Death Never Stopped Me Before

|Chapter 3|

His footsteps echoed against the ancient stone walls, the noise amplifying in the silent space until it sounded like thunder. The dungeons were just as cool and dark as he remembered, and Voldemort could feel the nostalgia rolling through him. It was nice in the dungeons, no sign of damage from the battle, unlike the rest of Hogwarts. Since the dungeons were so far beneath ground, it was the only part of the school that was left intact. Because of this, Voldemort decided to keep the prisoners of war in the dungeons, strong prison cells fitted at the very bottom of the school.

This was where he was headed.

There was no one in the dungeons, save for a few guards here and there, and Voldemort made sure to dismiss them the second he arrived, not wanting anyone to listen in on the conversations he was about to have.

He stepped into the first cell and the grief hit him like a knife to the gut. It was so sudden it took his breath away, and Voldemort took a second to compose himself, thankful that the prisoners were facing the wall and not the door when he entered. They turned around to look at him moments after he'd schooled his expression, no sign of the raging turmoil he felt on his face.

They were dirty and injured, looking as though they'd just stepped out of the battle minutes earlier rather than a few days ago. The girl's curly hair was matted with dirt and dried blood, and it hung down against her shoulders limply, framing her bruised and beaten face. The boy had his arm wrapped around her shoulders, his red hair looked brown from the dirt and mud that covered him. They smelled horrible but Voldemort didn't mention it, after all, they had not bathed since the battle. Probably longer, as they were on the run.

Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley stared at Voldemort with such pure loathing in their eyes, and despite their haggard appearance, they were able to look threatening. The remains of the Golden Trio were sitting before Voldemort, defenseless, but Voldemort made no move to kill them.

They needed to die, he knew that, they were the face of the rebellion now that Harry—

"Tell me where the rest of the Order is hiding," Voldemort demanded, forcibly stopping the previous thought from continuing inside his head. "You can either tell me or I can torture it out of you."

The mudblood's face crinkled in her rage as she spit at him. "Go to hell! I won't tell you anything you monster!"

Voldemort's crimson eyes flashed with anger as he stalked towards the girl. "One chance," he snarled, his hands practically trembling with seething rage. "Tell me where the rest of the Order is hiding."

"You're despicable!" Weasley cried. "We won't betray our friends! Not like you'd know what those are!"

He did, actually. He didn't before he met Harry, but his love was the one to teach him what friendship meant. Harry is his best friend—Harry was his best friend. The past tense caused Voldemort's fingers to twitch, and he backed away from the pair in front of him.

He breathed in deeply, forcing himself to remain calm and in the moment. He could not afford to go into his head in front of them. When he was positive that he wasn't about to scream and tear the walls down with his magic, Voldemort turned back around to face the prisoners.

"I'd be careful if I were you," he said, pointing his finger at Weasley. "Never insult the one who controls whether you live or die."

"You think you're a god," Granger cut in, her hazel eyes displaying just how much she despised him. "But you're not. You will be defeated!"

"And who is going to do that, hmm?" Voldemort asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Everyone you've ever wronged!" she snarled. "You killed Harry Potter, and the people will honor him by killing you!"