Can't run from time

Abducted

He smiled — that awful, cold smile.

"Gladly."

Then — pain.Not Cruciatus. Something deeper. It pulled at her insides, at her memories. She could feel it trying to drag her back — like he was flipping through her life, page by page, and tearing out what he liked.

She screamed.

The last thing she saw before everything went black... was Draco.

Running.

And shouting her name.---

She woke up chained.

Cold iron clamped around her wrists, her ankles. Her arms suspended above her head. Her feet barely touched the stone floor. Her body ached from the strain — her shoulders burning, legs trembling.

The room was dim. Not dungeon-dim — ritual-dim. A low fire burned in the corner, casting flickering shadows that danced like demons.

And then... the silence broke.

Footsteps.

Slow. Measured. Sharp.

She didn't need to look up to know it was him.

"You should have died," Voldemort said softly. "All those years ago. But you wormed your way through time. And now you think you've changed the ending."

He stopped in front of her. Tipped her chin up with a single, ice-cold finger.

"You think he loved you." His smile twisted. "Poor little girl."

His hand curled around her jaw and shoved her head back against the wall.

"You think time made you clever. But you're still the same child who thought love was protection."

A whip of pain sliced across her ribs — no wand, just a wordless flick of his fingers and it was like fire had kissed her skin. She gasped, eyes wide. The second strike came before she caught her breath. Blood bloomed.

"This is truth, Hermione," he hissed in her ear. "Not friendship. Not books. Not Draco bloody Malfoy. This — pain — is what you are now."

She choked out, "He'll find me."

Voldemort laughed. A dry, soulless sound.

"I want him to. I want him to watch what happens when you cross time for a boy who couldn't even protect his own grandfather."

Another blow. Her knees buckled.

Her mind was slipping. Faces blurred — Ginny. Fred. Abraxa— no. No. No.

"You're breaking," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her damp forehead. "Not because of pain. But because deep down... you know I'm right. They left you. Even he did. And you came crawling back into the past... for what? A kiss? A dance? You think that was love?"

A scream crawled up her throat — not from pain. From shame. From guilt.

"I could make you forget it all," he murmured. "Make you mine. You'd serve better than Bellatrix ever did."

His hand slid to her throat.

"You could rule beside me. Or rot beneath me."

She spat in his face.