Chapter Text
What will come next?
Hermione was frozen, struggling to process the thing she was seeing as the body of her best friend was dumped onto the ground in front of her and the others.
The battle had been waging for hours until Voldemort called a brief reprieve to bury the dead and attract Harry to him in the Forbidden Forest.
Though it tore her heart into pieces, Hermione hadn't stopped Harry after Severus Snape passed him those secret memories. She didn’t know what was in them, but she could guess, and she felt only mild surprise to discover he may not be a traitor after all if he had been entrusted with this final secret. She and Ron had left Harry to visit the pensieve alone, while they made their way to the Great Hall. She told herself it was so she could grieve Fred and Remus and Tonks – along with her other friends. She rationalized it by assuring herself that Harry would alert her and Ron when it was time. They would be there with him at the end, standing by his side, even if the outcome was inevitable.
But she had been lying to herself.
She knew he would leave without them. He always tried to leave them behind, and this time she let him do it. She knew he had to go to Voldemort that night. He had to. It was a secret she had buried into her heart as she researched horcruxes and learned the identifying markers. She had never voiced her thoughts out loud, not a single time. But it was the only explanation for the prophecy. It was the only reason why Harry could do things that others couldn’t – he could talk to snakes and see into Voldemort’s mind. He wasn’t possessed, but he was connected. And Hermione’s suspicions became a certainty when that tiny fragment of soul that was lodged in the scar on his forehead pulsed malevolently the first time she watched him touch the locket.
Voldemort’s soul recognized itself.
Hermione had struggled with the knowledge that her best friend would have to die for months. At times she intentionally slowed down their horcrux hunt, even to their detriment. She didn’t really believe Godric’s Hollow would contain answers for them, but as she came to accept the fact that Harry would have to die she didn’t have it in her to stop him from visiting his parents’ graves at least once. So she made up some bullshit excuse about the sword and Godric Gryffindor to ease Harry’s obvious guilt about the true reasons he wanted to go.
Of course, that had led to a near-disaster. Harry had come very close to dying anyway, far earlier than was required.
She had waffled for the past seven months, oscillating between wanting to keep her best friend tethered to this earth and knowing that the longer they delayed the inevitable the more others would be hurt and killed. And so she helped Harry march slowly toward his own death, doing her best to keep him safe and whole, while picking off all the other horcruxes along the way. She made enough progress to assuage her own guilt about the war dragging on. But she insisted on creating plans and backup plans and contingency plans and plans, plans, plans… not just for their safety, but to buy Harry a few more days of life before each find. And then their break-in at Gringotts went sideways and alerted Voldemort to what they were doing, and her hand was forced.
It was the first time she told Harry to look into Voldemort’s head. She had always known that was the way to find the horcruxes quickly, but Harry had never thought of it, so she had never suggested it. Her stomach clenched whenever she remembered those faceless bodies dying around them while they figured out the clues the old fashioned way, but Harry was too important to her to rush. Besides, she and the boys were stuck in a tent for much of the year. It was surprisingly easy to forget that others were dying and being tortured while the three of them were in their isolated bubble together. Gringotts, however, had accelerated things because they had to race Voldemort to that last hiding place. Harry had finally used his connection offensively, and it worked.
Of course it worked.
Still, even knowing that they had to find the Ravenclaw artifact didn’t mean that Hermione particularly wanted to kill it or the cup that day. But it wasn’t like she could tell Ron why she was so reluctant to go visit the Chamber of Secrets when the battle was waging around them. Some part of her was clinging to the foolish hope that they would fight just long enough to take out some Death Eaters, gather the last horcrux, and then escape so her best friend could live a bit longer before it was his turn too.
But Ron – ever the strategist – pointed out that carrying around a live horcrux was a bad thing. They had done it before, and it had tainted them. And what if this was their only chance? What if the war could be finished right then?
So of course Hermione agreed to do it. She wielded the fang that killed that bit of soul in the cup, and within an hour fucking Vincent Crabbe had destroyed the diadem for them too, while nearly burning them all alive in the Room of Requirement.
All that was left was the snake, and Hermione always knew that she would have to be at the very end. Nagini would go at the same time as Harry. That meant Hermione’s ability to drag out the horcrux hunt had officially expired.
So while Hermione knew this was coming, she still wasn’t prepared to see it. And that fucking snake was still alive, circling Voldemort. Hermione choked out a sob, because Harry should have been the last one. They should have found a way to take out the snake first. He could have lived another few minutes or hours or maybe even another day, if she hadn’t stood back and let him walk to his own death.
