Chapter One

The War Was Never Really Won

Hermione could never have said which turn of events would take place, either during the war or the aftermath that it would carry. Harry Potter, their saviour was to live or die – either of which would change the course of history forever. However no one predicted his disappearance nor did anyone know the reason why.

Speculation spread across all those who turned an ear to care, each time the stories grew more elaborate. Some said he had fled through cowardice, some said he was strengthening forces in Bulgaria. Yet none of the fabrications mattered to anyone any more, most just thought that he had been killed along with everyone else. Hermione meanwhile could only deny the betrayal and assume that one day he would rise again to claim peace.

Peace. A word Hermione thought about often, yet she could never make sense of the presently obsolete sound. It is defined as freedom of disturbance; so far that privilege did not reach her currently doomed experience. She scoffed at the idea of freedom, after all no liberties remained within the former Gryffindor Princess. The war itself was traumatic enough for anyone involved and to no longer remain as they were; but this... This, whatever 'this' was, it was different. It was hell.

The environment of the dimension she had been hurled into lashed its menacing shadows and sounds around her. Darkened veils slithered along the walls of the confined and sullied tent. All was bare besides the varying degrees of samples left from the previous occupier. The red hues of blood across the panelling casted the eerie effect of the sun rising to Hermione's accustomed circumstances.

The flooring wasn't much of an improvement either, shamefully playing host to many unwanted guests. Several carcasses from rats and birds disintegrated in the corner with little thought from Hermione. All she could do was to wait. After all, she had been incarcerated for months now and luck could only carry her so far before the inevitable would be committed.

They ran riot, did as they pleased, committing monstrous crimes as they did so. Screams, yells, laughter... Hermione heard all the sounds that could possibly be emitted by humans, from every possible hideous act. Yet it was the laughter, the deep cackles of men signalling to their comrades the damage was once again done that etched itself under her skin. Many countless nights she spent listening to the cries wondering who it was tonight. Cho? Katie? Hannah? First Years? Little Gabrielle? Was it her turn tonight?

Regardless of their evident pain, a relief swirled darkly within her. After all if their screams could be heard at least Death Eaters were too busy with them rather than Hermione. This wasn't the time to play hero, that moment had been lost amongst the rubble that once was the glorious Hogwarts. Now was a time for survival, not for anyone else but herself.

Eight months she had spent like this, allowing dark circles to engorge her eyes. They seemed to sink deeper within her as if protecting her from the sights that came to her so frequently. The strain from them was unbelievable - so many tears had been rinsed out of them no moisture could possibly remain. The involuntary reaction of blinking even became a painful process. Her bright eyes had become bloodshot through various damaged vessels from various damaging beatings. The windows to her soul held the helplessness she felt and her face had transformed into an exhibition of her suffering.

Her lips were cracked and stained with blood, time after time Hermione brutalised the inside of her mouth for the sake of silence, the unwilling force to somehow survive the torment. Her emotions had overtaken her appearance even before her arrival, however now the evidence of misery was all too apparent. Her hair, once bushy, lively and thick now draped liked broken straw across her shoulders.

She was lucky, before Hermione had been placed in the camps all of those that had been snatched were forced into having their heads shaven – male or female. The mystery of the revoked procedure ignited an ounce of happiness for some, until it was discovered that without hair it became much easier to perform a wandless spell, thus protecting the last dignity she had left. Her weight too demised terribly, leaving the prominent lines of her skeleton traced up and down her body.

All around her joints a painful fluid sack compassed around them, reducing her ability to move efficiently. However this didn't affect Hermione too much as she always assumed a particular position for hours on end, cradling her knees in an attempt to resemble some kind of solace. Her nails were the worst, those that remained were dirty, split and coated in blood which filled into every morsel of her, corrupting, excavating, creeping into soul. Her own blood, Death Eaters, friends... Ron's...

The war was never really won. Harry did not die. This was the thought that carried Hermione on. Out of all the suffering she needed something to hold on to. She had been degraded so much in past months she didn't even feel human anymore. So many horrific things had happened, some she bore witness too and others were too unbearable to think about. Haunting memories filled her with terror as the ghostly faces manifested around her.

