Hermione Granger and the Beginning of the End

A hundred days had made me older

Since the last time that I saw your pretty face

A thousand lights had made me colder

And I don't think I can look at this the same

But all the miles, they separate

They disappeared now when I'm dreaming of your face

I'm here without you, baby, but you're still on my lonely mind

I think about you, baby, and I dream about you all the time

I'm here without you, baby, but you're still with me in my dreams

And tonight it's only you and me

"Here Without You"--Three Doors Down

**

She was back on top of the Astronomy Tower with the warm wind whistling through her wild hair. She leaned forward to peer over the edge of the roof, marveling at how high up this tower really was, when the door creaked open. Hermione surreptitiously went for her wand.

"Come on, now, put that away before you hurt someone."

Hermione smiled involuntarily at the sound of his voice. "You're just afraid that someone's going to be you."

"Petrified," Ron Weasley admitted as he wandered over to the edge of the roof to lean against the barrier alongside her. "A bit late to be out here, don't you think?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Couldn't sleep," Hermione told him, knowing that he was wondering why she was out here so late. She glanced over at him. "How did you know I was here?"

"Felt it," Ron explained, his blue eyes never swerving from the branches of the Forbidden Forest. "It's getting stronger, y'know."

"Really?" Hermione commented flatly. "Then how come I've been trying to find you ever since I woke up and you're nowhere to be found?"

Ron blinked in surprise but he didn't avert his gaze from the forest. "Wh-what?"

"You heard me," Hermione said defiantly as she leaned one hip against the wall of the tower and folded her arm across her chest. "Where are you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ron said edgily as he backed away from her in confusion. "I'm right here."

"No, you're not," Hermione snapped. "This is a dream. This is the same bloody dream that I've been having for ages, and it should technically be over. I already know that you were the one sacrificing me for the greater good, and that Dean was the friendly face that I needed to watch out for, so I shouldn't be up here on this tower and I should be at home with you, but you're gone and I need you back--so tell me where you are!"

Hermione needed to pause to take a long breath, hoping that it would alleviate her flushed cheeks. She didn't know why she was ranting like this, but in all honesty, it felt good. Even if it was in her subconscious, she was going to vent and release some of this anger, so that when she woke up, she could get past it and think of a plan to escape. Besides, once you realize that you're dreaming, you can change the course of your dream, so why not learn some information rather than go through the same tiresome routine of kissing Ron, having him turn into Dolohov, and then almost falling out of the tower? She raised her eyebrows at him expectantly. He had retreated to the center of the tower and had his back to her, but she knew that he could feel her eyes boring relentlessly into him, and it would be only a matter of moments before he spoke again.

"Is it?" Ron finally said quietly without turning back to look at her. "Is the point of it really over?"

Hermione's arms slowly fell away from her chest and dropped limply at her side. "You mean something good is still going to have to be sacrificed? Or there's still a friendly face I need to watch out for?" She hesitated before listing the other, more awful possibility. "Or is it both?"

Ron let out a reluctant sigh before slowly turning to face her. Hermione instinctively jumped and backed away when she saw Antonin Dolohov's face staring back at her. But once the initial shock faded, Hermione found herself strangely unafraid. In fact, much to his surprise, she began to laugh.

"So you've actually been Dolohov all of this time?" she asked sarcastically. "I can't say I didn't see this coming--I actually knew it all along. I just didn't say anything because I thought you were a really good kisser."

"You're wrong, little girl," Dolohov-Ron crooned sinisterly. "You have no idea what's inside your boyfriend."

"Actually, I do," Hermione protested sharply. "You see, I know him better than anyone and I know that this," she gestured to Dolohov, "is not Ron, or at least not the real Ron. You're just an illusion. You're nothing."

For some reason, it felt really good to say those things to Dolohov--in a way, it was quite therapeutic. Dolohov-Ron was still sneering horribly at her, so Hermione dropped the harsh tone and just stared at him in the way that she knew made him feel as loved as he made her feel whenever he was around her. "Ron," she said softly, peering intently at the eyes which were now coal-black and round rather than brilliantly blue and oval. "Ron, stop fooling around--I know it's you."

"Do you?" Dolohov-Ron sneered as he strode forward with malice clearly in every step. "Do you really?"

Hermione just stared past the pointed, pale face, the sinister goatee, and the rotting teeth, and it was as though the man who had tried to kill her twice wasn't even there. All she saw was the happy, blue-eyed, red-haired boy she had fallen head over heels for. "Yeah," she said simply. "Of course it's you, Ron--I'd know you anywhere."

The Dolohov-Ron froze about five steps away from her and when he opened his mouth to speak, it was his beloved voice. "Really?"

Hermione smiled and wordlessly shortened the distance between them. She reached, softly brushing the hair from his eyes, not caring that it was black peppered with gray rather than bright red, because inside this shell of a Death Eater lay the heart of the man she was destined to spend the rest of her life with. She could look past any exterior Ron put up, any façade he may enact, because through it all, at heart, he was and would always be her prat. She pushed herself up on her toes, brought her other hand up to his face, and Dolohov's wicked face be damned, she kissed him full on the lips, because he was the boy she loved with all of her heart, all of her entire being, and nothing was ever going to change that.

His thin chapped lips seized hers with the Weasley passion that never failed to make her knees go weak, and his hands came up to her waist to steady her as she tottered slightly on her tiptoes. Her hands slid to the back of his head to push him even closer to her, and as she kissed him until she grew rather lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, she called out to him with every nerve in her body. She flat out pleaded and begged for him to come back, for him to find her, for him to let her know he was safe, because if she was going to survive this, she needed to know that he was at home waiting for her.

Although her head was positively swimming and reeling with the effort, she sensed when it changed. His touch altered and grew tender in a split second, and without opening her eyes, Hermione knew that the hair that she was fiercely gripping was flame-red once again. He carefully lowered her down so that she no longer had to balance on the tips of her toes, and they both hungrily continued to consume each other. Hermione only broke it off when she was on the urge of passing out, and as she gasped for breath, Ron's head burrowed into the side of her neck and shoulders. He squeezed her close to him as if he never, ever intended to let her go--and that was perfectly all right with her.

"Ron," she got out with only a wisp of her voice.

"Shut up," Ron commanded before lifting his head to find her lips again. For once, Hermione didn't argue and instead just sank back into him, practically glowing in the delight of glimpsing the features of the man that she loved so much. He was back. He was here. Not just the dream version of Ron, but him. She was certain of it. She had found him, and now that she had him back, it was going to take something pretty damn powerful to tear him away from her again.

"Where have you been?" Hermione demanded when she finally managed to bring herself to wrest her lips away from his. "What happened to you? You're all right, aren't you?"

"I'll be okay," Ron reassured her, although his eyes revealed that he wasn't very certain that it was true. He was sliding one of his fingers up and down her waist, and the gesture was making her skin tingle. "I must have really scared you," he murmured sympathetically.

"You did," Hermione half-scolded, although she knew he really wasn't to blame for falling ill. "I was terrified when I read that article--Ron, what happened? Why did this happen to you? How can I fix it?"

"You read about it?" Ron repeated. "You--you're not there with me?" Hermione lowered her eyes guiltily, but Ron would have none of that. He bent his knees to keep his face at eye-level with hers. "Why aren't you there?"

His hands were still on her waist, so she brought her fingers up to his forearms, feeling the skin as if for the first time in order to remember and treasure every sensation that he produced in her. That may be the only weapon she'd be able to use to protect herself in the Malfoy Manor. "They got me, Ron," she said under her breath, not bearing to look at him and risk seeing his pain at her words. "The Malfoys caught me."

Although she didn't see his eyes, she felt the pain right in her heart, and she just fell into him. Ron could only keep her close to him for a moment, too surprised and overwhelmed to do anything else. She burrowed into his chest and breathed him in. Remember this, she told herself firmly. She burned his scent into her memory. She memorized the feel of his shirt against her cheek, the way his arm fit around her back, the path his fingers traveled through her hair. Remember everything about this, she pleaded to herself again. If she couldn't get out of this and the Malfoys got away with what they had planned, she wanted to have this moment firmly in her mind when the deed was done. The Malfoys could take her life, but they could never take her mind or her heart--her mind belonged to her alone, and her heart had always only been for Ron. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of dwelling on how awful her end would be. She was going to remember this instead and die with a smile on her face.

"What do they want with you?" Ron asked hoarsely.

Hermione could sense that it physically sickened Ron to have to wait for a response, but she also knew how ill he was going to be if he heard the truth. "It doesn't matter--"

"Yes it does," Ron cut in sharply.

