Hello! Welcome to my first fanfic, I've had this idea floating around my head for ages and I finally get to shove it out! I plan to upload weekly, but life is always hectic so we'll see how that goes. All characters belong to J.K. Rowling, you know the drill. Hopefully I can do the story justice, what I have in my head is always slightly different written down but regardless, I'm having a lot of fun writing this so I hope you like it too.
Only kind and helpful comments please.
Hermione presses her face into the iron bars. Staring at the thin candle holstered on the wall outside her cell. It's weak orange glow is the only source of light in this hellhole, she watches as it strangles the wick, writhing, dancing, dying. Like every other day trapped inside this prison, the light will eventually burn out and darkness will consume, so thick and endless, like the belly of a dementor that she will forget that warmth had ever existed. For now, she gazes at the flame like a sunflower facing the sun, cherishing the light with all the hope she has left.
Behind the candle, is an oak door. Arched and reinforced with old iron bolts. When Hermione isn't staring at the candle, her eyes are burning holes into the oak door. Alive or dead she will exit through that door. Either to make her escape or be buried in an unmarked grave. If they even grant her the honor of burying her corpse. She realizes then, most likely they'll burn her body.
She inhales deeply, filling her lungs with stale air. What she would give to feel a breeze on her skin, swirling through her curls, her clothes billowing. Harry will rescue her, she knows it. If they can escape Voldemort's grasp and hunt horcruxes and survive in these mad times, then they can bloody well rescue her too. They're more than capable. She remembers the look on Ron's face in Malfoy Manor as he grabbed Harry, then Dobby and apparated away, leaving her with Bellatrix's knife held against her throat. Fear. Pure, unabashed fear. Not for her, but for himself. He had Harry, he had the sword. He sacrificed her like a lamb to the slaughter. Hermione rubs her face, trying to fight back tears. She eyes the cell opposite her, identical in shaoe and size, yet so far unoccupied. She supposed it isn't a bad thing, she'd rather non if her friends be imprisoned alongside her, although the company would be nice.
Harry had been prepared to fight for her, he would have died trying to save her and Ron knew it, that bastard, he knew Harry would fight for her and he snatched him away before he could give him the chance. It was only the week before that Ron had come back. She had of course been furious with him for leaving in the first place, but having him back in their tent in the Forest of Dean had felt like a miracle and he had promised, he had fucking promised, that he would never leave her again.
Hermione tips her head back, staring up at the concrete ceiling. The cold seeping into her bones. She casts her gaze round her cramped cell, landing on the tin bucket in the back corner for a moment, before looking down at her shoes and absentmindedly flicking the lace with her finger. Mud had caked into the sole when they ran from the snatchers, she touches the side of her shoe, dried mud flaking off. Harry will come for her, she reassures herself, he will rescue her. It's only a matter of time.
The hinges on the oak door screech as it's pulled open. Hermione's eardrums nearly rupture at he noise and she lifts her arms, shielding her eyes as light floods the prison. She pushes herself to her feet, fighting the urge to cower in the corner of the cell. Heavy boots march towards her, carrying death in their wake and as she lowers her arms, eyes adjusting to the bright light she stares right into the face of Cassius Parkinson.
He's like a bull, so wide and broad he takes up the entire prison. His black Death Eater robes doing nothing to shadow his muscle. One punch from this man would kill her, "You're alive." His deep voice echoes against the concrete.
Hermione hides her arm behind her back, refusing to look away from his intimidating stare. She can see so much of Pansy in him its startling. "I've been tasked to search your memories Mudblood," He talks like a drill sergeant, "What fun we're going to have."
Her heart drops into her stomach, there's so much she knows, horcruxes, safe houses, members of the Order- Ron should have killed her. She deserved mercy, a clean death. He was a coward in more than one way that day.
Cassius looks her up and down, taking in the state of her. Does he see a Mudblood? He lets the silence stretch, he's taking his time, she realizes, heart pounding.
He lifts his hand to open the bars and she flinches.
Cassius stops, catching the movement and a sick grin spreads across his face. She wants to be sick. He lifts his hand again and despite herself, she flinches again. He stops, his grin widening like she's a shiny new toy. It's then, she notices blood dripping from the palm of his hand. Peculiar, it distracts her, and then he grabs the bars, blood mingling with the rust and whips them open.
Her feet retreat at their own accord, her composure crumbling. Cassius charges into her cell. It's a game of cat and mouse, he the cat and she the mouse but there was nowhere to run, "No!" She screams as he grabs a fist of her hair and yanks her out her cell. Hermione struggles against his grip, trying to pry his fingers from her hair, but he's too strong. He throws her out of the prison and into a brightly lit corridor. Hermione stumbles, bashing into a wall and turns around just in time to see him pull his wand out.
"Crucio!"
