This story was written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition
ROUND 11
Wimbourne Wasps - BEATER 2
Who's Afraid of the Dark?
American Psycho
Optional Prompts:
(emotion) shame
(location) St Mungo's
Hermione has been a Healer since the end of war, but all she's gotten to see lately were dead bodies. At least people left her alone, too disgusted and estranged by her choice of career.
The cool halls that lay below St. Mungo's were her safe haven, the only place where no panicked patients or angry relatives bothered her. Hermione couldn't deal with them anymore just like she couldn't deal with crowded rooms or busy streets. It didn't matter if she was amongst strangers or friends — she hadn't visited a Weasley Sunday Brunch in months.
Harry had insisted on her changing her working place when he had witnessed her pathetic crying after a long hospital shift and several self-prescribed potions combined with Muggle painkillers. She hadn't meant for him to witness that. Harry had been shocked, but in a calm sort of way — an accusing sort of way. When he had carried her to her bed; he hadn't said a word, but his eyes had spoken in no uncertain terms.
How could you let it come this far, Hermione? They had screamed at her. And the world around her had started screaming, the lights had blinded her with noise, the swish of the curtains in front of the window had whoshed like a tsunami wave rising above her. Her walls had screeched and creaked, and Harry's eyes had been the loudest of them all.
Harry had held her until all noise died down when the drugs gradually left her system. The very next day, he had gotten her a new job in the cellars of St. Mungo's to watch over the dead, the peaceful, the silent.
Working down there was nothing like the chaotic fight against spilling blood and tortured screams. It was quiet and it was heavenly lonely.
Down below St. Mungo's, she only had to deal with the Aurors who brought victims of massacres, spells gone wrong and criminals who had fought too hard to be captured alive. Hermione documented the cause of their deaths. Her work helped resolve murder cases; but mostly, it was a mere bureaucratic measure to confirm their death for the files.
Hermione was content with her workplace — the dead never bothered her. The Aurors cast spells to make their faces unrecognizable to ensure classified information was kept under disclosure. The anonymity spells kept her patients' identities hidden from her, and Hermione didn't dwell on who they were; she documented their deaths, their lives didn't matter to her.
"I don't get why they still let Potter go out there," the Auror ranted as he floated his package onto one of her stainless steel tables. "Every time he's close to catching a Death Eater, he ends up killing them instead. Don't get me wrong, I'm not feeling bad for them," he indicated towards the patient that was covered with white linen. "But it's the easy way out for them; it's a small price to pay for all the suffering they caused."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "They pay with their lives." Her skin was already prickling, and she felt the hairs on her neck rise. She hated when people lingered. She just wanted for the Auror to leave already.
She couldn't suppress a shudder when she took in the deformed shape hidden under the linen.
The Auror grinned. "Potter might be too quick with his Avada, but he does get more ruthless. I wished he'd leave some for us though." He grinned, as if killing someone was some act of heroism that he expected her to swoon over. All she felt was disgust towards the Auror.
"This is a special one," he said enthusiastically, ignoring her open discomfort showing in a faint sneer.
With a swift motion, he uncovered the body in front of them. Hermiones heart dropped, and her breath caught.
He wasn't anonymised. Why wasn't he anonymised?
All her patients were spelled unrecognisable; it was protocol and a safety net for Hermione to not get attached to them. But this one was recognisable plain as the day — a name tag around his neck wouldn't have been more obvious, and the Auror stood next to her, smiling proudly as if he was presenting her a trophy.
Hermione swayed on the spot as she took in the mangled body in front of her. Harry had done that, she realised. Harry had done similar things to the other patients, but they had been lifeless dolls without a name and without a face. Seeing Harry's work connected to a face — a very familiar one — clawed at her insides with nauseating horror.
"I need to do my work now," Hermione barely managed to say and pushed the Autor out of her cellar.
She leaned her back against the cool metal door, bracing herself as she stared across the tiled room at the lifeless form of Draco Malfoy.
Hermione did her work. Step by step. Mechanical. Her hands trembled as she filled in his death certificate.
The next day, instead of sending an owl to the Auror office, Hermione made her way there herself. She felt suffocated by the crowded halls of the Ministry of Magic, but she had a purpose; she refused to let herself be overwhelmed by people invading her overly sensitive sense of personal space.
It felt as if the walls closed in on Hermione simultaneously to her windpipe. She resolved to holding her breath until she stumbled out of the elevator on level two, feeling slightly faint and gasping for air.
She closed her eyes for a second before straightening up and marching down the hall towards Harry's office.
