Pity The Living (Dramione)

5. The Awakening

The cold, unyielding walls of her cell seemed to press in on Hermione as she slept fitfully, the silence of her captivity broken only by the occasional drip of water from the stone ceiling.

She tossed and turned, the damp chill of the dungeon seeping into her bones. Her dreams were always restless- a tall dark figure always looked over her. But tonight they were different—more vivid, more intrusive.

In her dream, the darkness was palpable. Hermione stood alone in a vast, shadowy expanse, her surroundings an eerie reflection of the Malfoy Manor dungeon she had come to know so well.

The air was heavy, charged with a sense of dread that clung to her like a second skin. She walked forward, her steps echoing in the void until a figure emerged from the gloom.

He was tall and imposing, his serpentine face twisted into a cruel smile. Lord Voldemort. Her father. The sight of him sent a shiver down her spine, but she couldn't look away.

His red eyes seemed to pierce through her as if he could see every secret she harbored.

"Welcome home, my daughter," Voldemort's voice was a sibilant whisper, filled with an unsettling sense of familiarity. "It has been far too long."

Hermione felt her heart race. The last time she had seen him—at least in her memories—had been a nightmare of manipulation and power.

The Order's false memories had shielded her from the truth, but now in the dreamscape, the lines between reality and illusion blurred furiously.

"Why are you here?" Hermione demanded, her voice trembling. "What do you want from me?"

Voldemort's smile widened, his eyes glowing with a red malevolent light. "To remind you of who you truly are," he said softly. "You may have been deceived by those you thought were allies, but your blood remains true. Dark magic flows through your veins. You are my sole heir, Hermione Nagini Riddle."

Her eyes widened as he spoke, and the dream began to shift, the scene morphing into images of her past—her childhood in the dark corners of the wizarding world, her training under his watchful eye.

Each image was accompanied by a torrent of emotions: fear, loyalty, and an unspoken power that she had always been taught to harness. In these memories, the warmth of a loving family was absent, replaced by the cold, calculating presence of a figure always watching her from afar.

He was a constant in her life, an ever-watchful eye that she could never escape. She remembered that from a young age, he would stand in the shadows, observing her every move, every spell she cast.

He was never far, yet he was never close enough to be a true father. The air that surrounded him was thick with tension, unspoken power he wielded both a shield and a weapon.

A torrent of emotions overwhelmed her: the fear that gripped her every time his gaze fell upon her, the loyalty she had been conditioned to feel, the unyielding need to prove herself worthy of the power she had been taught to harness.

Hermione had always known she was different, set apart from others by a dark, hidden truth that no one dared to speak aloud.

The dream shifted again, unexpectedly, this time to a day that felt both familiar and alien, a day completely erased from her conscious mind. A child, no older than three, playing in the darkened halls of an ancient manor.

The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and ancient magic. A tall figure loomed over her, his crimson eyes filled with a strange, twisted affection.

Then she saw the day her life changed forever. Voldemort was weak and defeated, clinging to her tiny hand as Albus Dumbledore appeared, his face lined with determination. With a wave of his wand, her surroundings blurred, and Hermione felt herself being torn away.

The last thing she saw was Voldemort's anguished expression and weakened state as Dumbledore whispered incantations, forging false memories in her young mind, then apparating them to the Granger Household where she resided as Hermione Granger for fifteen years of her life.

Suddenly, Hermione was jolted awake, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The dream had left her disoriented for a moment, she couldn't distinguish between the nightmare and her grim surroundings.

She lay there in the darkness, trying to steady her breathing, her mind racing with the implications of what she had just experienced.

Her fingers gripped the coarse, threadbare blanket covering her, and she closed her eyes tightly, trying to shut out the images that lingered from the dream. The dream had stirred something deep within her—a growing awareness of her true identity that clashed violently with the false memories she had been given.

She knew the Order had implanted those memories to keep her aligned with their cause, but the dream had shattered that illusion. The sense of betrayal was overwhelming.

Voldemort's words echoed in her mind, each a reminder of the bloodline she had tried to deny. The conflict within her was raw and painful, like a wound that refused to heal.

In the silence of her cell, Hermione grappled with the realization that she had been living a lie.

The Order's propaganda had disguised her true nature, but now, with the veil lifted, she had to confront the reality of her situation. Her allegiance had always been a facade, a role she had played to survive. But her heart—her true self—was bound to the darkness she had tried to escape.

The thought of the man who had watched over her under the guise of Deimos Phobos—came unbidden to her mind. Their forbidden connection had been a source of both comfort and conflict.

She had found solace in his presence, yet it had only complicated her understanding of herself. If his words were true, Deimos Phobos was both an enemy and an ally in this intricate dance of deception.

As she sat in the dim light of her cell, Hermione made a decision. She would no longer be a passive pawn in this game. She needed to understand the full extent of her past and her true allegiance.

But more than that, she needed to confront Voldemort and reconcile with the part of herself that had been buried for so long.

With a newfound resolve, Hermione prepared herself for the days ahead. The path would be fraught with peril, but she was ready to face the truth, no matter how dark it might be.