At meal times, the house elf would light a candle. It's weak orange glow akin to Hermione's soul; soon, the darkness would swallow it too.
She watched the flame strangle the wick, writhing, dancing, dying. It reminded her that life did exist beyond the cement cell she was trapped inside. That outside the prison was not just an endless void where even the dead could not hear her. Still, each day the flame burned out and amongst the black, like the belly of a dementor, Hermione would forget it's warmth. She would not let the darkness take her too. But even she, the ever logical thinker, knew it would only be a matter of time.
Hermione sat slumped against the left wall of her cell. Her arms and legs lifeless, the 'Mudblood' wound burning and facing upwards so the stale air could help it scab. The prison consisted of two cells. Both of which faced each other, and were identical in shape and size. However, her cell was the only one occupied. She felt like the monster under the bed, hiding in the shadows, or rather, a Mudblood laying in wait.
Do monsters fear the dark too?
The candle had gone out long ago, consuming her in darkness so empty, she could not see her own hands in front her face. Like staring into the shadows of her mind and having it stare back.
Green eyes haunted her. Harry's green eyes. The memory stained into her mind.
All those years of friendship, working herself to the bone, sacrificing her life, her time, giving them everything she had and they abandoned her like a lamb to the slaughter. If she ever saw Ron again, the supposed love of her life, she would kill him. When Bellatrix had held that knife to her throat in Malfoy Manor, Harry and Ron standing before them, wands in hand, about to escape, Ron hadn't even tried to save her.
Ron had the sword, he had Harry, he had a way out. Did he convince himself that condemning her was worth it? Did he truely believe that Voldemort would keep her alive? And reasoned she would be better alive and captured than dead and rotting? Or was she just not worth fighting for? Only the week before he confessed his love to her, in their yellow tent in the Forest of Dean. He had apologized for leaving and promised that as long as he lived he would never leave her again. Like the fool she was, she had believed him.
Ron Wealsey. The love of her life. The man that had come back for her and abandoned her all over again.
Now, the thought of him only brought anguish.
Now she had no one, nothing, but the harsh concrete floor and eternal darkness for comfort. The house elf wouldn't even look at her. When she brought her Master's scraps and emptied the bucket of her waste, she would stand as far back as she could from the bars, her wide, beady eyes downcast. Hermione's blood status spoke for her more than words ever could. That, and the mutilated flesh on her forearm, branding her for life.
All she had was Harry's last fleeting gaze, as he stood beside Ron, ready to lay down his life for her. But Ron had panicked and with Dobby behind them, he lunged for Harry.
Ron knew Harry would stay and fight. He knew Harry would rather die than leave Hermione to the Death Eaters. So instead of letting him do so and fighting alongside his best friend to save the love of his life, he turned, grabbed Harry by the arm and yanked him backwards toward Dobby.
It all had happened so fast, two seconds had gone by, how can so much happen in such a small space of time? Harry stumbled backward and realised what Ron was doing. His eyes flashed to Hermione, a spell on the tip of his tongue, his expression desperate, and full of love and pain and then before he could speak, they were gone.
A terrible scraping noise screeched through the darkness. Hinges, so rusted it rattled the concrete walls. Light flooded the entryway into the prison, blinding Hermione. She lifted her arms, shielding her eyes as they burned.
Heavy boots marched inside, carrying death in their wake. Hermione scrambled to her feet, fighting the urge to cowar in the corner of the cell. She stood her ground, willing her face forward and expression neutral.
A bull-like figure stopped before the bars.
Harry? Ron?
She knew it was not them.
"So," She immediately recognized the deep voice. Cassius Parkinson. He had been in the room when Voldemort interrogated her, "The Mudblood lives. Joy."
His brow bone was thick, casting shadows over his eyes. This man had never smiled, nor laughed, she doubted he would recognize a sense of humor if it slapped him in the face.
"The Dark Lord has tasked me with retrieving your memories, Mudblood." He told her, like a drill sergeant, "And you'll do as I say or their'll be trouble. Do you hear me?" Hermione noticed his hand was bleeding.
Her fingers twitched for her wand though it was not there. She scanned the prison, searching for something she could use to defend herself, her heart pounding violently inside her chest.
He stood there, watching her, letting his hard stare settle over her. Letting the silence stretch.
Her stomach sank.
