speechless

best kept secret

Hermione spent the next three days alternating between her bed and the bath. It seemed like she could never be clean enough, like there was dirt clinging to her skin, and no matter how long and how hard she scrubbed, she would still feel unclean.

After barely any rest, the preparation began. Pansy appeared every morning at 5 o'clock sharp, clacking her nails and throwing disdainful glances at her prisoner.
First thing in the morning Hermione would spend the good part of an hour exercising with Pansy watching her.

After a quick breakfast, she would sit still for what seemed like weeks, getting mentally attacked.

"Mudblood, if you want any chance at survival in Voldemort's regime, you're going to have to learn occlumency. People will try to invade your mind, if your body holds; learn your secrets, use them against you or anybody else."

And so Hermione read, and read and practiced and fainted a few dozen times until she could successfully keep Pansy out.

"Good. You're finally getting accustomed to it, but remember, you may hold against me, but if someone like Bellatrix or Draco Malfoy wanted to search your mind, they very well could. You still have a lot of work to do, Granger."

Apart from occlumency, Hermione spent most of her days voice training. An elderly wizard came everyday to help her push her voice out without magic, rise and drop octaves, he taught her about stage presence and performing, and being seductive enough to entrance men, much to Hermione's discomfort.

Everyday without fail, she would question Pansy and her tutor as to why she had to 'sing' to be useful.

"All in due time dear, your use shall be revealed" he would answer.
She could never get a word out of Pansy.

For ten days the routine went on. Breakfast, exercise, occlumency, singing lessons.
That routine was never broken. Pansy stayed away from her as much as possible, except for the occasional muttered "mudblood", the sole few times she would survey Hermione's singing progress, and the rare mornings she would deliver a few cryptic lines that frustrated Hermione to no end.

Everything she said seemed clear enough, but it just didn't make any sense. Hermione had explored her quarters a bit more a week in, when she didn't feel as dizzy and nauseous anymore. She had taken to arranging all the pillows the room contained into a circle on her bed, and laying in it. She felt as safe as she possibly could in her environment.

Clothes had appeared on the chaise in the corner of her room, a long beige skirt and what looked painfully like a Hogwarts sweater, but brown with no house markings. They were quite simple, but Hermione really didn't care about looking like anything, as long as she had something clean to change into after her daily showers.

She barely had time to focus on her memories, the battle and Ginny and everything else; what with the busy schedule she had going on. The only peace she had was at night, and during her showers. She would sit immobile and reflect; use her occlumency to try blocking the memories, unwilling to relive them every time she closed her eyes..

Knowing what happened didn't matter anymore. What did, was listening to Pansy, and survival .

Hermione focused on blurring her recollections, pushing them to the back, concentrating on something else; anything else. Cloudy skies at the Black Lake, holding a purring Crookshanks in the sun, going skiing with her parents, the fuzzy feeling of confidence from when she'd taken Felix felicis; all of those warm golden thoughts crowded her mind, as reminders of the violence disappeared slowly into a locked drawer.

She had been given a book to read on the different types of occlumency, it had a few chapters for safe-keeping methods. She had chosen a few aspects from her favourite ones to make this work. A slight stress-induced sheen covered her forehead, shining in the moonlight.