Rating: hard R
Warning: sexual situations, torture, death/suicide
Summary: Those sick bastards had made him watch.
They made him watch. He had been chained---chained to a chair, and a silencio had been performed on him.
Those sick bastards had made him watch.
Halloween: 1997. It was a Hogsmead weekend. Harry and Hermione had begun dating the previous year, and had been together for almost eight months.
It was a nice fall day. The air was crisp, and leaves were falling. The pair were laughing and giggling about who knows what---forgetting, just forgetting, if only for a few moments the dark cloud that constantly loomed over them. The danger they were constantly in.
And that was a mistake.
He had let his guard down for one minute. One measly minute. And that was all it took.
And now she was gone. The girl who'd been his guide, his mentor, his best friend, and his love...gone.
Guilt. That was the only emotion he felt now. His heart was now locked. Guarded tight with security stronger than Gringotts'. Nobody knew how much he was hurting. They couldn't possibly. She'd been his everything. The one he would go to in a situation like this! But, dammit, she wasn't here and couldn't help him. And it was his fault. He could've done something. He was supposed to be strong---the savior of the wizarding world. What good is being able to defeat Voldemort if he couldn't even save his girlfriend?
One moment they were laughing; on their way to have butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. The next? He was chained to a chair. And she...she was naked. On the cold, dungeon floor twenty meters away.
A Death Eater stepped out of the shadows. He said something. What that was, Harry had no idea. All of Harry's senses had turned off. His mind was screaming, HELP HER! DO something, ANYTHING! Dumbledore, Hermione, Ron, the DA, everyone seemed to think he was good at getting out of sticky situations. But, he'd always had help. First year: his mother's protection. Second year: Fawkes. Third year: Hermione's time-turner. Fourth year: Priori Incantatem. Fifth year: his friends and the Order. Sixth year: Dumbledore. He wasn't so sure he'd have help this time.
The Death Eater apparently is annoyed at Harry's lack of response, and walks over and shoves his face in Harry's. More words. Harry really, really, really does not want to listen. But if he doesn't, they might damage Hermione more than they were planning to in the first place.
"---gonna watch, and you're gonna be happy about it. Stupid little slut of a mudblood will be happy about it, too." Harry's stomach lurched. What, what were they going to do? Anger rose up in his throat, to retort, to plead for their lives, anything, anything would be better than not being able to say anything. Harry clamps his eyes shut, think, Potter, think. He has to get them out of this.
More Death Eaters emerge from the shadows. There's six of them, and he can tell by their builds that they all happen to be men. A few of them chuckled. "Ohhhhh, are we going to have fun, or what? About the only thing mudbloods are good for--- fucking." And there it was. What Harry had feared, deep down. Nonono, they can't! Hermione, NO! The last bit, the "NO!" somehow escapes through Harry's silencio. "Aww, Potter doesn't want us to play with his mudblood girlfriend? Or is it he wants to join in on the fun? Too bad for you. Now, shut up and enjoy the show."
As much as Harry wanted to, he couldn't tear his eyes away. He watched as they took her---she's mine, get away...only I'm allowed to to touch her there..---he continued to watched as she screamed, pleaded, begged for mercy, and begged for Harry to help her. But he couldn't help her. What was he supposed to do?
They all took turns. Every single one of them used her. For their amusement, pleasure, whatever it was, it was disgusting. The revoltingness of it all made him puke. He would get revenge. He would get these...these rapists and kill. Teach them a lesson. Hermione Granger was his, and nobody was supposed to interfere with that.
One of them, the scrawniest of the lot, took out a dagger. He leaned in towards Hermione and---
That was so vivid, he felt like he was reliving it again. Once was bad enough. He wanted it to stop. Needed it to stop.
The decision was simple. Stay here and be miserable. Continue reliving that memory. Live like a zombie for the rest of his life. Or: go to where she was. Be happy.
No contest there.
He took the same dagger the Death Eater had used to kill Hermione and took his own life in one swift slice.
Yeah, I'm in a weird mood and need to go to bed. >>