Crimson Tears

Crimson Tears

~by yahoos~

Of crimson hearts come crimson tears,

Fallen Gryffindors have cried for years,

When bravery falters, pride is torn,

And their world is ended, so forlorn.

Not the same as Slytherin,

Where each new day is a new begin,

Old shames lost in the cunning fight,

Enemies made friends for the sake of might.

~~

"Granger," he said, in a self-satisfied hiss. His eyes were alight with malice, glowing brightly in the dim of the room. Her head slumped onto her shoulder, a low moan escaping her mouth. She was pale in the semi-darkness, her hair hanging in strands, blood knotting at the top of her head and side of her mouth. Her cheeks were hollowed, her frame thin; she swallowed dryly, her eyelids lifting heavily.

"Where - ?" she managed, shifting blearily. He could see the confusion behind the dullness of her brown eyes, read it in her face; he smirked, touching a pale finger to her cheek. Her gaze settled uncertainly on him. For a few moments she was confused, then she gasped - and he tapped her softly on the cheek, still smirking.

"Wake up, little Granger - Hermione?" The name sounded strange, escaping his lips; for the briefest of moments, his smirk wavered - but then she shifted, and he smiled again. Granger, Hermione Granger - the girl in the trio. He had seen her for the first time in Potter's mind, when Potter was fifteen - and strangely, her face had stayed with him. He remembered her as Potter remembered her, the pretty, but annoyingly know-it-all that was - despite this - a good, loyal and true friend. Potter, however, considered her only as a friend - and his memories or thoughts on her attractiveness had been little.

But he, Lord Voldemort, wanted to see for himself this Hermione Granger, the one the Weasley child was so taken in with; moreover, this Granger - a common Mudblood - that was intelligent, and knew magic extensively; but even more than that, she seemed alight with passion. Long ago, the same passion for knowledge and magic had pumped through his veins. Now he knew almost everything there was to know. Anyone else that shared this, or had shared this, interested him.

"Where am I?" she managed, her gaze clearing. "Why - ? You - " But she didn't finished the sentence. The realization of who he was, had just struck her. He could almost taste the sudden surge of terror flowing through her struggling mind, and it was exquisite. He gave a short, cold, high-pitched laugh that echoed around the stone chamber. Gryffindors were afraid after all.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked her, his mouth twisted in a mirthless smile.

"Voldemort," she breathed. Though tired, her voice was defiant - and he found himself considering her gaze. Though blurred it was, she was quickly regaining the sharpness, even edginess, he'd seen in Potter's memories; he couldn't stop himself from smiling wider. Brave Gryffindors? Yes, perhaps she was, having lived through all those adventures with Potter and the Weasley traitor; there was no denying that Potter was brave - likewise, his friends would be as well?

"Yes," he said, giving a low hiss of laughter.

"I'm - I'm not telling you - you anything of Harry," she wheezed. She tried to sit up - but he pushed her one-handed back onto the bed. She slumped back, her eyes closing - and for a few moments, only her ragged breathing disturbed the stillness. He surveyed her, eyes narrowing.

"Who said I wanted to talk about Harry?" he asked, smirking. "If I wanted to talk to Potter I would have him here, not you."

"But - but why, then?" Her gaze was still blurry, but she looked more awake. "Why - why me? Where are we? What - " She wheezed for a moment, then erupted in coughs; he snapped his pale fingers and the water jug on the bedside table poured clear water into a cup. He took it and handed it to her. She refused it, still coughing.

"It's not poisoned," he said curtly, and added, nastily, "That would be much too quick, painless and easy. No, Hermione, I have other plans for - us." He laughed again, vindictively; Hermione snatched the cup from his hand and drunk greedily. Water slopped down the side of her mouth, mingling with the blood there. She wiped her mouth, then sunk back onto the bed.

"Better?"

"What do you want?" Her voice was stronger now, no longer fluttery and confused; her tone was brusque, hostile. He smiled; yes, this was the Hermione Granger Potter remembered so well, the annoying, business-like side. "I won't tell you anything. You can torture me for hours, I won't say a thing."

"Torture you?" he repeated, amused; he laughed again. "Of course I can torture you for hours, just for the fun of it - but Cruciutus has the unfortunate side-effect of the victim losing their mind after a few hours. And I certainly don't want to waste such a fine mind as yours, Hermione."

"But I'm a Mudblood, remember?" she spat. "Filthy? Uncivilized? Something to purge the world of! What do you care?"

"I don't," he said, nastily, "if I didn't feel you could provide me with a couple of hours' entertainment, I would've killed you straight away. But unfortunately for you, it does get rather boring, being a - ah - dictator? Somewhat lonely."

She snorted derisively, but he could still feel the fear pulsing through her.

"However, now that I have company..." He traced his finger along her cheek. She wrenched away and attempted - rather foolishly, he thought - to scramble down the other side of the bed. He snapped his fingers and ropes caught her around the arms, ankles and midriff, and snapped her back into position, bounding her tight against the four-poster.

