Hermione Granger stood at the center of the chamber, her eyes wide yet unseeing, entranced by the mesmerizing rhythm of the spell. Her mind, usually so sharp and resilient, now felt like a fragile thread being woven into a dark tapestry.
Voldemort loomed before her, his presence a menacing shadow. "Hermione, you are mine now," he intoned, his voice a velvet whisper that curled around her consciousness like smoke.
Hermione felt the pull of the spell tighten around her psyche, a relentless tide drawing her deeper into submission. "I... I am yours," she murmured, the words slipping like silk from her lips, each syllable a step further away from herself.
Voldemort smiled, a cruel, triumphant twist of his lips. "Good. You will serve me well," he declared, extending his hand as if to claim his prize.
Inside, Hermione's mind battled against the encroaching darkness, memories of her friends and her fight for justice flickering like candle flames in the gale. "No, I must resist," she thought desperately, clinging to the fragments of her identity.
Voldemort, sensing her struggle, intensified the spell, his voice rising in a harsh chant that reverberated through the chamber.
Hermione could feel herself teetering on the edge of oblivion, the weight of the enchantment pressing down on her with suffocating force. Yet, a spark of defiance flared within her heart, urging her to fight back. "I am Hermione Granger," she whispered fiercely and I serve lord voldemort