But she had let him do it because she had been scared. She had let him go because she knew his ending was predestined, but hers was not. She didn’t go with him this time because she believed he would take the snake down too, and Hermione would just distract him from what had to be done.
That’s what she told herself at any rate, but maybe she was lying about this too. Maybe she was just selfish.
Hermione could scarcely breathe as Harry’s blank, green eyes stared back. That’s how she knew he was gone. His eyes weren’t closed. They weren’t blinking. He was dead. Dead. And there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it anymore.
She thought she might be suffocating as it began to hit her, and only then did the volume seem to turn back on as screams rent the air to see their hero so broken.
Ron was next to her, or he had been, howling like a wounded animal. The sound went right to her soul, and she desperately wished he would stop. She barely noticed as his wailing started to grow fainter as Ron pushed through the crowd to get closer to Voldemort.
“You bastard!” he cried. “You fucking bastard!”
Hermione felt herself beginning to grow numb as tears coursed down her cheeks. She was still staring at those green eyes – the ones she would never see again. She would memorize him like this. At least it had been the killing curse instead of something more painful and violent. He didn’t look surprised. He looked determined. Knowing. At peace.
“I love you, Harry,” she whispered. She hoped he could hear her. She really hoped he would forgive her for keeping this secret from him. “I just didn’t want you to think about it like I did.”
Hermione gave a giant sniff and blinked as she realized the crowd around her was starting to move again.
“Neville!” screeched a voice that sounded like Ginny’s. Hermione whipped around to see Neville Longbottom barreling at Voldemort with his teeth bared, only to be struck down moments later by a jet of green light.
“NO!” cried Hermione, and now she was gasping for air all over again.
Harry was supposed to die, but not Neville. Never Neville. He was her first friend in the wizarding world. He had always been there, quiet and kind. He had an innocent crush on Hermione for years. She knew it, and he knew that she knew it, but they had never talked about it. He had gathered the courage to ask her to the Yule Ball after Viktor Krum did, but other than that he had never once spoken of it because sweet Neville was painfully aware that his crush was one-sided. He was a gentleman, and the last thing he would ever want to do would be to make a girl uncomfortable.
Christ, why hadn’t she kissed him? Why couldn’t she have given him that, at least one time, before he died?
Then she remembered the boy she did kiss, only hours ago, and she went pale.
“Ron,” she muttered. Then she screeched, “RON!”
But the battle was starting up again, and she lost him in the crowd. With Harry Potter and much of the Order dead, those that were left were starting to scatter, and the Death Eaters were closing rank.
“Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!”
Hermione could barely think straight, as she whirled and ducked and dodged, firing spells seemingly at random. She knew she was a brilliant witch, but athletic endeavors had never really been her thing. She wasn’t as nimble and coordinated as some of the others, and without a plan she ran on instinct.
Her instincts, she knew, ranged from very good to terrible. She could apparate them out of Xenophilius Lovegood’s house while falling through the air, but she also had a tendency to panic at the sight of blood. And there was so much blood.
Breathe and cast. Breathe and cast.
Hermione took down one Death Eater with a stunner and another with a leglock jinx.
I should be casting to kill.
She knew she should. She knew it. But it gave Hermione a sick feeling in her gut to think about it. She wasn’t evil, and she knew what murder did to the soul better than anyone.
A spell lit the air, and a flash of red hair caught her eye. It wasn’t Ron, but Ginny. She and Luna were dueling a couple of men that Hermione didn't immediately recognize in the dark because their backs were to her. Ginny and Luna looked exhausted, worn, like they were ready to collapse.
“GINNY!” screamed Hermione as she tried to fight her way to them. She had no idea where Ron was, but she had just found the only two girls who had ever been her real friends. Maybe she could get to them and save them. Her boys might be lost to her, but her girls…
Hermione sobbed as a red spell struck Luna first, and then she collapsed while Ginny’s face lit with rage.
“Avada Kedavra you fuckers!” she screeched, and to Hermione’s utter shock a green jet of light flew out of Ginny’s wand, but the wizard she was aiming for dodged it. It missed him and flew within an inch of Hermione behind him. She ducked too as Ginny’s eyes met hers for a split second and widened in horror at what had almost happened.