Ron should have killed her in Malfoy Manor. If he wanted to he noble and save the Chosen One then the least he should have done was end her life. She deserved mercy. She deserved a clean death. Ron was a coward in more ways than one that day. Better she had died than endure whatever Cassius Parkinson had in store for her.
He raised his bleeding hand towards the bars, dark blood dripping from the palm and Hermione flinched.
He caught the movement and whatever strictness she had assumed of him, switched to a sick boys fascination with a shiny new toy.
He watched her closely, paying attention to every twitch and movement of her face. Abruptly, he moved his hand towards the bars again, pausing before he reached the iron and Hermione, despite her bravery, flinched again.
Cassius smiled then, a slow sadistic smile and in that moment, Hermione knew everthing she needed to know about this man.
He grabbed the bars, his blood mingling with the rust and watching panic fleet across her face, he swung them open.
Her feet retreated at their own accord. Her composure crumbling.
Cassius charged into her cell, his smile gone.
It was a game of cat and mouse, he the cat and she the mouse but there was nowhere to run.
"No!" She screamed as he grabbed a fist of her hair and yanked her out. Hermione struggled against his grip, trying to pry his fingers from her hair, but he was too strong. Cassius threw her out of the prison and into a brightly lit corridor. Hermione stumbled, bashing into a wall and turning around just in time to see him pull his wand out.
"Crucio!"
Hermione collapsed to the ground, the curse wripping through her, electrifying every nerve and muscle and tearing her apart from the inside out. Her throat burned raw as she screamed.
Cassius lifted the curse. A smug look on his face. Hermione stared up at him, collecting her bearings, sucking air into her lungs.
"Where is the Order's safe house?" He asked.
Hermione bit her tongue.
Cassius hit her with another cruciatus curse, this one cutting deeper than the last, "Answer me!"
Hermione knew what it was to burn in that moment, he held her under the curse for so long she forgot her own name.
"Where is Potter hiding?" He demanded. When Hermione did not speak, he straightened himself, taking a deep breath and kicked her in the stomach. He was used to getting what he wanted.
Hermione curled onto her side, but Cassius's large hand grabbed her shoulder and forced her flat on her back.
Cassius flicked her hair out of her face and dug his fingers into her jaw, "Look at me Mudblood!"
Hermione did.
"Where is Potter?"
Cassius hit her with another cruciatus curse, this one cutting deeper than the last, "Answer me!"
"I don't know!"
"Where is he hiding?" His nostrils flared, "Tell me!"
Hermione said nothing.
"Tell me you stupid bitch!"
When Hermione didn't respond, he kicked her again.
"Tell me!" Cassius, now red in the face, crouched over her and shoved his way into her mind.
Hermione reeled from the force. Her head splitting with pain, as he tried to break through her Occlumency walls. Hermione gritted her teeth, desperately trying to hold them up as he prodded every inch of her mind, trying to find a weak spot.
As he pulled out of her mind, his face inches from hers, he drew his hand back, his features etched with fury and punched her in the face. Hermione's head snapped back and before she could catch her breath, he punched her again. Hot blood leaked from her nose, running over her lips and chin, "Where is the Order hiding? Where is Potter?"
"I'm not telling you a thing!"
He punched her again. Standing up and running a hand through his hair.
"They all said you were feisty." He pocketed his wand and crouched down. Meeting her eyes he entered her mind again, forcing his way harder than the last time. He hammered and hammered into her walls, bashing them to bits, mad with fury, but he couldn't break through. He kept at it for what felt like hours. Hermione used all she had left to keep him out.
Eventually he gave up, jerking out of her mind and clambering to his feet. Hermione was a mess, she laid there, mind carnage, falling unconscious, "It's only a matter of time before I break through." He told her.
Cassius grabbed her by the ankles and dragged her back to her cell, closing the bars with a loud clank and exiting the prison just as Hermione lost consciousness.
Hermione rotted in her cell.
Forgotten by the world, she felt as if she were inside a coffin, buried deep under the ground where no one would find her. She wondered if Harry and Ron were thinking of her? Were they thinking about her in that moment? Worrying what fate had befallen her? She pictured Harry's green eyes as she lay there, trying to find comfort in his final look. He did not want to leave her. He would come for her. She knew it. He would rescue her.
