Myrmidon [Dramione]

Granger's Allegiance

Hemione Jean Granger wanted the world to burn. Everything had been stolen from her: her childhood, her future, her parents. Even if they did win this war, she was doomed. Well, she was already doomed.

It had been more than three months since her plan had failed and Hermione - as well as Lavender Brown and Luna Lovegood - had been captured. Each girl was thin and pale and bruised; even Lavender’s perfect curls were dishevelled.

Neither woman spoke as they sat, huddled up in the corner of the rotting cell. Luna - the most frail of the three - sat in the middle, her dreamy hums breaking as she rocked back and forth. Dried blood stained her neck from her most recent session with the Death Eaters and her once bright eyes were now the dullest grey Hermione had ever seen.

Three months and they hadn’t been rescued. There had been an unspoken rule in the Order: if you weren’t rescued within three months, you were ruled as deceased. The girls had been left to die, even Potter’s Golden Girl. Hermione had stopped counting the days after the third month.

“I’m scared,” Lavender whispered, the first words she’d spoken in weeks. Her voice - once high in pitch and shrieky - was now hoarse and cracked as she stared, wide eyed at her knees which she cradled to her chest.

“I know,” Hermione replied, trying her best to mask her own fear as Luna squeezed her hand, “we’ll find a way.” It was a lie, all three of them knew that… but no one objected.

The lights flickered on and each girl stiffened as Peter Pettigrew waddled down the dungeon steps, his teeth as yellow as the fire torches. They knew who would be next before he spat the words. "Your turn, Mudblood." Hermione said nothing as she let go of Luna's hand and she staggered forward, clenching her jaw as the girls remained silent, watching with wide eyes.

Hermione Jean Granger was officially the unluckiest woman alive.

Bellatrix Lestrange was fuming as her storming eyes met Hermione’s dark pair. “Why don’t you let me in?” Shrieked the woman whose hair was far worse than hers had ever been. “Let me in, Mudblood! Let me in! Let me in!”

Hermione took pride in the fact that her occlumency walls had been built so strong that even the Lestrange woman couldn’t break in. She had, afterall, spent hours with Severus Snape practising… in case this had ever happened. Everyone in the Order had to undergo some form of training from him. And as horrible as it had been, Hermione was so glad she’d persisted. Afterall, she couldn’t get entertainment like this anywhere else.

Bellatrix was like a toddler, screaming and shouting and whining as she threw things around and barked at Pettigrew who whimpered in the far corner. “If My Dark Lord didn’t have plans for you, I’d kill you myself!” Hissed the woman as she got in Hermione’s face, her pointy nose almost kissing Hermione’s freckled one.

“I suppose that’s a shame then,” smirked Hermione as Bellatrix drew back, screaming.

“Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!”

Getting hit by three crucios one after the other still didn’t lower Hermione’s walls. Of course, she fell to the ground, jaw slamming into the shining marble as the burning pain bubbled from within her. It got worse and worse as she squirmed, her head was throbbing and spinning, she felt as if she were about to vomit. Still, she didn’t scream. Was it her Gryffindor pride? Had she just lost her voice? Hermione couldn’t even think as her body spasmed and blood pooled in her mouth. Had she bitten her tongue?

“I won’t ask you again, Mudblood,” Bellatrix grasped Hermione’s hair, yanking her quivering body up as her beady eyes glowered, “let me in.”

“N-Not a question.” Hermione’s voice was weak as Bellatrix’s face contorted into one of rage. She threw the girl down again, heeled boot slamming into her ribcage with angry grunts.