“KEEP FIGHTING!” screamed Hermione, but it was too late. Ginny’s moment of distraction caught her unawares, and she also fell to a jet of red light, while Hermione’s screams gave away her position.
The two men turned and started to send spells her way now.
“Crap,” she gasped as she started firing off spells in return. The men were hooded and masked, and she had no idea who they were, but as she got closer she thought they were about the same size as Harry and Ron. She was so distracted by trying to duel them two at once that she didn’t notice the person approaching her from behind.
“Stupefy,” drawled an aristocratic voice.
Hermione should have ducked, but she was so surprised to hear his voice after watching him cough up smoke from the Room of Requirement that she spun to face him instead. In a split second she took in a Death Eater wearing a mask. But even in the moonlight Hermione recognized the glint of silver eyes that told her this was Draco Malfoy. She didn’t know where the mask had come from, because the last time she saw him he wasn’t wearing it, and he didn’t look that different from any of the other students who were drawn into the fight. Perhaps he had pulled it off of another Death Eater who was dead or dying in the grass. Perhaps it had been kept with his master or his parents, and he had finally been able to retrieve it. Or maybe he had carried it all along, shrunk down in his pocket, so that he could play both sides depending on what best suited his purposes. Regardless of how it happened, she knew she was looking at a Death Eater now and not a boy. The mask had given him back his confidence, and she felt a thrill of terror as he stared her down.
Precisely how Hermione knew that this was Draco and not Lucius, she couldn’t be certain. It could have been his stance or the familiar look of anger that flashed in those eyes when they took in her appearance. Then again, it might have been the wand he was holding. She immediately recognized it as Harry’s.
No, it wasn’t Harry’s wand. It was Draco's wand.
She remembered now: it was the wand Harry had taken from Draco Malfoy that day at the Manor. Somehow he had collected it from the body of her dead best friend.
Those silver eyes were focused and turned wild as the red spell flew toward her.
Fucking ferret, she thought as the jet of light hit her in the chest, and it all went dark.
******
“Hermione! Hermione! Hermione!”
Hermione groaned as a frightened female voice penetrated her haze. It took her a moment to realize somebody was shaking her.
“Wha –?” she asked inelegantly as her eyes fluttered open to find stone walls around her. Absolutely everything ached. She moved her head and winced. It felt like it was being split open. Her stomach rolled as another slice of pain rocketed through her skull, but she forced it back as she turned her head to find the source of the voice.
Luna’s concerned blue eyes swam into focus, her dirty blonde hair in tangles around her face. She had a split lip and a bruise forming on one cheek, and Hermione saw dirt and blood ground into her skin. Hermione was sure she looked just as bad.
“Luna?” she asked weakly.
Luna’s eyes showed relief, and her grip was surprisingly strong as she helped Hermione sit up. Hermione closed her eyes as her vision swam. Her head was absolutely killing her. She supposed she had earned a migraine after the most recent fight, but this was positively brutal.
Then her eyes flew open as she remembered the battle.
“Oh God, Harry…” she said in a soft voice as she began to cry.
She felt Luna pull her into a hug and put her head on Hermione’s shoulder as she wept. Then Hermione was surprised to feel another person doing the same thing on the other side of her. The flash of red hair and slightly floral scent of her shampoo told Hermione it was Ginny.
“Ginny…” she breathed through her tears. “You’re alright.”
“Yes,” she sniffed. “A bit worse for the wear, but we’re alive.”
The three huddled in silence for a long while as Hermione’s tears finally dried and her pounding head dulled to a steady ache.
“Where are we?” she whispered.
“Hogwarts I think,” said Ginny. “Down in the dungeons.”
Hermione slowly looked around and realized Ginny was correct. The Hogwarts dungeons were extensive, a vast network of various-sized chambers, all connected by low-ceiling corridors and lit with torches. Most students never ventured past the Potions classroom, but Hermione knew the dungeons well. After all, she had patrolled them for two years as a Prefect. This room was fairly small, with a solid wooden door on iron hinges blocking the entry. There were three small slivers of light where the wall met the ceiling. Hermione knew they were nothing more than vent holes at the very base of the Hogwarts foundation. They were no larger than a couple of bricks. She would never be able to escape through them, having never learned how to become an animagus like Peter Pettigrew or Rita Skeeter. But daylight streamed through the small crevices, which did tell her it was no longer the middle of the night.
She raised her hand and pushed up her sleeve, squinting to see her watch in the dim light. It was cheap, but serviceable, and Hermione was relieved to see it still worked.
