Hemione Jean Granger wanted the world to burn. Everything had been stolen from her: her childhood, her future, her parents. Even if they did win this war, she was doomed. Well, she was already doomed.
It had been more than three months since her plan had failed and Hermione - as well as Lavender Brown and Luna Lovegood - had been captured. Each girl was thin and pale and bruised; even Lavender’s perfect curls were dishevelled.
Neither woman spoke as they sat, huddled up in the corner of the rotting cell. Luna - the most frail of the three - sat in the middle, her dreamy hums breaking as she rocked back and forth. Dried blood stained her neck from her most recent session with the Death Eaters and her once bright eyes were now the dullest grey Hermione had ever seen.
Three months and they hadn’t been rescued. There had been an unspoken rule in the Order: if you weren’t rescued within three months, you were ruled as deceased. The girls had been left to die, even Potter’s Golden Girl. Hermione had stopped counting the days after the third month.
“I’m scared,” Lavender whispered, the first words she’d spoken in weeks. Her voice - once high in pitch and shrieky - was now hoarse and cracked as she stared, wide eyed at her knees which she cradled to her chest.
“I know,” Hermione replied, trying her best to mask her own fear as Luna squeezed her hand, “we’ll find a way.” It was a lie, all three of them knew that… but no one objected.
The lights flickered on and each girl stiffened as Peter Pettigrew waddled down the dungeon steps, his teeth as yellow as the fire torches. They knew who would be next before he spat the words. "Your turn, Mudblood." Hermione said nothing as she let go of Luna's hand and she staggered forward, clenching her jaw as the girls remained silent, watching with wide eyes.
Hermione Jean Granger was officially the unluckiest woman alive.
Bellatrix Lestrange was fuming as her storming eyes met Hermione’s dark pair. “Why don’t you let me in?” Shrieked the woman whose hair was far worse than hers had ever been. “Let me in, Mudblood! Let me in! Let me in!”
Hermione took pride in the fact that her occlumency walls had been built so strong that even the Lestrange woman couldn’t break in. She had, afterall, spent hours with Severus Snape practising… in case this had ever happened. Everyone in the Order had to undergo some form of training from him. And as horrible as it had been, Hermione was so glad she’d persisted. Afterall, she couldn’t get entertainment like this anywhere else.
Bellatrix was like a toddler, screaming and shouting and whining as she threw things around and barked at Pettigrew who whimpered in the far corner. “If My Dark Lord didn’t have plans for you, I’d kill you myself!” Hissed the woman as she got in Hermione’s face, her pointy nose almost kissing Hermione’s freckled one.
“I suppose that’s a shame then,” smirked Hermione as Bellatrix drew back, screaming.
“Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!”
Getting hit by three crucios one after the other still didn’t lower Hermione’s walls. Of course, she fell to the ground, jaw slamming into the shining marble as the burning pain bubbled from within her. It got worse and worse as she squirmed, her head was throbbing and spinning, she felt as if she were about to vomit. Still, she didn’t scream. Was it her Gryffindor pride? Had she just lost her voice? Hermione couldn’t even think as her body spasmed and blood pooled in her mouth. Had she bitten her tongue?
“I won’t ask you again, Mudblood,” Bellatrix grasped Hermione’s hair, yanking her quivering body up as her beady eyes glowered, “let me in.”
“N-Not a question.” Hermione’s voice was weak as Bellatrix’s face contorted into one of rage. She threw the girl down again, heeled boot slamming into her ribcage with angry grunts.
Lavender only ran forward when Pettigrew had huffed on his way up the stairs, leaving the captured women in complete darkness. “Oh Hermione,” she whispered, pressing her shivering hand against her once rival’s cheek, “what did they do?”
“B-Bellatrix,” wheezed Hermione as she rolled over, attempting to push herself off the floor. That must’ve been a good enough answer itself because Lavender paled instantly as she helped Hermione sit herself up.
The day passed as it always did after their sessions. The victim of that day sat in the middle, leaning against the other two girls, their hands intertwined as they waited and waited and waited.
Their ‘Trial’ Day was held ten days after Bellatrix’s wrath. The girls hadn’t been aware of such a thing happening, but according to Pettigrew - who sniffled too much - every captured victim was given a ‘Trial’.
