A/N: Well, hello there! First of all, I'm delighted with the fact that you have decided to click upon this story of mine. Out of all my present ongoing WIPs, this story holds a special place within my heart. Why? Hard to explain... but I guess on some level it is the most challenging plot that I have ever dared to tackle until now.

At present (17.06.2011), the first four chapters of The Rise of the Dark Age are completed, with the fifth one on the way. To tell you the truth, I had my reservations for actually putting the story on this website but a couple of reviewers from another domain had kindly asked me about it... so, here I am!

I have found it quite hard to put one particular genre to this story. Tragedy/Drama/Mystery/Suspense most certainly... though it is a stretch to call it Romance. The presence of that word itself in one sentence with Voldemort's name gives me the willies! Lol. Obsession, yes. Possessiveness? Oh, most certainly!

I guess I will just have to wait and see what your reviews will turn out to be... and then I will continue with posting the rest of the chapters (any guess in which House I should have rightfully been Sorted to yet?) Muahaha... *enter an extra evil cackle*

Enjoy! (in a sort of way!)

Ms Velvela XD

DISCLAIMER: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.

Chapter 1

The young woman ignored the tears streaming relentlessly down her face as she stared up at the wizard with as much dignity as she could muster. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she absently noted that her torn, beaten-up body was like a long forgotten washing rag, flung carelessly upon the floor. Nobody seeing her now would have guessed that the dirty female in front of them and the cleverest witch of the century were the same person.

But Hermione Granger was past caring.

Against all odds and hope, she had failed. Failed to protect Harry as the fateful Killing Curse struck him, dead even before his body collided with the muddy ground. Failed to warn Ron as she helplessly watched Peter Pettigrew Apparate behind him and, with one practiced movement, broke his neck. And so many others...

Names flashed before Hermione's half-lidded eyes, accompanied by matching faces.

Ginny Weasley, lying half-draped over Harry's lifeless body after administrating an Avada upon herself at witnessing the fall of her only love. Neville Longbottom, fatefully tortured to death by the same curse that stripped his parents' sanity so many years ago. Lavender Brown, her half-naked form unseeingly staring up into the stormy sky as the grass beneath her soaked up her blood. Colin Creevy, Parvati Patil, Seamus Finnegan...

Hermione closed her eyes tightly as a fresh river of tears rushed down her face and onto the cold stone floor. She lifted her eyelids only enough to see the drops of moisture steadily pooling beneath her. Instead of being crystal clear, even her tears possessed a red tinge, an emblem of how more damaged her face was than Hermione had realized.

But she did not care anymore. Hope left her the moment the Dark defeated the Light, marking the birth of the Dark Age with Dumbledore's withered corpse piled high up with all of her friends' and teachers' bodies underneath it.

But while hope had abandoned Hermione, the pain had not.

Oh no, she did not feel the physical abuse done to her body anymore. No matter how hard the blows were or how vicious the Cruciatus curses, her body's nerves had switched off and carried her to where there was no pain, only blissful numbness.

Her emotional pain, however, stayed. And while she silently suffered the endless abuse to her body, deep inside, she was screaming. Screaming for Death to come to her and embrace her in its loving caress.

'Pray tell me, Mudblood, how does it feel to be abandoned by your two best cronies who you were constantly whoring around with?'

Gathering her strength, Hermione managed to open her eyes and lift her head barely enough to look back at Lucius Malfoy, Voldemort's right-hand man. As arrogant as ever, the blond wizard stared back at her with eyes so cold that it sent chilling shivers down Hermione's sweat-covered spine.

Nevertheless, mastering all that was left of her pride and stubbornness, the former Gryffindor defiantly stared back at the man she detested most. She directed all of her pure hatred and undisguised revulsion at Lucius Malfoy, the ruthless murderer, the slaughterer of his only son...

The man who had raped her.

Even now, the mere memory of how her virginity had been taken in the same room she now occupied sent uncontrollable shudders of fear and revulsion through her at her own body.

When Hermione did not grace him with a reply to his question, Malfoy seized the chance and forcefully backhanded her. As she sat on her knees, the blow of such force to her already battered face sent Hermione sprawling onto the floor, landing hard upon her left shoulder blade. Her clouded mind absently noted the sensation of how the bone went out of its socket at the collision, but the pain only faintly echoed in her body.

Hermione did not know how much time had passed since the day she was captured. For all she knew, it might have been a few weeks or months. Days just wouldn't have been sufficient time to put her body into such a state of suffering and exhaustion. As she lay there, motionless at Malfoy's polished boots, the only thing she could do was squint at them while her breath came in short and irregular gasps. A pair of ribs broken some time back prevented her from any further movement.

