A/N: Ok, after reading The Light and Darkness Anthology by Lunalelle, I was inspired to write my own Hermione/Voldemort! I actually don't know if this is going to end up with that ship, seeing as I've only written the first section of this and since I'm absolutely bored, I'm typing it up now! But I wanted to write a dark angst fic. And I felt like doing a first person fic for a change.

Plus there's the fact that all three of my main stories are giving me problems. Magnetic Attraction is seriously annoying me (Hermione needs to get over Cedric, but I haven't found a way to do that without her looking like a slut), My Past, His Present, Your Future is strange (I can't write Remus without making it seem like he's flirting with Lily, which is not what I want), and Where White Meets Black is just boring (Draco's too stubborn. 'Nuff said.)

Anyway, don't flame me. I'm just trying something new with this, so please don't yell at me for having them out of character. This is an experiment. Okay? I've already written at least half of this, so I'll probably update often.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything that you may recognize. It all belongs to J.K. Rowling.

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Weak

"Weak," the shadows hissed at me as I curled up under the invisibility cloak. There were muffled screams from the other side of the stonewall, and I couldn't block them out. "Weak."

"I'm not strong like you, Harry," I whispered to myself, trying to prove that what I was doing was okay. "I just can't fight it any longer." But hiding was cowardly, I knew that. And yet I did it anyway. I was just a girl, just a teenager. I'd had enough of fighting. The darkness was surrounding me, as I knew the Death Eaters were coming. The dungeons wouldn't protect me for long.

Weak, my conscience observed. Ron was fighting still, as was Luna. But they were fighting a losing battle. Harry was dead, gone in a flash of green, blinding light. We didn't stand a chance. I wouldn't die a hero in a world where evil conquers over good. So why die anyway?

"Weak," I murmured to myself. I would die in the end. Maybe not today, but it was inevitable. They were looking for me; they had to brag about killing the complete set. They wouldn't get to, I was sure the darkness would kill me first.

But they came, in their black robes and silver masks. They couldn't see me as I was hidden under the cloak, with dirt trails across my skin and fragments of brick and blades of grass in my hair. Not quite so dignified, no longer so proud. Harry Potter's best friend… weak.

They passed through the potions classroom without a glance in my direction, not even noticing me. But the three Death Eaters were not alone; He was with them, looking like death itself. He reeked of skill, and raw magical power. And the eyes, they could see right through me.

"Weak," I could have sworn he had hissed. I couldn't move, with fear acting like a dead weight. But I wasn't afraid; I was mesmerized. Voldemort sent his Death Eaters away with a wave of his bony hand. With a harsh, grating slam of the door, I was alone with the thing that had gained control of the world. From the outside of the wall that I was pressing my back against, the screams were dieing down. I was better off out there, perishing with my friends. But it was too late for that. He slowly approached me, silent as the night itself as his boots traveled across the floor. I watched his wand, extended before him, while he drew closer. I didn't take a breath as he reached out his spider like hand to find the corner of the cloak protecting me. Paralyzed in a tumult of fear and wonder, I merely blinked when his fingers caught an edge of the cloth and pulled it away from me. The thing showed no emotion as he took in my smeared head girl badge and slightly torn Gryffindor emblem.

I could see him thinking as he stared down at me, considering what he could do. I stared back, not defiant, just tired. I wouldn't become on of his men, but I didn't feel like arguing. There was no purpose with everything gone. What did we have with Harry dead? With out leader splayed across Hogwarts' grounds?

Weak, I thought to myself, gripping my wand between my blistered fingers. I couldn't hex him. I wouldn't hex him. He knew it too. Hermione Granger reduced to cowering in a corner of a Hogwarts' dungeon, with bleeding cuts on her legs and swollen blisters on her face. Was that really me?

In slight disbelief, I watched the darkest mind on the planet extend his free hand to me, palm up. He smirked at me, raising one eyebrow as if daring me to take it.

"Weak," Harry whispered in my ear. "Remember what Dumbledore said? Choosing between what is right and what is easy?" What was easy? What was right?

What was brave?

"Weak."

Did it matter? In the end I knew I would care. I had already caved hours ago when I learned that the Death Eaters were coming. And long ago I had lost my hope. Hogwarts was burning, the Weasleys were down to one final member, and every single last Slytherin had fought on Voldemort's side. Who was left to save me now? To rush to my rescue like the American cavalry in a World War II movie? He knew I would take his hand, for I only had two choices. Neither were right.

Neither were easy.

I laced my trembling, bloody, purple fingers into his cold white ones. And he smiled.