Hope

A/N: I want to thank Shellsnapeluver and reets67 for all their help on this story! I am a significantly better writer thanks to them. As a warning, this chapter does contain a description of a decomposing body. Finally, please know that some your theories were SO brilliant, I considered changing my original idea. Ultimately, I decided to end this as intended. I do hope you enjoy, and there are two more chapter to come after this!

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Hermione groaned as Isaac pushed her carelessly against a wall, her skull cracking against the brick. Trying to ignore the throbbing in her head, she glanced around, hoping to see Solomon. Her hope for a rescue died as she took in her surroundings...dusty books, grimy countertops. No proper Auror had been in this room.

She coughed, grimacing at he putrid smell of the house. The sharp, sweetly putrid odour possessed a physical presence, invading her nostrils and her mouth until she gagged involuntarily, heaving onto the floor.

"You just stay there, Hermione," Isaac muttered. He quickly flourished his wand, and Hermione found herself bound with ropes. Interestingly, he had not gagged her.

Keep him talking, she thought desperately.

Isaac walked over to a dirty grey couch and leaned over it, whispering. Hermione strained to see whom he was talking to, but could not make out a recognizable shape.

"Whom are you talking to, Isaac?" she asked, her voice calm.

He looked back at her, his eyes misty. "My wife," he said. "Zinnia."

Hermione slowly tested the strength of the ropes, straining against each bond. "Zinnia. That's a pretty name."

Isaac smiled, his face gentle. "She was beautiful," he whispered hoarsely.

Hermione blinked. Was beautiful? "Can I meet her?" she asked.

"Meet her!" Isaac snorted. "Soon, you will become her, and she will become you."

Hermione struggled against the ropes again, fear consuming her. This man was completely mad. She would not be able to barter with such lunacy.

"You can stop struggling, Hermione. You'll never free yourself." Isaac leaned over the couch, and Hermione heard the distinct smacking of a kiss.

But who...or what...was he kissing?

"Where are we?" she asked tentatively, trying a different approach.

Isaac straightened and walked towards her, his lips working convulsively. "Why? Do you like it here?"

Hermione looked around her. The room was small, overcrowded by the couch and a large workbench. Cauldrons and potions ingredients lined the shelves on the walls, but what caught her attention were the four glass jars on one of the shelves...they seemed to glow from within.

She wanted to scream, but she found she could only emit a pitiful squeak.

Isaac chuckled. "It is a humble abode, madam, but let me assure you, miracles happen here. Miracles," he said again as he longingly gazed at the couch.

He turned towards his workbench and muttered a spell to start a burner, his eyes alighting with the burning flame.

"Wh...what are you doing?" Hermione asked, he voice shaky. The pounding of her heart against her chest nearly deafened her. She was going to die here, alone with a mad man and a rotting corpse. A vile, slightly metallic taste bubbled up from her belly, stinging the back of her throat. She swallowed, demanding herself to not let this man see her fear.

Isaac smiled at her. "Fortunately, I have enough of my potion left to kill you, my dear. I just need to reheat it and catalyse it. Oh, don't worry. It will take me two hours at the most."

Two hours. Not much hope in that. Who would find her in two hours?

Severus, her mind whispered. Severus will find you.

Hermione stomped down on that trail of thought viciously. Severus was in Azkaban. No one was looking for her. But if she could just keep him talking... keep him occupied, perhaps she could save herself.

"Could you tell me more, Isaac? I want to understand you and your work," she said, hoping that she sounded interested and not repulsed.

He glanced at her. "Yes," he said. "You might... appreciate what I am doing here."

"I would love to understand," she said again.

Isaac shrugged. "I suppose... since we have the time. And you won't be telling anyone, now will you?" And he laughed, his Adam's apple bobbing spastically.

Hermione felt a tear run down her cheek, but she refused the overwhelming urge to sob. She would not let herself be weak.

