Chapter 4
Hermione pulled open the worn door leading into her new apartment building. She could feel the pulsing of the muggle repellent charm as soon as she’d shown intention of entering the building. She had to give credit to the caster of the spell, it was strong. She suppose it had to be if magic could be used freely with in the building.
The inside of the building left much to be desired. The walls were cream colored and peeling in several location, the floor was constructed of worn wood partially hidden beneth offensive green shag rugs. Slytherin green, she supposed it was fitting. To the left of her the wall was made up of silver mail slots, tarnished with old age. A spiraling staircase offset the mailboxes, the original wood flooring made Hermione grimace. It wasn’t properly kept and she feared one wrong step and she’s being going through the stairs. She spun in place taking in the once beautiful building, with cherry oak floors and vaulted ceilings. She imagined if someone had just loved it a bit more, maybe it wouldn’t of fallen into such ruin.
“Imagine my shock,” Hermione gasped and spun on her heels, turning to face the voice that spoke and startled her. “when I get released from Azkaban just to endure another type of hell. Living in proximity with Gryffindor’s resident know-it-all.”
Pansy Parkinson stood a few feet from Hermione, her arms were crossed over her tattered wizarding robes. Her curly, onyx hair had grown out since Hermione had last seen her. When had she last seen Pansy? She’d spent three months in Azkaban and before that Pansy was sent out to scout Godrics Hollow where the Order had made themselves known. Announced that the war was coming to an end in the exact place it had started all those years ago. That was over six months ago. Had it really been six months since she’d seen her? Six months since she’d been dragged from the battlefield having failed to rid herself of this nightmare.
Hermione’s hands balled at her side. She could still hear the screaming as wizards and witches alike fought for their lives. Still hear the sobs of Molly Weasley as she held Arthur in her arms, his skin peeling off his bones from a splaying curse. She could see Ginny’s wand aimed at her chest, a hex seconds from slipping off her lips. Harry knocking Ginny off balance, looking at Hermione with pleading eyes that screamed this was it. The war was ending today and one of them stood on the loosing side. Hermione wondered if he knew that she had lost this war months ago. That it didn’t matter who won or who lost, she wouldn’t be surviving this war. Not for long anyway.
That was six months ago. Now Hermione stood in a neglected building in the middle of London with Pansy Parkinson sneering at her. Her lips curled in disgust. Yes, Hermione got that look a lot these days.
“Are you going to speak or did Voldemort do us all a favor and remove your ability to talk?” Her sneer deepened.
Hermione didn’t flinch at the venom lacing her words. Instead, she tilted her head and spoke softly. “You’re looking well Pansy.”
Kill them with kindness. It was a muggle saying and one her mother use to say to her often. Hermione had no shortage of bullies growing up. She was lanky and short, with unruly hair and big front teeth that she didn’t grow into until well into sixth year. Before the war, she loved to read and adored school. She had the highest marks during her years at Hogwarts. She was also muggle born, which meant the families who preached blood supremacy had raised ignorant, cruel kids who’d made sure Hermione felt inferior no matter how well she did in school. Usually, she’d be quick to defend herself with a witty comeback. Rise above it all. But it would seem that Hermione couldn’t be bothered to go on the defensive. Not when she feared she hated herself more than anyone else possibly could.
Hermione stumbled as Pansy breezed past her, shoulder checking her aggressively. Righting herself, Hermione sighed heavily out of her nose and reluctantly followed behind Pansy as she ascended the stairs. The stairs creaked in protest as if no longer use to the weight of inhabitants and Hermione found herslef wishing they could cave in and swallow her whole.
She trained her eyes on her feet, counting the steps as they went up. She ventured to guess her and Pansy would be on the same floor, so when Pansy stopped at the fifth floor and began down the hallway, Hermione followed. The ear splitting sound that echoed around the hallway made Hermione’s heart rate drop. For the second time today she was thrown back in time.
