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The Rise of the Dark Age	By : witch Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 8643 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Chapter 2

'...you let us die...'
'...we were so young...'
'...we wanted to live...'
The huddled figure upon the ground rocked steadily to the rhythm of her heart. The place did not belong to either darkness or light as the eternal twilight had put its veil above the treeless hills. There was no need to put up her head to see the shapeless stones that lay scattered around the land as far as the eye could see.
She had been there too many times not to know what they truly were.
But it was not the remains of Hogwarts that truly disturbed the soul. The stones were only a drop in the ocean that served as a reminder of what had happened because of her failure.
The true torture began with the voices, words that cut to her heart every time they spoke.
'...how could you...'
'...we believed in you...'
The voices stopped abruptly.
When she at last lifted her eyes, the hill was no longer deserted. In front of her huddling form, as far as she could see, stood all the people she had ever known. Mother, Father, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Ginny, Victor, Colin, Neville...all those who had perished in the doom that descended with the Darkness.
Their lips did not move, but the voices drifted in the windless air. Eyes stared impassively at the yet unharmed soul, the only one who had not fallen among them. The one who still lived, while they were dead.
'...so clever, and all for nothing...'
'...your soul will burn in the fires of hell for that...'
But the worst was yet to come.
She helplessly watched as the bodies silently parted, making a passage in their midst. Into the clearing stepped two figures...two people she would have recognized anywhere.
Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. Best friends. One of them so bloodied that she could not have identified him if she had not known him so well.
'I trusted you,' came his voice. Blood oozed from the gash on his head, but he did not even blink as the ruby liquid dropped into his eyes – as green as ever from behind his broken glasses.
'We all trusted you,' came Ron's confirmation. He would have looked unharmed if his broken neck had supported the weight of his head.
The figure started to rock again, more rapidly now. All the accusations...blaming...she deserved it. She had failed to find the solution for how to vanquish the Dark Lord; it was she who had failed to come up with the right formula to use Voldemort's weakness against him. So much for knowledge...all for nothing.

Then came a phrase that had never before been voiced within the nightmares.
'You know, I loved you, 'Mione.'
The figure did not cry.
She wailed. A sound of anguish so raw, that the echo of it remained among the hills long after they became deserted.