"Well," continued Isaac. "I am raising the dead." He looked at her, his eyes glinting, and Hermione felt a thrill of revulsion.

"The dead cannot be raised," she replied. "Your wife is dead, Isaac. She will not come back, no matter how many people you kill."

His eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared. "You don't know what you are talking about!" he shouted hysterically. "You don't know the work I've put into this! The years of work and research!"

He slammed his fist hard on the table before turning to face her. He walked towards her, his hand raised, and Hermione attempted to flinch away, knowing what was coming.

"This will work," he seethed, backhanding her across the face. Her neck snapped to the side; she felt like her skull was on fire. She rapidly blinked away her tears and bit her lip, holding in her cry.

When she was able to speak again, she quietly said, "Then help me to understand, Isaac."

"First apologize to Zinnia, Hermione. You're hurting her, not me."

Hermione turned her head towards the couch. "I'm sorry, Zinnia."

Isaac sniffed. "Fine. I'll tell you. Someone should be able to appreciate my work."

She nodded in agreement.

He adjusted the temperature of the burner, turning away from her.

"It's my fault she died," he said quietly, sniffling. "I... I was so proud. The Dark Lord had entrusted me with something... invaluable. He trusted me more than he trusted Snape," he growled. "I fucking hated Snape. He never loved the Dark Lord as I did, and still Lord Voldemort seemed to favour him as his Potions master. I should have had that title, that privelige."

Hermione snorted.

Isaac turned towards her. "Do not mock me. I know how to make you scream, Hermione."

She shivered. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking that I am sure Severus would have given up his title with little regret."

Isaac nodded. "Yes. He was a traitor. Filth. And I tried to make the Dark Lord see that. But he didn't listen to me until..." He trailed off, concentrating on the potion with slewed eyes.

"Until what?" Hermione prodded him. Despite all, she was curious.

He shook his head. "I'm still not sure," he said with a frown. "I believe that Lord Voldemort saw something in Snape's mind... Something that made him question his true loyalties. Whatever it was, my Lord entrusted me with a most invaluable project."

He smiled, and his smile was one of insanity. His lips quivered with the memory.

"You see, Hermione. I was to make a potion, a Dark potion, to bring the dead back to life. Lord Voldemort had his Inferi, you see. But he wanted his most loyal Death Eaters back to serve him in the War... and beyond. I was to create that potion. You can imagine how honoured I was, being a junior Death Eater. It was my chance to prove myself, prove how much I loved the Dark Lord."

"A potion to bring back the dead," Hermione said incredulously.

Isaac glared at her. "You may not believe such a thing to be possible, Hermione. But you will soon." A spasm of emotion crossed his face. "Very soon."

She felt her heart rate increase at the threat his words held. She forced herself to be calm. She thought of Severus, of his steady gaze and his contemptible sneer. She wondered if he had ever felt all-consuming fear. She wondered how he dealt with fear.

Undoubtedly with belittling words and a sneer of contempt, she said to herself, and the thought calmed her.

If Isaac intended to kill her, she would not go easily.

If she could only get Isaac to loosen the ropes, then perhaps she would have a chance. An idea came to her then, and she grasped at it desperately.

"How did she die, Isaac? Your wife? Zinnia." Hermione's voice was soft, and she hoped that he could detect the sympathy in it. She was depending on it.

He grimaced. "I... failed my task." He took a deep breath and continued. "I failed. The Dark Lord was unforgiving. Her death was my punishment. I never forgave myself," he finished, his voice little more than a whisper.

"I have spent the last seven years finishing the potion," he continued, his voice quivering. "But not for the Dark Lord. For my wife. I need her back, Hermione. Surely you can understand."

Hermione blinked, considering her options. "Of course I understand," she said thickly.

Isaac looked at her, his eyes shiny with tears. "When you truly love someone, you will do anything to be with them. Anything."

She nodded her head in agreement. "I understand."

