May, 1998
The stone floor bit into Hermione no matter how she sat in her small cell in the damp cellar of Malfoy Manor. She shivered in her wet clothes that never dried; various Death Eaters had sprayed her with Augamenti every morning at 4 am, and it was too dark and cold for her clothes to dry down here. It had been two days since the snatchers had found her foraging in the forest of Dean.
Hermione had been out looking for anything they could eat, and had settled on some mushrooms that she wasn't entirely sure were safe but intended to bring back to the tent she shared with Ron and Harry to investigate. Inside her bag, in the tent, were several volumes of books on fungi in the British Isles. She had never made it back.
Her voice came out in a shudder that echoed on the stone walls. "Please, I'm so cold."
"Shut up, mudblood." Yaxley's tall form cast a shadow on her, his bald head reflected the only light in the room. She couldn't read his face.
"You can't let me die. I know you need me, I'm valuable -" her teeth chattered loudly as she argued with one of the brutes who came to visit twice a day to cast water on her or beat her with his fists. Hermione had an inkling his heart wasn't really in it. For example, he really only beat her when we came in already angry about something else. She assumed Yaxley was on Voldy's shit list if he was stuck on cell duty.
"Mudblood scum thinks she's valuable to the dark lord? Hilarious." Yaxley clapped his hands in mock entertainment.
She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. "If I catch pneumonia, you can't pump me for information."
"It's not information I want to pump you for."
The blood drained from her face. Surely not-
Of course they would, a sharp small voice told her. This is war. They're not above rape. You should have asked one of the boys to go with you. Foolish girl, now no one knows where you are.
Was that her voice? She didn't normally use the word Foolish. She couldn't tell, but she also hadn't slept in 2 days. The stone floor wouldn't allow it, especially with only her thin pants and small black tank top for coverage. They had taken her jacket and her shoes.
She wondered, barely allowing her brain to voice the thought, whether she may need to play nice with her captors. How long would it take until she was so desperate for a blanket that she would offer herself to Yaxley? She shuddered at the thought. Depending on how long she was kept down there, she may need to make some hard choices.
"Are you listening to me, slut?" Yaxley taunted her, his face growing redder.
Hermione backed up from the bars of her cell. Her eyes darted around, but she already knew there was nothing and no one who could help her now. Maybe she should play along, and change her tactic, as insulting him was only making it worse. Maybe she could negotiate some food. She hadn't anything to eat but a rotten apple that the guards had thrown her as a joke. She'd sniffed it and did her best to ascertain its safety, but ended up eating it anyway. There was nothing for it; if she was going to get out, she needed energy, and if they wanted her dead, it wasn't likely they would poison her.
No, if they wanted her dead, the muggle-born thorn in Voldemort's side, they would drag it out.
Yaxley's hand went to his crotch and he adjusted himself, looking her in the eye. "What other use can a mudblood have? Face it, you're property now. Might as well try to make the best of it."
She held her head high. "I'd rather fuck an acromantula."
Yaxley lashed his wand out and sent a streak of pain up Hermione's cheek. She slapped her hand to her wound, the hot searing pain bringing her back to reality.
He can really hurt you. The voice said.
He barked a loud laugh. "That just makes me want it more. Why don't you come over here and give it a kiss?" He began to unbuckle his pants.
"Yaxley!" A smooth, sharp voice echoed through the stone cellar. Yaxley whipped around to see a looming shadow cast on the wall by the stairs. As the figure approached, she recognized her former potions professor, and traitor to the Order of Phoenix, Severus Snape.
"Come back later," Yaxley shouted over his shoulder up the stairs. His eyes stayed on Hermione's while he stroked himself through his pants. She felt frozen in place. She wanted to cry and yet was determined not to. Her stomach recoiled at the image.
No, no reaction. This time, she was sure it was her voice.
"The Dark Lord requires your presence this instant."
Yaxley stiffened and straightened his pants, securing his belt. He didn't say another word to Hermione or Snape as he turned to rush up the stairs.
The light from the stairs above illuminated Snape's outline, but she couldn't see his expression. "The last face I was hoping to see." His voice echoed off the stone with ominous effect.
"I can always go if you like."
"Shut up." His voice did not have the usual bite she was used to. He took several steps towards the bars of the cellar. She could barely make out his face from the light streaming in from the small barred window. He said in a low voice. "Don't provoke them, you foolish girl. You'll only make it worse for yourself."
She steeled herself. "I'm not afraid of any of you."
"I said shut up." He muttered lazily. Severus unlocked the cell door and stepped aside to hold it open for her. For a wild second, she thought he may be letting her out.
He didn't look at her. "Let's go."
Hermione froze. "What?"