“It’s almost noon…” she muttered. “God, how long were we out?”
“Ten or twelve hours, I’d say,” said Ginny. “I went down right after Luna.”
“And I went down right after you,” said Hermione. “One of them was Draco Malfoy.”
“Poncey git,” growled Ginny, and Hermione couldn’t help the small bubble of laughter that escaped her. It was odd and felt brittle, but Hermione was beyond exhausted and so hungry she felt faint. She was slightly delirious.
“No wands, I assume?” she asked, as she shut her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall.
“No,” said Luna. “Not for any of us.”
Hermione forced herself to do a slow pat down of her body to confirm what she had already suspected: her beaded bag was also gone.
“Great,” she muttered. “So we are stuck here until somebody lets us out.”
Ginny grimaced at this before frowning. “What about wandless magic? I know you have some, Hermione.”
Hermione sighed. She did have some, it was true, but hers was largely unrefined. Still, she knew she had to try. She closed her eyes and tried to coalesce her magic, but it felt too far away to grasp.
“No,” said Hermione with a groan. “It takes a lot of energy, and I’m just…” she trailed off and closed her eyes again.
Exhaustion. Pure exhaustion.
Yes, she had been unconscious for hours, but she hadn’t really slept. Nor had she eaten. And she couldn’t even begin to process her emotional state.
Hermione knew there would be no wandless magic coming from her, at least not yet.
“So what then?” asked Ginny with frustration. “We’re just stuck here until somebody remembers us? Or comes looking for us? What if the people who put us here died? They took us in the middle of the battle!”
Hermione felt a prickle of real fear at this, but she tried not to let it show on her face. She wasn’t as afraid of dying as she probably ought to be. It was something she had been grappling with ever since it became clear she would be central to the war, and she had largely made her peace with it. But then again, she had never thought she would die this way: slowly, through starvation and dehydration.
She swallowed and forced her brain back on.
“We have to think,” she muttered. “I haven’t heard anything but us since I woke up, have you?”
Both girls shook their heads, and Hermione nodded. “And the battle must be over, because surely we would be able to hear it…”
At this she gestured to the vent holes.
“We’re probably on the east side of the castle,” added Ginny. “It’s not that far from where we were all fighting last night.”
“I suppose we should try the door,” said Luna, and Hermione’s eyes bugged out.
“You haven’t tried the door?”
“Well of course not, I assumed we were prisoners.”
“Merlin. Well let’s try that first!” declared Ginny.
Luna scrambled to her feet, and Hermione and Ginny watched anxiously as she approached the door and tugged on it. Of course nothing happened, and Hermione felt her heart sink. It was stupid, really, to get her hopes up like that but for a split second she had believed they would be able to walk out. The disappointment felt crushing.
“Alright,” she said, taking a deep breath. “So we’re prisoners.”
“But we don’t know who won,” said Ginny quietly.
“I think there’s only one answer to that,” said Hermione softly, and a couple of tears welled and then tracked down her cheek.
“I just… it can’t be, Hermione. You know it can’t. What will we do if…”
Ginny’s voice was rising and starting to get hysterical, and Hermione reached out for her to pull her into a hug.
“We survive, Ginny. We do whatever we have to do to survive. And…”
“And?” asked Ginny.
“And if any of us sees Nagini, we have to kill her first.”
Both Ginny and Luna were now looking at Hermione intently.
“Is that what you three were doing for the past year, then? Hunting Nagini?” asked Ginny.
Hermione pursed her lips. She knew how Harry felt about keeping the horcruxes a secret, but Harry was gone. Ron might also be gone. Ginny and Luna didn’t need to know details. But Hermione also couldn’t rely on the odds of her own survival to finish it.
“Among other things,” she said. “Suffice to say, You-Know-Who can’t die until the snake does. That’s all you need to know. She has to go first and then him.”
Both girls looked at her solemnly and nodded.
“If we have a chance, we will take it,” said Luna serenely. “There are worse things than death. Thank you for trusting us with it, Hermione.”
Hermione nodded and swallowed. “It won’t be easy. You can’t just… stab her to death or anything like that. Think of her as a magically powerful creature. She has special protection. You can kill her with basilisk venom, but that takes a fang or the true Sword of Gryffindor, neither of which we have anymore. The easiest method is with a wand and Avada Kedavra, but of course…”
“We’re wandless,” said Ginny bitterly.
