Chapter 9
Her eyes slowly fluttered open and met with his. She wasn't overly surprised to find him infuriated, although it still made her wary.
"I know," she whispered, her face still flushed from their kiss. "I know that ... they will never believe me. But I ... I ..."
"But you still choose to believe them—you still lie to yourself, thinking that they will accept you once you helped them overturn me," he finished for her, his voice eerily calm.
"I didn't know that they were going to find this place!" she argued. "I didn't even know they were coming here!"
"Perhaps," he conceded before smiling mockingly. "But," he placed a finger under her chin and tilted it upwards until she looked directly into his eyes, "you cannot deny the fact that you've had thoughts of vanquishing me."
She opened her mouth, but closed it again without saying anything. Well ... that really depended on when he was talking about. For months now, she hadn't even thought about rebelling against him, let alone wanting him dead, which was why she constantly felt guilty towards the people from the Light side who had died during the war—especially Harry and Ron. Many nights, she would wake up mid-sleep and stare out the window until the sunrise because of that guilt, although she knew that there were some things that couldn't be fought, fate being one of them. Lord Voldemort had been destined to win, just like she had been destined to fall in love with the mortal enemy of most of the Wizarding World.
Apparently, however, Lord Voldemort interpreted her silence differently. He narrowed his eyes and curled up his hand until he grabbed her chin. Her forehead creased from the more than necessary force he was exerting on her, though she stared back at him stubbornly.
As his lips pressed into a thin line, she quickly opened her mouth to explain.
"I haven't had thoughts of ... leaving you ever since ..." she trailed off before continuing. "But you're expecting me to betray my friends."
His lips curled into a vile smile. "You belong to me, Hermione."
"Because I choose to be," she replied, promptly wiping the smirk off his face. "But that doesn't mean that I'm renouncing everything that I am."
"It doesn't matter if it was because your choice—"
"No," she interrupted him, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "It does matter. If it wasn't my choice, I wouldn't feel any regret and can blame everything on the lack of choice. Because it is my choice, I can't blame anyone or anything for any consequences."
"In other words, you're regretting your choice," he concluded.
"I—" she paused in her words.
She couldn't deny that there were times when she did question her choice, but downright regretting it ... that thought had never crossed her mind.
He grabbed and roughly pulled her up to standing position.
"But why should I care if a filthy, despicable being like yourself regretted your choice?" he hissed.
She clenched her hands into fists, determined not to let his words hurt her. He was angry, so naturally, anything that came out of his mouth was aimed to make her upset.
"It's only predictable that someone with such a disgusting background would betray those who had been generous to them," he continued, his face contorting in anger.
Hermione nearly snorted, but refrained from doing so, trying her best to hold back her tongue and letting his anger run its course. It was easier said than done, however, since it seemed like he had his mind set on provoking her.
"I should be surprised that it hadn't happened earlier," he sneered, "since what else can come out of dirt? Unlike pure-bloods such as Bella, who was and still is faithfully loyal to me."
Her face paled momentarily, before irritation colored them rouge.
"Yes, she is oh so very faithful," she replied sarcastically before she could even think about stopping herself—nor did she wanted to, "which is why she went behind your back and captured someone who was staying in your mansion, someone who you've specifically demanded was off-limits to them. Extremely loyal now, isn't she? Or are you going to tell me that she kidnapped me under your orders? She seemed rather worried about you finding out that I wasn't dead yet.
"And Peter Pettigrew? Or is he going to be registered as a Muggle-born overnight now?" she asked. She would've crossed her arms over her chest if she could, but given her current position, she settled with just rolling her eyes. She completely ignored how his face was now coldly impassive which strongly contrasted with how tumultuous his eyes were. "Or did you 'accidentally' give him the wrong silver hand and it strangled him when he was displaying the ultimate act of faithfulness and loyalty by letting Harry go?
"And I'm very impressed by how very loyal Lucius Malfoy is. Of course, he's only loyal for as long as it suits him, as long as his position of power is not being threatened. But who cares? Oh, and his family. We all know how important that is." She rolled her eyes upwards as if she was thinking deeply. "They are all in your inner circle, aren't they? Surely you thought they were at least useful and loyal enough to you to get there. Let's not forget that Professor Snape was part of it, too.
"So incredibly useful, always giving you information about the Order," she continued, not noticing the changes in the Dark Lord's expression. "Did it ever occur to you that he's giving information to you on Dumbledore's orders now, did it? He was such an excellent Occlumens, and you've never even thought about the possibility that he was successful in Occluding his mind?"
Although she didn't get a chance to find out from Harry about Snape's whole story, she had a hunch that the memories that he'd left Harry were definitely not about tea time with Lord Voldemort.
"Never wondered why your plans always got foiled last minute now, did you? So obviously, you've never even thought about the possibility that Professor Snape might've been spying for Professor Dumbledore and had successfully hidden that fact from you." She snorted. "Did you really think that they were the only ones? Pray tell, how many more traitors do you still have, walking around and waiting for you to slip? Or are you mercifully waiting for them to show you their true colors when disaster strikes and it's far too late for amends?"
It was only after she stopped talking that she noticed how suspiciously quiet he had been throughout her entire monologue. Staring at his face right now, she was suddenly very aware of how very angry he was, causing her to bite her lower lip. She had definitely spoken too much.
Digging his fingers into her arm until she winced from the pain, he threw her on the floor and pulled out his wand. He pointed it at her, noticing the look of fear that flashed over her face with savage satisfaction. It had been a while since he had last tortured her, let alone use that curse on her, but clearly, she still remembered the pain.
"Crucio."