The house elf apparated like the smack of the guillotine, death lurking from every angle. Hermione jolted. Her heart pounding as she listened to the elf strike a match and light a new candle. Orange light awakened the prison, revealing it to Hermione like a well kept secret she should not know.
Hermione tentatively uncurled herself and looked at the elf.
She gasped.
The elf had been beaten badly. Blue and black marks covered her face. Hermione stared at her, "Are you ok?"
The elf began to tremble, her saucer-like eyes flicking up to Hermione and darting away.
She placed her food and water on the floor outside her cell, her hands just as bruised as her face.
Hermione moved onto all fours and crawled to the back of her cell, picking up the bucket and brought it to the bars. It was slender in shape so it could fit in-between the iron.
"Thank you." She said as she sat on the floor. The elf took it immediately and apparated.
Hermione stared at the space where she had been. Did she resemble the elf? Beaten and afraid. She did not want her imprisonment to break her. She would do everything she could before she let that happen.
Sitting against the left wall, Hermione slid the paper plate under the bars and lifted the cup of water. She drank half the water and ate the fish with her fingers. With the last of the water she poured it over her 'mudbood' wound, cringing as the liquid stung her flesh. She stuck her arm through the bars, angling it towards the candle to try and get a clear view. The skin around the letters was an angry red, the scabbing a dark unnatural purple.
The elf apparated back into the prison. Hermione jumped. She saw her wound before Hermione could withdraw her arm back into the darkness of her cell. The elf placed the now empty bucket down and waited as Hermione gave her the empty paper cup and plate back. She apparated away.
Hermione took the bucket. And letting her head fall forward against the bars, she stared at the candle.
Cassius returned the next day.
The house elf had already been and lit a new candle, so as he entered the prison through the oak door, Hermione could get a good look at him. He looked just like his daughter Pansy. With the same black hair and green eyes. Though his were nothing like Harry's, instead this man's eyes were dead. He looked like a boulder. Thick jaw, broad neck and shoulders. He stalked towards her cell, Hermione stood and as he lifted his hand to open the cell, she noticed his palm was bleeding again.
His blood slapped against the rusting iron. Hermione's chest rose, her breath catching. He flung the bars so hard they bounced off the wall.
"Get away from me!" She shrieked, throwing a punch that hit him in the jaw. His head knocked to the side but it only seemed to anger him more. He grabbed her arm, pulling her to him. Hermione tried to punch him again but he twisted her around, forcing her back against his chest, tree trunk arms wrapping round her and hoisting her off the ground.
Hermione screamed, kicking him wildly, her hair getting in her eyes. Why didn't he just use magic? He carried her into the corridor and Hermione managed to see the length of it, five or six lamps lighting the passage, and to her amazement, a white chipped spiral staircase, leading upward to an unknown beyond.
Cassius released his grip and shoved her to the ground. She landed on her shoulder.
"Are you ready to answer my questions?" He asked her.
He took his wand from his inside pocket, "Crucio!"
Hermione wretched into the bucket, her body shaking so violently the tin rattled against the floor. The bastard had crucioed her for hours. Throwing useless questions at her in-between. Hermione swore he was only interrogating her so he had an excuse to torture her.
Another wave of nausea hit her, her stomach churned and she vomited into the bucket. She breathed deeply, trying to calm herself down. She had learned things, she reminded herself, picturing the spiral staircase. That was her way out. Through the oak door, along the corridor and up the spiral staircase. Beyond that...
She vomited again, her thoughts cutting short. Her hands shook the bucket again so she let go and used the wall for support.
She gagged again, holding her hair back as she dry heaved, her stomach now completely empty. She was thinking of escaping! She tried to focus, leaning her forehead against the wall. Escaping, right. When Cassius had come for her, he used his blood to open the bars. It must be some sort of blood magic.
She gagged one last time, pressing her face into the concrete, focusing all her attention on the coldness of the stone. She stayed that way for a long time. Then lowered herself onto the ground, curling up, hugging her knees to her chest and willing sleep to take her.
When she woke, the candle had burned out and she was met with complete darkness.
She lay there, her chest rising and falling and her shaking less violent. She felt like the only person in the world. Besides Cassius. But she tried not to think of him. Her thoughts turned to her parents and she wrapped her arms tighter around herself.