~*~

Hermione woke up to her own screaming.
Her hands thrashed out frantically around her even as her body instinctively reduced itself into a foetal position. Loud sobs convulsed her frail body, and an endless stream of tears ran down her cheeks. Unable to stop herself, her mind replayed the dream repeatedly behind her closed eyelids, forcing her to experience everything anew.
Time did not seem to possess the ability to heal guilt and the nightmares were becoming harsher and more vivid with every passing day.
As always, it took a considerable amount of time for Hermione to calm down again. Countless minutes must have passed before her heart rate went back to normal, while her mind frantically detached itself from the dream. Lately, it was rather hard to figure out where reality began and the nightmare ended.
Tears were still flowing from her brown eyes when she at last lifted her eyelids.
The first thing her eyes told her when they finally focused was that the ceiling was unfamiliar. As she lay there gathering her senses, Hermione further noted that the too-familiar coldness of the dungeon floor was absent. Her still shaking fingers instinctively reached out to brush against the cold stones of the floor but instead dug themselves into something soft. A mattress, she suddenly realised.
She was lying on a bed.
Shutting her eyes again, Hermione gathered all of her strength and lifted herself to a sitting position. Her body instinctively tensed for the pain that would surely follow, but nothing happened. Hermione felt unusually empty. As she braced herself against the headboard, she tried to figure out what was wrong. Only when her eyes landed at last upon her clean, unbroken fingers, did she comprehend why she felt so strange.
She was healed. Fully.
Before her mind could replay what had happened before she last fell unconscious, her healed, sensitive ears detected a sound. Snapping her head up, Hermione saw the handle of the room’s wooden door move. Following reflex, Hermione moved as fast as her weak body would permit, flinging herself to the other side of the bed. Her body fell to the carpet, where she allowed only her eyes to peek above the edge.
With her breath coming in silent gasps, Hermione watched the door silently draw open, letting two women in grey robes into the chamber. A man in a dark cloak, who closed the door after himself, followed closely behind them. Even without a silver mask, Hermione knew a Death Eater when she saw one.
The silence stretched as the man wordlessly looked at the empty bed illuminated by the orange light from the fireplace. His dark eyes, however, quickly landed upon Hermione’s half-revealed face.
'Stop the foolishness, Mudblood, and come out of there. You are wasting my time.'
As he stood beside the fireplace, Hermione felt a pang of déjà vu as she studied the wizard’s face. Even so, she was unable to recall where she had seen him before.
Almost against her will, Hermione straightened out from behind the four-poster bed. All of her five senses were coming back to her at a leisurely pace, so she did not realise that she was not wearing a stitch of clothing until the Death Eater’s eyes scanned her nakedness. When his eyes met hers once more, Hermione cringed at the lust she saw there.
The wizard interpreted her expression correctly.
'Do not worry yourself, slut. Unfortunately, I have explicit orders to stay as far from your body as possible, so your virtue is safe with me,' he drawled, his sarcasm not lost on her.
He carelessly waved towards the two women who stood immobile in the middle of the room, staring into nothingness.
'These are the Healers who have stuck your bones back together,' he explained darkly, his black eyes glinting in the firelight. 'And they are the ones who are going to prepare you properly so that you may present yourself to your Lord in an appropriate manner.'
'I do not care if you drag me to him naked as the day I was born, Death Eater,' spat Hermione venomously, finally finding her husky voice.
The man chuckled.