Hermione collapses on the floor, the curse ripping through her, electrifying every nerve and muscle, tearing her apart from the inside out. Her throat burns raw as she screams.
Cassius lifts the curse. A smug look on his face. Hermione stares up at him, collecting her bearings, sucking air into her lungs.
"Where is the Order's safe house?" He asks.
Hermione bites her tongue.
Cassius hits her with another cruciatus curse, this one cutting deeper, "Answer me!"
Hermione knows what it was to burn in that moment, he hold her under the curse for so long she forgets her own name.
"Where is Potter hiding?" He demands. She does not speak, he curses her again, "Look at me Mudblood!" She does, "I will get these answers one way or another, you might as well fucking tell me! Where is Potter?"
"I don't know!"
"Where is he hiding?" His nostrils flare, "Tell me you stupid bitch!"
"I don't know!" She cries. Cassius grabs her face, nails digging into her cheeks as he shoves his way into her mind. Her head nearly explodes from the force, he prods every inch of her mental shield, tirelessly searching for a weak spot, her head splitting with pain. He pulls out, panting and curses her again.
Hermione sobs as he lifts the curse, he wastes no time shoving into her mind again. He batters her mental shield, his technique blunt and brutal, like he's bashes the wall with a sledge hammer. He pulls out again, "Tell me where he is!"
Hermione tastes blood as it leaks from her nose. His face is in hers, eyebrow thick and eyes dark, he is used to getting what he wants, "I'm not telling you a thing!" She says with the last of her bravery before he cruses her again.
"They all said you were feisty." She hears him say, she lies on the floor, Cassius standing over her. The corridor stretches for what feels like a mile, yellow lamps hanging overhead. He turns her over, lying flat on her back and pushes into her mind again. The pain is agonizing, but she doesn't let him through. Eventually he tires himself out, jerking out of her mind. Hermione is a mess, her mind carnage, "It's only a matter of time until I break through."
Hermione feels his large hands wrap around her ankles as he drags her back into the prison. She is conscious enough to pull her jumper down as it rides up. He leaves inside her cell, clanking the bars shut and before closing the oak door, he blows out the candle, leaving her in eternal darkness.
Hermione rots in her cell.
Forgotten by the world, she feels as if she is inside a coffin, buried deep under the ground where no one will find her. She wonders if Harry and Ron are thinking of her? Are they thinking of her right now? Worrying what fate has befallen her? She pictures Harry's green eyes as she lies there, trying to find comfort in his final look. He did not want to leave her. He will come for her. He will rescue her.
The house elf apparates like the smack of the guillotine, death lurking from every angle. She strikes a match, revealing the prison to her as she lights a new candle.
Hermione uncurls her body and carefully looks up at the elf. She gasps. Black and blue bruising mar the elf's skin, Hermione openly stares, horrified, "Are you OK?" She croaks.
The elf trembles, eyeing her like the monster under the bed or her worst nightmare. A mudblood in the flesh. Caged yet wild and grotesque. She looks down at Hermione for the briefest moment, before her eyes fleet away.
She places her food and water on the floor outside her cell, her hands just as bruised as her face.
Hermione moves onto all fours and crawls to the back of her cell, picking up the bucket of her waste and awkwardly carrying it to the bars. Fitting it in-between the gaps.
"Thank you." Hermione sits against the left wall, sliding the food and water under the two inch gap under the bars right as the elf apparates.
She stares at the space where she had stood. Does she resemble the elf? Beaten and afraid. She does not want her imprisonment to break her. She will do everything she can before she lets that happen.
She drinks half the cup of water and eats the cod with her fingers. She pours the last of the water over her 'mudbood' wound, cringing as the liquid stings her flesh. She sticks her arm through the bars, angling it towards the candle to try and get a clear view. The skin around the letters are an angry red, the scabbing a dark unnatural purple. She can't tell if it's infected or just residual Dark Magic from the blade Bellatrix had used.
The elf apparates back into the prison. Hermione jumps. She sees her wound before Hermione can hide her arm back into the darkness of her cell. The elf places the now empty bucket down and waits as Hermione gives her the empty cup and plate. The elf takes them quickly and apparates.
Hermione takes the bucket, too weak to crawl to the corner of her cell and sits it beside her, looking at the gleaming steal base and wonders if its cleaner than she currently is. She rests her head against the wall, and lets her gaze fall on the fresh candle.
Cassius returns the next day.
The house elf had already been and lit a new candle, so as he enters the prison through the oak door, Hermione gets a good look at him. Death Eater robes again, his palm bleeds as he opens the bars and she notices that his eyes are green. The same shade as Harry's, yet entirely different. His eyes are dead.
