Illumination

“What seest thou else, in the dark backward and abysm of time?”---Shakespeare, The Tempest

Hermione awakens slowly, her body is aching in the aftermath of the curse that has been thrown at her. She remembersMalfoy’s cold gray eyes and evil smirk as she had writhed in pain on the floor. It is a preferable memory to the way the Final Battle had ended—against all hope, all the planning and the surety that they would prevail—Voldemort and his Death Eaters have killed every last one of the Order, including Harry and Ron, and have emerged victorious. Hermione had stared into the nameless eyes of some masked Death Eater, fully expecting to join her friends in death. Instead, the Death Eater had removed his mask and smirked. “Oh, no,Mudblood. We have some unfinished business to attend to,” he had snarled

Draco Malfoy had taken great pleasure in honing his skill with the Cruciatus Curse, laughing as she’d screamed on the floor at his feet. Her wand had been broken, and her spirit and her body were surely not far behind. Death would have been a welcome respite from what she was certain Malfoy had planned for her. The worst had been seeing Ginny Weasley at his side—Ginny, who had abandoned her friends and family for the self-same man who was torturing her brother’s girlfriend before her eyes. Ginny had looked away from the scene, and Hermione had finally fallen unconscious under the pain. I think that was the worst betrayal of them all. None of them would ever understand why Ginny had chosen Malfoy over her friends and family.

The room she now finds herself in is cold and made entirely out of stone. There are no windows, and she feels as if she is in a tomb. Perhaps Malfoy has buried me alive. The thought does not last long as she sees the figure of a man reclining in a stone chair, his face hidden by the thick folds of the hood of his black cloak. Hermione thinks perhaps it is Malfoy, until she becomes aware of a pair of sinister, glowing red eyes.

The Dark Lord himself is staring at her. Hermione screws her eyes shut, hoping he hasn’t noticed she is awake. It is a futile hope—certainly he is there to kill her—but her natural survival instinct takes over. A sibilant voice echoes in the stone room, saying, “Ah, Miss Granger. So you awake to my moment of triumph.”

She scrambles back against the stones, wrapping her arms against her knees. She shudders at the sound of his voice, unable to speak. Her throat feels raw, as if someone had tried to choke her. Perhaps they had—she did not remember much of Malfoy’s torture of her. She braced herself, waiting for the flash of green that would herald her death. At this point, it would be a relief

I belong with Harry, and Ron, and Luna, and the Weasleys. Hermione keeps her eyes firmly on the shrouded Dark Lord, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her hide her eyes when he finally kills her. He points his wand at her, and she takes a deep breath in preparation. So this is how it ends. I wish I could avenge you all.

Instead of “Avada Kedavra”, he says only, “Scourgify”. She finds herself clean of the dirt, grime, and blood that was clinging to her, and she looks down at herself in amazement. Confusion is written clearly on her face as she raises her eyes to his once more. “But—“

“Malfoy has asked me for you, Miss Granger.” His voice is as cold and merciless as she had always thought it would be. “He apparently feels an urge to repay several debts accrued from your days at school.”

She winces. Draco Malfoy‘s hatred of her had not abated even after school had ended. He’d corrupted one of her best friends and no doubt he wanted to make her pay in sweat and blood for the crime of beingMuggle-born, and for fighting on the opposite side in the War. She tries to keep her face impassive. Voldemort points his wand at her again, and hisses “Imperio”, catching her off guard. She is slow from the torture and the exhaustion of the final battle, and indeed the weeks of sleeplessness that presaged the end, and the Dark Lord’s will is strong. He is far more skilled than the imposter Moody had been in her fourth year. “Stand up, Miss Granger, and approach me.”

She is unable to resist, and she moves towards him even as her mind screams at her to stop.

He stands as she nears him. He is tall, and she can only see those serpentine crimson eyes staring down at her—his face is somehow obscured by the shadows made by the hood of his cloak. His eyes reflect no emotion, but she feels triumph flowing off of him in waves, drowning her senses. He reaches a hand out and draws one long, cold finger down her cheek. Tears leak out of her eyes, but she remains still underneath his touch. The spell will not allow her to move.

With a wave of his wand, he releases his hold on her. She steps back immediately, and he laughs in the darkness—the cold, high-pitched sound terrifying her more than anything else has yet done. Her body trembles as she stands before him. “You do not want me to give you to young Malfoy,” he hisses in his cruel voice. “He takes much after his father, and I do not think you share Narcissa Malfoy’s appreciation of such talents.”

Hermione thinks he might be smiling, but she can only see his eyes. I am not yours to give.

“On the contrary, Miss Granger,” he says, and she forgets for a moment his skill inLegilimency. “Potter’s failure to kill me means that you are mine with which I can do whatever I please. As is the world, Miss Granger, as is the world.” His laughter again chills her, and she is not sure if it is from cold or from terror that she shivers so violently.

“Give me to Malfoy if you so desire,” she says in a peculiarly dead voice. “It no longer makes any difference.” Perhaps in his rage Malfoy will kill her, or perhaps she can plead with Ginny to end her life. Surely her old friend owes her that much, at least?

His cold hands reaches out and touches her shoulder, and with a whispered command, she slips from consciousness.