'Lucius was right, you truly are an entertaining piece of work,' he said observantly, before his smile widened evilly. 'You don’t remember me, do you?'
Hermione’s silence forced another laugh out of the young man.
'Oh, my! The cleverest witch of the century, the annoying know-it-all, doesn't know the answer to a question!' he exclaimed gleefully, clapping his hands in mocking applause.
'At least one of us has a brain.'
The Death Eater moved so fast that, to Hermione’s eyes, he was a blur of blackness before he appeared right in front of her. With the speed of a striking snake, his hand shot out and grabbed hold of her curls, yanking her ruthlessly towards his face.
'Yes, that’s what everybody else thought too. That I was a brainless fool. They ignored the grades I studied so hard to achieve, turned a blind eye to one of the best Arithmancy students of the past two centuries...and all because one twit of a girl outshone the rest of us, half-wits,' he growled into her face.
The witch could not help but shudder in fright underneath his fingers. The man’s attractive face transformed into a horrible mask as outrage creased itself into his skin.
A sudden realization hit Hermione. Those dark eyes...cropped black hair...tall frame that she has seen often enough in the midst of Draco Malfoy’s gang.

Hermione’s mouth opened and closed a few times before she could form the right words.
'Blaise...Blaise Zabini.'
He did not reply. His eyes dropped to her mouth instead, smirking as he watched her tongue dart out to moisten her dry lips in a nervous gesture.
With his hand still planted painfully in the midst of her hair, Zabini brought his face uncomfortably close to hers. His mouth wavered a mere inch from hers as he deliberately inhaled, his nostrils flaring as if trying to detect the scent of her skin.
'Mmm...for someone so filthy, you smell too sweet. My only hope is that before the Dark Lord finally decides to grant you death, he will be merciful and give you to me first. I have to confess that it will be my endless pleasure to succeed where Lucius Malfoy failed.'
The wizard made a move recoil but changed his mind in mid-action. Bringing his dark head back to hers, Zabini’s lips brushed across Hermione’s left ear with his every word.
'However, you never know. Maybe you will be lucky enough to be given to me as a permanent present from our Lord.'
'He might be your Lord, but I will never live under his rule,' Hermione whispered back.
Letting go of her harshly and causing the witch to sway unsteadily upon her feet, the Death Eater briskly headed towards the door. But before he made his exit from the chamber, Zabini's hand came to rest upon the door frame. A slight frown graced his features as he regarded Hermione’s naked form with mocking suspicion.
'Here’s a helpful tip; don’t bother trying to persuade these women to help you escape or even to converse with you. They have been under Imperio too long now, and their minds have long since departed from their bodies. The two of them will bring you to the Lord as soon as you have been dolled up.'
With those words, Zabini finally turned away and disappeared.
Hermione only flinched but did not make any further movement as the two Healers approached her.
She finally, slowly began to remember what had happened the last time darkness took her. Lucius Malfoy, with his forever-cutting remarks and abusive use of her body...the sudden appearance of Voldemort. The dark wizard’s visible displeasure with something that Malfoy had done twice against his orders.
There was something else. Some whispered words that she had heard before she fell unconscious. But no matter how much she tried, Hermione’s mind could remember neither their content nor their meaning.
But none of that seemed to be important now.
The only thing Hermione knew for sure, as she tried not to look at the vacant eyes of the women guiding her to the stool in front of a mirror, was that there was no difference between the places she visited during her dreams and the one she was awake in now.
She had left her nightmare, only to find herself in another one.