The rain fell heavily cutting through the air propelled by the wind. Every drop felt like a knife against Hermione's exposed skin ricocheting against her shaking body. All had been given crude, discoloured and ripped robes to wear regardless of age or size. Her legs were painful and the thought of sitting down would not leave her mind. Hours she stood standing, standing, standing, nothing else.

The heavens above them had opened releasing the torrential conditions of what Hermione could only assume was April. Her feet were bare, suctioning her even further into the thick, sticky mud. How much longer would this take? At least twice their guard had changed already, surely it wouldn't be much longer?

However she was like so many others, another thirty girls stood around her identical in their soaked rags. The only one identifiable was that of Susan Bones and already she too had become a picture of the persecution they had been sentenced to.

It wasn't just about Mudbloods and the purity of magic anymore, it was anyone who dared to speak, act or fight for themselves. However it was only Mudbloods and Half-bloods that were sent to camps, all Purebloods were trapped in the castle with Lord Voldemort and his most trusted servants or sent as personal slave to those with the Dark Mark.

Her knees had begun to shake, a sure sign that she could not stand for much longer. This time nobody had collapsed so far but Hermione wasn't prepared to be the first. Anyone who did faint or refuse to stand was taken away for the Death Eaters entertainment later.

The biting cold and lashing rain stapled the now transparent wet material to her bruised skin. After being exposed to the elements, blisters formed a raw graze across her visible body. She had been in this situation so many times the embarrassment of exploitation was a meagre complaint compared to never ending torture of standing for hours.

The sheer terror of knowing that any movement could cause a Cruciatus curse to any of those who didn't obey was constantly mounted around the prisoners. There was no purpose to the standing, only that of the sanctioning their creed.

A violent spasm shot through Hermione's core, pushing her mass to the sludge beneath her. Her hands vacuumed into the mud, followed by her knees and face. A soul etching howl was freed from the pathetic sight on the floor. Nobody dared to look her as they too would incur the same discipline. With the crashing of the downpour surrounding her, two Death Eaters worked their way through the group until they reach Hermione.

Her being was so encases in the weather ridden ground all movement was impossible. She wanted to kick, to punch, to bite, anything to stop her being dragged with the men. Refusing to look at either of the wizards, two large hands wrapped around her arms pulling her from the ground.

As they did so the deluge around her sucked her back towards the ground creating a tug of war between the two pressures. Hermione continued to wail, begging incoherently the same as all the others she had seen being yanked so unsympathetically.

A loud high pitch conch signalled throughout the camp, informing the captives that no longer did they have to stand. Hermione's soul broke in two as all she needed to do was poise herself a minute longer. However now it was too late.

A small stone hut resided just in front of her with a looming black door. She didn't dare look behind and her entrance to hell crawled ever closer.

Closing her eyes tight in terror, she could find no fight left in her. There was an eruptive bang from the Death Eater to her right, as he open the door before her increased the horror of what was to come.

Hermione continued to stare at the sheathing reliving the carousel of her memories. When she first came, every night she would cry not only for herself but everyone else who had endured anything near what she had. Now she couldn't even care for herself but in reality she knew, it was always better to happen to somebody else rather than herself.

It seemed impossible to believe that her life had become this, an eternity of pain, humiliation and misery. She felt like an animal, dehumanized by those who were spawned for evil. They were built for it, designed flawlessly to not only torture with magic but to take away every civilized right. It seemed that they enjoyed that particular torment the most as has been proven to be highly effective.

No longer could she identify herself as a witch, a Gryffindor, as Hermione. They had made her feel lower than a Mudblood, more unworthy than any other creature. She wasn't even sure if she was still alive, how could she be?

Everything had spiralled so deeply out of control; after all it was to be believed that victory was theirs until six months before her capture. Against all odds they had managed to escape the battlefield with Harry, surely it was just a matter of time? So many had died in order to defeat Lord Voldemort and so much had been put at risk. They had been so close to victory and Hermione cursed herself silently for her stupidity and naivety.