If only they could see her now. Their only daughter, mutilated, tortured and confined. She couldn't imagine how they would react. She pictured their faces, her Mother's warm embrace, trying to replicate it with her own arms. She missed them terribly. She would give anything to be a child again, sitting on her Mother's knee while she read her a bedtime story. Huddled in their rocking chair, gently moving back and forth, fighting sleep so she could hear the rest of the story.
It occured to her, forcefully, that her parents did not remember reading her bedtime stories.
They did not remember her face. Nor her smell, her first steps, her first word, her first day at school. They did not remember meals at the table, the weekly food shop, going to the park, listening to the record player.
Tears welled in her eyes. Her heart breaking. They did not remember anything. She did not exist to them. She was no-one. Nothing.
Hermione stared into the abyss, letting her emotions swarm her and her tears flow freely.
The house elf lit a candle. Hermione squinted at the light, then at the elf. The elf's brusing had turned green.
Today's food was bread and cheese. Hermione stood, hands twitching and retrieved the bucket, thankful to be getting rid of the smell of sick. She was about to pass it through the bars, the elf waiting expectantly, when an idea occured to her.
"What is your name?" Hermione asked directly.
The elf startled, shocked by the question. She looked at the bucket, distressed that Hermione was withholding it, "You know my name, it's only fair I know yours."
The elf stammered, opening her mouth but no sound came out. She tried again, Hermione unsure whether she was trying to speak or her mouth was just hanging agape in shock. Then, with the tiniest voice, the elf squeaked, "Carly."
Hermione smiled. Actually smiled. She handed the bucket over, Carly took it and left.
She sat to eat her food, getting half way through the bread when Carly returned with the empty bucket.
"Nice to finally met you, Carly."
Carly apparated away.
The next day, Carly delivered another meal. She removed the old candle and lit anew.
"Hi." Hermione said, her voice hoarse.
Carly raised her eyes to Hermione and held contact for a second.
She placed the food down, but before Hermione could hand her the bucket, she suddenly apparated without any warning.
Hermione stopped, confused. She put the bucket down and reached for her food. Maybe she had scared her off? Was she that terrifying? Hermione got halfway through the carrots and potato when the oak door started to screech open.
No!
She bolted to her feet, abandoning her food and darting to the back of her cell, pressing her back into the wall. Cassius was the monster under the bed, not her. He marched into the prison, flinging the bars open and stormed inside, "Come here!" He grabbed her.
Panic overwhelmed her, Hermione struggled against his grip but he was relentless. He managed to pin her hands at her sides, both of them panting as he held her against the wall. Hermione wriggled, regarding him with sudden uncertainty.
Cassius just stood there, holding her against the wall, watching her, marveling in his power over her. He tightened his grip, watching her eyes narrow. His breath stanks of beans. And after a long pause, he smiled, "You're mine Mudblood." Then, he kneeed her in the stomach.
He let go of her as she doubled over, the wind knocking out of her. She tried to right herself, but Cassius was already bending down and grabbing her leg. He pulled her feet out from under her, Hermione landed on her back, her head hitting the concrete floor as Cassius dragged her from the cell.
Hermione lifted her head, vision swirling and tried to kick him with her other leg.
She missed and as she passed the opposite cell, she wrapped her hands around the bars, holding on for dear life.
"Fuck sake!" Cassius grunted, dropping her leg, stepping over her and he tried to pry her fingers from the bars. She refused to let go, so he lifted the sleeve and grabbed her forearm, digging his nails into her wound. Hermione screamed, immediately letting go. He took her wrists and turned her round to drag her through the oak door, "Cunt." He muttered, before withdrawing his wand and cursing her.
Back inside her cell, Hermione lay on her side, pressing her back into the wall, the bucket by her head. It felt nice to have something against her back, like a cold embrace.
The candle was out, the smell of sick in the air and Hermione decided she was going to murder Cassius, then Ron, then herself, in that order.
It would have been better if Ron and Harry had fought for her and Bellatrix has sliced her throat. At least it would be over, at least then should could have died knowing they did everything to save her. That would have made more sense than just slowly rotting away, day after day. Cassius breaking every part of her, the darkness taking the pieces that were left. She could fell her sanity chipping away, each day more than the last with no end in sight.
Who would she be by the time Harry saved her? If he saved her. A shell of herself? Alive yet dead? Would he even recognize her?