~*~

Shadows danced around the chamber, providing the perfect camouflage for the countless figures standing immobile, the only colour that of the paleness of their faces. Even their long, black cloaks did not dare make a single movement as their owners stared patiently in front of them. Waiting for any command, no matter what order. But even their ruthlessness lacked the power to vanquish the tiniest spark of fear that was present in every pair of eyes.
It was meant to be that way.
Lord Voldemort regarded the people below him, looking at every Death Eater in turn. His hood expertly hid his face in shadow, but he could see a shiver run across every person on whom his red eyes landed. They might not have been able to see it, but they felt too well the coldness of his gaze, a chill that none of them could ever rival. Even then, they tried in vain to show their equanimity towards his undeniable power.
'Fools...' hissed the Dark Lord into the air, 'I can taste your fear on my tongue.' His gloved hand reached out and made a movement of snatching something from the air. 'I can practically catch the rapid beating of your mortal hearts.'
Another collective shiver ran through the gathered crowd.
It was a test, one of many that Voldemort made a habit of practicing upon his followers. His emotional games had the capability of seeking out the weakest of the Death Eaters and singling out the strongest. The former broke down in the end, no longer able to stand under the pressure their Lord was inflicting upon them. He used their own fears and nightmares against them, not once raising his wand in the process.
'The Light has been vanquished under the reign of Darkness, as it was long prophesied,' continued Voldemort, easing himself onto his granite throne. 'The legendary United Kingdom is conquered under my name. The whole of Europe is under my ultimate control. But that does not mean, my servants, that I have won the rest of the world!'
He suddenly jumped up from his seat and proceeded to take slow, deliberate steps across the raised platform. His sudden movement startled a number of his henchmen. Antonin Dolohov, standing closest to the dais, took an instinctive step backwards in evident alarm.
First weaknesses.
Fortunately for Dolohov, however, Voldemort’s interest did not lie with him that night. No, there was someone else whose time had come to leave the Dark Lord’s service after all his use had leaked away. And there was but one solitary way to depart from under Lord Voldemort's rule.

His lips stretching into a smile that none could see, the dark wizard returned to his seat. Every movement of his body held a meaning, a symbolism that wasn't lost even upon the thickest of his servants. Without hesitation, the Dark Lord deliberately turned his back on more than fifty Death Eaters...an act that, if performed by any other soul, would have been the most secure way towards suicide.
He did not fear them, and they knew that.
The silence stretched as Voldemort continued to observe the figures in his presence. Enough time passed for another nervous stirring to make its way among the Death Eaters, for them to wonder about the real reason their Lord had called the unscheduled meeting.
'Wormtail!'
Every black-cloaked person in the room jumped at the Dark Lord’s sudden bark. Nerves were running high.
A single wizard detached himself from the group. Voldemort barely regarded Peter Pettigrew as a man, not to mention his servant’s magical abilities. He watched in disdain as the shivering body of the short man stepped forward towards the dais. Voldemort’s nostrils flared at the amount of fear radiating from him.
'Y-yes, My Lord,' mumbled Pettigrew.
'Tell me, Peter, who do you regard yourself as among my followers?'
Voldemort stole a glance towards the other Death Eaters. As was expected, many of them failed to withhold genuine expressions of wonderment, unable to detect the reason behind the interrogation. Only Severus Snape wore a blank mask upon his face as he stared unblinkingly at Peter Pettigrew. Only he had figured out the danger behind his Dark Lord’s seemingly straightforward question.
Lord Voldemort smiled in satisfaction. Another reason to get rid of Lucius and appoint Severus Snape as his right-hand Death Eater in his stead.
The human rat in front of him spluttered, at a loss for words.
'Do not dare to waste my precious time, Wormtail. Otherwise, I am sure Rodolphus will be more than happy to help you speed up your answering process.'
A convulsing shiver ran along Pettigrew’s body at the mention of the wizard's name. Upon his fortune, he did not see the eager smile that crossed Rodolphus Lestrange’s face as he looked up towards Voldemort with clear eagerness in his eyes.
If there really are people made for each other, mused Voldemort, Rodolphus and Bellatrix’s match must have truly been made in hell.
Ignoring Lestrange's hopeful look for the time being, the Lord focused his attention back on Pettigrew. No matter how great was his own temptation to simply let Rodolphus finish Pettigrew off, he never abandoned his plans.
Indeed, he meant to play the game until the very end.
'Wormtail,' came the dangerous hiss.
The animal within Pettigrew must have instinctually felt the danger because he instantly started to blubber:
'I am your loyal servant, My L-Lord! Wormtail is low, very low in comparison to the g-greatness and power of your other servants, but I always obeyed you, D-Dark Lord. None could compare to the amount of loyalty that I- I hold for you!'
'Loyalty, Wormtail?' This time Voldemort mused out loud. 'If your loyalty is the greatest of all among my followers, I am afraid to think of what would have become of me the first day the Knights of Walpurgis became known as Death Eaters under my direction.'
An uneasy laughter filled the chamber. Severus Snape’s face, however, stayed impassive, watching intently.
Pettigrew stayed huddled upon the stone floor, still not meeting Voldemort’s eyes. Fear seemed to solidify around him, forcing the dark wizard to cringe at the scent. Usually, he bathed in the arousing smell of fear that ultimately came from his every prey. However, from Pettigrew, the smell felt filthy, a sense of something that was used too often under his endless cowardice. This time, Voldemort stood up from his throne slowly, the cloak unable to hide the fluid motion of his body. Mere months ago, the weakness of his skeletally thin body would not have allowed him such a demonstration of flawless control and strength.
Though he did not look, he felt the astonishment circling the room. Moreover, there was no need for magic to guess that a knowing half-smirk was most probably now gracing Snape’s thin lips.

