Colorblind || Pansmione ||

40

Hermione Granger

I let out a groan as I tried to open my eyes. Immediately, I felt a hand around my throat. The ringing in my ears only grew louder and my whole body felt sore. The hand lifted me up and set me down on some kind of table. I didn't even have the energy to stay seated. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. When I opened my eyes, my vision was blurry and everything seemed to be spinning. It made me feel sick. Wilson came up to me and pulled me up by my hair. I tried my best to show the least amount of weakness I could. Wilson bent down to my level and smirked. "Not so tough now, are you?" He asked mockingly. He brought his free hand up to my face and started caressing my cheek. "The Cruciatus curse really does humble anyone." He then said. I glared at him, but that only seemed to amuse him even more. He gave me a slight push and I fell back down on the table. Then he turned me around. "What are you doing?" I asked. My voice was hoarse, but I didn't care. Wilson chuckled. "Don't worry, I would never touch a mudblood like that."

That sentence should've given me some sort of relief, but instead my heart sunk. The way he said it.. it send shivers down my spine. It's been a while since someone called me a mudblood. The last time was probably back in Malfoy manor, during the war. Of course I had the scar, reminding me of it at all times, but someone actually saying it again felt different. There's people who still think muggleborns are inferior, even after me and all the other muggleborns at Hogwarts proved them wrong. It hurts. It feels like everything I did and went through was for nothing.

While I was lost in my thoughts, Wilson tied my hands together and pulled me up again. "I was planning to do this with Millicent, but you'll do the trick as well." He muttered. "Do what?" I asked. Wilson smirked. "You'll see." He said as he let his hand slip from my neck down my back. Then he walked away, leaving me alone. I let out a sigh I didn't know I was holding. This guy makes me sick. His presence alone just feels wrong. I frowned and looked around the room I was in. The room was lit by a single oil lamp, hanging from the ceiling. There was barely any furniture. Just the table I was on and a single chair stood in the corner. I imagined him sitting there, watching as the girl sitting in the exact place I was begged him for mercy. Wilson hadn't even bothered locking the door in any way. He thought I wouldn't try to escape. He had a point. I would never try to do something that stupid. He just let the door open to torture me a little bit more. To let me know that he was in control. Maybe that's why I decided to do something stupid one last time.