The Mudblood & The Broken
The door to her cell was in desperate need of an oiling Hermione thought as it squealed open. “It’s play time, Mudblood. Lucky you gets to go upstairs” The stench of alcohol and rot hit her nose as one of her perpetual jailers, Rowle, yanked her up from her curled position on the floor. In the beginning she had antagonized them, spit in their faces, even drew blood, but she had paid for it dearly. She still had bruises from weeks ago and bones that hadn’t been set properly, healing in positions that still caused pain months later.
Dread pooled in her gut at what ‘play time’ meant. They had tried to torture information out of her when she had first been captured, but luckily for her, she didn’t have anything to give away. Instead of death, they had thrown her into a cell and left her to wither away, a fun game for them to watch her slowly die. For months Hermione had been sitting in the small cell, only to be brought out when her captors got bored and wanted a punching bag. Mildew and the occasional rat had been her only companions. The one thing she had to look forward to was the few hours of sunshine that would peek through the cell around what she guessed was noon.
“Don’t make me drag you by your hair, bitch” Rowle tightened his grip on her forearm as he continued to drag her through the dark dungeon. He turned back to her and gave her a toothy grin, “Or maybe you’d like that? Filthy slut” Hermione’s stomach flipped as she tried to push her breakfast back down her throat. She only got scraps and it was essential to keep any food she was given down.
They had finally made their way to the stairs when she pulled away, not wanting to get closer to the grotesque man next to her. “I can walk on my own” Hermione hissed, trying to hold her head up, to keep her voice strong, but it was wavering from weeks of not being used. Rowle just leered at her but let her go anyway. There weren’t many steps but by the time she reached the top she was out of breath. It was a toss up between the steps being wobbly or her body just struggling to keep itself upright.
“Move it Mudblood. We’re late” came the sneering voice that Hermione recognized as Yaxley, now standing beside her, ready to drag her just like Rowle had. They were late. Late for what had been deemed play time and was upstairs. This was it. They were finally going to kill her. Well at least she’d finally be with Harry and Ron. Her parents were still safe from what she knew and it’s not like they would remember her to grieve her. Yes, she was ready for the thread that was her lifeline to be cut short.
The door opened and the light hit her like a flash bang. She wanted to grab her head and scrunch her eyes but she didn’t dare. Hermione tried her best to try and memorize everything she was passing by. How many doors lined the walls, if they took a left or a right, which paintings were sat where. She would never remember it all but it exercised her brain and took away her thoughts of how hard her heart was thumping in her most likely bruised chest cavity.
Just when Hermione was starting to worry her breathing was going to cause her to hyperventilate, they stopped in front of huge double doors made of dark wood that was intricately carved. She knew those doors. No, no, no, she wasn’t going in there. “Stop moving you bitch” Yaxley ordered as the doors were pulled open. But she wasn’t listening to the demand, stepping back further from the room she had been carved to pieces in.
“I said”, Hermione felt hands in her hair, Yaxley making true on Rowle’s previous threat. “Stop. Moving.” Yaxley tugged hard with each word, tears forming in her eyes at the burning in her scalp. With no means of escape, Hermione slammed her eyes shut to avoid even looking at the room and who could possibly be in it. They were at Malfoy Manor. How had she not connected the dots earlier?
Yaxley’s other hand was on her arm, his grip punishing, a warning to not misbehave. “My King” Yaxley must’ve bowed because she was being dragged down with him. She went easily, still refusing to open her eyes. Hermione wasn’t even sure she could control her body if she wanted, everything felt numb. She would have relished in the feeling of pain ebbing if she had been anywhere but here.
“Rise” A self-important voice who could only be Voldemort called. The hissing sound resemblant of a snake resounding on the end of the word.
The burning urge to fight ignited back in her like a match being struck. She wanted to spit at him, scream and claw at him, feel his skin ripping open under her fingernails. She wanted him to rot in hell for all of eternity. Hermione was sure she could bask in his screams of pain and it would sound like the sweetest symphony. It was sudden thought that she didn’t want to die, that she couldn’t until the man in front of her was one with the dirt. It was like a whip cracking sense into her, she had forgotten why she’d fought in the first place, and here he sat, reminding her all over again.
Voldemort laughed, “That got your attention then. Bring him in” he demanded, his snake slit pupils narrowing in on her. The doors once again opened and Hermione watched as a familiar blonde marched in, two death eaters escorting him just like they had her. She couldn’t help the gasp that escaped past her chapped lips. He looked haggard; almost as bad as she probably did.
His clothes were threadbare and looked like they could use a good burning rather than wash. He was looking down but she could tell his face was gaunt, his cheekbones cutting into a face devoid of life. The two guards escorting him looked like they were the main reason he was even standing. But when he looked up, she saw the real difference that made him hardly recognizable. His eyes were duller than she knew was possible. They looked like nothing was running through his head. They were eyes that belonged to a dead person still standing. The only thing worse than his eyes was the huge scar running from the corner of his left eye straight down to the side of his jaw.
“Finally, our lovely Malfoy Heir” Voldemort clapped, a maniacal laughter of glee came forth from the snake hybrid but the hard glint in his eyes portrayed such spitefulness that it was clear he was not fond of the man before him.
“Get down for your king!” One of the guards spat as the other pushed Malfoy’s face down into the stone. He let out what sounded like a whimper but Hermione couldn’t be sure as her hearing started to sound warbled. What happened to Malfoy? Why was he here? Why did he look like that?
“That’s enough” Voldemort waved them off. He looked back at Hermione again, “You see, I’m in some need of entertainment, running a kingdom does get boring once you’ve become as successful as I” he put a claw tipped hand to his chest, “So, Mudblood, meet your soon to be husband. Although I believe you might already know each other” He smiled at her and it whispered of death.
Hermione whipped her eyes back down at Malfoy who was still on the ground, her breath leaving her bereft. She quickly met his eyes and gasped, almost jumping back as she swore they flashed silver, but when she blinked they were back to their deadly gray. She had been in that dungeon for so long she was becoming truly delusional.
“Yes the Mudblood and the Broken. A couple that truly deserves each other” Voldemort leered and she thought she could make out laughs coming from the figures lined up against the walls. “Take them away, they have a wedding to get ready for after all”