'I see that the strict discipline has not managed to break your wretched spirit of a lioness,' drawled Malfoy lazily, shifting his boot to the side of her face. With a little pressure, he tilted her into an uncomfortable angle so that her bloodshot eyes would meet his own.

'Although I do not doubt that a few correctly chosen spells and more satisfactory methods of torture will bring forth your complete obedience – sooner or later.'

Upon seeing that his victim did not have any intention of answering him, his foot pushed so forcefully against her cheekbone that she wouldn't have been surprised to hear bones cracking under the pressure.

'No worries, Mudslut. Soon you will open that mouth of yours for more than just simple words. Much to my shame, I feel obliged to confess that in contradiction to how much filth flows through your veins, your body felt more than pleasant the last time I had it writhing beneath mine,' came Malfoy's husky whisper, mimicking the naked lust that now coated his eyes.

'What, can't find a willing participant who will let your sorry excuse for a dick into their hole, Your Highness?' rasped Hermione. It had been so long since she had spoken that the sound of her own voice now sounded alien to her ears.

Hermione's clouded eyes detected how Malfoy first paled and then rapidly reddened in outrage at her words. Sweet Nimue, all men were the same. The look in his eyes informed her that if she searched for death, her wish would soon be granted.

With a snarl Malfoy kicked her so hard in the stomach that Hermione's body rolled away from him to soundly collide with the bare wall. Even without feeling the whole intensity of the pain, Hermione couldn't help herself but grunt as her head forcefully connected with the stone, blinding her vision for a few moments.

Unfortunately, unconsciousness did not overtake her, and she was left lying there staring unfocused at the long-haired wizard who transformed his infamous cane into a wand by pulling the silver snake's head. His arm visibly shook with the extremity of his indignation as he pointed it towards Hermione's helpless form.

But instead of feeling fear, the witch felt distinct peace overtake her at the knowledge that everything would soon be over.

She closed her eyes in surrender as Malfoy opened his mouth.

'Avada Ke-'

'Expelliarmus!'

Shock at the sudden, bellowed command gave Hermione force to open her shuddering eyelids and see the now wandless Lucius Malfoy standing in profile to her. She had no notion whom he was facing, lying as she was in a heap of broken bones. The sole detail that failed to slip by her was how his face mortally paled a moment before an unrecognizable voice screamed out his rage again.

'Crucio!'

The Unforgivable aimed at Malfoy forced an agonized scream to escape his throat as he collapsed onto the floor on all fours. The further prolonging of the spell found him helplessly thrashing in pain on his back as all of his muscles cramped. From experience, Hermione knew the endless agony of that particular spell, the way it seemed to burn your muscles right to the very bone, leaving you to wonder if the very marrow of your bones was roasting in the fires of Hell.

Once, there was a time when Hermione would have felt genuine compassion for a human being who had been subjected to such a magnitude of pain.

In this day and age, the only thing she let herself feel was satisfaction. A perverse sense of happiness in seeing her torturer writhing upon the cold stone floor, under the control of the very spell he himself had inflicted upon her so many countless times before.

She felt her face muscles painfully stretch and realized that she was smiling. Smiling at the scene in front of her.

It seemed like many minutes passed before Malfoy's body stopped its frantic movements. Even though the spell was finally lifted, his semi-comatose form couldn't help but spasmodically convulse with every irregular breath. Hermione's eyes met his as he finally lifted his eyelids, and there she saw something that she had never thought possible to witness in his arctic eyes.

Fear.

And before she could lift her eyes towards the doorway, a voice spoke. A voice that she finally recognized. A voice that haunted Hermione in her dreams, the voice that taunted her for letting her loved ones die while she herself had survived. A voice that wasn't really a voice. A hiss.

'You have gone against my orders twice now, Lucius. You know your fate.'

With horror filling her heart to the brim, Hermione looked up and beheld the tall figure of Lord Voldemort.

'Master, please! Forgive me! The Mudslut insult-' began Malfoy, but the next moment, he collided with the wall mere feet away from where Hermione herself lay.

'I did not permit you to speak, servant!' thundered Voldemort.

The blond wizard inclined his head in silent submission, all the way down until his forehead touched the floor. Wisely keeping his mouth shut, Malfoy cowered before his master's dark form, causing Hermione to grimace in distaste at such a disgraceful show of meekness.

Unfortunately for her, the dark wizard must have noticed the change in her expression, for the next moment, he appeared directly in front of her. With her breath involuntary quickening, Hermione tried in vain to press her back more firmly against the wall as he slowly crouched in front of her. A coal-black cloak silently pooled around his half-sitting form, touching the hem of Hermione's own torn clothes.