She let out a long breath, and keeping her face warmly pressed against his chest, she told him. She told him everything about what had happened to her, and she felt the precise moment when it hit him how dire her situation was. She felt his heartbeat accelerate, and his abdomen heaved and contracted momentarily. His breathing grew more ragged, his chest muscles seized up, and his arms wrapped even tighter around her. "No," he muttered under his breath. "No." He pulled away from her, but he kept his hands on her shoulders. "That is not happening to you--I won't let those--" For once, Ron seemed incapable of creating a vulgar phrase appropriate enough to describe the Malfoys, and his Adam's apple only bobbed angrily. "I will get you out of this, I swear," he vowed vehemently.

"How?" Hermione couldn't help asking miserably. "Ron, you're in a coma." She blinked a few times before frowning slightly. "Why are you in a coma, anyway?"

"It doesn't matter--"

"Yes it does."

Ron stared at her for a long time, and Hermione knew that he was silently cursing the fact that at moments like this, they were as equally stubborn and obstinate, and there was no way for him to talk his way out of telling her the truth. It was in that lengthy silence that the wheels in Hermione's head started to turn and abruptly ground to a screeching, horrendous halt when the truth hit her.

"It's Voldemort, isn't it?" Hermione said under her breath. "Harry always said that once Voldemort's been in your head, he'll use you again, and he must have used you to pretend to be you in my head that one time. So, he's been in you before, and now--" Ron's head had drooped down to rest against her forehead, and Hermione pulled away, initially startled by the possibility that she had lost him. But he was still there with her-- infinitely exhausted and frightened, but still there. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on her tiptoes so he could rest his weary head on her shoulder. He didn't even have to say a word to confirm her theory. She bit the inside of her lip to keep herself from crying out, and she knew that she couldn't even consider yelling at him for keeping this from her for all of this time. After a hard, deliberate swallow, she was finally able to speak again. "Why is he doing this to you?"

"He's been there for a while," Ron admitted desolately. "At night I'd hear him..."

"That's why you always knew about my nightmares," Hermione cut in. "You would stay awake to try to fight it, and now he's..." She had to stop and blink rapidly. She remembered the night Ron had come back from visiting Bill in the hospital and how he had almost babbled about how they had told him over and over again about her. They had been in his mind to remind him of what would happen if he got back together with her. However, Ron had had the courage to finally ignore their taunts and follow his heart, and thankfully it had led the way back to her. It broke her heart that Ron was slowly being eaten away from the inside by Voldemort, but at the same time, Hermione knew that there must be a deeper purpose than simply to keep the two of them apart. She had to hear for herself just why they were torturing Ron this way. "What is he saying to you--why does he want to talk to you?"

Ron rose from her shoulder, because he didn't feel that he deserved to be in her arms as he told her this. He kept his fists clenched at his side and closed his eyes, face and body rigid with tension. "Harry," he explained tightly. "He's using me to get to Harry." Hermione's mouth fell open in a silent gasp. "Ever since Harry got really good at Occlumency, he can't use Harry, so he tries to make me tell him things about Harry, and when I don't...." Ron brought a fist up to his forehead and Hermione caught a flash of how brain-splitting the pain was. She winced slightly as her forehead, too, began to throb. "He knows everything about me," Ron continued grimly. "He knows what to say to me, and it's been okay for a while, especially since we got back on track, but lately, ever since Perce died, it's been worse." Ron's hand moved to the side of his head, covering his ears in a futile attempt to block out the sinister whisper that he could never rid himself of. His voice broke and cracked along with Hermione's heart. "And I try, Hermione, I really try, but I can't. I don't know where I end and he begins, so I don't know what to do anymore, Hermione--"

"Yes, you do," Hermione interrupted firmly. She pulled his fists away from his ears, clapped both hands to the sides of her face, and stared into his startled eyes. "Listen to me, Ron Weasley. You have to fight this. I wish I could do it for you, but I can't. I'm certainly going to do everything I can to help you--I can talk to you and remind you of who you are, but it all comes down to you--what you have inside of you. You have to use it to fight him." Her left hand moved up to smooth back his soft hair. "You have it in you, Ron, I know you do. You've come a long way over these past years, and now it's time to prove it."

Ron appeared to be only halfway mollified by her words. "I have been," he argued weakly. "It's been okay, but this is different, Hermione--he's trying something different on me. I don't know what he's trying to do, but I know that if I stop fighting, I'm--I'm-I'm gone." His voice ended on a disbelieving whisper.

Hermione wondered if it was possible to stop breathing while in a dream. She had never been this frightened in her entire life, and her hands fell from his face, slid lovingly over his shoulders, down his long arms, and finally came to rest on his hands. "Then don't stop," Hermione begged. "Remember who you are, and don't stop."

"I'm trying," Ron said earnestly, sounding as though he was close to falling apart. "I really am, Hermione, but it's so bloody hard." He sniffed and rolled his eyes up to the heavens. "You don't realize how hard it was to get here to you."

"But you did it," Hermione pointed out hopefully, eyes shining brightly with something other than tears. "You could do it again."

His lopsided smile flickered wonderfully across his face. Ron dropped her hand and brought his up to her cheek. "Yeah," he agreed hoarsely. "I could do it for you." His fingers reached around the back of her head, pulling her closer. And although her mind was spinning, her heart was singing, and her body was surging with delight at the contact of his lips, Hermione couldn't help letting out a dry sob as his emotions poured over her. He was kissing her good-bye. He wasn't giving up, of course, but he was just playing it safe, because if he did give up, the only regret he would have was not letting her know how wonderful she was, how beautiful he thought she was, and how much he loved her. So right now, although he wasn't uttering a word, Hermione was feeling it all--she was free-falling in a whirlwind, and although she loved it, she couldn't bear to feel it now--only to have it ripped away.

"No," she gasped out when his lips parted from hers momentarily. "No."

"I have to go," Ron whispered regretfully. Every fiber of her being screamed out in silent protest, and she tried to grab him and bring him back into her, but Ron was steadfast in his decision. "I can't fight him if I'm here with you, love," he reminded her gently.

"I don't want you to go back to him." Hermione's voice and entire body were positively shaking. Ron sighed as he watched her tremble, and carefully enfolded her into his arms. It was only there that Hermione could continue. "I don't want to go back," she added miserably.

"We won't really be with them," Ron spoke into her curls. "We'll really be right here. We'll really be flying together at the Burrow, or sitting under the beech tree by the lake." Hermione closed her eyes against Ron's chest and breathed in the many wonderful memories she had with him. Her heart swelled with the recollection. "They can take loads of stuff from us, Hermione, but they can't take that." His fingers found her chin, and he lifted her head toward his. "They can take my life--" Hermione moaned at the thought, but Ron only touched her upper chest with his other hand. "But they can't take what you feel for me here. Remember, you're the only one who knows me here, and even if I die, that's okay, because I'm living on here and that's the only place I've ever wanted to be."

Hermione's face crumbled as her heart lurched. Why did he have to be so bloody wonderful? He was kissing her again in a vain effort to allay their mutual tears and fears, and as her mind swirled and twirled with pure love, she held on to that lifeline for dear life. Their love shone through all of the despair and misery of their world, and it was at this moment, while breathing in the essence of the best boy in the world, Hermione felt as though she could get through anything.

Her eyes opened, and she found herself in a guest bed at the Malfoy Manor.

Bloody hell, Hermione moaned to herself as she reluctantly sat up, resting her palms on her flushed cheeks and wishing that it were Ron's fingers touching her skin. She didn't want that dream to be over. Even a girl as logical as Hermione Granger sometimes wished that she could wallow in a dream, rather than face the coldness of reality.

"Are you certain she didn't leave this room, Higgs? Are you certain?"

"Of course I am! I've been awake all night--she's been as quiet as a Mooncalf!"

Hermione quickly and stealthily slid off of the bed, moving toward the door to eavesdrop. The sound of Lucius Malfoy shouting at Terrence must have been what had woken her up. If she couldn't be with Ron, all she wanted to do was find a way back to him. Maybe Lucius would reveal some sort of helpful information.

"The Dark Lord is furious," Lucius Malfoy hissed. "And now I have to bring her down to the dungeons to see him--"

Hermione didn't hear the rest of the conversation, because she had fallen away from the door, her knees instinctively going out on her with the intense fear that only Voldemort could catalyze. No, no, no, no, no, her mind shrieked out as she backpedaled on the ground until she hit the foot of the bed, breathing heavily. Lucius was going to bring her to Voldemort. She was actually going to see the darkest, most evil, most dreaded wizard of their time, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Her eyes rested on the still open wardrobe.