But he promised me!

His last words danced through her mind as the image of Harry faded away. She rolled awkwardly onto her back resembling a broken Muggle doll. All of her was bent and creaked painfully as most of her joints had fused at a certain degree.

Stones and lumps of dried mud dug into her back and she could feel the blood rushing around her head. Her fists collided with canvas flooring, impacting with what lay beneath her. Hermione stared above her, searching for something. Perhaps in attempt to dwell on another awful memory, perhaps in hope of an epiphany or a saviour.

Nothing would ever appear a part from maybe a forbidding shadow. Yet somehow every day, she laid waiting for whatever was to come as there was no fight left in her. Sleep would not come either and her mind and body was impossible to rest. If she was awake, if she had some warning, there might be a chance to survive.

The emptiness didn't aid her sleep either - god knows how long it had been since she ate. Although her starved framed longed for food she could not bring herself to digest to stale rations she was given. It was enough to keep her alive but in no way nutritious or easy to chew.

The sun had slowly begun to sink encouraging the cool air to breeze through the tent. Although it caused a sting to her open, in comparison it was perfect compared to the suffocating heats throughout the day. It whistled through the tent softly, mildly soothing her constant discomforts. The blue of the sky started to roll into its bright tones of pink and orange with the night lingering not too far away.

Unfortunately the tent had started to paint a foul contrast to the outside world as the combinations of odours became sulphuric around her. Thankfully it was so foul whenever a Death Eater did decide to come her way they assumed no possible living thing could possibly stay in such a terrible squalor. Even a Mudblood.

When the night had commenced, it begun crawl past slowly, teasing Hermione with sounds of the monstrosities that seemed to occur once the sun had fallen. Everybody became far more vulnerable at night as the Death Eaters drowned themselves in Firewhisky and gratified whatever needs they held. Eventually the screams would die down, and at some point the camp was at rest.

As she lay there she wondered how many did the same, replaying the self torture over and over in identical fashion. All had been committed to the same abyss of nonexistent hope. It was foolish to still think but Hermione was convinced of the one hope that still perhaps remained. Yet what good was he now?

Each day the hope grew less and less but she needed something. At no point could she explain why she tried so desperately to grip onto something. After all he left without hesitation, abandoning his two best friends with a slither of an empty promise.

'Coward!'

She spat ferociously into her hollow surroundings with only the stench to hear her. A bomb of frustration began to build under her ribcage, out of all that had happened this was the ultimate treachery.

Her throat was exceedingly dry, creating harshness at the back of her mouth. It was not often she spoke, yet each time she did it always resulted in regret. It was always wise to make as little noise as possible especially around midnight, yet the anger was undeniably justified. However before she could impart on her actions, a looming silhouette crept to the front of her tent.

The smears of blood and earth over the covering distorted the presence but not enough for Hermione to know it was her turn. She glanced around as fast as her stiffened neck would allow. A shot of adrenaline rose through her, biting at her sides.

As useless as it was, it was instinct to not give up the fight. What fight? She had no choice. She was theirs for the taking and all she could do was to wait. Yet whatever they were to condemn her to, she would not cry and she would not scream. That, they did not deserve.

As the shadow increased its size - with louder footsteps to accompany them - a low growl was released from the wizard outside. It sounded so animalistic and barbaric it could only prove one thing - that this was not a man.

Hermione breathed in a suppressed squeal sharply, through the fear she felt the monster that lurked beyond her sights. In the months she had spent here she had managed to avoid the claws that would indeed tear her apart. His oppressive stature only preceded his reputation which was increased greatly by the black shapes sprawled over the tent. Once he was to enter her life would surely end.

'What the fuck have you been told, Greyback?'

Her heart burst rapidly inside her with her worst fears confirmed. Yet the other man - one she could not see - became perfectly audible, freezing her to the floor rendering it impossible to move an inch. 'You filthy dog, you really want something that's been fucked about by the Lestrange whore? You make me feel fucking sick.'