Unable to tear her eyes away, she found herself staring unblinkingly at the figure in front of her. The dark hood obscured Voldemort's face from view, creating shadows that normally should not have been there. But from within all that darkness, two crimson eyes stared back at her. Eyes that couldn't belong to a human. From what she had heard, the feared wizard no longer fully possessed the body of a human being.

With her horror increasing, Hermione saw Voldemort's gloved hand reach for her face. Like a hypnotized rabbit before a coiling snake, she had nothing else left to do but wait for the inevitable. When the tips of his fingers touched her tear-stained face, an unintentional intake of breath escaped her at the coldness that seemed to slip from him. With only his fingertips touching, Voldemort lightly circled her cheekbones, passing over her broken nose until he traced the outline of her swollen and bloodied bottom lip.

'Amazing,' he hissed so low that it was almost a whisper. 'A mere slip of a girl lives through six months of Cruciatus and beatings without making a sound. Most of my Death Eaters would not remain sane after one month of the same torture.'

Hermione had to bite her tongue to not let a sharp retort escape from her.

Voldemort's unreadable red eyes lifted back from her mouth to focus on her brown ones. Hermione instantly tensed, sensing that the creature in front of her had the power to see into the very core of her soul.

'Tell me, Miss Granger,' he whispered, bringing his face a bit closer to hers until the only thing Hermione could see were his serpentine eyes framed among all that darkness. 'What do you want?'

The question caught her off guard, but she kept her face carefully schooled into blankness. It was perhaps the use of her name that she hadn't heard for so many months that made her speak up for a second time that evening.

'Death.'

For a moment, those inhuman eyes looked intrigued, but it came and went away so swiftly that she doubted she even saw it.

'Perhaps the fact that your most sacred wish did not come true shows that there is still a purpose for you in this world.'

Hermione surprised herself by emitting a short laugh, the sound bitterly scratching her ears.

'Purpose? What duty do I have left here? My place now is on the other side of the Veil where all the people that I have ever loved are waiting for me,' she rasped, looking now deeply into the eyes of the wizard she hated the most.

Ignoring the silent pleading that must have shone clearly within her gaze, the wizard finally let his hand fall from her person and stood back up. Without sparing a second glance at the girl lying at his feet, he stepped towards the still-bowing form of Lucius Malfoy.

'For now, I forgive your folly, Lucius,' he sneered, graciously letting a revived Malfoy kiss the hem of his long cloak. But as his servant struggled to get onto his knees, he lazily added, 'But you know what will happen to you if you cross the line yet again. Even by a hint. It will be a pity to lose one of my most loyal servants to Nagini's playful offspring.'

If it was possible, Malfoy's face paled even further.

'You are dismissed.'

Not daring to push his luck further, the blond wizard staggered to his shaking feet. However, before he could exit the chamber, Voldemort's cold voice stopped him in his tracks.

'Order one of the Healers to be brought here. I believe it is time for Miss Granger to get acquainted with the new world.'

'As my Master commands,' Lucius said, bowing deeply, his voice not completely even. Hermione chanced to see a look of deep suspicion and disbelief momentarily flash across his countenance before he made his hasty retreat.

Hermione felt her head swirling in panicking disbelief. Why would she be healed? How much had the world changed from the one in which she had been born and raised? And most importantly, what was it that Voldemort intended to do with her?

'Too many questions, Miss Granger,' came the cold response. Hermione went all rigid. She had completely forgotten about his talent in Legilimency. With as much force as she had left, she tried to conjure mental walls around her mind, but she already knew that they wouldn't help a wisp against the wizard in front of her.

Short hissing sounds that dimly resembled the act of laughter were answer enough.

'Do not tire yourself with something so foolish. With or without your barriers, I will open up those corners of your mind and soul, the vast existence of which you cannot even start to comprehend.'

Hermione watched his cloaked form glide towards the doorway with cold dread wrapping her in its clutches. Whatever that fiend meant, she knew that his words were not empty. The only thing she had left to do was pray. Pray that she would die before Voldemort could gain authority over her inner self, the only thing that was left in her utterly destroyed shell.

Her heart gave an unpleasant skip when Voldemort paused momentarily at the entrance to the room after conjuring the dreaded wards back into place. With them went all possibility of her ever escaping from her dungeon prison. His eyes gave a strange glint as he looked down at her beaten and bloody figure. A body which was occupied by an as of yet unbroken spirit.

Hermione felt the consciousness rapidly slipping from her, but she fought to keep her eyes open. The weariness won, and she started to fall into a dimension where nothing mattered anymore. The last thing she heard before the darkness took her was a whispered promise.

'Sooner or later, you will be mine, Hermione Granger.'