Oh, yes there was.

Hermione jumped to her feet, but before she could throw herself into the wardrobe, her eyes rested on the torn newspaper articles still littering her bed. Despite it all, she couldn't have Terrence getting into trouble on her behalf, so she used some of the precious seconds she had left to wrench her comforter over the great majority of the papers. Satisfied that Terrence's secret would be safe, Hermione whipped around and hoisted herself back into the wardrobe.

"Impedimenta!"

The shower of sparks hit her square on the back of her head, so it felt rather like how she imagined being given a powerful whack by a massive goon like Vincent Crabbe would feel like. Bright, bold, colorful stars exploded across her entire field of vision as the momentum of the blow sent her crashing into the open wardrobe door and tumbling straight to the floor. The still vivid stars, and now huge, black spots, were spinning in a kaleidoscope of whirling, dizzying colors. Hermione knew she was only moments away from losing consciousness completely, but she fought with all that she had to stay awake, to say focused, to say alert, because he was still out there. She had to stop him, because it was too late--she never got home in time to help Ron and Harry save the world.

Come on, Hermione, she told herself firmly, forcing herself to move. Ron and Harry wouldn't just lie here, would they? The thought of her two best friends eased some of her pain, and Hermione drew to the surface all of the strength and courage that they had taught her to have, so that she could start to push herself off of the ground. Ron and Harry, Ron and Harry...Ron...

The world righted itself as she sat up, and her vision cleared in time to see a thick white strip of cloth magically wrap itself several times around her eyes. With a startled cry, Hermione tried to peel the fabric away from her face. Her hands, however, were soon whipped away from her eyes and shackled in front of her. Hermione wriggled desperately as her throat started to burn. She couldn't get trapped this easily. She couldn't just let herself be dragged away to Voldemort like this. She had to do something...

But now there was nothing to do but hold her chin defiantly in the air, hold her breath, and blindly be led out of the room to where Lord Voldemort was waiting.

**

"So this is her?"

Hermione's instinctive tremble wracked her entire body. It was him--the man who had killed Harry's parents, the man who was responsible for countless of other deaths, the man whose reign of terror had torn about not only her life, but every other life she cared about as well. It was funny--here he was, the most terrifying person she would ever meet, and all she could think about was that his voice was much higher-pitched than she ever expected. Hermione wondered briefly if that would be an appropriately defiant thing to comment on. She had made a fierce vow to herself while being blindly led down the stairs that no matter what, she was not going to let him see her afraid. He had seen far too many people fear him, and it was the primary way he had been able to hold on to power this long. However, it was quite difficult to be defiant when there were goosebumps flaring up all over your arms and legs, and despite your best efforts, your knees just would not stop knocking together.

"Potter's Mudblood," Voldemort commented. Even with the blindfold, she felt him look her up and down again and again, and with every sweeping glance, her muscles twitched and contracted with revulsion. "At last we meet." She heard him snap his fingers, and instantly, with a painful jerk, the shackles binding her wrists were lifted a few inches into the air. Now, when she kicked her legs, the tips of her trainers were barely able to graze the stone floor. "Wormtail, lock the door," Voldemort ordered. Hermione's head turned slightly as she heard what must be Wormtail's footsteps echo in the room. From the way the sound reverberated, and from the multitude of stairs she had to blindly trek down to get here, Hermione assumed that she had to be back in the dungeons, most likely in the room they had kept Riddle in.

"Lucius, if you please," Voldemort said with eerie serenity. Hermione turned her head slightly as another pair of footsteps echoed throughout the chamber. She hadn't even known that Lucius had followed her down here. After restraining her, he had handed her off to Terrence because he hadn't wanted to lay a finger on a Mudblood.

Her skin twitched as the cold point of a wand abruptly poked her arm. "Draco informs me that you are unusually intelligent for a Mudblood, so I do not believe you need to be told of how much I could hurt you." Hermione flinched again as the wand hastily moved to jab her on the other side of her body. His voice was echoing on all sides, so Hermione couldn't tell where he was standing, and it was making her incredibly disoriented.

"So I will ask you just once to tell me, Mudblood." His wand now jabbed her midriff. "What did you do to the Weasley boy?"

Hermione clenched her jaw with triumph and smiled thinly. Ron must have started the fight against Voldemort, and if Voldemort himself took time out of his busy schedule of terrorizing the world to come to the Malfoys to see her for himself, Ron had to be winning. All he needed now was some time, and Hermione planned on giving him that gift. Remembering the brave and fierce way that Harry had spoken to Lucius Malfoy in the Department of Mysteries, Hermione unclenched her jaw and hoped that she exuded the confidence, command, and courage that Harry had taught her to have. "I'll make you a deal, Malfoy," Hermione stated in a surprisingly forceful voice. "You tell me just why on earth you're doing this to him, and I'll tell you exactly what I did to Ron."

The wand moved away from her stomach and Hermione gasped as a forceful spell shot past her cheek, feeling as though the blunt edge of a razor had sliced her skin. She knew that he had missed on purpose--he was letting her know that he could have killed her right then and there if he wanted to. The force of the impact made her swing in the air a few times, the toes of her shoes skidding on the floor as she swayed, only to be stopped with yet another poke of a wand. "You," Lucius drawled out in a manner much like his son's, "are not in a position to bargain with me."

"Really?" Hermione replied through gritted teeth. Her head was resting against one of her raised arms as she tried to look in the direction where Lucius' voice had come from. "I was thinking that if I could muck up your plans for Ron once, I could certainly do it again."

She could feel Lucius seething on her left, but there was a soft cackling laughter from her other side that terrified her infinitely more than witnessing the fullest extent of Lucius' rage. "Go on, Lucius," Voldemort ordered. "Tell her." Hermione shivered as she felt his robes brush past her skin. "She'll tell us everything afterward." Something brushed past her head, causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand straight up. She shook her head wildly from side to side as she shivered again at the chilling touch. "Unless she'd like to look into my eyes." He laughed again, and Hermione felt the breath expel from his mouth against her bare arm. She flinched, causing her body to twirl and twist with the motion. Voldemort was so close to her that she could feel him breathe, and that thought sickened her even more than the thought of Malfoy having his way with her. "Most people compare the experience to staring at a basilisk."

Hermione wished she had the courage to kick him--she really did. It was just like him to use that second-year nightmare to torture her. Her throat burned, but she placated herself by swallowing hard, and she was able to keep her voice as steady and firm as it was before. "Tell me," she demanded flatly.

There was another long silence. The only sounds Hermione could hear were her ragged breathing and the small moan she couldn't help emitting. Ron, I hope you're listening somehow, she thought as she rather impatiently waited for Malfoy to hold up his end of the deal.

"We knew of his usefulness almost immediately, of course," Lucius finally spoke. "I knew it the first moment I saw him at Flourish and Blotts, the same way I knew when I saw you. I knew you were the one for my son." Hermione tugged on the chains in vain at the sickening thought of Malfoy slitting her arm to drip her blood onto his arm, and then possibly having his way with her. "But we weren't certain until a few years later--when it was obvious how much he meant to Potter."

It took her a minute, but it eventually dawned on her what he was referring to. "The second task of the Triwizard Tournament," Hermione said grimly.

"He is the one that Potter would miss the most," Lucius agreed tauntingly. "It's rather touching that Potter hasn't felt that way about any girl, but only his best friend."

Hermione froze, hoping it wasn't blatantly obvious that she was quite taken aback from his words. They didn't know about Ginny. She didn't know how that was possible, now that she knew for certain that Harry's feelings for Ginny ran much deeper than a mere crush. She had realized just how obvious it was that he was head over heels for the youngest Weasley. She thought she sensed Voldemort's eyes boring even more intently into the side of her face, so she quickly spoke up to distract his attention from her blunder.

"I know what you're doing to him," Hermione snapped. "I know you're using Occlumency and that sort of magic to read his thoughts while he's asleep and his defenses are lowest." She shook her head to toss the hair that had been flopping in her face out of the way. "What I want to know is what are you doing to him now. It's different now. He's in a coma and can't even function because of what you're doing to him, and I don't see how killing Ron will help your master plan."

"We've extracted everything useful out of him. He became quite worthless to us after you came back into the picture," Lucius explained chillingly. "So we decided to continue to make use of the boy." Hermione's chest started to burn as she sensed where this conversation was about to turn. "He'll be leading Potter to us."