Voldemort began to steadily climb down the stairs towards the cowering creature. With his every soundless step, Pettigrew pressed himself further against the stones. By the time the Dark Lord was a foot away from him, the Animagus looked like he wished for nothing else than for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.
'Tell me, loyal servant, if you are practically nothing compared to the rest of my followers, what is the reason for you to linger among the most skilful dark wizards of the century?' enquired Voldemort in a calm voice.
Taking the lack of anger in his master’s tone as a positive sign, Pettigrew momentarily raised his head from the floor and looked at him with a quivering mouth.
'Bec- because I have helped to restore you to your h-human body, the body that you inhabit now, My Lord. My flesh r-raised you back to your former g-glory!'
A short, cold laugh pierced the air.
'Oh, Peter, you do not know how wrong you are.'
A sudden commotion at the other side of the room forced the hooded wizard to raise his eyes from Wormtail.
Seeing that the door had opened and a young Death Eater stood in the doorway with a polite enquiry on his face, Voldemort smirked.
'Ah, I see that the missing company has finally arrived. Let the guest come forward.'
Bowing, the youth stepped to the side, leaving the entrance vacant. Voldemort returned to his emerald-coloured throne, leaving the quivering mass of robes that was Wormtail behind. The dark wizard preferred to watch the rest of the show from above.
Quiet whispering broke among the rest of the wizards and witches in the room. Nevertheless, Voldemort detected a taste of suppressed excitement in the air around him. Public executions and various other crude activities were far from unpopular among the Dark Lord’s flock. Most of them, without doubt, were already looking forward to the probability of upcoming amusement, whether it be torture or rape.
The moment the figure stepped into the room, all voices hushed.
Lord Voldemort let his eyes explore the young woman being escorted between two Death Eaters.
Hermione Jean Granger.
With his hood obscuring any hint of his face from the world, the Dark Lord's eyes roved over the female with considerable pleasure. True to his plans, the former Gryffindor lioness wore a set of wine-coloured dress robes that clung tightly in the bodice and over her hips. Even the numerous months of hunger could not diminish the natural curves of her body. The neckline was low enough to give more than a hint of her cleavage, exposing her alabaster skin to the public. Her hair, which had grown since her imprisonment, was left unbound and permitted her heavy ringlets to fall all the way down to her waist.
She was truly beautiful and regal.
However, what was most admirable in the young woman was her stubbornness. Even sandwiched between two Death Eaters, her brown eyes did not lose their spark, fully exposing her unyielding spirit to everyone present. Her steps were purposeful, her eyes looking at nothing but straight in front of her.
If the Dark Lord was fascinated by anything, it was strength.
The trio stopped in front of the dais, mere feet from where Wormtail lay.
Watching closely, Voldemort assessed the girl’s expression. She, however, did not seem to notice anything around herself and continued to stare into space. If not for the firm set of her jaw, he would have thought that she had already lost it.
But the girl, it seemed, had been born to fight.
'My precious servants!' he proclaimed. 'Allow me to introduce you to one whom you most probably already know or have ultimately heard about...Miss Hermione Granger, former best friend of Harry Potter and the guest of the evening.'
The young woman did not even flinch as laughter broke out in the room. Neither did she give any indication of her knowledge regarding the leering looks the male Death Eaters were coating her with.
Lord Voldemort, on the other hand, did not fail to catch a single look or expression in front of him. The witch's beauty was significant enough that the eyes of the female Death Eaters lingered upon her as well, adding to the tension in the air.
'Will anyone among you dare to present an idea as to why Miss Granger is in this chamber tonight?' asked the Dark Lord, skilfully masking his amusement.
A shadow of hesitance rippled among all gathered. Years of being in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's service had taught most of them about the slippery ground under the word “dare”. But there were always fools who pushed their luck too far.
As if to prove his theory, Lucius Malfoy spoke out boldly in answer to the challenge.
'Are we to assume, My Lord, that the Mudblood slut will serve as our entertainment for tonight?'
A deathly hush fell within the vast chamber, every countenance turned towards their Master for the much-desired confirmation.
'Wrong.'
Voldemort’s ominous word rang like a curse along the stone walls. Power shifted in the air as he let the illusion covering his eyes disappear so that only their redness couldbe seen in the darkness of his hood. All of the gathered wizards and witches dropped their eyes away from him in an instant, not daring to face the subject of their own nightmares. Lucius Malfoy turned a shade paler but did not avert his eyes like the others.
A fatal mistake.
'How dare you look into my eyes like an equal! Or perhaps you count yourself to be in possession of greater power than me? Maybe you wish to challenge me to a duel, servant?'
The power of Voldemort’s sudden rage brought him to his feet. Malfoy realised his folly too late and made a hasty, shaking bow to him. Even then, it seemed the wizard’s nauseating arrogance would not bring him to the crouching state of Pettigrew.
'I am growing tired of you, Lucius. Crucio!'
The blond wizard only then fell to the floor, writhing in pain. Screams rebounded from the walls as quickly as he had time to draw breath. Too little time had passed since his last measure of the Cruciatus, and in mere minutes, Lucius Malfoy’s body went limp. He was lucky that unconsciousness had finally taken over.
'Pathetic,' spat Voldemort.
The cloaked figures were as still as statues now. No one dared to make a sound, in case they should attract the Dark Lord’s wrath upon them next.
For a countless time that evening, he retook his sit. He made sure to sweep a glance over all the gathered Death Eaters before it rested upon the most prominent subject of his latest thoughts.
'Miss Granger, perhaps you would like to guess why I requested your presence here today?'
He watched intently as the young woman’s gaze snapped towards him. Her eyes unflinchingly met his, even as her chin lifted up in silent defiance.
'Only to end up lying like your blond dog here? No, thanks. I am sure that if you wanted to kill me, you wouldn't need any encouragement on my part,' she replied. Her voice travelled clearly, echoing in the silence. Her eyes, however, still held that same pleading look that had been present back in her dungeon prison.
'I do not think so,' he said. His answer served for both of her questions. A momentary hopelessness flashed across her face before she regained her former blank composure.
'Then I do not care what you do to me, Riddle. Sooner or later, I will find a way to end my life myself.'
Gasps broke out all around them, brought about not by the confirmation of a wish to commit suicide but by her deliberate use of a name that not one soul had dared to even think in the presence of the Dark Lord. The Death Eaters could not suppress their eagerness as they watched the upcoming actions of their Master.
So, to say that every soul present was shocked when a cold but merry laugh broke out from the Dark Lord would have been a terrifying understatement.

