Illumination

When she awakes again, she is tied to a bed.

The room is larger—still windowless and chilled, but there was a fire, which seemed to be more for light than for warmth—or perhaps she is just cold beyond any fire’s ability to warm her. There is a figure reading in a chair, a glass of wine on the table next to him. She expects to see the white-blonde hair of one Draco Malfoy, but the figure is hooded, and she cannot see his profile which is turned towards her. She does, however, see the title of the book he is reading:Liber Mortis.

Malfoy is reading the Book of Death? She tests the bonds that hold her hands but finds it must be some enchantment for there are no ropes physically holding her down. Regardless of not seeing what restrained her, movement is futile, and struggling against the invisible bonds is useless.

“Young Malfoy is not spending his time reading in the aftermath of our success, Miss Granger. I believe he and MissWeasley—Mrs. Malfoy now, I would assume—have other things occupying their time.”Voldemort.

Hermione is in what appears to be his room, and she looks around wildly, as if expecting to see a wide variety of torture devices or similar. There is nothing but bookshelves, and she gapes as she takes in the titles—all works of dark magic that would never have been in the Restricted Section of Hogwarts. In fact, the Ministry would have seen to it that such titles were destroyed before they would be found in any library.

“There is no Ministry anymore, I’m afraid,”Voldemort says, his attention still with his book. “No longer will they destroy these or any other instruments of dark magic merely because they are not strong enough to control them.”

She fights against the invisible bindings, even though she knows it is useless. Unbidden comes the thought of her wand, broken at her feet, andMalfoy’s cruel taunt, “Without this, you are as worthless as any Muggle…let me show you what I do to Muggles in the Dark Lord’s name.”

“No one is strong enough to control dark magic,” she says, Gryffindor courage inspiring her to fight.

“I am.” His voice is imbued with arrogance. He turns crimson eyes towards her. She feels her heart pounding in her chest—she is bound to his bed and completely at his mercy, a trait she knows he does not possess.

“Do you know, Miss Granger, why you did not awaken in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor as young Draco requested of me, faithful servant that he is?”

She tries to shake her head, which of course remained still on the mattress. “No,” she says, her voice sullen. She dislikes the waiting he is putting her through. Kill me, torture me—just be done with it.

He laughs again; she is unsure if it is from her tone of voice or the thoughts running through her head. “I have only known one other person who would have known what this is,” he says, raising the book and inclining his head to her slightly. “That particular man is not interested in having a Mudblood whore to torment. His wife appreciates his more—unusual—proclivities. It is a pity he did not pass his knowledge of the Dark Arts to his son, else I should have been pleased to honor young Draco’s request. As it is, I have not arrived where I am today by destroying things that might possibly be of value to me. And sending you to Draco … make no mistake, Miss Granger, he would destroy you.” The pleased tone of his voice causes her to close her eyes.

Hermione stares at him, unable to believe what he has just told her. “I am saved from Draco’s wrath because I have recognized the book you’re reading?”

“Not only recognize, but I think you would be more than interested to read it, no? Knowledge…the most forbidden fruit, dark magic, is it not? Wouldn’t you like to peruse it, Miss Granger?” He holds the book out as if offering it to her, and she turns her head away.

Suddenly, the book flies towards her, levitated by him to hover above her. She finds her hands released from her bindings, and grabs the book as it falls—more to keep it from striking her in the head than out of any desire to read it. A strange thrill rushes through her at holding it, however. TheLiber Mortis was so forbidden, one would receive a lifetime in Azkaban for merely owning it, and here she was, holding it in her hands…

“You will read this.”

She shrieks, he is suddenly standing next to her, and she is unaware he has moved. She meets his eyes, wondering why she can only see those burning crimson orbs and no other feature of his face. Perhaps he has no others left.

“I shall teach you Dark Magic, Miss Granger. If you do not perform to my satisfaction, then I shall conclude you are not deserving of my mercy, and I shall send you to Malfoy.”

“Mercy?” She cannot help the incredulous tone of her voice. “You call this mercy? Holding me here, against my will, and forcing me to learn—“

“I doubt anyone has ever forced you to learn, Miss Granger,” he says, and she finds she cannot look away from him. “Your friends are dead, and no doubt you wish to join them. Do not think I am sparing you out of any misplaced feelings of remorse—I have none. I well remember that you, Miss Granger, were the brains behind the Order, and I know my plans that you have destroyed with your insufferable knowledge. You would rather die than be corrupted, would you not?” Again, he trails a finger down her hair, and she wants to move away from him but finds she is unable to do so.

“I shall force you to learn this magic, and if you are as strong as your Gryffindor pride denotes, and as clever as you think you are, then you shall be turned and I have gained a valuable witch for my dark court. If, however, you are correct and the magic destroys you … what a fine vengeance it shall be, to destroy you with the one thing for which you pride yourself the most - knowledge. If you are not as clever as you think or as I have been lead to believe, then I shall let Malfoy have you. Either way, I shall have my vengeance, Miss Granger, be assured of that. I do not do this for mercy.” The word is a hiss.

She is not able to see his face, but she imagines him to be smiling.