"What?" Hermione exploded with a disbelieving laugh and a frustrated dry sob. "Ron would never betray Harry--I don't care what you're doing to him. Ron is the most loyal, kindest, strongest--mmph!" Hermione grunted with annoyance as her words were cut off when a thick wad of cloth was magically rammed into her mouth, clogging her vocal cords and severely hindering her airflow.

"Don't you realize how glorious it will be?" Hermione stiffened when she heard the horrendously high-pitched voice that was now speaking to her. The excitement and manic glee practically dripped on every word he spoke, and Hermione shuddered. It physically pained her that he was so aroused by someone else's pain. "Just imagine the look on Potter's face when he realizes that the one person he trusts the most is the one who betrayed him to me." His robes rustled as he moved his arm, so Hermione now knew that he was still standing on her right side. "It's why I sought out this worthless lump when it came to finding Potter the first time--I knew he would willingly betray the Potters with just a little nudge in the proper direction."

Lucius was amusing himself by randomly poking Hermione with his wand again, making it difficult for Hermione to remain focused on Voldemort's every word. She had to remember exactly what he was telling her--it may just be able to save Ron and Harry's lives. "But the Weasley boy was different," he conceded wickedly. "He would not give in." Hermione couldn't help smiling through her gag--that's my boy, she thought proudly.

"So I had to rely on an ancient magic," Voldemort's self-satisfied voice wiped her smile right off of her face. "The great Salazar Slytherin himself created this spell to keep recalcitrant colleagues, students, and friends in check. Only the strongest can perform it, for it relies on the magic of your will, the power of your mind to keep the obstinate in your control." His voice started to move as he began to circle her threateningly. "It was later modified for anyone to perform with the incantation of Imperio." Hermione reflexively flinched as she heard the shouted spell and relaxed her mind the way Harry had always taught her when he had explained how to fight the Imperius curse. But of course it wasn't her he wished to manipulate--he was using Ron, her Ron, like some puppet in his diabolical scheme to kill Harry. "But the noble Slytherin's ancient magic remains unbreakable, as your little boyfriend has discovered...."

Hermione didn't even breathe as she realized just what Voldemort was telling her. He had physically gone into Ron's mind and was now trying to change it. He was trying to force Ron to become a Death Eater. Ron was fighting a mental battle--a battle for his own mind and sanity, and the effort had become so great that he had slipped into an unconscious state. This was ten times worse than the Imperius curse, because having your mind directly controlled would cause much direr consequences. Ron had passed out from the effort of blocking Voldemort from getting in, but Hermione didn't know how long anyone could last like that. Once he succumbed, Ron probably wouldn't even last a week--he'd go mad just as Percy did, and then...

But Ron's fighting, Hermione reminded herself firmly as tears tried to break through the gag and blindfold at the thought of what would eventually happen to Ron if Voldemort won. Ron got away for a while, and he could do it again. He would do it again, now that he knew that she was in trouble and needed his help. Ron would not allow this fate to befall him. He was going to fight it if it was the last thing he did. Hermione flinched at the thought, and the urge to cry grew even stronger. It could be the last thing Ron ever did.

"But the magic has been broken," Lucius stepped in and his wand tauntingly ran up the inside of her leg. Hermione instinctively lashed out with her foot, but all that accomplished was that she started swinging back and forth in a slow but agonizing pattern. Most of the blood had drained out of her arms and into her shoulders, and the pins and needles were growing more and more painful by the second. "What did you do?" He must have waved his wand or something, because the gag shot out of her mouth, causing Hermione to cough and swallow a few times to try to get rid of the dry, foul taste in her mouth. "Well?"

Now that the gag was gone, there was nothing to stop the tears from welling up behind the blindfold, and the back of her throat burned along with her chest. "You want to know what I did?" Hermione asked quietly, her voice only wavering ever so slightly. "Fine." She turned her head to the last place she had heard Voldemort, and directed her words straight at him. "I loved him." She lifted her head off of the slightly deadened arm it had been leaning on. "Funny how simple it is to beat your so called ancient powerful magic."

It was, without a doubt, the most powerful moment she'd ever had her entire life. She understood something that Lord Voldemort couldn't grasp. He could never understand just how potent and powerful love was, and he knew it. He knew that Harry's Mum's love had been the reason he had fallen the first time, and it had to terrify him that someone's love for Harry could do that again. That was why he was so relentless in targeting anyone and everyone that cared for Harry in an extraordinary way. It was why Ron had been picked to lure Harry to Voldemort, it was why Hermione was here instead of back at Hogwarts at Harry's side, it was why Sirius was dead, and it was why Lupin had been captured and tortured for so long. It all came back to Voldemort's fear of falling. Voldemort was just as afraid as she was, and that realization caused her to have the insane urge to start laughing hysterically, despite the fact that tears were now dampening the band of cloth around her eyes.

She expected a slap across the face or a curse in the chest or even for her entire body to wrack with the Cruciatus Curse. However, the only thing that happened was a period of silence, followed by Voldemort's deadly controlled voice saying, "Take off the blindfold."

"But, Master--"

"She knows something," Voldemort snapped. "She knows something about Potter." He chuckled under his breath. "She hid it so well, but then she let her emotions get the best of her. That's when your defenses are the lowest, little Mudblood, when you let your emotions get the best of you."

"You're wrong," Hermione whispered as she felt the fabric begin to fall from her eyes. "Showing your emotions makes you stronger than you could ever possibly imagine." Ron taught me that, she added quietly to herself, and she held on to that last image of Ron as she blinked in the bright light when the blindfold fell away.

A hand was directly in front of her face--a wizened, gnarled hand twisted with years of hatred and Dark magic. He had two of his fingers pointed directly at her eyes so that he could guide her still fuzzy vision directly over to him. Hermione suppressed the frightened groan that almost escaped as her eyes instinctively followed the long, thin, white fingers over to his eyes. The eyes were apparently the windows to the soul, and Hermione really, really didn't want to see one as deep and dark as Voldemort's. But she had to. She wasn't going to relent and shirk away. She was going to prove that a Muggle-born had every right to look straight into his eyes.

They were bright red, narrow slits, but Hermione didn't really see the eyes. She just felt the eyes as a raw, hateful power surged over her. She had only seen this kind of sheer magical energy and strength a few times with Dumbledore and Harry, but this felt completely different. This felt like thousands of volts of electricity shooting into her eyes and frying her brain. This power was unchecked, unrestrained, unbridled, and very, very dangerous. This wasn't the white light of a great protector, or a hero like Harry and Dumbledore. This was the mania of a madman who had spiraled completely out of control. There was only one emotion that Voldemort was capable of exuding, and that was utter, absolute, sheer hatred--hatred of Muggle-borns, hatred of so-called Mudblood-lovers, hatred of Harry, hatred of virtue, hatred of Dumbledore, hatred of life, hatred of love, and if you wanted to get philosophical, hatred of himself. But although love was infinitely more powerful than even the most unadulterated hatred, hatred was still very, very powerful, and Hermione was very, very helpless against it.

Flying with Ron, you're flying with Ron, you're flying with Ron...

He didn't even have to snap his fingers and move to perform the spell he wished to use. All he did was blink and immediately all thoughts and memories of Ron were slapped from her mind. Hermione's entire body jerked violently. For a moment, she heard Harry's wonderfully familiar voice echoing in her mind as he bitterly informed her that once he's got you, you're his forever. For the first time, Hermione realized how true that was. She had been in Voldemort's clutches once before. Now just like that she was going to learn for herself just how awful Harry's Occlumency lessons really were. She didn't even have to hear the incantation to know that this was what he was going to do to her, and that was the last coherent thought she had before the onslaught of memories overwhelmed her. Every horrible thought, every terrible memory, every awful thing she had ever thought about herself--all of these things were shoved violently to the forefront of her mind.