"And so I created this potion for her. Not for me, Hermione. I am not evil, or a monster, or anything else you... Aurors make me out to be. Do you see?"

"Yes, I see.... But Isaac, how do you know it's going to work?" she asked quietly.

He gazed at his couch, his face the very picture of pain. "I don't. But I have to try. My... work...my research, my equations...all lead me to believe it will work. Instilling the souls of others to bring her back. If it doesn't work, I'll try again. And again until she comes back to me."

Hermione shivered. This man would never stop killing. "Can... can I meet her?"

Isaac wiped furiously at his eyes before grabbing his wand. "Is this some kind of trick, Hermione?"

She shook her head earnestly. "No! Of course not!"

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but muttered a quick charm under his breath. She felt the ropes loosen across her legs. Experimentally, she shifted.

She could move. But she didn't have her wand.

Hermione stood up unsteadily, swaying on her feet as Isaac came near her. He grabbed her roughly by the arm and pulled her towards the couch. "I've applied multiple Stasis charms to keep her looking so beautiful."

When Hermione saw Isaac's wife, she gagged reflexively and turned away from both the sight and fetid stench. Despite what Isaac had said about the charms, they had either been poorly applied or they were not the specific ones used for embalming for long-term viewing. She knew this, as a discussion on embalming technique had been the high point in a singularly bad blind date with a mortuary technician during her student days at the lab.

Isaac grabbed her head roughly to face the bloated corpse. "Look at her. Look at her!" he yelled.

Hermione was forced to look. Various stages of putrefaction present. Zinnia's face was a combination of dried leathery areas and fatty adipocere, giving it a waxy finish. Her eyes were sunken and clouded; her small, perfect teeth stood out in a macabre mockery of a smile against her desiccated, shrunken lips and gums.

Looking down, Hermione noticed deep purple and white marbling towards the underside of her body. Large areas of her skin were covered with fluid-filled blisters, sloughing off in random patches. Hermione felt her stomach contort. Zinnia's green-stained abdomen was grossly distended...undoubtedly from the bacteria in the bowel, multiplying and spreading to liquefy her internal organs.

She wondered if Isaac's potion would really work. And if it did, she wondered what Zinnia would look like. She wondered who she would be.

Isaac was lovingly caressing what was left of Zinnia's face.

"Soon, my dear," he whispered. "Soon."

Hermione quickly scanned the room.

Now, she thought. I've got to do it now. He's distracted. His wand is sheathed.

Her heart was pounding hard and fast, pumping adrenaline through her veins. She could feel a thin sheen of sweat on her face, and she was trembling.

But Hermione Granger was determined.

She covertly shifted towards him, forcing herself to slow her breathing.

"Isaac," she said quietly, and when he turned to look at her, she threw herself towards him. They collided, falling to the floor next to the couch. Isaac's wand clattered to the floor.

They both simultaneously turned to look at it.

"Why, you fucking bitch!" Isaac screamed, and he brought up his hands to her face to push her off of him. Hermione, however, launched herself towards his wand, twisting until she felt it beneath her. She struggled to reach it with her fingers.

Isaac stood up, his face a twisted mask of anger.

"Bitch," he spat again, and he kicked her again, shoving his boot into her organs. Another kick, and a painful, hideous crack shot through her like a red-hot poker. Still, she struggled to reach his wand, but the ropes that bound her were too tight. She was helpless, and she couldn't help the cries of her pain and her failure as Isaac assuredly grasped his wand.

"Now," Isaac said as he straightened, his wand in hand. "We'll have no more of that."

Hermione succumbed...it was over. She had tried, but he had won. He raised his wand, a manic gleam in his eyes.

Tears blurred her vision, and she was helpless against the strangled plea for her life. "Please..."

With all hope lost, she closed her eyes, ready for what was to come, but a loud crash interrupted her final breath of life. She opened her eyes, blinking, wildly looking for the source of the noise when the front door blasted open. Isaac was thrown across the room, his body slamming against the wall.

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