Her stomach churned at the reminder of her most torturous encounter. The pearlescent trails remained on her skin - even in the darkness the scars up and down her body were unmistakable.

Her legs lay bare from the vulgar rag that she had claimed as clothing. The contamination had endless amounts of unhygienic bodily samples irritating her open wounds. It barely covered what it needed it to but did provide the most amount of dignity possible - at least she wasn't in the freezing rain.

Echoes of curses and hexes had embossed her skin, leaving no escape from the horrendous day. Her arms were no better, the word Mudblood tattooed to her from a dagger - from the same evil being. It was clear she deserved no identity, no individuality, only to be herded like cattle and wait for her unquestionable fate. The unknown man's voice broke her silent thoughts, 'we're throwing this little bitch in there before you get any ideas.' He allowed a no doubt awkward pause pass between them.

'They're off limits, Fenrir, The Dark Lord specified. I don't see why you give such a shit about these ones with all the choice you've got. Anyway, we've got new batch coming in, picked up a mile outside Hogwarts. Fucking idiots, it's like they wanted to get caught. Mind you half of them were part of Dumbledore's Army. Ballsy little fucks, I'll give them that...'

He pulled open the tent door without even acknowledging the girl station in the centre. Throwing someone in, the flap fell back down as quickly as it was opened. The shadows left without any exchange leaving both girls to a shared torment.

Much like Hermione the girl was with a doubt neglected and defeated. Her hair once so vivacious and startlingly bright lay limp and dull. An apparent black eye began to present itself, manipulating her features. However it was clear this girl was once very beautiful.

Her hands were a mess and she shook violently like an animal that had been caged up so long it had forgotten how to live. This was not the girl she remembered. Hermione attempted slowly to hoist herself towards her as sat where she was thrown. If she did indeed recognised Hermione she made little inclination towards that thought.

This was exactly what it looked like to give up, to allow the evil deeds continue. Crawling pathetically towards her friend, she examined the newly found bruises across the girl's body. Their clothing was not too dissimilar - both designed to shows as much as possible, which of course it did triumphantly.

'Ginny... Who did this to you?' Her speech, no more than a whisper was hoarse and cracked. Words seemed so unfamiliar, like everyone else cries of distress and misfortune were the only thing to leave her lips - as well as a tooth if she was lucky enough.

Hermione wanted nothing more than to be united with one of her friends again. She would even happily of taken one of the Patil twins for the sake of a familiar face. Now the situation had presented itself and Hermione wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

However this wasn't just anyone - it was Ginny whom she fought side by side with. Whose hand she held as they watched loved ones ridiculed and reduced to tribunals. Yet neither of the girls were the same, how was it possible to rekindle a friendship claimed by two entirely different people? Shame rose to her face, no longer did she feel the innocence she once took for granted, the kind hearted spirit nor the strength required by Ginny to fix this mess.

Unfortunately the mess was so much more than that. Hundreds had been imprisoned indiscriminately, the boys were mainly executed in the first instance and some came to the camps for those Death Eaters with an acquired taste.

Mostly they were surrounded by girls around the same age, some were drastically younger. Like so many others Ginny and Hermione fought through the aftermath of war working with the Ministry to hunt down as many of the Dark Lords followers they could find. Of course it never proved that easy. Six months was all it took for the evil to conquer once more. That was the last day she saw Ginny before this moment.

A strange feeling crept over her, exhaustion was present to say the least yet this was different. Suddenly the numbness edged away, releasing the vast amounts of suppressed emotions. Now she was given the opportunity to share the hate, the anger, all the pain. She never realised how truly lonely she was and now to be joined by one of her best friends sparked a hope that had been lost.

Maybe it isn't over, maybe there's a way...

Yet all the emotion drained whatever feeble amounts of energy she had left. It was not long before the darkness consumed her into the realms of unforgiving dreams.

