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Weave a Circle Round Him Thrice	By : SRaven_Underhill Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Hermione/Voldemort Views: 14493 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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
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AN: Hello, everyone! This is my first fanfic, so I apologize if my characterizations are a bit off. I will try to have better development as the story progresses. This is meant to start in the middle of things, and therefore it might be a bit confusing, but everything will get sorted in due course. If you like it (or even if you don’t) please leave a review.

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Weave a Circle Round Him Thrice

And all who heard should see them there,

And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,

And close your eyes with holy dread,

For he on honey-dew hath fed,

And drunk the milk of Paradise.

- Coleridge, Kubla Khan

            Hermione Granger was in a pickle. A long thin chain pulled against the silver collar around her neck and the matching silver wrist cuffs, ending in the hand of a dark cloaked figure in front of her. She chastised herself over and over again for her carelessness. At least Harry and Ron had escaped. She was still wearing the sleeveless red dress that she had worn to Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and the cool air caused goose bumps to form along her arms. The trio was caught off guard in the London coffee shop. How had the Death Eaters even found them there? She should have apparated them to a safer location, though there was nothing she could do about it now, obviously. Using the element of surprise to their advantage, the Death Eaters had blindfolded her, taken her wand and her beaded bag, and tried to use her to get Harry. However, several muggles had walked into the shop and Harry and Ron were trying to protect them as well. In what she assumed was an act of panic, the Death Eaters simply apparated with her in tow.

            She looked up at a tall iron gate, the entrance to an equally foreboding manor house. The two Death Eaters remained silent and Hermione steeled herself for what was to come. There were powerful wards around the manor, though she had expected no less. She could almost feel the weight of them, making the air thick and difficult to breathe. As they approached the large oak doors, one of them creaked open, a house elf bowing as the Death Eaters passed. Though Hermione didn’t struggle, the chain was jerked, causing her to stumble into the foyer. It was quiet and dark, with only a few lit candles lining the walls. Hermione’s heart began to race as she was led up a stone staircase and she wondered if she was about to die. Taking several deep breaths, she tried to remain calm. Regardless of what was about to happen, she refused to beg for her life or to sell out her best friend.

            Soft voices could be heard in a room upstairs and she could see candlelight casting shadows on the wall opposite the entrance. One of the Death Eaters walked ahead to announce them. He bowed low and remained in such a position until the Dark Lord bid him to bring her in. An icy coldness swept through her as she heard his voice. She shivered, her entire body tense. Though she didn’t want to admit it, she was eager to meet this man, this powerful wizard who had caused her life to turn upside down. It was as if she would be able to unload all of her hate, all of her sorrow, through one glance into his cold, hard eyes.

            The room was dominated by a long dining table, at which sat many of the Dark Lord’s closest followers. She spotted Draco first and glared at him in disapproval. However, she regretted it almost immediately, for she saw the undiluted fear in his eyes. His father, Lucius, looked haggard and tense. In fact, the only person who looked truly happy to be there was Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione attributed that to her lack of mental stability. The Dark Lord, of course, sat at the head of the table, his snake curled by his feet. He was studying her as the Death Eaters led her around the table to stand in front of him. She refused to look away, even as they jerked the chain, causing her to fall to her knees.

            “Good evening, Ms. Granger,” the Dark Lord said, his voice low and soft.

            Hermione simply stared at him, choosing not to offer a verbal response.

            Voldemort smirked and leaned forward slightly. “And what shall I do with you, the mudblood friend of Harry Potter?”

            “I’m not going to help you,” Hermione said, allowing just enough venom to seep into her words.

            This caused the Dark Lord to chuckle. In a quick, fluid movement, he grabbed the chain that connected the collar and the wrist cuffs, pulling her up towards him. Her thighs quivered with the strain of holding the position and the metal collar bit into her skin. “Do you think I need information from you? I could simply keep you and wait for Potter to come to the rescue. I know him well, Hermione,” the way he said her name made her heart race again, like her name was a word only to be whispered in the most sordid of places.

            He was too close, her breathing quickened and she could feel his power like tiny shocks all over her skin. She struggled against his grip, trying to distance herself, though all she managed was to cause herself further discomfort.

            “I would rather die,” she said. Though as soon as the words left her lips, she knew they weren’t true. She was certain the Dark Lord could feel her lack of conviction. It had been a stupid cliché response, the realization of which caused her cheeks to flush.

            He smirked. “What spirit you have, Hermione Granger. However, every spirit can be broken. Survival is a baser instinct. I could have you begging for your life or crawling to me in absolute submission.” He stared down at her with such intensity that Hermione felt her mouth go dry. She refused to look away. Suddenly, he let go of the chain and she collapsed to the floor by his feet.

            “Take her to the dungeons,” he ordered, not sparing her another glance.

            One of the Death Eaters pulled her up by her arm while the other grabbed hold of the chain.

            “You don’t know him as well as you think you do, Voldemort,” She spat as the Death Eaters dragged her out of the room.

            “Perhaps I know him better than you do, my dear,” he said.

            Hermione scowled and whispered, “Touché” under her breath. She struggled several times on the long walk to the dungeons, but her captors only restrained her further and levitated her the rest of the way. She started to tell them how stupid the chains were. Why hadn’t they just levitated her to begin with? Was it the aesthetic of it all? However, they gagged her the moment she began to speak and all she could do was mumble angrily.

            Once they reached an empty cell, they took off the restraints and threw her in, locking the bars with a few whispered spells. They left her alone. Hermione sat on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. Once the adrenaline wore off, she began to shiver. How could she possibly escape? Would Harry come? Did she want him to risk his life and the war to save her? Her chest tightened at the thought of Harry not coming, though she new it was selfish. She felt tears sting her eyes, but she blinked in rapid succession in order to still them. Crying would do her no good. She rubbed her face with her hands and stood up, pacing around the small cell. She was often told that she was the cleverest witch of her age, and now would be a good time to use said cleverness. It was clear that Voldemort underestimated her, which was something she could use to her advantage.
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Weave a Circle Round Him Thrice