She saw the blood in Ron's hair dripping onto the white square of the giant chessboard. Antonin Dolohov trying to strangle her. Yelling at her parents over whether or not to stay at Hogwarts. Harry falling through the air from his broomstick. Crying in the girls' loo. Ron's leg snapping in two before he disappeared into the hole in the Whomping Willow. Gladys Sanderfield pouring honey into her hair so that insects would swarm around her sticky-sweet locks. A bounty hunter informing her that sometimes good things must be sacrificed. Ron observing loudly to a group of boys that the Granger girl was a nightmare, and it was no wonder she didn't have any friends. Peeking around a corner with a mirror, only to see a huge, round pair of reptilian yellow eyes. Leaving home for the first time in her life. Ron bending forward and burying his face in his hands, shoulders wracking with silent sobs. Harry's hand clapping around the handle of the Triwizard Cup and then vanishing without a trace. Keeling over in the Great Hall as pain sliced through Ron's head. Ron reaching into a Death Eater's pocket and disappearing from sight. Harry screaming at her that he hated always having to save her ass. Walking into the library to find Daphne Greengrass curling her arms around Ron's neck and sticking her tongue down his throat. Her head jerking backward and her front teeth enlarging at a painfully alarming rate. Harry crying. Malfoy reaching out to touch her cheek with a triumphant sneer. Not being allowed home over the summer. Failing to complete her DADA exam in third-year. Harry's anguish filled eyes as he leaned forward to grip his hair painfully while he lay in his hospital bed. Failing a test. Dolohov's furious face as he twisted his arm in a sharp stabbing motion. Tom Riddle's agonizing cry as he convulsed and then lay still, stone cold dead. Ginny lying limp in Harry's arms. Her mother's firm "lecture" face that made her feel stupid no matter what she did. Waking up in the Malfoys' manor. The Dark Mark. Green light. Pain. Ron telling her that he didn't love her anymore.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and scrunched up her face as she screamed and screamed on the inside--she was not going to shout aloud to give them that satisfaction. She tried desperately to think of a spell to stop it, to think to do anything to remember that there were wonderful, beautiful things in her life that made it worth living, but right now she couldn't remember a bloody thing. And he could see it all. He could see every single awful thing that had ever happened to her in her life. Through all of the chaotic images swirling in her mind, she could hear him clear as day laughing at her, reveling in all the pain that she had in her past.

But what made this experience a thousand times worse was that not only could he see all these memories, he could see everything: all of her inner thoughts, hopes, dreams, fears, memories, and emotions. He was learning everything about her at an alarming rate, and the extreme tension and pressure on her mind was slowly driving her mad. She could almost feel his pointy, ice-cold fingers traveling inside her skull, picking and choosing, mocking and laughing, reading her most private thoughts. It made her whole body feel itchy, as if thousands of spiders were racing up and down her bare skin, and she felt violated, dirty, naked, exposed, frightened--terribly, terribly frightened, and she didn't think she was ever going to feel good about anything ever again.

The laughter was pounding away inside of her skull and the sporadic cries were starting to break through her gritted teeth, much to her dissatisfaction. She couldn't let them know that they were getting to her, that she was now in more pain than she ever had been in her entire life, but she couldn't help crying out. It hurt so much to have his fingers wriggling their way through every inch of her. Her fists were clenched so tightly that her fingernails were drawing blood from her palms, and a long trickle flowed down the entire length of her bare arm before dripping to the floor. Eyes still welded shut, it was taking all of Hermione's energy and concentration to repeatedly chant "get out, get out," over and over again in a vain, hopeless attempt to get him out--why was he doing this to her?

"NOOO!"

And then, just like that, he was gone. She let out a small gasp of relief as sweat trickled down her forehead, and her head slumped over to rest against her raised arm, not caring that her right temple was now sticky from the blood dribbling down her arm. Flying with Ron, you're flying with Ron, you're flying with Ron. Hermione held onto that memory for several long moments, the chilling laughter still echoing in her ears, but it was fading as she thought more and more about the first time she flew with Ron at the Burrow.

The chains holding her in the air abruptly dropped their restraining hold on her wrists, and Hermione tumbled to the floor. The air was forcefully expelled from her lungs as her stomach slammed into the stone. Hermione rolled over on her side with one arm around her stomach and her other hand on her forehead, wheezing for breath as she reluctantly left the memory of her and Ron on the broom so she could hear what Voldemort was ranting about now.

"...you informed me that she wasn't an issue, you said that he didn't return her affections..."

Hermione's headache intensified when her stomach plunged in realization at what Voldemort had been searching for and had found in the corner of her mind. She may have just gotten Ginny killed.

"...that little brat could ruin everything!" With a bang, Lucius Malfoy's head cracked against the wall behind him, causing his knees to give away so that he sat hard on the floor. A crimson flow was starting to spread throughout his silver-white hair, but the pale Malfoy eyes remained clear and focused as he stared almost sullenly up at a towering Lord Voldemort. "You ruined everything!"

Hermione didn't know if it was because she was still a bit woozy from the aftereffects of Voldemort poking around in her mind, or because Voldemort was just that powerful, but his rage was actually tangible. Black hatred swirled in constricting tendrils around Lucius, and as he screamed and writhed on the ground, Hermione couldn't help wincing in commiseration. As horrendous as this man was, she didn't want to actually watch him die.

"Fix it," Voldemort ordered flatly in a voice that echoed over Lucius' cries. "I don't care how, but fix it!" His voice cracked with fury and the shrill resonance caused Hermione to flinch as it echoed cruelly in her eardrum. "I've waited long enough to get Potter, and we--will--not--alter--the--plan." His voice grew incredibly jerky and strained, and Hermione pushed herself up a little higher in curiosity. She wished that Harry were here so that he could tell her whether it was normal for Lord Voldemort himself to be so out of sorts. Of course, she rather wished Harry was here for many other important reasons, but she couldn't dwell on it. She couldn't list the what-ifs, or how things would be different if a miracle happened and someone arrived to help her escape. She had to focus on the reality of the situation.

Her eyes wandered over to the door. Peter Pettigrew stood in edgy apprehension in front of the bars, nose twitching in a sporadic rhythm of fear as he watched his master torment one of his dedicated followers. You could take him, Hermione thought as she slowly pushed herself up on her hands and knees. If Voldemort was distracted and Lucius was half-dead, she actually stood a chance at getting the hell out of here.

But as the moment her palm moved forward two centimeters, the red slits of his eyes whipped around to glare at her. The inky wisps fell away from Lucius, and Mr. Malfoy lay supine on his back, hand on his heart and a pained grimace on his face. Hermione didn't even try to run. The seething power of Voldemort's eyes was more powerful than any Impediment curse, and she remained on the floor, panting heavily as she wondered what he was going to do to her. He couldn't kill her of course, but he could get reckless and hurt her quite badly. Voldemort was very upset at the moment and may prove himself wrong by using his emotions to become more powerful than she could imagine.

POW.

Well, what do you know--Hermione Granger was right, as usual. Emotions were pretty damn powerful.

The blow that slapped across her face was so vicious that her legs actually flipped over her head. She landed hard on her stomach once again, seconds after her forehead bashed into the corner of a well-worn stone. Hermione dimly knew that logically she should feel some pain, but it was as though all conscious feelings had been whacked out of her. She felt nothing--everything around her was in a dull, gray, haze, and Hermione Granger couldn't see, feel, or even think. All that remained was her hearing, so she just remained in stunned inertia on the ground, blankly listening to every word. Voldemort returned his attention to his careless underling.

"Tonight will go as planned. Initiation will commence at midnight, and as soon as the ritual is completed, you will lead the army to Hogwarts. All that has changed is that you will send a trusted emissary to deal with the Weasley girl, and keep that," Voldemort paused, probably to wave his hand in Hermione's direction, "in line. Do not allow her to be in any condition to communicate with that boy. Kill her if you have to."

"Yes, Master."

It was the first time that Hermione heard a Malfoy sound defeated. That shocking realization helped her regain a niggling bit of conscious, logical thought, although her vision and other senses still remained useless.

There was a swish of robe that added a chilling sense of finality to their conversation, and heavy, heated footsteps pounded across the cell. "Wormtail, remain here to ensure that Lucius behaves." His voice was mockingly sadistic, and Hermione was surprised that someone as arrogant as Lucius Malfoy would allow even Voldemort to speak to him with such disdain. With a click of the door and fading footsteps, Hermione dully felt her heartbeat slow--he was gone. The blessed relief of that sentiment helped push her a little bit further back into awareness, and she now realized that her head felt as though a Beater's club had been jammed through the flesh on her forehead, through her skull, and had smashed into her brain. No wonder she couldn't think properly--she was lucky she hadn't been killed from that blow.

But how much longer was her luck going to hold out?

"Pettigrew, summon my friends who are waiting in the library, and ask them to meet me down here. Then go to the kitchens to retrieve a sleeping draft."

Not long, a voice dazedly managed to squeak out as she slowly processed Lucius Malfoy's words. A sliver of panic cut sharply through her almost vegetative state. She couldn't let them drug her--if she drank that potion, there would be no chance of her being able to escape before the ritual began. She thought about trying to run for it, but that's when she realized that it was taking all of her energy just to breathe. A small sound managed to break though her half-frozen vocal cords as she realized just how much one spell had affected her. What was the matter with her?