Bags had been placed over their heads and rope bound their wrists and ankles and they were forced forward. None of them cried. They were silent and stiff as they were forced to their knees, their heads pressed harshly to the marble floor as hushed whispers circled the room.
“Gentlemen!” Hermione had never seen him before, however, with the dark magic lacing his words, she was fairly certain that whoever had been talking was Voldemort. “Welcome, once again, to another trial. I thank you for your presence this evening.” Celebratory cheers erupted from the crowds of Death Eater’s causing goosebumps to rise on Hermione’s arms. How many were there? “Tonight, we are joined by: Lavender Brown, Luna Lovegood and Hermione Granger!”
The itchy fabric hiding Hermione’s face was yanked off and her dark eyes widened ever so slightly at the sight before her. Sick bastards. The three women were kneeling on a theatre stage, their hands tied behind their backs, their voices silenced with strong charms and hatred churning in their stomachs.
Voldemort was… worse than Hermione had ever expected him to appear. She'd had nightmares of him as a human. She'd always imagined him to be a human… not this. His skin was whiter than her mother's teeth, his ears pointy and his nose… Well, where was his nose? It was as if… he were a skull with a tight sheet of flesh holding it together. His eyes were worse. Looking into them made Hermione's stomach churn. Red. They were as red as the poppies that her father grew and shared with their neighbours whenever November rolled around. It should’ve been around November now… if her estimate was correct.
“One by one,” Voldemort was smirking as he lounged in that massive throne he’d moved to stand before the stage, she hoped his neck ached as he looked up at them. “You will be invited to join me, The Dark Lord.” Hermione’s blood boiled at his suggestion. “Of course, if you decline… well, we wouldn’t want that to happen.” His bony, taloned fingers gestured to a row of heads stabbed through iron spikes. Her stomach bubbled and her chest caved as he recognised one of the faces to be Cormac McLaggen’s. “So…” Voldemort’s nails kissed the plush armrest as he smiled, revealing his rotting teeth. “Miss Lavender Brown, what do you say?”
Hermione closed her eyes, gulping down the hot bile that had formed in her throat. She needed to breathe, to collect herself. Her ears and heart were pounding within her, her mind was racing. What was the best route for this? Join him and hurt her friends or… die, here, right now, at nineteen years old.
“I’d never work for you,” hissed Lavender Brown, “only in your wildest dreams, you slimy, bald-headed cu-” Thank Merlin for the silencing charm placed on her because Hermione’s hiss would have been heard.
Voldemort had only lifted his finger and Lavender’s head had been sliced from her body, rolling to the stage floor as one of the spotlights faded, leaving only two shining on Luna and Hermione. Take his offer! Hermione wanted to scream at the looney girl she’d grown fond of. You’re a pureblood - you’ll be fine! They’ll understand.
“Well, Luna Lovegood?” If Voldemort had eyebrows, she was sure he would have raised one. Luna’s grey narrowed as she stared at the vile man - no, creature - for a few tense moments. “I’ll give you a high position within my ranks, a present for turning on the Order.”
Take it! Luna’s head turned and she met Hermione’s gaze. The muggleborn merely nodded her head slightly and Luna licked her lower lip, turning her attention back to Voldemort. “My allegiance is with you, My Lord.” Luna bowed her head, her platinum waves sliding from her shoulder as Hermione exhaled, eyes catching Voldemort’s as he turned to her.
“And you, Granger?”
“Do you really want a Mudblood within your ranks?” She spat, ignoring the way her body shook with terror whenever Voldemort’s eyes landed on her.
“Oh yes,” he said, “you prove a point… however, you are Potter’s Mudblood and I’d love to see the terror on his face.” His lips lifted into a smirk.
Hermione clenched her jaw as she glanced at Luna who was looking at her with the biggest eyes she’d ever seen. The muggleborn hated Voldemort with a passion… and he was fighting for Muggleborns like her to be killed. Why would she fight for him? However… a sly smile spread across her chapped lips when she met Voldemort’s eyes once more. Sometimes, she felt that if she weren’t born to muggles, she would have been placed in Slytherin. Prejudice fucking hat.
“Then yes,” she said strongly, causing whispers to hiss around the theatre, “my service is yours, My Lord.”