The sheer astonishment that appeared on Hermione Granger’s face only prolonged the sound of his hissing laugh. Some time passed before he at last mastered control over himself, but a hint of amusement was still present in his voice when he spoke next.
'Marvellous, Miss Granger...simply marvellous. You are the first person to defy me so openly in person, and I have killed for less.'
'Then what are you waiting for?'
Lord Voldemort mockingly shook his hooded head.
'A clever and subtle attempt to end your life, but it won’t work. Fortunately, I have planned something else for you instead.'

~*~

Hermione felt trapped.
Both physically and mentally. She was tired of fighting...battling for something that she herself did not know. The sole thing she was aware of was that she would have been long dead if she had given up during one of the numerous torture, releasing her soul to freedom.
Instead, it seemed that she was stuck living. Hermione knew what to blame for that inconvenient fact – her blasted, cursed courage. Ironically, it was the same factor that had gotten her into Gryffindor. What had brought her years of happiness once upon a time now proved to be her undoing.
Therefore, when she spoke next, tiredness weighed heavily in her voice.
'What do you want from me, for Merlin’s sake? You have taken everything you could from me. My family, friends, teachers. Everyone I ever loved and who loved me in return. There is nothing else left in me.'
The red eyes above her betrayed not one flicker of emotion as they stared back into hers. His black-hooded head was cocked slightly to the side, inspecting her like a hawk.
'Nothing left? I am afraid you have given the wrong answer for the first time in your life, witch. There are plenty of things left in your seemingly shattered soul, things that I have no interest in stripping you of.'
His frightening gaze fell upon something to her right.
'Tell me, Wormtail, do you by any chance remember Miss Granger here?'
Hermione went rigid.
Slowly, as if in some twisted dream, she followed the direction of Voldemort’s inspection. Her face failed to betray one single emotion that was whirling inside of her as she stared at the curled figure of Peter Pettigrew, quivering five feet away from her.
The Animagus only whimpered in answer to Voldemort’s question.
'I have asked you a question, filth!'
It seemed impossible for Pettigrew to huddle against the floor further but he did. He pressed his disgustingly shuddering body against the ground until he seemed to fuse with it.
'Y-yes...My Lord,' he finally managed to stutter.
Hermione paid a minimum amount of attention to the spoken exchange. Her face might not have betrayed her, but her eyes unleashed all the hatred and rage she felt for the pitiful excuse for a wizard in front of her. For months, the sole topic of her blame had been centred upon herself, and she did not even bother to pay heed to all the others who were accountable for her pain. When her eyes landed upon that creature at last – the man who had killed Ron right in front of her eyes – she subconsciously located the deliverance for all her pent-up pain and wrath.
She felt a momentary pull in her mind a second before Voldemort spoke up again.
'Yesss...Think about it. Doesn’t he deserve even more than that?'
Hermione’s eyes, as well as her anger, focused upon him.
'Stop using your Legilimency upon me!' she hissed.
Ignoring her blunt provocation, the dark wizard scooted forwards on his throne and pointed a gloved finger at Pettigrew.
'That vermin betrayed you and your people, Miss Granger. That piece of filth brought into action a chain of events that would not have been accomplished without his role. Think about it carefully...very carefully. His cowardice led Lily and James Potter to their deaths. If not for him, Sirius Black most probably would have stayed alive. If not for him, I might never have been granted a solid body. His voice uttered the Killing Curse at that other boy during the Triwizard Tournament. And finally...'
Without warning, Voldemort vanished from his throne. Hermione could not suppress a silent gasp when, in the next moment, his voice sounded dangerously close to her ear.
'...that same man killed one of your best friends; someone, who in the future might have become more than just a friend.'
The young woman closed her eyes as the emotions battled for dominance inside of her. Fright inevitably squeezed her heart painfully at the knowledge of who now stood behind her. It was practically impossible to Apparate that effortlessly...that silently. Moreover, in such a short time. Unthinkable.
'Ronald Weasley...' whispered Lord Voldemort practically into her ear, his cloak almost touching the hem of her clothes, '...the wizard you always secretly loved deep within your heart. A man you knew from your childhood, with whom you experienced happiness and pain, victory and defeat. The same wizard who always loved you in return.'