Hermione nodded again. “We are, though wands are much easier to come by than basilisk venom. We still aren’t likely to get a chance, but if we do…”
“Then we know what we have to do,” finished Luna simply.
The girls fell silent, and Hermione found herself just starting to doze off when a noise at the door made her jolt awake and scramble to her feet. She placed her hand against the wall to steady herself as the door was flung open, and three Death Eaters in masks came striding in.
They said nothing as each one of them approached one of the girls and raised their wands to silently bind their hands and gag them. Hermione struggled, but she was so weak from hunger, and the ropes were tight. She had a brief flashback to Malfoy Manor. This precise thing had happened there too, only she hadn’t been this weak. The Death Eater who was handling her grabbed her roughly and pushed her forward, keeping her head bowed and his wand well away from her. Behind her she could hear Ginny and Luna struggling too, but it was no use.
They were led through the dungeons, and only now could Hermione hear some moans and cries from other prisoners in nearby cells. Her heart began to race as she trod the familiar path past the spare dungeons and Potions classroom, then beyond the Slytherin dormitory, until they marched up the stairs and toward the Great Hall.
She knew where she was going. She was certain of it. And this was bad – very bad. Hermione closed her eyes and braced herself, hoping that some miracle would intervene to get her out of this.
They slowed as they approached the doors, and Hermione was stunned to find several dozen young people milling around, many of whom were unmasked. She recognized most of the Slytherins from her class, along with several who were in the year or two ahead of her. There were even a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in the group and…
Was that Cormac McLaggen?
Bile rose in her throat as he turned and noticed her before giving her a mocking smile.
Her captor made her come to a halt as he called out, “Everyone line up, behind us!”
Draco Malfoy. Sodding Draco Malfoy was the one holding her in place. She would recognize his arrogance anywhere. And while some part of her was filled with fear, mostly she was just angry.
She was so angry.
Hermione’s temper exploded, and she started to struggle like a wild animal, writhing, twisting, and kicking. She was going for his crotch and pectorals with her knees, just as Tonks had once told her to do in a situation like this, and she heard him gasp as her knee connected with flesh. She felt a moment of keen satisfaction that she had landed a hit, though he was moving now too, and he was quickly overpowering her. Wherever she had hit him, it had not done the damage she was hoping for.
“Fuck…” she heard him mutter.
Then a couple of others rushed forward and pinned her down to the ground, holding her in place while the Death Eater she knew was Malfoy stood over her. A moment later she heard a spell she didn't recognize, and a cold sensation moved through her body, as though she was being submerged in water. It took the fight right out of her, and she slumped.
“Get up,” he snarled as he tugged on her.
Hermione said nothing, her head just lolled to one side. How could she possibly stand up? She had no reason, no purpose. She felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut, feeling both magically relaxed and completely out of her own head. She had just expended the last of her energy in a fruitless attempt to hurt Malfoy. She hadn’t even tried to escape, she just wanted him to feel pain.
“I said, up,” he growled as he hauled her to her feet and bent down to throw her over his shoulder like a sack. She opened one bleary eye and looked down to see Malfoy’s arse striding forward, while Ginny's red hair flashed somewhere in her peripheral vision.
Hermione heard the doors to the Great Hall flung open, and then Malfoy was striding toward the front. Hermione was slowly coming back around, but she was still in a daze as he approached. She saw black cloaks and masks that told her she was surrounded by Death Eaters, but she couldn’t see clearly to know precisely how many there were. Then she was distracted as his voice rang out.
“My Lord, I have brought you followers and captives. I have been recruiting young men and women who are loyal to you for the past year, and they are here to take your Mark and offer you their service.”
She was still draped over his shoulder, but he stepped aside, and she heard shuffling as all of the people who were milling about in the Entry Hall stepped forward and announced their names one by one. Hermione counted twenty-four of them in all.
“You have done good work, Draco,” came Voldemort’s high voice. “And now, show me your captives.”
She felt herself sliding off his shoulder, and as her face passed his, he breathed, “Scream when I say so.”
And then without further ado she was dropped in a heap at Voldemort’s feet, and she sensed Ginny and Luna being shoved down next to her.
“The Mudblood Granger, my Lord,” said Malfoy. “I also have the sister of Ronald Weasley and that Lovegood bint who escaped with Potter from the Manor a couple months ago. I have another half dozen prisoners in the dungeons to offer you as well, after these three.”