Even in a stunned magical state, Hermione's mind was still able to whirl in the proper way to find the appropriate answer to the question. Somewhere in the recess of her almost photographic memory, she recalled reading about a Dark spell that caused instant and long-lasting paralysis and diminished mental capacity in order to stun your enemy long enough to transport them to a prison. It must have been what Voldemort had used on her, and it very well could allow them to murder her this evening.

Although she was still able to analyze and answer her question, it took a great deal longer than normal, so that by the time she finally figured out what had happened to her, footsteps were thudding back into the room. Her vision was still completely obscured by a white-gray fog, so that when a pair of hands grabbed her shoulders, it came as a complete shock. Instinctively, Hermione tried to fight. She tried to jerk away. She tried to run. She tried to scream. She tried everything in her stupefied power to do something to save herself, but how could she when she couldn't even move? Like a large bag of powdered snake fang, she was easily slung over some burly Death Eater's shoulder, her head bouncing limply off the broad back of her captor as he began to make his way towards the door.

"Not yet," Lucius Malfoy called impatiently. "Wormtail isn't back with the potion yet!"

"Oh," a gruff voice reverberated through Hermione's deadened legs. He shifted his grip on her so she slid right out of his supportive grasp and landed in a heap on the floor. Idiot, Hermione thought weakly, somewhat relieved that she had at least some defiance still brewing inside of her, even though she didn't have the strength to voice it aloud.

Her cheek twitched instinctively as unknown fingers grazed her face while pushing her hair away. "Funny," a familiar dry voice commented in his typically flat, expressionless tone. "I was under the impression that Miss Granger was dead."

Lucius laughed. "Yes, well, never believe what you read in the papers."

"She's Draco's sacrifice, I'm assuming?"

"Hopefully," Lucius replied. He paused for a moment before rephrasing his answer. "Yes."

There was a slight considering pause. "Are we still prepared for tonight?"

Hermione tried to raise her head even an inch so she could see the person's face. She had just realized who it was, and she just couldn't believe that after everything, he would have reverted to his former Death Eater station. The mist was slowly becoming brighter, and blurred shapes were somewhat visible through the fog, so she could make out the dark shape standing to her side. However, she still couldn't discern any of his telltale features even though he was still right next to her, keeping her hair off of her face.

"Yes," Lucius agreed. "Once we take Hogwarts, we'll have enough strength to overthrow him."

Now that caught Hermione's attention enough to raise her head three inches and gape. Overthrow? Voldemort? Lucius Malfoy wasn't the loyal Death Eater he had always made himself out to be? He was actually planning to take over Hogwarts and then use the immense magical energy surrounding the castle, along with the new Death Eater army they were initiating tonight, to fight Voldemort. Malfoy and the others weren't being initiated to follow Voldemort--they were going to be loyal to Lucius. He was planning a coup, since Lucius didn't want to overthrow Voldemort to defeat him because he's an evil sorcerer who need to be stopped before it was too late--he wanted to replace him. He wanted to be Voldemort.

Before Hermione could muster the strength to devote the appropriate amount of panic to that situation, another very troubling problem presented itself. "But now we have to take care of the youngest Weasley--apparently, Potter is in love with the girl." Lucius paused meaningfully. "Can I trust you to take care of it?"

"Of course."

Oh, God, if her stomach muscles had the ability to contract and heave, she would have been sick right here and now.

The skepticism oozed in Lucius' every word. "You're certain you can handle this?"

"Of course."

As the haze lifted even further, Hermione could dimly see Lucius begin to threateningly circle around the man who had, only moments before, almost gently pushed the hair out of her face before rising to his feet to confront Lucius. "Did I ever tell you how we took care of Karkaroff?" Hermione saw the dark cloaked figure stiffen but not say a word, and Lucius took this as a sign to continue. "We found him in a forest a few miles outside of a small Transylvanian village. He was asleep in a shack he had conjured when we found him, so after we chained him to his bed, we woke him up."

Although Hermione's vision was still too fuzzy to see Mr. Malfoy's face, she could hear the smirk in his voice. "You remember what Igor was like--always the coward. He begged and pleaded for us to show mercy, but--" Lucius broke off with a sigh that was anything but sympathetic. "We first melted his tongue and teeth in retribution for naming names and forsaking the honor of the cause. We then charmed the shackles on his wrists and ankles so that they incinerated the surrounding flesh and bone. His hands and feet were burned clean off in retaliation for writing his confession and running away. His eyes were then popped out for seeing sights he later informed the Ministry about, and his ears were Banished from his head so that he could never again hear conversations he would only relay to the wrong people..."

Lucius trailed off and let the others visualize the horrendous state Karkaroff must have been in when he finally died. "It took him two days to die," he added calmly. Hermione blinked several times as her vision started to sharpen and clear, and her muscles finally became unfrozen so she could move more than three inches at a time. Lucius didn't notice, as he stepped right in front of the Death Eater he was currently threatening and lowered his pointed face so it was only two millimeters away from the other wizard's. "I was supposed to do the same to you. But I trusted you instead--I protected you from the Master, and I believed you when you explained your actions, and I agreed to allow you to assist me with my plan."

Hermione cautiously wriggled her arms and legs. She was still more than a little weak, but she was certain in a few minutes that she'd be strong enough to make a run for it.

"Our first plan went awry, Severus, and it can't happen again, do we understand each other?"

Severus. Sure enough, his large hook-shaped nose, beady eyes, pale complexion, and dark hair finally came into clear focus. Snape. Professor Snape was one of them. After all of these years, Ron had finally been right. Hermione managed to let out a barely audible sigh. Although he would hold it over her for the rest of their lives, she couldn't wait to tell Ron that Snape really was a Death Eater and see the expression of pleasantly surprised triumph with a tinge of concern on that beloved face. Actually, she couldn't wait to see Ron's face again, regardless of whatever easily identifiable emotion was written across his freckled face, but Hermione couldn't dwell on Ron at the moment. She wished she could have said something appropriately spiteful in order to convey her disgust for Snape as she glared at him with all of the indignation that she could muster. However, the Granger glare was taking all of the energy that she had, and speaking was out of the question. She was, however, able to think, and that's when things started really clicking. Of course. After they had realized that Pettigrew was sneaking into the castle, the Death Eaters needed a new way to collect information on what was happening at Hogwarts. And who better to assume that role than the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, especially when he was a former Death Eater? After Karkaroff had been killed, Snape had been the next target but had talked his way out of execution and signed back on to the Death Eater's agenda. Snape was just as much of a coward as Karkaroff--he was so afraid of death that he actually turned his back on everything that was good and decent.

"Riddle was your mistake, if I remember correctly, Lucius," Snape replied dryly, completely unperturbed by Lucius' threat. "I did not support the idea of bringing Tom Riddle back to use as our figurehead."

Hermione stopped in mid-cautious wriggle as she considered Snape's words. Bringing Tom Riddle back had been Lucius' idea? That certainly made a great deal more sense than Voldemort wanting Tom Riddle as a back-up plan, now that she thought about it. Lucius must have been having trouble collecting followers. He must have had thought that maybe if he had Riddle on his side, people would be more apt follow the younger, more attractive, and possibly more powerful version of the sick twisted old man that had been standing in front of her only minutes ago. Lucius, or one of his supporters, had been the one to impersonate Seamus that day in sixth-year to slip Dean the diary--they must have heard from Draco that Ginny and Dean were dating. The possession and transformation had been successful, and Riddle had been whisked off to the Malfoy Manor rather into Voldemort's more capable hands. Riddle had then begun to train up so that he could become a threat to Voldemort, but his comeback had been once again been cut short by Harry Potter.

Maybe even Voldemort didn't even know about Riddle, Hermione hypothesized as she painstakingly moved her elbows to prop herself up. But it didn't really matter--what mattered was that Lucius and Snape were planning a huge coup to overthrow Voldemort and take over, and if she played her cards right and talked to the right people, maybe they could even turn on each other. Maybe the Order wouldn't have to fight the Death Eater army--maybe they would fight each other.

It was all a very promising idea, and it only further augmented Hermione's intense desire to get the hell out of this manor and back to Hogwarts as soon as she could. However, before she could even request for her exhausted muscles to move, the cell door swung open and Wormtail entered nervously with a large goblet. No, the small voice in the back of her head protested when the silent, huge Death Eater who had tried to carry her out earlier plucked her effortlessly off of the ground. But although her mind was back to its typical razor sharp intelligence, her muscles and limbs were still almost completely useless. The motion of propping herself up on her elbows had taken an enormous exertion of energy, and the goon behind her had to support all of her weight as her legs splayed out in front of her like lifeless flobberworms. Wormtail handed off the goblet to Snape before scurrying back out of the room and Snape approached her with an unreadable mask across his face. Her head lolled backward, still heavy and throbbing from the blow to the temple, and as her mind screamed for her to take some sort of action, her body simply could not obey. She was completely helpless to stop Snape's hand from forcing her slack jaw wide open to pour the clear liquid down her throat. It tasted just like water, but Hermione knew that most sleeping potions were tasteless. Although the cool liquid was actually quite soothing, she fought with everything she had to expel it from her lips before it could escape down her gullet and flow into her system.