Hermione awoke early that morning as usual, greeted by heavy smell of damp. However it was never very wise to have a few extra hours sleep while the Death Eaters took their morning patrol. The hazy days and humid nights caused the tent material to be terrorised by condensation. Thick smog had apparently built up over the night, restricting Hermione's breathing.

The familiar pain that belonged to her head - among other parts of her body - was forcing her to leave her half conscious state. Not that this bothered her too much, it's not like she ever had a decent night sleep anyway. Yet who would in such circumstances?

The horrors of war had plagued her mind all night. The never ending screams of the innocent, the stench of blood singed to her nostrils for all eternality. The bitter sting that occurred to her senses as it did every morning.

When her misty amber eyes finally opened to her reality, it was to the surreal frozen sight of Ginny. Whom she, in all honesty wished she was a fragment of her distorted dreams. Hermione rose awkwardly from the floor she used as a bed - the mornings were always difficult.

Lack of nutrition, hydration and civilised toileting left her dizzy most of the time. She nursed the constant soft thump on her right temple, pacing herself gingerly. Her stomach growled within her, clenching at her torso she submitted to its punishment and bent over. Food... No, I mustn't... It's not like I'll be getting it anytime soon.

To her actions Ginny made little response remaining crossed legged and eyes closed - fighting her own demons. The pain continued down to the knees of Hermione, crippling them dramatically, forcing her to the floor. The memories of forbidden thoughts came to her with little warning. Before she had time to think her eyes were a flood with tears. A rush of panic as the their long ago surrender engulfed Hermione back to that day.

She cackled - wand raised high - utter glee on her condemned face. Bellatrix stood on a fallen pillar subsequent of the battle, twisting her wand as her feet pranced like a spoilt child's. Harry was suspended in mid-air, his arms stretched out either side of him, his already beaten body on display.

The blood had begun to trickle more freely as his feature contorted to the pain, his once strong green eyes full of tears. His yells reverberated throughout the grounds presenting torture not only to him but those who watched their Messiah reduced to the victimisation of the evil. His rounded glasses - perhaps no longer as circular as they once were – had been bent and shattered like the souls of the forsaken. Sickeningly they were in the possession of Voldemort.

Bellatrix moved the wand in her fingers as if it was ribbon. 'Crucio!' her laughter chased into every ear present. Harry screamed thrashing in the air, his body almost giving up hope. Bellatrix spun him slowly on his invisible pedestal for all to see. His torture in front of the whole school, the DA and the Order. The Death Eaters at last finally had their long awaited prize.

Voldemort stood by casually laughing in rhythm to Harry's screams, merely exhibiting his success.

'Make the Potter boy dance for his Lord!'

His cold high pitch demeanour threatening the sanity of most. Bellatrix flicked her tongue across her thin lips in excitement. Voldemort, with little hesitation, had his wish granted. Hermione stopped watching the disgusting sceptical before her by this point, soaking her tears into Ron's woollen jumper.

Nobody moved.

Not only had they taken Harry but they had taken their hope along with it. His screams surged towards Hermione. Her best friend, nothing short of a brother, an innocent boy had been thrown willingly to a fate worse than death.

He was a celebrated hero, now dancing for the Dark Lord. It was an insult to his life, a sham to the memories of his parting. Humiliation and torture. In one swift flick of the wand, Harry's body dropped unforgiving to the ground leaving only the echoes if screams in his wake.

The tears continued to stream, staining her face. Hermione fell to her side with a thud, gripping onto the tent flooring as if it would bring her strength. Her hands possessed her hair, clutching at the dull strands forcing the emotional anguish out of her. It brought nothing apart from more despair. ' Harry...' she whispered between her rasped breaths. Hermione fell into silent cries, if Ginny noticed she made little attention that she did so.

Both girls wrapped up in their own torment. No amount of comfort Ginny could bring would rectify the death of those she loved, her would be consoling was far from Hermione's mind however. She at least had comfort in Ron's death. Swift, honourable, even graceful. Harry merely disapparated when he had the chance.

