Sweet Sacrifice

Chapter 3 The Story Teller

Hermione's PoV

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Day One

Thump. Thump. Thump. Each deep footstep pierces right through me. My heart is beating so loudly it must be detectable to those around me. I am frightened and nervous. Yet knowing that I can possibly stop the brutal murders of witches and other innocent people fills me a small speck of bravery.

Voldemort waits atop the staircase, his black cloak swishing behind him. He inspects us all for a moment before continuing his way down the stairs, his long black hair floating gracefully around his head. He stops in front, checking us over - or more likely me - as though I am some kind of prized animal.

He pulls close, leaning his body into mine. I bite the inside of my mouth as I feel him touch me. Quick like spiders, his hands begin massaging my buttocks, moving up my front, and into my shirt. My breasts feel every inch and movement of his hands as he fondles them. Pulling back, his penetrating green eyes bore into mine.

"Tell me, little one," he says with a jeer, "what makes you different from the others I've had?"

"What?" I ask, feeling stupid and violated right now. My heart is pounding loudly in my ears....

"Each one I kidnap begs me not to behead them because they could be of some ‘use' to me. I want to find out why you think I should spare you."

"I - I can tell stories," I reply rather lamely. "I used to tell stories all the time to my younger sister when we were growing up."

Voldemort smiles his ghastly grin; the mere site of it turns my blood cold. "I shall be interested in hearing them, then."

He grabs my hand, leading me upstairs. All the while my heart is beating loudly and painfully in my chest. Here I am, literally being lead into the lion's den. How many other women thought they would survive, and yet, here I am willingly going with him. Perhaps it is as we walk down the long, dark hallway when I begin to realize that maybe my heart and head were so blinded by the need to stop the murders that I intentionally put myself in danger. But it is too late now to go back. I am here; I must at least try... or die fighting if I must. Voldemort opens a door for me to enter. It is then - as I pass by the doorframe that I see a small speck of blood. I swallow hard at the sight of it. This must be the place where he decapitates his victims... right here in his room. He pushes me in the rest of the way and closes the door behind him.

"Well," he says, "what kind of story are you going to tell me, then?"

I clear my throat, trying to buy some time as I think of a story to tell. Truth is, I never actually planned on one.

Tom carelessly throws his robe to the ground as he sits his naked self on the bed. But he does not offer me a place to sit. I am left standing in the middle of the room with Tom's harsh, soulless eyes watching my every move.

I clear my throat again and force myself to think of something... anything. Thinking is usually my forte, acing nearly every school examination and test. But as my life is depending on my brain now, it suddenly seems to have forgotten how to work....

Tom quirks an eyebrow at me, growing impatient from my lack of speaking. Clearing my throat for a third time, I begin, "Ali Baba is the poor, kind brother who gains a fortune when he spies forty thieves opening a secret door on the command ‘Open, Sesame'."

I stop, looking at Tom for approval to continue. He nods his head in a semi-amused way, so I continue.

"Once they leave, he tries it himself, discovers their treasures, and takes some home. To estimate their fortune before burying it, he and his wife borrow a measure from his wealthy - and nosey and greedy - brother and sister-in-law, who secretly place a pat of suet in the bottom to see what kind of grain Ali Baba needs to measure. When they return the cup, it has a gold coin stuck to the suet, and Cassim demands to be let in on the secret, which Ali Baba gladly reveals. Cassim makes the trip to the secret door, opens it, and is dazzled into forgetting the magic word. The thieves return and kill him, hanging his quartered body inside the door. Ali Baba discovers the body, takes it home, and, as is the custom, offers to take care of his brother's wife by marrying her and sharing both their fortunes - with his wife and son, too. Ali Baba enlists the clever slave girl Morgiana to keep the thieves from killing him as well...."

~*~

The sun is pouring into the room now, illuminating the once dark and dreary bedroom. Tom is hanging onto my every word, listening with rapt attention.

"They should really name the next part of the story ‘Morgiana the Clever,' if you ask me, for Ali Baba fades into the background as Morgiana outwits everyone. She tricks a tailor and an apothecary into helping her give the appearance that Cassim has died of natural causes. When the thieves come after Ali Baba, having learned that he knows their secret cave, she pours boiling oil into the clay jars in which they had hidden and slays their king in a dance of daggers. Ali Baba sets Morgiana free, and she and his son eventually marry. Ali Baba shares the secret of the hidden treasure with them, and they live happily, and in splendor to the end of their days. The end."

Tom looks at me. He was completely dead tired, but he had stayed awake nonetheless to hear the rest of my story.

"I wish to tell you about another famous thief. Perhaps you've heard of the legend of Aladdin?"

"No, but tell me the story about him," he orders, staring at me with his intense green eyes, which are lined with red veins from lack of sleep.

"I will tell it tonight," I say, smiling slyly. Tom looks at me, his tired mind slowly comprehending that he would have to postpone my execution if he wished to hear the next story. He narrows his eyes, looking at me as if I were something of derision.

"Very well," he growls. "But don't think that I'm sparing your life today because I like you." With that, he leaves the room, and I am completely alone to celebrate my surviving the day.