He pronounced each syllable deliberately, making sure she heard every single one of it. As her screams bounced off the walls, he closed his eyes as if he was enjoying the sound. He opened his eyes again seconds later and held the curse on her, circling around her while doing so, much like a snake coiling around a struggling victim.
"Do you know how spoils of war and traitors are treated, my little Mudblood?" he asked quietly, as if he wasn't currently holding a curse on her at the moment. "I suppose you wouldn't know. After all, you were locked up in my mansion for the last seven years."
He finally stopped, watching her as she stayed on the floor, panting and sweating. He reached down, grabbed her hair, and pulled her up, causing her to yelp in pain. He smiled, yet his eyes had a red glint to it, signifying his anger.
"No, you don't, because I've been much too kind to you," he hissed.
His breath brushed against her ear and the curve of neck, causing gooseflesh to erupt across her skin, but his words ignited her anger again—did he still think that she was a bloody traitor? She was about to say something in return when he tugged on her arm, pulling her against his body.
"Then I shall show you," he said.
Before she could so much as protest, he had already Apparated them to a different location.
Laughter and jeers immediately reached her ears when they reached their destination. A chorus of "My Lord" echoed through the room the moment she steadied herself. Voldemort gave them a nod, although he didn't look away from her, and the sounds of chattering filled the room once more.
"If you so much as touch your wand, I will have your other friends taken here. Immediately," he threatened coldly, his face expressionless.
A shiver ran down Hermione's spine and she knew he was relishing in the fact that she didn't know just how many of her classmates might still be alive.
"Want to take a guess who's behind you?" he asked, amusement dancing in his eyes.
She gazed at him, faces of her classmates flashing through her mind's eye, and she felt herself getting sick. Raising an eyebrow at her reaction, he turned her around so that she could see the rest of the occupants of the room. She nearly threw up when she saw the scene in front of her.
She wished she could run. She wished she was back in Voldemort's room, safely hidden under the blankets. Anywhere, but here.
Some of the Death Eaters were looking at Lord Voldemort curiously, wondering why their master had suddenly decided to come here. Others were ogling at Hermione and nudging one another, followed by chuckles. Apparently, they thought that Hermione was going to be given to them.
However, that wasn't what frightened Hermione the most.
Hannah Abbott's hands were tied at the wrists, the end of the rope tied to a hook on the ceiling. Her face was hollow, as if she hadn't eaten for days. Lines of red decorated her body—presumably from whippings— some of the gashes still bleeding. And what frightened Hermione the most wasn't the fact that someone was still whipping her naked body and other men were laughing and leering at the scene.
There was no life in Hannah's eyes—dead, and even more horrific than the look in a corpse's eyes. She seemed like a paper cutting of who Hermione had once been acquainted with. Gone was the sweet smile that would appear on the girl's face when she was delighted with something; gone was the liveliness that sparkled in the windows to her soul.
No sounds were emitted from Hannah's mouth as new wounds were made to her body. She didn't so much as whimper or protest while the men thoroughly mutilated her body. She didn't even wince when the whip came in contact with wounds that hadn't even healed yet.
Hermione bit down on her lower lip, resisting the urge to go on a killing spree, because she knew Voldemort would keep his promise and Hannah's fate would be bestowed on others, too. Hannah's situation thoroughly shook her.
"When Miss Abbott was first captured, she was given to one of the lower ranked Death Eaters," Voldemort's voice resounded in her ears. "She tried to escape so many times ... Unfortunately, that was precisely what excited Nethery."
Hermione was terrified about what she might be hearing about next, but she couldn't stop herself from listening intently to each word that fell from his lips.
"He was particularly fond of the whip."
Her eyes fell on the red marks on Hannah's body and felt her heart constrict, feeling extremely sorry for the girl.
"Every time she escaped, he would whip her," Voldemort continued to say. "Until three months after she was given to him."
The whip was handed to another man, who began to whip Hannah with extra vigor, earning cheers and laughs from the his fellow Death Eaters in the room. It was clear to Hermione that each and every one of them were bloody sadists.
"She killed him." He paused, allowing her to digest that piece of information before continuing. "I'd imagine that it was a rather satisfying experience for Miss Abbott, killing the person who tortured her." He leaned forward slightly. "Will you feel the same satisfaction when you avenge your friends, Hermione?"
She knew. She knew all along that men and women across the country were being tortured for standing up to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. However, what she had seen in the last seven years had been limited to strangers. She had thought that everyone she knew had died, but apparently, she knew nothing.
"Don't you wish dear Harry won the war?" Voldemort asked her softly, stroking her hair as if they were merely chatting. "Don't you wish that he cast a well-aimed Killing Curse towards me in that final battle? Then, perhaps none of this would've happened." He laughed, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Tell me how much you hate me, Hermione."
She turned her head around, until she could look at him clearly.
She couldn't. It disgusted her to no ends that even after seeing the things he was allowing, she could not bring herself to hate him.
"Have I given you enough reasons to watch with satisfaction if your friends ever get the chance to capture and execute me?"
A shiver ran down her spine at the thought of him dying.
His eyes never left hers. Seconds later, he pressed her body towards him and they Apparated back to his mansion. He threw her on the bed once they reached there, and it was only then that tears started to fall down her cheeks.
"Prepare yourself," he ordered.
She wiped her tears away before looking at him, not wanting to let him see her weakness. He stood sideways, with the fire behind him so she couldn't clearly see his expression.
"I want you to be there when I speak to your ... friends from the Order."
~-0-~
A/N: Many thanks to those of you who've read, added to faves, and added to alert! Huge thanks to those of you who've reviewed: nagi92, Relent1ess, Guest, PinkSlytherin, AlexBlakke, and AnotherAddicted!
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