Was Hermione's mind really so undamaged, as Harry had so swiftly assumed? It didn't make sense that it wasn't. Ron and Riddle had truly fucked her over. So much so that Harry wasn't convinced that any form of vicious death would be satisfying enough for him. With each ritual look at her psyche, Harry exposed a little more of the extent of it. He was toying with the idea of reanimating their corpses, once he'd butchered them first, and then killing them a new way every week, till he eventually got bored of it. Which he probably wouldn't. He wondered if, in all of their shoddy spell work, the dark cunts had left an opening in Hermione's consciousness somewhere, something Harry could use to at least get a message out, to tell them he was still around. It was his best hope.