It had been a long while since Hermione had a sense of time, upon her arrival her existence was to not end up like so many others. The only time that was distinguished was that of the movements of the sun. So how long Hermione lay there with her inner turmoil running wild, she could not say. She squeezed at the flooring as she rocked herself, hoping that it might relinquish some emotion. That perhaps, maybe it would materialize either of the boys in front of her. Eventually she drifted off into the realms of past antipathy.

She was awoken by the intense heat of the summer at midday. The flap was pulled back spilling the brightness into the girl's tent. Ginny had not moved from her previous position and Hermione reacted unnaturally slow to the intrusion, prying her face which stuck to the floor from her incessant crying.

Her eyes felt chapped, like they were made of glass. She had little idea why her body decided to cry - it only did more harm than good. She raised her head slowly to the entrance only to find someone she really did not wish to see. Greyback stood there with hunger in his eyes and blood on his breath. His filthy claw like nails ran down the side of the sheathing before he decided to enter.

'Well, well, well. What do we have here? Two little beauties, fit for lunch...'

His eyes traced down the barely covered thighs of Hermione, licking his lips in anticipation. 'Among other things...' He smirked a wicked grin, advancing towards Hermione. She had little time to shuffle herself backwards into the corner of the tent, even if she wasn't any safer.

'I like to make the meat tender before I eat it. Pound it in.' He growled in a long and low frequency baring his serrated teeth at Hermione with the stench of her dead friends still lingering in his mouth. He slowly reached for his belt buckle, allowing the metal to clasp against itself harshly. Before Hermione could prevent the forcible penetration that was about to be committed to her, a loud bang erupted just outside the tent.

'Fenrir! Get the fuck out of that tent!' A man nearly a tall as Greyback and nearly as broad pointed his wand directly at the werewolf. Judging from his voice it was the same man as last night.

He entered the appalling conditions, refusing to lower his wand. Greyback froze, not even attempting to hide the scenario. None of them ever would, it was their world now.

The Death Eater Hermione recognised as Dolohov held his silence and his gaze. The last time she had seen him was during the chase for the prophecy at the Ministry. Although her first memory was that of Dolohov digging his hands into her scalp, somehow the thoughts warmed her. A place where all of her friends had been together, surviving, with hope.

'You know the fucking rules you mangy piece of shit.' Dolohov continued, 'we got their request this morning.' The werewolf appeared very unconvinced, expressing something very disagreeable on his disfigured face. Dolohov in one final attempt began once again, 'besides it's that Malfoy prick who owns them now. There's fuck all you can do about it.'

Dolohov inclined his head to his left to leave, inviting the werewolf along with him. Greyback did so reluctantly but not without saying goodbye. 'I'm sure I'll be seeing you two in good time. Have fun being fucked by Malfoy, you'll wish you had me instead.'

He leant forward snarling his teeth in Hermione's stunned face. He left without another word kicking the tent upon his exit. One last fright while he could...

Ironically the fear of what could of happened dissolved like sugar barely registering with the brunette girl. It was what Dolohov said that chilled her very core regardless of the exotic temperatures.

Malfoy.

Of all the people they were to be sent to, nobody made her skin crawl the way he did. How could he so easily of betrayed them? How could he so easily walk into the open arms of Voldemort without so much as looking back? Yet it wasn't a simple coincident they were sent to him, he requested them. Her and Ginny. He wanted them as his slaves, more than likely as a sickening trophy - the best friend and the girlfriend. What could be better for a disgraceful ferret like him?

What could she do? Escape? That would not be an option, for those who did try were delivered worse than they could ever imagine. It was a horrific thought considering the worst had already happened to most. For attempting to runaway was one very sure way to end at the merciless hands of the Dark Lord who was known for his patience in torture. The only reason they were kept alive so long was only to be as condemned to the devil as much as possible. Not like anyone had actually managed to escape anyway.

Now she was being sent to the jaws of someone she never even believed had the capability of being a Death Eater. Yet that was a long time ago and now a new dawn engulfed the horizon painting the blood of even more of the innocent.