Snape, however, saw this coming. He seized Hermione's jaw, holding it firmly shut. He then tilted her head back and with his free hand, ran a rough finger over her throat, forcing her deadened muscles to involuntarily contract and swallow, just like Draco had weeks earlier. A small cry of protest was all Hermione could produce as the last of the liquid horribly found its way down her throat.

Hermione didn't even have the energy to cry as her last hope quickly trickled down her throat and disappeared for good. She had done everything she could in this state, and it just wasn't enough. She couldn't protect herself in this situation, and unless someone came and rescued her, she was doomed. And she knew that wasn't possible, because everyone in the world, except for Ron, thought she was dead. She had been close to death before, but she had never accepted it until now. Hermione's head fell forward with despair and her chest heaved slightly as she tried to sigh.

She was as good as dead.

"Take her back up to her room, Crabbe," Lucius ordered gleefully. "Chain her to the bed and lock her in. Keep Higgs posted outside her door and tell him that only my son is allowed to visit her." He glanced over at Snape. "Go with him and then come to me--we have much to discuss." Snape nodded in obedience. Lucius gave a satisfied nod before he gathered up his velvet robes and gazed upon Hermione with the same look he had given her at the Quidditch World Cup years ago. "I'll be seeing you tonight."

Hermione rebelliously stared back at him as he swept out of the cell, leaving her alone with Snape and Crabbe. She didn't feel very lethargic or weak just yet, but she was still quite paralyzed, and Hermione knew it was only a matter of time before the weariness overwhelmed her and she fell into the dark folds of sleep. But until that moment came, she was going to do everything she could do prevent that from happening--she may be as good as dead but that didn't mean she wasn't going to just lie down and accept that.

Hermione forced her heavy head to fall backward again as she met Snape's black eyes. "Traitor," she hissed in a barely audible voice that nevertheless conveyed all of her fury. Snape's shoulders heaved as he stared expressionlessly at her, and calling Ron and Harry to mind again, Hermione was able to continue to speak in that strained voice. "Ron was right--you are a greasy git."

Snape just whipped his hand through the air and backhanded Hermione on her limp cheek. Although it certainly appeared to be a forceful blow, it really didn't hurt at all, but the momentum was still enough for Hermione to collapse to the floor with a thud. With a pained oomph, the gash on her forehead split wide open again as she fell upon the corner of a sharp aged stone for the second time. Bugger, she thought dimly as the world began to spin from either the blow to the head or the effects of the sleeping potion. It was now getting hard to think properly again, and Hermione knew she had just further secured her doomed fate with her momentary insolence. That didn't stop her from summoning up the strength to push her hand through her tangled, snarled mass of hair, hoping that her defiance shone through even the simplest gesture.

"That I may be," Snape noted wryly, producing laughter from Crabbe as he bent forward to pick Hermione off of the ground. Using Crabbe's distraction to his advantage, he found the time to press his mouth near her ear. Hermione also used this opportunity to push her hand against her mouth as if to stifle a heave of disgust in having Snape so close to her. "But I'm on your side," he added in a fierce whisper.

What? Snape was what?! A Death-Eater turned spy turned Death Eater turned spy? Hermione wanted to ask a question or contradict his statement or say something to allay the massive amount of confusion that just had arisen from his words, but once again, speaking was no longer possible--the previous motions, although quite necessary, had zapped the strength out of her. Like a rag doll, she was handed off to the burly Death Eater and slung over his shoulder. Her eyes started to fall closed as she bounced with every step the Death Eater took, blood dripping from the freshly opened cut on her forehead and leaving speckled crimson dots on the floor to mark their path.

Before she knew it she was tossed down on her bed again, but the two Death Eaters didn't go away. Instead, they began to conjure shackles. They slapped them around her wrists as she limply lay there, masking her sigh of relief that they didn't chain her wrists to the bedposts. She had been worried about that ever since she heard that they were going to chain her to the bed. But her relief was short-lived as Crabbe stepped out of the way and Snape stood by the foot of the bed to magically produce another chain, this time that wrapped around one of her ankles and the bottom bedpost.

Hermione had to keep blinking her right eye to keep the blood from flowing into it as she watched and thought. She was still more than a little dizzy. It was funny, she couldn't help noting that she had taken a sleeping draft once or twice in her lifetime and it never had made her feel this dizzy and disoriented before--she had always just dropped off to sleep. This sleeping draft they had given her must be highly unusual, or perhaps its potency had been affected somehow when she'd hit her head. But her vision was still sharp and clear, and if she shook her heavy head, it helped clear the cobwebs a bit.

Crabbe was now leaning almost casually against the closed doors of the wardrobe across from the bed, chuckling mindlessly, while Snape leaned in closer on the pretense of checking her bindings and whispered surreptitiously in her ear again.

"Don't worry--help is on the way."

Hermione couldn't answer him--she simply watched the two Death Eaters go, too puzzled to be very hopeful by Snape's encouraging words. What on earth was going on here? Everything seemed to be twisted and mixed-up in this house--Lucius was fighting Voldemort, Snape was a Death Eater...Hermione wondered who else in this household was hiding his or her true allegiances.

With obvious effort, Hermione rolled her head away from the door, pushed herself to a half-seated position against the headboard, and stared somewhat blankly at the closed wardrobe in front of her. She took several deep breaths through her nose to calm herself. This of course took precious time, but Hermione knew she wouldn't get anything accomplished if she tried anything while she was this weak. Besides, if she gathered her strength instead of wasting it, she might be able to fight off the sleeping potion for a bit longer.

The world was still spinning, the colors of the wall blurring with the richness of the furniture, but Hermione dropped her eyes from the sight before the whirling overtook her. However, she couldn't focus on how awful she felt. What she needed was a project to focus her wavering attention on, so she leaned her head forward slightly and looked down at the shackled hands resting on her stomach.

This is it, Hermione, she told herself grimly as she breathed one last reassuring breath. This is your last chance.

Hoping that her determination would be a potent enough antidote to the sleeping draft, Hermione moved her chained wrists upward, spit out the bobby pin she had been holding in her mouth, and set to work.

**

A cautious creak of a hinge caught Hermione's attention, and with a groan, she suddenly became very aware of the fact that she must have fallen asleep before completing the task of unchaining her wrists. She recalled finally being able to spring the lock of the shackle chaining her foot to the bedpost and then lying down to rest for a moment before continuing on. That must have been when she drifted off.

Bugger, she thought blearily. She just had wasted a great deal of the little time she had. All right, come on, she chided firmly in a weak rendition of the voice she used to get Ron and Harry to do their homework, get up.

However, Ron and Harry often ignored her stern warnings about procrastination, and now it appeared that she was similarly unaffected, for she didn't move a muscle.

All right, how about opening your eyes?

Hermione felt she could manage that, and slowly raised her heavy lids, which then promptly fell back down over her eyes.

Sorry, not going to happen.

A soft moan of reluctant defeat escaped the back of her throat. The sleeping draft must have finally gotten the best of her, and although she had somehow fought her way back to consciousness, she couldn't fight it much longer. She would suffer away here in a drowsy stupor until it was time to become Draco Malfoy's initiation sacrifice. There was nothing more she could do--she was trapped.

She rather hated the fact that her rarely seen cynical side was emerging, but her disparagement didn't last for very long. A pair of hands grabbed her shoulders to roll her to the edge of the bed. For an insane moment, she thought it was Ron that had finally come to her rescue, but that was impossible. Besides, she'd know Ron's touch regardless of whatever state she was languishing in, and the fingers on her shoulders were definitely not his.

"She can't walk yet--you'll have to carry her under the cloak."

The cloak? Hermione frowned slightly as she felt her chained hands be lifted and gently placed around someone's neck. "Harry?" she whispered incredulously. He was the only person she knew to have an Invisibility Cloak, and she also knew that he was one of the few people who would risk life and limb to get her out of here. Her voice sounded very faint and far away, almost as though she was talking in her sleep. "Is that you?"

"Everything's going to be all right, love," a slightly familiar voice reassured as he straightened up, lifting her easily off of the bed. She felt him stoop slightly as someone next to him threw the silky folds of an Invisibility Cloak over them.

