Chapter 1
Inexplicably, she woke. Cold penetrated the cloud of sleep first, though that was so familiar it didn’t strike her to get up yet. After all, she hadn't been woken by either of the boys. It was surely not time to get up yet.
The second sensation to permeate her fuzzy awareness was that the surface beneath her was hard, cool, textured in bumps and ridges.
Stone.
That swept away the remnants of sleep and Hermione shuffled to a crouch, eyes opening wide to take in her surroundings.
Except that she couldn’t see. She was in the dark.
She listened, ears straining through the thick black around her, but only the rapid thumping of her heart sounded, her breath held for fear of giving herself away.
Was she still at Hogwarts?
Her hands patted over her body and she realized she was still bare. Memories of what had happened before barreled over her until she stumbled into a wall as hard and cold as the stone beneath her frozen feet.
Hermione’s core ached; had she not long ago learned to compartmentalize pain away it would have doubled her over, made her reach for a heating pad and chocolate. Was sex always like that or was it because…
She shook her head of thoughts that made her breath come too quickly. Instead she flattened her back against the wall, arms outstretched as she traced its length. There was a corner after a few feet and that wall was hardly longer than she was tall.
There was a door, but it was predictably locked and not even her wandless “Alohamora!” had worked. Not that she expected it to. That would be clumsy indeed.
There was little doubt in her mind who had taken her; the real question was why he’d kept her alive. He had made it abundantly clear he planned to kill her, and Hermione had long accepted she might die in this war. When he’d raised his wand after she knew what was coming. The same spell used on Harry twice before it took.
But what had it been? She couldn’t recall what spell he’d said, what color magic had collided with her. Why couldn’t she remember? She closed her eyes against the darkness, purples and greens and all the shadowy colors of imagination swirling through the inside of her eyelids, thinking back, back, back.
His hands on her throat, her thighs, her-- no. That wasn’t it. It was after that, just after. He’d held her close, kissed her forehead, and then--
But it was still missing.
Hermione shook her head and sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around knees, and wept bitterly.
This time it was noise that seeped into her slumber. “Come on, koshka, wake up.” Something with more give than the floor nudged against her cheek.
Hermione blearily blinked her eyes open, the world a whirl of orange flickers and blood-black shadows. One of those shadows loomed over her. When it nudged at her again she could spell the sharp earthy scent of polished leather. It slowly came into focus like the digital camera her parents were so very proud of. It was a boot. She scrambled back against the wall, huddling in on herself and as far as the little cell allowed her from the man who was smiling down at her.
Amusement danced in eyes swallowed up by his pupils as he watched her. “There she is. Good morning, mudblood.” The curl of his lips deepened. “Well, not quite. You’ve slept in.”
She stared back at him with eyes reflecting bronze light in her irises, warm as her terror was cold.
“Get up, come on.”
“Wh-why?”
Amusement slipped into disdain. “Because I commanded it.”
She licked her lips, her voice full of dusty disuse as she attempted another question. “Why aren’t I dead?”
His hand flashed into her hair, twisting her painfully as he wrenched her up. “When I tell you to do something, you do it. Immediately.” He shook her head to emphasize the words. “Do you understand, mudblood?”
“Yes,” she cried out against the twisting of her hair, trying to gain purchase on unsteady feet. “Yes, I understand!”
Dolohov lowered his face until his nose bumped her own, staring down at her with storm-filled eyes. “Good. Come.”
Hermione expected him to drop his grip, but instead he used the coils of her hair as a leash, directing her through the dungeon door and what she surmised was a hallway. She could hardly make out anything beyond her tilted head and the stars of pain from his hand. There were stairs, another door, more stairs… Her body felt too heavy for her weakened muscles, but so light she could not fight against his grip.
When they entered a nearly well lit room at last he shoved her away from him, throwing her by her hair so she stumbled and slid onto hands and knees. Her forearms shook holding her up and Hermione leaned back on her bum, hunching into her knees. Her breath was coming too fast now, her heart hummingbird wings against her ribs, and her gaze darted around the room before settling on him.
Voldemort.
He was different from the glimpses she’d seen before, but Hermione could not place how. His carmine eyes bored down into her, through her so she felt not even her innermost thoughts were private.
Legilimens.
She tore her gaze away and snakeskin laughter skittered over her flesh.
“The Infamous Miss Granger. We meet at last.”
Hermione’s nails pressed into her shins as she held herself.
“Speechless? How flattering. Then again, you’re quite the broken little thing, aren’t you?” She could feel him taking in the details of her, all those little bruises she couldn’t hide, and she wondered if he’d seen the blood between her thighs when she’d been tossed.
He can probably smell it, slimy git.
“You play so rough with your toys, Antonin. I doubt Miss Granger will be much use for us in this pathetic state.” She ground her jaw, teeth grating against me another in a motion that would make her parents cringe.
Broken. Useless. Pathetic. Perhaps the second, appearing the last, but never, ever broken.
Her intrepid gaze rose once more, umber against carmine, and the Dark Lord’s lipless mouth curled. “Ah, there might be a lioness in the girl yet. Tell me, Miss Granger, are you afraid?”
“Of you?” She barked with her torn vocal chords. But her tightening fingers belied her valor. Before he could speak again she added, “I’m not stupid.”
He was too still in the aftermath, considering her with his glimmering stare. “So I have heard.” The words were soft, but slithered over her so raise the little hairs across her body. “You care deeply for your friends, do you not?” His voice caressed the word mockingly. “Potter and the red-headed boy.”
Harry and Ron? They were dead. She’d seen Harry’s body herself, carried in Hagrid’s sorrowful embrace.
“Yes.” She loathed the lilt of desperate hope.
“And they care for you.” His pupils were slitted like a serpent. It was not a question. “What would you do for them if they were in danger? Would you help them?”
This line of questioning was creeping over her spine. “Yes, of course.” She’d do anything for her boys.
“Would you rescue them from danger?” She nodded. “Would you protect them? Would you die for them?”
She had, or thought she had. That she died at the battle because she wouldn’t leave the fight to them alone. And as much as it had terrified her, as much as she had felt weak with relief upon waking, Hermione would do it again. And again. And again.
She would never willingly leave them.
A dry sob was caged in her chest and her eyes were barren of tears. Hermione’s grief weighed down her face, but she was locked in his ruby gaze, her answer written there.
“I see.” He broke the chain between them, shifting his attention behind her. “I want her kept alive. You may do as you please, so long as she remains capable of speech and coherent thought. If you can break her to your hand that would be ideal.” The last was almost an after thought.
“And after, my lord?” That heavy accent bit at her nerves.
“After…” The weight of his consideration fell on her again and Hermione shuddered. She read a thousand deaths in the blood of his eyes, hers just a drop in the deep, deep well. “You can break her into pieces if you wish. I’ll have no use for her. Her life will be yours.”
A hot, heavy hand settled on her shoulder. “Thank you, my lord.” The man behind her lifted her easily to her feet. His grip wrapped around her bicep and he tugged her from the room.
“Miss Granger.” Her head whipped back to look over her shoulder and she shuddered at the glittering red still on her. “Enjoy.”