There was silence as Voldemort contemplated his prisoners. Hermione’s head was finally starting to clear from that odd spell, which she now realized must have been some sort of strong calming charm. She struggled to control her breathing as she waited, but there was something odd niggling in her mind.
The sister of Ronald Weasley?
Wasn’t Ginny better known for being Harry’s girlfriend? True, they had only been together a few weeks at the end of sixth year, but surely Malfoy knew about it. It had been all over the school. Then again, maybe he assumed the relationship fizzled out since it had been nearly a year.
“You have done exceedingly well, Draco,” said Voldemort. “And tell me, have you learned any secrets?”
“I have searched the Mudblood thoroughly, my Lord,” said Draco. “It was as you thought, but she is no longer a threat. She was the least of them. As you know, Potter and Weasley are already dead.”
Hermione went cold, while her heart broke for Ron, and tears started to track down her cheeks as she muffled a sob. Poor Ron was dead too, and now Hermione was all that was left of her little band of best friends. And what did he mean he had searched her thoroughly? When? She hadn’t seen him since the battle. She had been unconscious and…
Her head. She woke up with the worst migraine of her life. Had he been inside of her head while she was unconscious? Was that even possible?
Hermione tried to choke back her tears, feeling both desperate and violated. Voldemort knew about the horcruxes, that was something she had accepted during the battle itself. But was he aware of just how close they had come to finishing it?
He must be aware now.
Hermione closed her eyes and tried not to panic.
“Very well,” said Voldemort. “I promised you a boon if you were able to gather followers and capture the Mudblood. You have done this, and Lord Voldemort keeps his promises. So tell me, Draco, what is it you desire?”
“I wish to execute the Mudblood for you, in front of the wizarding world. Let us have a spectacle my Lord. Allow me to send her through the veil to join Potter and Weasley so nobody questions your authority any longer. Then I wish to take the Weasley girl for myself. She is a blood traitor, but she is pure and of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. I am certain I can break her, my Lord. I can make her learn her place in our new world. And finally, as you are most generous, I ask that you consider granting Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini a prisoner of their choice as well. They are loyal and were critical when it came to securing the Mudblood and being my seconds in recruitment.”
He bowed low, and Hermione felt so ill she wanted to wretch.
A public execution. She would be murdered in some horrible event that would be broadcast to wizarding Britain. It wasn’t enough that she would die. No, it would be in front of dozens, if not hundreds of people.
And Ginny… Hermione’s stomach turned as she thought about it. Malfoy wanted to take her prisoner for what? Sex? Domination? Surely not marriage, despite her status? Regardless of his motives, it was truly horrifying.
At last Voldemort spoke.
“Very well,” he said. “I will not deny that you three captured our highest prize. I will reward you as you wish, Draco. My other loyal followers will be able to choose from our prisoners as well – it is only fitting – but you may have the Weasley girl, and Nott and Zabini may also have priority for their selections as is befitting their rank. We will execute the Mudblood as soon as it can be arranged, and then we will allot the prisoners from there.”
“My Lord, may I suggest the fifth of June for the execution date?” he asked.
Hermione felt the panic truly beginning, and she made herself breath. The fifth of June was just over a month away.
“I am not opposed to it, but you will tell me why,” said Voldemort.
“Of course, my Lord. I am suggesting it because it gives us several weeks to prepare. We can execute the Mudblood, allot the prisoners, and then host celebrations through that weekend. And besides… it also happens to be my birthday. I can think of no greater gift.”
Hermione could hear the smirk in Malfoy’s voice at this last tidbit, and there was a moment of shocked silence as the room seemed to collectively hold its breath at his assertiveness. But then to Hermione’s great surprise Voldemort began to cackle with laughter.
“Excellent Draco, most excellent. Yes, of course we must celebrate your birthday in a unique way this year. Very well – the events will take place on the fifth of June. It will be a national holiday to celebrate my victory. Now then, before you are dismissed… please welcome the Mudblood as our prisoner.”
“Of course my Lord…” he said as he straightened up and removed his mask from his face.
He turned to look down at Hermione, and she stared back at him with dull eyes. His face was carved like stone, and she nearly shuddered at the coldness that was radiating from him. He looked at her for one long moment before pointing his wand straight at her.
“Scream for me, Mudblood,” he said before his face contorted and he cried, “Crucio! ”
Malfoy’s spell connected, and Hermione began to scream.