"Harry?" she pressed, her voice growing stronger. If that was Harry, what the devil was he playing at coming here of all places? It could very well get him killed. Not that she was really complaining if he was here--she just didn't want him getting hurt on her behalf. She really wished she could open her eyes and walk so he didn't have to be further hindered by her lethargy, but she was just so tired. She still had an awful headache, and the only way to make it go away was to just let her mind go completely blank as she fell into a dreamless sleep. The temptation was quite overwhelming. For a moment, Hermione succumbed to the urge to rest her head against his shoulder and let out a sleepy sigh, while her mystery savior began to carefully walk toward the door under the protection of the cloak. Someone opened it for them, and for several moments, Hermione wasn't exactly sure what was happening. She was definitely bouncing along in someone's arms with the smooth fabric of the Invisibility Cloak brushing against her skin, but where they were going and who exactly was taking her was still a complete mystery. However, Hermione wasn't very perturbed--anybody had to be better than the Malfoys and Voldemort.

Someone sharply tugged the robe off of them, and the next thing Hermione knew, she was being lowered down onto an uncomfortable wooden chair. With several clinks, the cuffs binding her wrists were unlocked and dropped to the floor. Hermione's head was then laid upon the butcher-block table in front of her, and someone was smoothing her hair off of her face.

"Get her some Pepper-up Potion," a new voice ordered.

Hermione couldn't hear anyone move at first as a hand continued to push her hair back. "Bless 'er," a brusque, female voice tutted in sympathy. Then, the callused fingers left Hermione's face and footsteps clicked to the other side of the room.

Hermione frowned again as she lifted her head and opened her eyes slightly only to close them again. The world was still spinning much too wildly to properly see anything. "Mrs. Weasley?" she whispered in disbelief.

"Land sakes no, dear," the woman called as she clicked back to Hermione's side with her well-worn heeled boots. "Sit her up, Terrence," she ordered off-handedly. Almost immediately, Hermione was pulled up from the table and the rim of a goblet was pushed against her lips. "Drink up--you'll feel much better."

Hermione obediently took a large gulp of the hot potion. Her head instantly cleared, and when she opened her eyes again, her vision was perfectly normal and sharp. She was in the Malfoys' kitchen, but it was oddly deserted, and the only person she could see was the kindly housekeeper who was urging her to drink more of the potion.

"You probably don' remember me," the housekeeper explained soothingly as Hermione drained the last of the spicy potion.

"Of course I remember," Hermione said instantly. "You're Mrs. Crockett, the Malfoys' housekeeper. You helped me the last time I was here."

Mrs. Crockett beamed with pleasure. It wasn't often that people remembered a dumpy servant such as herself. "You feelin' better, dear?"

"Much better, thank you," Hermione replied as she handed back the goblet. She couldn't help smiling as she glanced around the almost deserted kitchen--it felt so wonderful to feel normal and perfectly healthy again. This was one of the few moments in which Hermione was so immensely grateful that there were potions and spells that could fix problems in a mere second. She was even more thankful now than the time Madame Pomfrey had shrunk her teeth to the proper size. However, despite her temporary euphoria, her acute sense of logic still pervaded her thoughts. "But Pepper-Up Potion isn't an antidote to a sleeping draft."

"Ah, but you weren't given a sleepin' draft, dear," Mrs. Crockett clarified. She nodded over Hermione's shoulder. "Peter only gave you some water. I reckon you were still right banged up from that curse He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named used on you. From what I was told, you were knocked around something awful."

Hermione wasn't listening to the explanation for her sudden clean bill of health, however. She had twisted around in her chair to gape at the short, balding wizard who was handing Terrence the shackles and keys that had been chaining her wrists only minutes before. Peter Pettigrew, the man who had betrayed his own best friends and aided the resurrection of Voldemort, was helping her, the Muggle-born best friend of Harry Potter? In a normal situation, Hermione would have thought that that didn't make an ounce of sense, but after the day she had just had, she was certain that anything could happen.

Pettigrew was oblivious to the girl gaping at him as he glanced edgily over at the door to the kitchen. "You better get back before anyone notices you're gone," Pettigrew told Terrence. "Remember, wait a few hours before going in and chaining yourself to the bed--she should be gone by then."

"Right," Terrence answered, but he didn't move straight away. He had just noticed that Hermione was watching them. As she took her first close look at Malfoy's servant, Hermione suddenly realized where she knew him: Terrence Higgs was the Slytherin Seeker opposing Harry when Quirrell had tried to throw him off his broom during the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match in first-year. Terrence had been in his seventh-year during Hermione's first-year, so he had been out of school for almost six years now. Hermione knew that he had been Head Boy and quite a capable wizard, and this made her wonder just what had happened to him, if six years after leaving Hogwarts Terrence had ended up as a man-servant to a foul boy six years his junior.

Terrence stepped forward and rested a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Good luck," he said hoarsely before fingering a loose curl, and with long look he purposely strode out of the kitchens.

Hermione watched him for a moment, not even trying to comprehend why he was disobeying his master by helping her. It seemed that everyone in this house were not as they appeared to be. She'd better get out of here before she joined up with Voldemort or something as equally ridiculous.

Pettigrew was now gazing at her with an odd mixture of consideration, concern, apprehension, and determination. "Are you ready to travel?" he asked bluntly.

Hermione nodded and instantly got to her feet, gingerly moving her legs as she put weight on them for the first time in quite a while. Fortunately, she was now perfectly fine, and all of her normal motor functions had returned so that she could bloody get out of here as fast as humanly possible.

"Listen to me," Pettigrew told her tersely as he risked another edgy glance over at the door. "There's a window in that pantry over there that you can climb out of." Hermione fought the urge to smile--she knew that window all too well. Pettigrew gestured towards the pantry door, and as she and Mrs. Crockett followed him over to the small closet, he continued to speak and gesture. "There's a spare broom you can use to fly to town on, and you can use the Floo network to get to Hogsmeade. Get back to Hogwarts as fast as you can--the faster you save Ron, the faster you can save Potter. The army will be coming to invade around sunrise, so you have about twelve hours--although my guess is that the Dark Lord will try to lure Potter away sooner so that the castle will be defenseless." Pettigrew sniffed, and his beady, watery eyes kept darting over Hermione's shoulder in paranoia. "You've got to get back and warn them before it's too late, do you understand?"

"No," Hermione answered frankly before she could stop herself. But once it came out, Hermione couldn't help asking a very important question. Although she understood perfectly what was expected of her, it was the motivation behind the actions that were puzzling her. "Just why are you doing this?"

Pettigrew hesitated, scratching his head awkwardly in a rodent-like manner. "Just tell Potter that the debt has been paid," he instructed. "Tell him I don't owe him nothing now." Without another word, he darted from the room as though he were a rat escaping the torchlight.

Both Hermione and Mrs. Crockett just stood there for a moment after Pettigrew fled, although Hermione thought she discerned a much more adoring light in Mrs. Crockett's eyes, and the housekeeper continued to watch even after Hermione dropped her eyes and began preparing for her departure. They had told her that her wand was gone, and the fact that she was going to be unarmed was highly disconcerting. However, she did have the broom that Wormtail had propped up against the wall under the window. Thank goodness Ron had insisted on teaching her how to fly. Now, she ought to be able to make the four-mile trip with a great deal more ease. If she didn't run into any of Lucius or Voldemort's supporters, she should be able to return to Hogwarts without difficulty.

Hermione pushed a chair over to the window so she could squeeze her way through. "By the way, dear," Mrs. Crockett spoke as she guarded the doorway, "I thought you might like to know that Binky and several of her friends followed your advice. The Malfoys 'aven't a house-elf left that will serve them after the stories Binky spread about the abuse. You know that an owner must be pretty 'orrible if even 'ouse-elves won't serve them. Binky's out asking for wages now, last I 'eard." She patted a beaming Hermione on the shoulder, and Hermione chuckled. So that was why the Malfoys now had human servants. All of the house-elves had gone and were free just as they were meant to be, and it was all because of her. S.P.E.W. had finally accomplished one of its primary aims.

"Thought you might like to 'ear 'ow easy it was to make a difference before you went on your way," Mrs. Crockett explained as she gestured for Hermione to step up onto the awaiting chair before backing away. "Good luck." The middle-aged woman paused in the door as Hermione pushed the broom through the window. "And dear?" Hermione turned expectantly although she was rather eager to dive out of the window and get on that broom. The housekeeper gave the young woman a wink. "Show those bastards what we Muggle-borns are made of."