the bedside table read 2:15.
She had to get out of the impossibly warm room, even if it was just for a moment. In her still half-asleep state, Hermione stood and grabbed her purple robe from where it lie discarded on the floor. She then exited the room, taking the room key with her. The witch blinked at the bright yellow lights that ran along the ceiling of the hallway. She closed the door softly, and sat on the ground, back against the wall. Despite being impossibly hot several moments ago, now it was quite the opposite; the robe wasn't enough to prevent the familiar bone-chilling cold that sunk into her body after every nightmare. It was a mixture of horror, exhaustion, and twisted hopelessness that she never managed to get rid of. It was the sort of feeling that left one exhausted and shivering, and that was exactly what Hermione Granger was.
She didn't notice the door to room 42 creak open slowly, as her eyelids were already drooping. She didn't feel the warm arms tuck under her shivering frame, or the key card being slipped from her tight grip. She didn't hear the sleep-deprived voice whisper, "Up you go Granger," She didn't recognize the shift from bright to dark in light tones, and she didn't feel the sheets wrap around her once more.
When morning broke over busy Manhattan, Hermione Granger awoke feeling like she was forgetting something, but for the life of her she could not remember what it was.