Invictus [Tom Riddle / Tomione]

The 36-Hour Journey From Absolute Hell

Chapter 4: The 36 Hour Journey from Absolute Hell

August 28, 1998

Harry was dead. She couldn't believe it. He lay lifeless in Hagrid's arms. The tangible feeling of dread and fear engulfed the resistance soldiers around her.

She stared and stared at Harry's body. Death Eaters jeered at them, laughing. She met Bellatrix's unhinged leer, her lip curling in disgust as Bella's maniacal laugh filled the air. Voldemort held up his hand, waving them into silence. Antonin Dolohov gazed at her with narrowed eyes, then threw her a wink. She nearly vomited.

The dead lay all around, scattered throughout the courtyard.

Ron began yelling and hurling curses at Voldemort. The others followed. Professor McGonnagal wept only feet away from Hermione.

Her eyes left Harry's body for the first time. Voldemort was staring at her, his pupils mere slits, red eyes glowing like some demon from her worst childhood nightmares. Their eyes connected, and though she expected bile to rise up in her throat, she felt something else. Fear? Yes. Immeasurable fear.

But there was something else. Was it compassion? Was it familiarity?

Voldemort crossed the courtyard, his bone white wand held high. He sped toward her at alarming speed; was he flying? He seemed to be floating. He gripped her arm and she pulled away, fighting, but his strength was unmatched, his wraith-like body empowered by the dark magic bolstering his fractured soul.

He yanked her against him; he smelled like death. "No!" She yelled. "Let me go! Coward!"

He laughed, a high-pitched, rasping sound. It crawled over her skin like a thousand tiny slithering serpents. She struggled against his bruising grasp to no avail.

"Let her go!" shouted Ron. "That's my girlfriend!"

Voldemort's laugh was beginning to morph into something else, darker, deeper. A smooth, gravelly chuckle. He leaned closer, pulling her against him until his barely there lips were against her ear. "The weasel claims you're his, but we both know better, don't we?"

The faint scent of Amortentia engulfed Hermione in a swathe of intoxicating feelings. It drew her toward Voldemort. "What are you doing to me?" she asked, alarmed. "Let me go. Harry !!!"

"Harry won't save you." His voice was definitely deeper, with an enchanting cadence to it. "Come to me, Hermione."

She shook her head, tears forming. "How could you?" she whispered in distress. "How could you?" She whispered it over and over, gazing up at Voldemort's frightening features, as if she didn't recognize the horrifying face before her.

"Together, you and I," he breathed, voice dark and ethereal now, as if she'd heard it in an old movie. "We will do great and terrible things, Hermione."

She shook her head again, pushing against his chest with her hand, which now felt warm and hard and real under her palm, rather than thin, cold, and skeletal. "No! Let me go! HARRY!!"

Hermione sat up with a scream, chest heaving as she struggled to take in breath. She shuddered, her skin crawling with the after effects of the dream. Her eyes darted around frantically, as if to ensure her that she was indeed, in her home, safe and alone.

He's here , she thought. I can feel him .

But the voice that had plagued her for the past month was silent.