Obliviate

Chapter Three | The Devil Himself

Voldemort walked over to the pair of women with grace, a walking thunderstorm in disguise.

He wore long, deep emerald green robes that dragged on the concrete behind him, yet his bare feet showed from the bottom. His piercing icey blue eyes stared deeply at the girls as he grew closer, studying them.

Madam Buckshire quickly bowed before the Lord, lowing her head right down. Hermione stood still, as she didn't think he even deserved that level of respect from her, no matter how valued she was to him.

"Up, you stupid woman - before I feed you to Nagini for breakfast," he spat at her with a devilish grin, causing her legs to shake as she brought her body back up straight.

Nagini slithered around Voldemort, her body embracing his figure from underneath, staying close to him. The serpent hissed at the healer, causing her to tremble further.

Madam Buckshire cleared her throat and brushed down her mustard coloured pinafore dress, with this ghastly floral sweater underneath.

Her skin paled, and her lips lost their colour, turning an extremely light shade of coral. Hermione could hear her shuddered breathing as she reconstructed herself beside her.

"My sincerest apologies, my Lord, I brought the Mudblood as per your request," she replied, her voice shaking as much as her legs.

Hermione was trying so hard to stop herself from laughing as Madam Buckshire spoke to him, trying to hide her fear.

"Very well, come, Mudblood. I require your expertise today - and as for you, Madam Buckshire," he sneered at her, taking a shallow breath and stiffening up his body.

He adjusted his stance, and stared down at the woman with grimace, sliding his wand out from his robes and flicking it ever so slightly pointed towards the healer, emitting a bright, deep red light.

"Crucio."

The middle aged woman crumbled before Hermione's eyes, screaming out in pain. Hermione stared down at her, no pity, no nothing. Her empty eyes were almost as painful as the curse Voldemort had just inflicted upon the healer.

Her body twisted unnaturally, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Hermione watched with curiosity, her mind flying away with the screams emitting from Madam Buckshire's mouth.

"-If you find yourself incapable of following orders, I'm sure you will find yourself at the same, sticky fate," Voldemort said to Hermione, snapping her back to reality, his lips curling into an evil grin.

She stared at her for a moment, having to tear her gaze away from Madam Buckshire on the floor beside her, her eyes pooling with tears of pain.

If the healer wasn't so much of a bitch, Hermione might have felt a smidge of pity, but her soul was numb.

Hermione took a deep breath, as she dragged her shoes across the floor, rotating her body to face the way the Dark Lord stood. Letting out her breath, she began to follow after him.

As they both walked away, they had no problem with leaving the healer on the concrete, whimpering whilst she curled herself into a tight ball, silently crying into her arms. The echos of her sniffling grew quieter and quieter, and eventually faded into nothingness.

They both walked down a long, dark corridor, with multiple empty portraits hanging from the brick walls.

The stale smell flooded the entire chamber, and the damp air felt like it was swallowing Hermione whole. No matter how many times she walked the very corridors that the Dark Lord inhabited, it still felt like a lifetime before they reached where they needed to be.