He tilted his head, black hair falling into his eyes. "I thought you weren't afraid."
He was goading her. Fine. "Where-where are we going?"
"Your interrogation. Make yourself small. Stay quiet. And if you can help it, don't cry. They won't bother so much with an empty husk."
He didn't bother to restrain her, he merely walked up the steps and left the door open behind him. She had no choice but to follow him up the stairs, down two impossibly long hallways, into the main living room. It was a sprawling, beautiful room with powder blue wallpaper and gold fixtures, like a 17th-century French villa. She didn't know what she expected the Malfoy Manor to look like, some version of the Beast's Mansion in her favorite muggle movie. But as soon as she walked in, it made complete sense to her. It was grand, but also, gloomy. Much like the Malfoys themselves. All three stood in the corner of the room, heads bowed, silent. This wasn't their home anymore. The walls were covered in priceless art hoarded over centuries, busts of giant elk, a lion, and even a Qilin. She felt a pluck on her heart as she took in the terrified expression on the creature's large brown eyes, her last moment forever frozen. I know how you feel.
Snape stopped in the middle of the room in front of the central armchair. No one else was sitting, except Bellatrix, her beautiful curls flowing around her as she sat at her master's feet, her small hand resting on his knee.
Voldemort sat back, an ornate goblet resting in his hands. His purple robes spilled to the floor, his gaze ran over her slowly.
She stood tall, chin high. The figure in black next to her stiffened. Sorry, Snape. I won't be small for any of you.
Voldemort's thin voice cut through the silence. "Well Mudblood, two days without food and water, have you decided to play along?"
Oh, I've had plenty of water. But she kept her mouth shut. She let her eyes glaze over. She would have to endure. She would survive the pain, torture, even rape, although she did not allow her brain to think about what that would entail, for fear that even more blood would drain from her face. She would not show fear.
Voldemort nodded to Bellatrix; Hermione stiffened. Bellatrix flashed her a wide, mad smile and stood from her place at Voldemort's feet.
The first cruciatus curse hit Hermione suddenly, and a scream escaped her lips. Voldemort roared with laughter and the room joined in, although she could tell they were putting it on thick for show. When it was over, she cursed herself for her weakness. Damn. But when the next one hit, she was ready. She bared down on the searing pain, focusing on it, searching for it. A few laughed again but stopped as they realized the Dark lord didn't. As she held onto the pain with her mind, it became her sole focus. At first, the intensity nearly drove her to delirium, but after the fourth or fifth curse, it began to seem like background noise. Bellatrix picked up speed. She had still not made a sound.
Bellatrix looked frustrated; she lashed out curses faster and faster, held them longer. Hermione felt like she was being whipped. By the twentieth, and thirtieth, she was numb, her brain completely dissociated from the pain. It may as well have been happening to herself. After what could have been 20 minutes or several hours, the curses suddenly stopped coming.
The room was silent. She knew all eyes were on her, in her crumpled position on the floor, she was an easy target for a kick to the head or a vital organ, so she slowly rose on shaking arms to a kneeling position, and then shakily stood. Her back stung with every movement she made. Each shift of her shirt on her back made her want to scream. She brought her shoulders back and held the Dark Lord's eye.
"Well, this is an interesting…change. Half of my death eaters would be a sobbing mess on my carpet, but this mudblood just endured all of our curses. Hermione felt a pang of pride. She hadn't even realized they all had cursed her. "Put her back in her cage, I will think of a more creative punishment tomorrow. Clearly, physical pain is not going to break her. Something more fun, then."
Suddenly, Fenrir Greyback grabbed Hermione by the arm. "I'll escort the little miss back to her cell." He licked his lips and panted at her, his breath nearly made her cough. Her eyes welled up at the smell.
Snape was at her side before anyone else could move. "I think not, Fenrir. The Dark Lord requires her secrets, remember? She is no good to us in the condition you left the last one."
Fenrir growled and narrowed his venomous eyes at Snape. He didn't flinch. A laugh echoed behind them.
Voldemort was smiling. "Severus is right, of course. But by all means, Fenrir, you can have her when we're done."
Snape grabbed a horrified Hermione by the arm and moved her roughly out of the room. He let go of her the moment they got into the hallway. He didn't say a word but picked up his brisk pace back to the cellar. He shut the door at the top of the stairs and let her walk herself downstairs.
"Where did you learn that?"
"What?" She turned to him, already back in her cell. He didn't move to close the door.
"You didn't scream." His expression was blank but his eyes held something else, was he impressed?
She said nothing. They had tried to break her and failed. Despite the cold, the hunger, her wet hair and clothes making her shiver, she felt powerful.
