The Wrong One

"You were waiting for me."

There was no answer save what might have been a crimson gleam of satisfaction in his serpentine eyes, but it had to be true. Getting there had been far too easy, and she'd given him more than enough time to retrieve it and disappear, to stop her, or worse.

Her heart dropped to her stomach.

Don't run, Miss Granger.

The words slithered through her panicking mind. "I wasn't--"

"You were. You have already taken five steps back."

Hermione stopped herself in what she only then recognized to be mid-step. "You--"

"No. Sadly you would be of little use questioning your own sanity. I will need you whole-- more or less." The shadow of a smirk played across his thin mouth before he turned to a nearby table and conjured a goblet of red wine.

Her mind was racing. It had seemed such a good plan, feasible at least. How had she gone so horribly wrong?

"You can't hold me hostage. They know not to come for me." She choked on the last words, certain she was bluffing to her own death, but she couldn't let anyone risk that much just for her.

"Do they?" His long, pale fingers closed on the glass and raised it to his mouth, taking a leisurely sip. "No, Miss Granger, you are no hostage. You have come here freely. And as you have so helpfully pointed out, you are no use as a hostage if no one will come for you. That also makes you little use as bait. I suppose it will be small comfort to know Helga's precious cup was never here?" The words were a knowing hiss.

Her heart sank lower still. He had known the whole time.

"No? Well, at least you did find a piece of my soul. That should cheer you." And for the first time, a true and vicious expression graced his face. Hermione suddenly found herself inches away from his piercing red eyes. A not quite human tongue slowly swept a drop of wine from his upper lip, or what was left of it, fully enjoying the taste and impact of his next words.

"You know they won't come for you."

She shut her eyes to block him out of her mind.

Open your eyes, Miss Granger.

-------------------------------------

She did.

Onto the dark stone floor of the darker dungeon cell which had been her home for the past... six months? Or was it nearly seven now? Her wrists were chained to the brick they had brought from her house. It was the one her father had chiseled her initials into on her fifth birthday, shortly after they moved in, now magically embedded into the back wall of her cell and stained with both of her parents' blood.

She flinched, sure she'd seen two glowing orbs in the shadows outside her cell, but there didn't seem to be anyone there now. Maybe she'd only imagined him. It happened so often, and that same dream had troubled her mind nearly every night she'd managed to sleep.

The same words slid cruelly through her mind as she curled against the cold stone and tried to rock away her fresh tears.

You do know, Miss Granger.

They will never come for you.