Helpless tears began to fall from behind her closed eyelids. The spoken words were too close to the truth. Despair began to eat at her heart anew. But Voldemort had not finished yet.
His gloved hand came to rest upon her shoulder, a movement that made Hermione cringe inwardly. With a slight pressure, the dark wizard turned her smaller frame so that she faced Pettigrew squarely.
'Look at him, Hermione. He is not a wizard, not even a man. A coward who has always cared for his own well-being, following people who could raise his esteem. A traitor whose body is too transfigured by the animal living inside of him to care for others. If he had a chance, he would have killed all of your friends himself.'
Upon detecting a pitiful, whimpering sound, Hermione finally opened her eyes. Pettigrew presented a wretched sight with his crouched body and bowed head. Even through her tears, she found herself grimacing at the meekness of surrender radiating from him. Unconsciously, she found herself agreeing with the voice of reason behind her. She drank his every word like a person dying of thirst. Anything to lessen the unbearable weight of guilt inside her heart.
'Does he deserve to live? To walk upon the earth while all of your loved ones are forever gone from you?' came the whisper in her ear, closer than before.
'N-no.'
Hermione would have expected to feel anything from despair to embarrassment at hearing such a confession come out of her mouth. Instead, the only thing she experienced was rightness. Along with that rightness disappeared a notch of her ever-present guilt.
'No,' she repeated more forcefully, not once taking her eyes away from Peter Pettigrew.
'Godric Gryffindor himself would have given the same answer.'
At that comment, Hermione was ready to turn and look behind her, but Voldemort stepped away before she could complete the movement. Without looking at her, his tall frame advanced towards the crouching form that by that time was sobbing soundly.
'Alas, Wormtail, it seems that your pitiful rat days have finally come to an end,' pronounced Voldemort almost joyously, standing above his victim.
The witch could practically hear the moment when Pettigrew’s nerves finally snapped.
'No! My Lord, I beg you! Do not kill the most loyal servant that has ever entered your service! The Mudblood does not know what she is talking about, her mind has become deranged since the deaths of her kin...I am useful! Indeed, I can be very useful –'
Voldemort cut him off.
'You are as useful to me as vermin in a household. Although, even they do not dare pollute the air with their disdainful breath as you do!'
'B-but –'
'Silence!'
Uttering another squeal, the wizard fell silent.
'Besides,' continued Voldemort more calmly, circling the lying man, 'whatever gave you the idea that I am going to kill you?'
'Oh, t-thank you my–'
'Miss Granger is going to have that honour instead.'
For some unknown reason, Hermione was not surprised. Voldemort might have been the essence of evil itself, Devil in flesh, a demented murderer, but he was not an idiot. For whatever reason his twisted mind had created, he had planned this ever since she came into the chamber, if not earlier.
Some part of her felt sheer astonishment radiate from the rest of the Death Eaters in the room. Well, she thought bitterly satisfied, it is pleasant to know that I am not the only one who is in the dark about what is going on in You-Know-Who's mind.
Amidst her musings, the dark wizard managed to glide back towards her. However, instead of stationing himself behind her, Voldemort stopped beside her left shoulder. This time, he made sure that their clothes touched.
'He destroyed the man you loved, Hermione.' His hand snaked around her waist, pressing her body against his darkness. 'It is your duty to avenge your lover now.'
Brown eyes clashed with scarlet.
'I am not a murderer,' she whispered vehemently.
'True. But your friend would have done the same thing for you. What blame finds itself buried within your restless dreams? What pain of such magnitude must be eating your heart from the inside out? It will all disappear once you avenge Ronald Wesley’s death.'
Hermione stayed silent.
'A courageous man like Mr. Weasley did not deserve to be killed in such a manhandled way. There was no honour in his death... An honour that even I would have provided him with.'
'Honour?' Pettigrew suddenly found his voice, forgetting himself within his drowning despair. 'That lump of dung? He was a side-kick for Harry Potter and nothing else! Believe me, I was his pet for years! He was shit! An empty place! I am happy to have killed him and would have done it again! Yes, I would have! That filthy blood-traitor!!!'