At her parents wedding, they had received a record player from her Dad's parents before they passed away. He would play music most mornings. As a child, Hermione would wake up to the sound to music and eat her breakfast while it played from the lounge. Every holiday abroad, they would search for a record store and buy another to add to their collection.
Hermione's favorite record was Claire De Lune by Claude Debussy. She played it all the time, the music filtering throughout the house. Maybe they still listened to it? Maybe they still collected records in their spare time? Maybe they still played Claire De Lune and did not understand the pang in their chest when they heared it?
In the darkness, curled on the floor, with what remained of her vocal chords after hours of screaming, Hermione hummed the tune to Claire De Lune. Remembering every note like the back of her hand. She let the melody take over, releasing it into the darkness, gently bouncing off the concrete walls and echoing all around her. Maybe it was still her parents favorite song. Maybe they still listened to it.
Cassius came again the next day. Hermione was so tired she couldn't fight him.
The day after that, he came again, Hermione heard the sound of his blood dripping on the floor before he opened the bars. He tortured her without asking a single question. Crucioing her until he exhausted himself and resolved to beat her with his fists.
The day after that, there was no sign of him. Hermione took the opportunity to inspect every inch of her cell in great detail. Going over it with her eyes whilst the candle burned, and then again in the darkness with her fingers. She practiced her magic to no avail and hummed Claire De Lune to sooth her nerves.
The day after that, she spent all her time staring holes into the oak door. Willing it to open and Harry to be on the other side. The door was medieval looking, arched and reinforced with iron bolts. With no keyhole in sight.
When the candle burned out, Hermione cried. She tried to cast a spell again and again, working herself into a frenzy. She felt so powerless, so lost. She lay down in the middle of her cell, arms outstretched, touching both walls and hummed Claire De Lune absentmindedly. She did not want to die there. Cold and alone. And in that moment she realized she would. No one would ever rescue her. No one would come for her. She would never escape. She would never see the sky or feel the breeze, or see Harry and his green eyes or her parents ever again. She was lying in her grave.
But she did not want to go quietly.
Abruptly, she rose to her feet. Needing a release and to feel some sort of freedom. She stretched her arms over head, making herself as big as she could. She may be confined but she was not chained. She could still move, she stretched her arms until her wound began to weep. She would not let the abyss crush her soul. She hummed Claire De Lune under her breath, letting the sound fill the darkness. Cassius had not taken her voice. She hummed and hummed, getting louder until she was practically yelling the tune. She turned on the spot, twirling round and round until she did not know which way was forward or back. She let herself get lost, consumed inside her mind. Focusing on every note of the song, falling further and further down the rabbit hole until she could convince herself she was not a prisoner but was actually listening to the piece live, standing in the crowd, in a concert hall, parents either side of her. She felt the urge to dance just as much as she wanted to bash her skull into the wall.
It had been so long since she had danced. She wasn't sure she knew how to do it. As the song ended in her mind, she started it from the beginning again. And this time she let herself go completey. Hermione danced inside her cell, swaying and twirling like a mad woman before a bloddied altar. She supposed she was standing before her death, before the end of all her days, but was it really so crazy to try and make the most of it? She twirled and twirled and twirled until she could not think, could not feel, her heart pounding in beat with the rhythm.
In that moment, she was alive. She was Hermione. Not a prisoner, nor a Mudblood, just Hermione.
But then, the oak door screeched open and light flooded the abyss and ended the song in its tracks.
Hermione woke in a pool of her own blood. Lying face down, head awkwardly twosted to the side. She felt like death. She would die now. She knew it. Her body could only take so much. She was ready.
The oak door screeched open.
"Why do I have to bloody drag him?" A voice whined.
She watched as Cassius's boots marched past her, and the bars of the opposite cell opened. Another pair of boots walked backwards into the prison, dragging a body by it's feet. The body had black polished boots like the rest of them, black trousers, a black cloak hanging open, revealing a white shirt soaked in blood, and an arm, or what should have been arm, now blooded and mangled.
He was dragged into the opposite cell. She peered through the gap under the bars, his body lying in the same position as her, his face visible. She saw the blood. Only the blood, until Cassius and the other Death Eater left. Unconsciousness threatend her, her mind fogging, she stared at his face, and with a stabbing horror, realized that under all that blood, was Draco Malfoy.