Hermione sat back on her heels, her ears ringing from the blow Dolohov landed second earlier. Blood trickled down her face from a gnash at her temple, she wiped at it with the back of her hand, smearing the blood along her cheek. Dolohov pinched the material of his slacks at his thighs, pulling at is so that the end of his pants didn’t touch the dark liquid pooling around them on the floor as he lowered himself to his haunches. Hermione could feel the blood soaking into her jeans where her knees dug into the floor. Dolohov’s icy fingers encircled her chin, yanking so that they were eye to eye.
“I won’t ask again mudblood,” the heat from his ragged pants fanned over her face.
She could see the vein’s bulging from his neck as he tried to contains is anger. Hermione spent a majority of this war reading her enemies, trying desperately to find their weakness before they found hers. She’d come to the conclusion weeks ago that Dolohov was different. He was a death eater like everyone else who had beat and tortured her, but there was something in Antonin Dolohov’s eyes that unsettled Hermione. She read it in a muggle psychology book during the summer break between fourth and fifth year. Dolohov was a sadist. He got off on inflicting pain and maiming his captives. Hermione most of all.
“Take the mark!” His voice boomed across the cellar, dragging hermione back to the present. He’d been torturing her for days. Casting Crucio after Crucio until she was on the brink of going mad. Sensory deprivation was one of his favorite forms of torture. He’d lock her in a room so bright she’d be forced to spend days with her eyes closed. Lock her in the cellar with a charm that kept it below freezing until she was hypothermic and on the verge of falling asleep forver.
Hermione’s nails dug into her palms, opening the never healing wounds she’d inflicted upon herself the first time she’d been tortured. “No.”
She heard the curse before she felt it. In a second she was withering on the floor, a blood piercing scream forcing itself from her throat. She could feel the blood soaking through her muggle clothing. Knew whose blood she was lying in. Hermione forced herself to open her eyes, to look at the dead body lying inches from her. Katie Bell’s lifeless eyes stared back at her, her mouth parted in a silent scream. Hermione sobbed as the curse forced her body to arch off the ground. Katie had been an acquaintance from Hogwarts, had been a Gryffindor with Hermione and was a Chaser on their house Quidditch team. And now she was dead.
It was Dolohov’s punishment. After Hermione had spit in his face, he dragged Katie out and forced her to her knees. Hermione could still hear herself begging him not to, begging him to kill her instead. Dolohov laughed viciously before casting an Imperio curse on Hermione. She could still feel like bite of the blade as she picked it up, still feel Katie’s body wracking with sobs, could still hear her screaming as Hermione slid the blade across her neck.
“Theodore Nott!” Pansy’s voice snapped Hermione back to the present.
The loud pitch scream had come from Pansy who launched herself into the arms of a tall man with chestnut brown hair and striking green eyes that found Hermione’s golden ones over Pansy’s shoulder. His eyes widened a fraction, Hermione’s only tell that her presence caught him off guard.
“I heard they let you out,” he said in response to Pansy, his arm hooking around her waist and tugging her into his embrace.
“Fucking finally,” Pansy breathed into his shoulder.
Hermione diverted her eyes from what seemed to be an intimate reunion. She supposed if Harry and Ron were still her friends then their reuniting would look similar.
“I see you’ve brought a stray home.” Theo’s voice carried down the hallway like a slap in the face. A stray? How utterly unoriginal.
Contempt laced Pansy’s voice as she scoffed. “Get off it. She was already here when I arrived. It would seem we’re made to live in the same building as the Golden Girl.”
If Hermione had the energy, she would of laughed at the ridiculous name she’d been given while at Hogwarts. She supposed it was true enough at one point. Hermione Granger. Brightest Witch of her age, Griffyndor’s princess, Golden Girl. Whole lot of good those titles did her now.
“My, my, how the mighty have fallen.” Theo snarled. She knew him of course, had seen him many times during her time as Voldemort’s prized death eater. He was usually accompanied by Pansy, Blaise Zamboni, and —
Hermione snapped her gaze back in Theo’s direction. There was very little she knew about him, or Pansy for that matter. What she did know, however, made her stomach knot in anticipation. Her eyes roamed over Theo’s face as a knowing smirk pulled at his lips, he realized she’d just put together what his presence more than likely meant. Hermione could keep her title as the brightest witch of her age because coming down the hall, behind Theo, was none other than Draco Malfoy.