There were tears in her eyes now, tears of fear and anger and regret - she glared at him with cold brown eyes. He watched her, amused, though slightly dampened by - what? He probed for a moment, then landed on the cause - he'd hoped they could talk. Talk? Yes, it was a stupid idea - or was it? Perhaps, if she thought she was to die and he offered a few more moments, hours, days to live - perhaps then she would talk. But only as means of survival.

He moved from the chair to sit on the bed beside her. She cringed away and glared in the opposite direction, tears streaming down her face; her face was set, however, her lips pursed. She reminded him slightly of Minerva McGonagall. He reached out and, with the soft pad of his thumb, wiped away the tears. He felt the shudder and the renewed wave of terror sweep through her, saw the hairs on her arms stand up. She was scared that she was going to be abused, or killed; now to offer her a way out - engage her.

"The spell you used, back at your house - you do remember, don't you?" He knew she wouldn't; the combination of the stunning spell and the transportation charm - one of his own invention - would slate her short-term memory. She wouldn't remember anything she was doing before he abducted her, or the abduction itself. But it was amusing to see her struggle, to see the confusion behind the eyes - he loved watching people's eyes. They were the windows to the soul. They told more about you than anything else.

She didn't say anything; he knew she was panicking, wondering - but also angry. She knew he was toying with her. He smiled cruelly again.

"Don't worry, Hermione," he said, noting that the name still tasted strange in his mouth, "you'll remember again - soon enough. Maybe." He laughed. "But until then, let me fill you in."

He eased back against the headrest. She tried to move away from him, but the ropes bound her tight. So close to him, she smelled sweet - some strange perfume he'd never caught a whiff of (probable Muggle), tinged with the smell of blood and sweat. He savoured it. He would describe it as the smell of desperation - hers, in this case.

"You defended yourself very well," he said, "not well enough, of course..." He laughed coldly again. "The spell you used. If I remember correctly, it's called the Dementia Curse - not something they teach at Hogwarts."

She said nothing.

"I wonder where a good girl like yourself - one of Dumbledore's lapdogs - picked it up? Perhaps you're not all that you seem."

"I read it, if you must know - " Then she broke off. He could see she was furious with herself, for falling into the trap he'd set. He knew she would defend herself; it was one of those chronic conditions the brave suffer of. He smiled. He was getting to her after all. He was slightly disappointed - he hadn't expected the Hermione Granger to be so...easy.

"And where did you read it? Certainly not the Restricted Section. I know every book there by heart. In fact, I suspect I've read almost the entire library." He smiled again.

She stared determinedly in the other direction. She was wondering when she would die...and wondering whether her parents were alive. He could feel it in her mind, the concern, the fear, the panic...and the slightest bit of hope. He narrowed his eyes slightly; hope. Hope was a good thing, in this case - it would keep her docile. If she obeyed, she reckoned, she might survive longer - and have a chance to escape.

"You are worried about..." He traced his finger along her cheek. It sent a shiver through her, accompanied by a wave of refreshed terror. It was something quite unique. "You're parents?" She looked at him. Everything she was feeling, spilled forth through her eyes.

"Did you kill them?" she asked, hoarsely.

Of course he did. There was no point in keeping them alive. He hesitated for a moment - what would the truth do to her?

"Of course," he said, "I'm Lord Voldemort. I have no use for two Muggles."

She gaped at him for a moment, then she looked away. She was biting her lip, and started to tremble. He watched her with fascination - saw the meaning of his words dawn in her mind, felt the hate and anger and sadness and grief ripping through her...so this is how one feels. Emotion. He smiled to himself.

"They were very brave," he continued. "And very concerned for your...safety. Did you tell them, about me? About Lord Voldemort? Yes, you did." He read the answer in her mind. "What did you tell them?" His eyes were narrowed. He reached out to touch her face. Her head snapped back to him and she spat at him.

"I told them what a weak, stupid coward you are! I told them how sad you are! That you're a product of your circumstances! Did they treat you that bad in the orphanage, Riddle? No wonder your father didn't want you! He probable didn't want a - " She broke off in the middle of her torrent.

He was on his feet, his wand pointing at her throat. He'd said "Silencio" before he could stop himself. She glared up at him, her eyes defiant, a cruel smile twisting around her mouth. She wasn't as docile after all. He smirked.

"You've given the matter a lot of thought, Hermione." He leaned down towards her, and dragged a finger down her neck. He left a gouge mark there. She opened her mouth but no sound came out. He raised his wand. She flinched and tried to cringe away from him.

"Don't worry, Hermione," he muttered, "I'm only going to remove the spell. I want to hear you scream." He leaned closer to her, and whispered in her ear, "I'll show you exactly what they did to me at the orphanage."

~*~The End~*~

A/N: Wrote this in support of my SS Light & Darkness membership. At least I think it's the SS Light & Darkness...anyhow, please review.