"Get away from me!" She shrieks, throwing a punch that hits him in the jaw. His head knocks to the side but it only seems to excite him. He grabs her arm, pulling her to him. Hermione tries to punch him again but he twists her around, crushing her back against his chest, tree trunk arms wrapping round her and hoisting her off the ground.
Hermione screams, kicking him wildly, her hair covering her eyes. Why didn't he just use magic? He carries her into the corridor and Hermione manages to glimpse 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 releases his grip and shoves her to the ground. She lands on her shoulder.
"Are you ready to answer my questions?" He pulls his wand from his inside pocket, "Crucio!"
Hermione wretches into the bucket, her body shaking so violently the tin rattles against the floor. The bastard tortured her for hours. Throwing useless questions at her in-between. She swears he is only interrogating for an excuse to torture her.
Another wave of nausea hits her, her stomach churning as she vomits into the bucket. She breathes deeply, trying to calm herself down. She had learned things, she reminds herself, picturing the spiral staircase. That is her way out. Through the oak door, along the corridor and up the spiral staircase. Beyond that though...
She vomits again, her thoughts cutting short. Her hands shake the bucket, so she lets go and uses the wall for support.
She holds her hair back as she dry heaves, her stomach completely empty. She tries to focus, leaning her forehead against the wall. She was thinking of escaping scaping, right! When Cassius came for her, he used his blood to open the bars. It must be some sort of blood magic-
She gags one last time, pressing her face harder into the concrete, focusing all her attention on the coldness of the stone. She stays that way for a long time before lowering herself onto the ground, hugging her knees to her chest and willing sleep to take her.
When she wakes, the candle has burned out and she is met with complete darkness.
Her chest rises and falls, her shaking less violent. She feels like the only person in the world. Besides Cassius. But she tries not to think about him. Her thoughts turn to her parents and she wraps her arms tighter around herself.
If only they could see her now. Their only daughter, mutilated, tortured and confined. She can't imagine how they would react. She pictures their faces, her Mother's warm embrace, trying to replicate it with her own arms. She misses them terribly. She would give anything to be a child again, sitting on her Mother's knee while she reads a bedtime story. Swaying back and forth on the rocking chair, trying to fight sleep so she could hear the rest of the story.
It occurs to her, forcefully, that her parents do not remember reading her bedtime stories. They do not remember her face. Nor her smell, her first steps, her first word. They do not remember meals at the table, the weekly food shop, going to the park, listening to the record player...
Tears well in her eyes. Her heart breaking in two. She does not exist to them, she is nothing, no-one.
Hermione stares into the abyss, letting her emotions swarm her and her tears stream.
The house elf lights a candle. Hermione squints at the light, then at the elf. Her bruising has turned a dull green.
Today's food is bread and cheese. Hermione drags herself to her feet, hands shaking and retrieves the bucket, thankful to be getting rid of the smell of her sick. She is about to pass it through the bars, the elf waiting expectantly, when she asks, "What's your name?"
The elf startles, shocked by the question. She looks at the bucket, distressed that Hermione is withholding it, "You know my name, it's only fair I know yours."
The elf stammers, opening her mouth but no sound comes out. She tries again, Hermione is unsure whether she is trying to speak or her mouth is just hanging agape. Then, with the tiniest voice, the elf squeaks, "Carly."
Hermione smiles. Actually smiles and thinks she might cry. She hands the bucket over, Carly takes it and leaves.
Hermione sits to eat her food, getting half way through the bread when Carly returns with the empty bucket.
"Nice to finally met you, Carly."
Carly apparated away.
The next day, Carly delivers another meal. She removes the old candle and lights anew.
"Hi." Hermione says, desperate for conversation and learn something. Anything!
Carly raises her eyes and holds contact for a second.
She places the food down, but before Hermione can hand her the bucket, Carly suddenly apparates without any warning.
Hermione stops, confused. She puts the bucket down and reaches for her food. Maybe she scared her off? Was she that terrifying? Hermione eats half of the the carrots and potato when the oak door starts to screech open.
No!
She bolts to her feet, abandoning her food and darts to the back of her cell, pressing her back into the wall. Cassius is the monster under the bed, not her. He marches into the prison, flinging the bars open and storms inside, "Come here!" He grabs her.
Panic overwhelms her, Hermione struggles against his grip but he is relentless. He manages to pin her hands at her sides, both of them panting as he holds her against the wall. Hermione wriggles, regarding him with sudden uncertainty.
Cassius just stands there, holding her in place, watching her, marveling in his power. He tightens his grip, watching her eyes narrow. His breath stinks of beans. And after a long pause, he smiles, "You're mine Mudblood." Then, he knees her in the stomach.
He lets go as she doubles over, the wind knocking out of her. She tries to right herself, but Cassius is already bending down and takes her by the leg. He pulls her feet out from under her, Hermione falls on her back, her head hitting the concrete as Cassius drags her from her cell.
