Just a Little

Hermione

Suddenly, I'm pinned against Voldemort, tears pouring down my cheeks. All I want to do is squirm out of his grasp. He bends his head and strokes my cheek with one skeletal finger. I feel like I've been raped. This is so much worse than sexual violation - that I could deal with.

"Hmm, this isn't exactly what I would have chosen, but I can work with this."

Ron and Harry shoot each other a confused glance. Voldemort's awful laugh draws their eyes back.

"Girl," he begins, voice sibilant. "Choose."

"W-w-what?" I stammer, sniffling, not wanting to understand. He can't mean what I think he means. I can't do that!

"Choose between your lovers. One shall live, the other shall die."

Everything inside me stops: my breath catches, my heart slows, my hearing fails as if I was suddenly deaf. He wants me to choose Death. I can't do it. There is no way I can make that choice. I begin shaking my head back and forth, the motion setting my entire body a-tremble. I feel like a small child in my desire to cover my ears and stomp my feet while chanting, "No!" at the top of my lungs.

"No," I manage to rasp, my voice barely above a whisper.

Voldemort shoves me away into the wall. For a moment, I press my face into the cool stone. I have two thoughts: I cannot resign Harry or Ron to death; and a fervent hope that someone can save us.

"But you must choose," he repeats, sounding almost pleased by my reaction. He points his wand at me and I really don't care. If he kills me, its better than watching Harry or Ron die. I didn't shepherd those two through school to watch them die at Voldemort's feet.

I stare back at Voldemort, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of flinching before those reptilian red eyes. Another smile splits his face looking for all the world like the gate to Hell. "I think you should join your lovers first. Wish them goodbye and all that."

He waves me toward Harry and Ron. While I don't like the order, I'm not going to pass on the opportunity. I stand up and walk over to my boys.

Ron's expression is neutral. He's far too good at chess to give anything away. I think he's afraid I'm going to mark him for death on the unspoken understanding that Harry is the most important of the three of us.

Harry's expression is understanding. He fully expects me to choose him as a sacrifice because he thinks his destiny is to die by the hands - and at the feet - of Voldemort.

However, before I reach either one of them, Voldemort says casually, "Crucio."

Ron

I flinch automatically, as does Harry, when the curse is cast. But once my mind processes that neither of us was hit, I can hear Hermione's awful screams. Hearing her in such pain tears at my heart and my brain. I think I would rather be under the curse myself than hear Hermione or Harry suffer.

Harry stiffens in my arms. I pin his arms to his sides as he begins to fight me, struggling to get up, to save Hermione.

"You can't do anything yet," I growl in his ear. We can do nothing but watch Hermione writhe on the ground in front of us.

With a chilling sound like razors on a blackboard but what must be his attempt at a snicker, Voldemort releases Hermione from the curse.

I still hold Harry back. He fights me, his kicks scraping my shins and elbows bruising my arms. I can't let him go - I can't let myself go. No matter how much I want to rip that...that...thing limb from limb, I can't let either one of us go. I can't let either one of us lose control.

"Still can't choose?" Voldemort asks Hermione. For anyone else, I would add that he asked amiably. As is, it's all I can do not to vomit.

Hermione lifts her head from the dirty floor. She moves herself into a sitting position, pain making her slow. Her face streaked with grime and eyes blazing in fury, she glares at Voldemort. And spits blood at him.

"Go to hell," she answers, each word drawn out and clearly enunciated. Harry stops thrashing in my arms, clearly stunned at Hermione's defiance. It's just as well he's been ignorant of that side of her until now. Unfortunately, I've been well acquainted with it since fifth year.

"Tsk, tsk, Hermione," Voldemort chides. "That's no way to treat your host." I can feel Harry's dry heave at the tone. More like that and we'll both puke.

I see Voldemort turn to us at almost the same time I hear him say, "Avada -"

"No!" Hermione shouts, voice scratchy. She looks at both of us, shoulders slumped and a heartbroken expression in her eyes. She's made her choice. She's saying goodbye.

"No, Hermione." Harry's astonished whisper is so soft only I can hear it.

Tears streaming down her face again, she cries, "I'll choose."

Harry

I feel cold to the bone knowing Hermione has given in to Voldemort. That she's going to have him kill one of us. That she's going to have him kill one of us... I don't feel Ron behind me, I no longer feel the cold. I feel a burning rage course through me.

No one should have that power. No one should be forced to make that decision.

Wrenching myself from Ron's grasp, finally, I stand. A wave of dizziness forces me to brace an arm against the wall so I don't fall down.

"Well, well, decided to join the party?" Voldemort says, his tone entirely too cheerful for a Dark Lord. I think he's enjoying this more than an evening of Death Eater torture. Aren't we ever so lucky?

I stare into Voldemort's eyes. I've known that it would come down to he and I. It's something I've been expecting - that I've known - for many years, ever since I was told of Trelawney's first Prophecy. I've known that it would come down to kill or be killed.

I just thought it would be a fair fight. I should have known better.

Voldemort has his wand idle at his side as we engage in our Mexican stand-off. He must think that Hermione and Ron are in check due to fear. How little he knows.

He has underestimated me - and us - time and time again. It's how I've walked away from him in various incarnations eight times before. But even a cat has only nine lives.

"Yes, Tom, I have," I rejoin. I have to delay him long enough to let the power pool inside me...and to have the chance to stand between Hermione and Ron.

Voldemort twitches at me calling him "Tom," but decides to say nothing this time, not willing to give me that power. That's fine. I know it gets under his skin when he's reminded of who he once was.

"Sacrificing yourself for your lovers?" he asks unctuously. As he raises his wand, he adds, "How sweet."

I grab Hermione and manage to drag her over to Ron and I. Ron hasn't moved since I wrestled my way out of his arms. Placing myself between the other two members of my family, I have to will myself to relax. As my wand was taken, I have to be as relaxed as possible to perform this instance of wandless magic. It's something Hermione thought of and we had been practicing for months.

"I wouldn't say that, Tom," I admonish. The power is swirling deep inside me now, gaining.

"They're not your lovers?" He seems momentarily confused, but it passes quickly.

"They are. Both of them. But I'm not sacrificing myself for them." I give a small hand motion to indicate to Ron and Hermione that I'm almost ready.

Ron wraps one large hand around my left ankle. Those hands that have caressed my body and Hermione's. I know where the calluses are and how they feel as his hands run over my skin.

Hermione wraps one delicate hand around my right ankle. Those hands with fingernails that have scratched erotic tracks into my skin and Ron's, teased delicately at our flesh. I know just where to find the ink stains on them after a long day.

Taking a deep breath, gathering the power inside me and the power flowing through me from my family, I'm ready.

"It's not sacrifice if you don't die." Holding the power just under my skin is maddening. Every welt on my back flares in fire, my scar is shooting agony through my head, my joints throb in the aftermath of Cruciatus. "Kill me, Tom."