"I expect an answer."
"And I expect to die tomorrow," she said breathing heavily, "so I don't really give a shit what you want."
Snape's lips quirked up. A beat passed between them, and then he cast a drying spell on her first, and then a warming spell. She nearly yelped as steam rose from her body and she felt warmth, sweet, sweet warmth, for the first time in days.
Hermione stared at him, shocked. She had completely given up hope, but-
"I can change it back if you like?" He said, raising an eyebrow at her in mockery.
'No!" She blurted, then closed her mouth. She'd almost thanked a Death Eater. "I-I read about it in a book."
He nodded. "Of course you did. But why?"
"I had to be prepared for this situation."
"Have you been Crucioed before?"
She hesitated. "Yes… and no." No need to give him too much.
He waited for her to continue. She didn't. "Answer me." He demanded, his voice darkening.
"Or what?" She stepped closer to the open doorway, the invisible barrier separating them. "You'll conjure hot stew and a glass of fire whiskey?" She knew she really should just shut the hell up, but she was running on adrenaline.
Her eyes held his. She was feeling brave. It was exhilarating, she had forgotten her power. Now that she had it back, she vowed not to let it go. No matter what they did to her. She would stay brave. Even if she died, she would die on her feet.
Whatever he had expected her to say, it certainly wasn't that. He didn't smile, but the look in his eyes. Was he amused?
He waved his wand again and conjured a small table, on top of which sat a bowl of steaming beef stew and a large silver spoon. Next, a small chair whirled into existence, and lastly, a glass of whiskey with one large ice cube joined the arrangement on the table.
She gaped at the display, and then at Snape. It seemed that he didn't mind that she was a fighter.
She didn't thank him, and she got the feeling he didn't want her to. The man who had killed Dumbledore was feeding her soup. She refused to let her mind even go to what that meant.
"Who crucioed you?" Snape demanded stiffly.
She didn't look at him but picked up the crystal glass, she drained the whisky in one go and hissed her approval. "I did it to myself."
"That's impossible."
"Ok." She picked up her spoon. "You asked for my answer, I don't care if you think I'm taking the piss."
"How?" He said sharply.
She chewed the first bite of stew, it was warm and savory. "I invented a spell." He waited as she picked up the bowl and drank some broth. "It allows you to cast spells on yourself as if another person is casting. Because it's too hard to continue the first time you curse yourself, the pain…it's like trying to jump off a cliff, your instincts don't want to let it happen. I kept freezing up."
"Why were you cursing yourself?" He crossed his arms. "What was the point?"
"So I could practice."
"Practice taking the pain?"
She nodded, hunched over her soup. "I charmed an object to reflect my curses back at me, and I built them up. I cast one cruciatus curse at the object, then it sent it back to me. I did that a few times, and then I cast five curses and let it throw them back at me all at once." She didn't care that she was talking with her mouthful.
He cleared his throat loudly. "You can slow down. I won't take it from you."
She said nothing but slowed down.
"How many times?"
"Hundreds."
"Impossible."
She kept eating. It seemed he didn't have any more questions. When she finally set her spoon down, he cleared the dinner table and it disappeared. He turned to leave.
"Wait." She blurted.
He stopped, still facing the door.
"I am afraid."
He didn't respond.
She continued, "I'm not afraid of pain, but-" she shuddered, she could barely say it. Her voice came out very small, he barely heard her. "They're going to rape me. I'm not prepared for that."
He said nothing.
She held his hard stare. "It doesn't matter what you think about muggle-borns, or that you think I'm inferior, or even that you're a killer. I know you don't hold with rape. I would bet my life on it."
He didn't leave, so she quickly continued, "I don't want my first time to be rape.
"And what would you have me do?" He spat, turning towards her finally.
"Take my virginity before they can." She winced at the crack of her voice. She knew she sounded pathetic, but this wasn't about pride. "Please."
He turned suddenly, crossing the barrier between them and towering over her.
"Are you-?" He hesitated, clearly flustered. "Am I not a fucking pig? Do you forget whose side I'm on?" He hissed the words out, barely a whisper.
"Give me something else to focus on when they come for me tomorrow." His eyes widened. She went on, "I don't want to be touched by Yaxley or Fenrir or any of those fucking pigs."
He looked truly stunned. "No." His cold reply echoed through the room. He took a step back.
"Wait, please." She grabbed his forearm. "I'll give you anything you want." She jolted with realization, "As long as it doesn't have anything to do with Harry or the war."
He shook her off and stepped away. "It won't come to that."
Her face reddened from the rejection. She shouldn't have cared, it was a means to an end. She was left alone in her empty cell, the door of which Snape had seemingly forgotten to lock.
