The Order has fallen. Voldemort has taken over, slowly enslaving the Wizarding World to each and every command. In the aftermath of the war, Hermione Granger has been enlisted as the Dark Lord's right-hand woman after she'd lost all hope on ever ave...
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For what felt like forever, Hermione Granger had been enslaved to the Dark Lord with no means of escape.
The days dragged on at a repeated rate - she'd wake, shower, for-fill her Masters wishes, help pick away at the Wizarding World a little more, go back to her own personal cell, fall asleep tingling of nothingness, and then repeat.
Days felt like weeks, which felt like months, then turned to years. The time she'd spent condemned to servitude, she'd lost her Gryffindor spark.
It withered away into the darkness, much like her hope to ever escape He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She was forever stuck in debt to Voldemort himself.
A slave to the eternal immortality that now lingered over what once was a place full of light - Hogwarts itself.
But it wasn't the worst thing for Hermione.
After a while, her love for The Order had grown regretful, a pure feeling of melancholy due to their loss at taking the Death Eaters and Voldemort down.
It was like pain and numbness was the only feeling she felt anymore, deplorable blood running through her veins.
The first year of enslavement was the year that stole whatever light she had left from her, with no form of regret.
Hermione plunged deeper and deeper into a state of deprivation, desperate for touch.
Desperate to see the sun again. Desperate to hear the laughs of Ron, Harry, and the many more members of The Order that fell beneath Voldemort's feet, only to be mercilessly murdered by the killing curse, or worse, right in front of Hermione's eyes.
Over time, she'd learnt to push most, if not all memory of the war into the darkest crevices of her complex mind, hiding it from ever resurfacing to haunt her in her sleep. For months after, the screams of her fallen comrades echoed in her mind, and whenever she blinked she'd relive their deaths again. Over and over.
At the beginning of her capture, she was held in a dark, damp and deafeningly silent cell - which was only big enough to fit an old, dirty mattress in. A small hole at the bottom of the cell door, which was only just wide enough to fit through her one meal a day.
At precisely 12:00pm every day a tray of bland vegetables and an assortment of meats would appear at the foot of the door. Hermione had believed that her capturers was intentionally feeding her the bare minimum in order to keep her physical strength to an all time low in case she had ever even attempted to escape from the Dark Lord.
Without the help of her fallen friends, Hermione didn't have the strength to escape - regardless of how much information she could retain in her mind.
Without Harry and the others, she was at a massive disadvantage - which she hated to admit.
Unfortunately for Hermione, the beginning of hell only started there. The gates to the underworld had only just been opened to her, and the corruption swallowed her whole, like a predator attacking its prey.
Slowly, her mind would be flipped over to aid the Dark Lord himself, due to her accessable knowledge withheld beneath her brown eyes. The eyes that held so much grief. So much pain. So much heartache.
There was only so much Hermione could take before she would crumble to the ground and shatter into a million pieces.
After the first year had concluded, many of the prisoners held in the walls of Hogwarts had either gradually lost their minds to the darkness within their cells, or they'd been pulled out to assist the Dark Lord with some ludicrous task regarding the increase of power he possessed over the Wizarding World.
Due to Hermione's incredible intellectual skills, her mind was so powerful that it managed to retain a high level of brain activity, which would be enough to protect her mind from crumbling whilst being held in that dark cell.
Once a month, she received visits from the healers who were now permanent residents at Hogwarts, working alongside Voldemort to maintain the health and sanity of the many other inmates who had been thrown in a musty, damp and dark cell to rot, just like Hermione had.
The most alarming thing of it all was, the longer that Hermione refrained from succumbing to the dark magic that now laced the walls of her once called home, the quicker her mind was becoming accustomed to it. It was slowly changing the way her brain was functioning.
By the end of the second year, the healers had concluded that Hermione would be of good use to the Dark Lord and his mission to finally have most, if not all witches and wizards bow down to him at his beck and call due to her increasing ability to resist the dark magic that she was exposed to every day.
Madam Buckshire, the head healer of Hogwarts had requested with He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, that Hermione should be moved to her own personal cell, with higher standards and better equipment to aid her help with the movement. Unfortunately for her, the more that the mind healers penetrated her mind to see what she was hiding within, the more they were damaging her memories from before the end of the war.
When Hermione closed her eyes, she no longer saw the deaths of her fallen comrades from The Order.
She only heard their screams, and they wasn't as prominent anymore. They slowly faded into the abyss, and a short time after, Hermione even found it difficult to think of their names at all.
After all the repeated days of being Voldemort's little pet, Hermione had forgotten that Harry Potter still remained, somewhere in the castle.
When they were captured during the fall of The Order, Harry was taken somewhere else, somewhere where nobody would ever find him. She didn't even know if he was alive anymore, or if he was still in Hogwarts.
For all she knew, he could've been anywhere - but it didn't matter to her anymore. Hermione only had one task, and that was to aid the progression of Lord Voldemort's overruling on the Wizarding World.
He'd assured all of his loyal followers that the Wizarding World would 'be great again', full of pureblood families, who had the power over the mudbloods that had far too much freedom before he returned after Harry Potter had destroyed him, nearly 20 years ago now. Hermione never understood why he chose her, as she had muggles as parents.
Regardless of the months passing by, Hermione still managed to keep a track of her birthday. She counted every day, that slowly dragged by until the 19th of September.
Even though she counted down the days every year, the moment the air in the castle shifted, she knew that autumn had arrived once again, and her birthday would be lonely, and just another reminder that she was getting older, but time was not going anywhere - and neither was she.
As soon as September came around again, Hermione had almost forgotten about her old life outside of imprisonment.
The distant screams had become a thing of the far away past, and the faces of her once friends, were merely a blur in Hermione's mind - just like the rest of her memories.
It was as though, slowly, they were being stolen from her, one by one. As if, they were taking them from her, using it as ammunition to continue the battle between the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters, versus the rest of the witches and wizards that didn't agree to follow Voldemort.
The air shifted between the walls of Hogwarts again for the third time - and before Hermione could realise, this would be the year she'd finally succumb to the dark magic once and for all, stripping away any purity left inside of the shell that remained.