Hermione lifts her head, vision blurring and tries to kick him with her other leg.
She misses and as she passes the opposite cell, she wraps her hands around the bars, holding on for dear life.
"Fuck sake!" Cassius grunts, dropping her leg, stepping over her, he tries to pry her fingers from the bars. She refuses to let go, so he lifts her sleeve and digs his nails into her wound. Hermione screams, immediately letting go. He takes her wrists and turns her round to drag her through the oak door, "Cunt!" He mutters, before withdrawing his wand and cursing her.
Back inside her cell, Hermione lies on her side, pressing her back into the wall, the bucket by her head. It feels nice to have something against her back, like a cold embrace.
The candle had burned out, the smell of sick in the air and Hermione decides she is 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 makes more sense than just slowly rotting away, day after day. Cassius breaking every part of her, the darkness taking what's left. She can feel her sanity chipping away. Who will she be by the time Harry saves her? If he saves her. A shell of herself? Alive yet dead? Will he even recognize her?
At her parents wedding, they had received a record player from her Dad's parents before they passed away. Her Dad would play music most mornings. As a child, Hermione would wake up to the sound to music and eat her breakfast in the kitchen while it played from the lounge. It became a tradition that every holiday abroad, they would search for a record store and buy another record to add to their collection.
Hermione's favorite record was Claire De Lune by Claude Debussy. She played it all the time, the music filling 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 do not understand the pang in their chest when they hear it?
In the darkness, curled on the floor, with what remains of her vocal chords, Hermione hums the tune to Claire De Lune. Remembering every note like the back of her hand. She lets the melody take over, releasing it into the darkness, gently bouncing off the concrete walls and echoing all around her. Maybe it is still her parents favorite song. Maybe they still listened to it.
Cassius comes again the next day. Hermione is so tired she can't fight him.
The day after that, he comes again. Hermione hears the sound of his blood dripping on the floor before he opens the bars. He tortures her without asking a single question. Cursing her until he exhausts himself and resolves to beating her with his fists.
The day after that, there is no sign of him. Hermione takes the opportunity to inspect every inch of her cell. Going over it with her eyes whilst the candle burns and then again in the darkness with her fingers. She practices her magic to no avail and hums Claire De Lune to sooth her nerves.
The day after that, she spends all her time staring holes into the oak door. Willing it to open and Harry to be on the other side.
When the candle burns out, Hermione cries. She tries to cast a spell, working herself into a frenzy. She feels so powerless, so lost. She lies down in the middle of her cell, arms outstretched, fingers skimming both walls and hums Claire De Lune absentmindedly. She does not want to die here. Cold and alone. And in that moment she realizes she will. No one will rescue her. No one will come for her. She will never escape. She will never see the sky or feel the breeze, or see Harry and his green eyes or her parents ever again. She is lying in her grave.
She does not want to go quietly.
Abruptly, she rises to her feet, needing a release and to feel some sort of freedom. She stretches her arms over head, making herself as big as she can. She may be confined but she is not chained. She can still move, she stretches her arms until her wound begins to weep. She will not let the abyss crush her soul. She hums Claire De Lune under her breath, letting the sound fill the darkness. Cassius had not taken her voice. She hums and hums, getting louder until she is practically yelling the tune. She turns on the spot, twirling round and round until she does not know which way was forward or back. She lets herself get lost, consumed inside her own mind. Focusing on every note, falling further and further down the rabbit hole until she can convince herself she is not a prisoner but rather is actually listening to the music live, standing in the crowd, parents either side of her. She feels the urge to dance just as much as she wants to bash her skull into the wall.
It has been so long since she danced. She isn't sure she knows how to do it anymore. She dances like a mad woman before a blooded altar. She supposes she is standing before her death, before the end of all her days, but is it really so crazy to try and make the most of it? She twirls until she cannot think or feel, her heart pounding in beat with the rhythm.
In that moment, she is alive. She is Hermione. Not a prisoner, nor a Mudblood, just Hermione.
The oak door screeches open and light flooding the abyss and ending the song in its tracks.
Hermione wakes in a pool of her own blood. Lying face down, head awkwardly twisted to the side. She feels like death. She will die now. She knows it. Her body can only take so much. She is ready.
The oak door screeches open.
"Why do I have to drag him?" A voice whines.
She cracks an eye open as Cassius's boots march past her and opens the bars to the opposite cell. Another pair of boots stagger backwards into the prison, dragging a body by it's feet. The body has 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 is dragged into the opposite cell. She peers through the gap under the bars, his body lying in a mirror image to her own, his face just visible under his bars. She sees the blood. Only the blood, until Cassius and the other Death Eater leave. Unconsciousness threatens her, her mind fogging, she stares at his face and with a stabbing horror, realizes that under all that blood, is Draco Malfoy.