Thus, Peter Pettigrew chose his fate.
Anger unlike any other filled Hermione to the brim. White, burning rage pumped itself within her veins as she stared at the only true murderer in the room. The primal feeling stripped her body of all weakness, making her feel more alive than she had for these past few months. With life came power. The scorching energy that coursed through her system had to be released somehow. Either that or she would burn herself alive from within. However, there was no wand within her reach through which she would have been able to transform her magic. There was one thing left to do in order to save herself, and her anger knew what to do.
'Shut up! Shut up!!!'
The moment she opened her mouth, the magic found its way out. It rushed through her body in a pulsating wave of tidal proportions, unconsciously focusing at the ultimate target of her anger. Hermione’s body trembled under the sheer intensity of that power, the pressure finally forcing a shriek out of her.
Her scream was quickly followed by another, but that one was made out of pure terror and did not belong to her.
Peter Pettigrew had no chance as the white light rushed at him, consuming his body to the core. The last thing Hermione ever saw of him was his silhouette surrounded in bright light.
When the radiance subsided, there was no trace of Wormtail.
Only a burned patch upon the heated stones showed that he had ever lain there.
Hermione would have fallen if a strong hand had not grabbed hold of her waist in a death grip. Her body still trembled with shock and power when she lifted her eyes and looked at her mortal enemy.
There was no horror in his eyes. The wizard above her had seen and committed too many crimes to be horrified by another death; he did not even flinch at the burning smell infusing the air now.
The scarlet gleam within his eyes, however, held something else that Hermione couldn't dare interpret.
'Magic of the Old Religion...fascinating,' murmured Voldemort, balancing his free hand a breath away from her face. Still not touching her heated skin, he passed it above her lips before moving to her neck. Upon reaching the vicinity of her chest he stopped abruptly. Freezing her with his gaze alone, he pressed his hand against her right bosom.
The young woman's breath caught sharply in her throat at the coldness she felt even through the leather of his gloves. She did not dare move as he determinedly cupped the heaviness of her breast, lifting it upwards until his hand lay right above her beating heart.
'I see the horror within your eyes, Hermione. The terrifying realisation of what you could do to another human wandlessly, with only your anger guiding the path of your magic. But there is no horror in your soul. My hand feels the regular beating of your heart, untouched by the course of your actions. It seems that your heart decided your fate well before your mind caught up with ultimate comprehension.'
Hermione had to take a shaking breath before she dared to open her mouth. She felt too sharply the weight of his hand upon her. Too sharply for her own comfort.
'What fate?'
She did not need to see to know that a smile had appeared within the blackness of that hood.
'It is not my duty to tell you of your fate. Let actions take their course...I will not dare to intervene with the higher cause.'
The sudden intensity of his eyes was the only warning Hermione had before Voldemort deliberately pressed his gloved thumb over where her nipple was. Almost against her will, Hermione’s breath quickened as she felt her nub hardening. Detecting her reaction, the dark wizard rubbed the now visible peak through her dress. The stimulating touch and its coldness provoked the natural reaction from her body, and Hermione could do nothing to prevent it.
'Oh yesss. I have to say that it will be my pleasure to be the witness to your realisation of what fate has in store for you,' he rasped.
Without warning, Voldemort stepped away from her, which almost sprawled the weak-kneed Hermione upon the floor. She was finally able to detect the deathly silence of the chamber as every pair of eyes remained fixated on her. Whilst most of them wore deep frowns, she couldn't prevent herself from noticing the outright fearfulness that reflected upon some of their faces as they cautiously observed her every movement.
'Your fate has begun to unveil, Hermione,' said Voldemort, also observing the dark-cloaked figures of his servants in front of them.
Before she could open her mouth to question him further, the dark wizard commanded in a loud voice:
'Alecto, Amycus, escort Miss Granger back to her living quarters. Do not even attempt to do something foolish. I believe that after today’s show, our guest has proven that she will succeed in killing you well before I get my hands on you.'
Giving him somewhat shaking bows, the two Death Eaters that most probably shared the same blood came to stand in front of her. It appeared that they had every intention of following their Lord’s every word to the point and therefore did not plan on forcing her to walk against her will.

At that moment, she did not blame them.
Passing the parted crowd of Death Eaters, Hermione suddenly felt lighter than she had upon first entering the chamber. She did not really wish to know what had provoked such ease, but her heart gave her the right answer anyway. Murder... She felt somehow better and freer after having killed. Hermione shook her head and pushed the less than cheerful realisation from her mind. For the time being.
She walked by a worried looking Antonin Dolohov and a less-than-happy-looking Blaise Zabini. But what almost stopped her in her tracks was the sight of her former Potions Professor. The calculating look he coated her with would not have shocked her if she had not drawn nearer to him. The second she came level with him, Snape inclined his head slightly towards her. Hermione would have missed the gesture if she had not been looking at him as intently as she was.

One wouldn't have dared to call it a bow, but the action itself looked almost...respectful.
Whatever place she held in Voldemort’s schemes, Severus Snape, in some unexplainable way, must have already foreseen her upcoming role in them.
A role that she herself did not know anything about.
Yet.
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The Rise of the Dark Age