Without hesitating, she burst into his office. "You killed him, Harry! You didn't just kill him, you tortured him to death!"
Harry was startled so violently that he knocked over his coffee, spilling the contents over a bunch of papers on his desk.
"Bloody hell, Hermione!" He stared at her. "What by Morgana's soddy underpants are you doing here?"
"I'm here because of Malfoy. Merlin, Harry, what did you do to him?" She faltered, standing in front of Harry — her Harry who had killed a person in the most gruesome way. And Malfoy hadn't been the first one; he was just one victim in a long row of otherwise anonymised criminals.
Harry siged. "I conclude that the assigned Auror didn't bother to spell him unrecognisable then. What an idiot."
"Harry!"
"Don't concern yourself with this, Hermione. Just give me the certificate of death, and I'll do the rest. I can do the report for you."
"Of course you can do the bloody report yourself! You were the one who did that to him!"
"It's okay, Hermione. I know it must be a shock, but it won't happen again. I'll make sure they follow the protocol next time."
"This isn't about… Harry, what did you do?"
"I did my job, Hermione. I'm hunting Death Eaters."
"But he's not… he didn't —"
His eyes turned hard. "He is. He did. Now leave it. Take the rest of the day off. I'll take you home."
Hermione took a step back from his desk. "N-no. I can go home by myself."
"You made it all the way up here… I suppose that's some progress, isn't it?" He tried to lighten the mood, but Hermione just pressed her lips together and fled the office.
Hermione felt something other than the dull despair that usually spun around her every emotion like bitter candy cotton since the end of the war.
She had depended on Harry for so long, had pushed everybody else out of her life and hadn't even found the energy to care about the friendships she'd lost. Now Harry needed her. Whatever had made him do these awful things, was eating away at his humanity. How could he kill with such cruelty? Wasn't it enough that she was broken beyond repair and too ashamed of her fall from grace to get professional help?
That weekend Harry visited her just like every other Saturday. They cooked together as usual, but the atmosphere was tense, driving an invisible wedge between them. Hermione questioned him, but it was futile. Whatever was going on in Harry's mind remained hidden. He evaded her questions and quickly said his goodbyes after helping her cleaning the dishes with the excuse of having to run errands in Diagon Alley.
Hermione wasn't one to give up easily, however, and despite the clawing panic at the thought of how busy London streets were on a Saturday afternoon, she plucked up the courage to Apparate to Diagon Alley in the hope of finding out what was wrong with Harry.
Upon appearing in the busy street, she instantly felt lost. Hoards of witches and wizards pushed past her, leaving her to struggle staying afloat like a lonely buoy in a storm.
Her hands started trembling, and she prepared to Disapparate again to return to the sanctuary of her own four walls when she spotted Harry disappearing into Knockturn Alley.
Hermione's curiosity and concern for Harry was roused and won over the strong desire to curl up in her bed and not leave it for the rest of the day.
She followed Harry, pushing through the crowd.
For a moment, Hermione thought she had lost him, but then she caught a glimpse of Harry's back in a side alley that lead to the backs of the shops of Knockturn Alley.
She quickly cast a Disillusionment Charm on her person to make sure that he wouldn't spot her as she followed him.
Harry stopped abruptly to rap on a door.
As he looked left and right, nervously tapping his wand against his leg, Hermione pressed into a building entrance. Disillusionment Charms weren't the most effective at daytime, and she feared he would notice her silhouette.
The person opening a second later was surprisingly familiar. Hermione's worry increased tenfold when she witnessed Harry exchanging a whole pouch of money for a suspiciously unremarkable little box.
She wondered what in Godric's name Harry was trading with none other than George Weasley at the back of the Weasley joke shop like some criminal drug dealers. What if Harry was actually buying drugs? Hermione wouldn't put it past George to deal with illegal substances — he had a predisposition for crooked deals.
Harry suddenly turned back into her direction. Hermione held her breath, leaning further into the entrance.
He hurried past her, not even glancing to the sides, and Hermione followed.
With surprise, she realised that he was heading for Muggle London as he left Diagon Alley through the brick wall to the Leaky Cauldron.
Harry continued through London until they reached Hyde Park. Between the rose bushes, hidden from the other paths by an arch of trees, he slumped onto a bench. He suddenly looked very tired.
The place was deserted, and the usual strolling people seemed to steer clear of the beautiful garden. Hermione felt a faint prickle of magic and concluded that Harry must have cast a Muggle-Repelling Charm.
She pressed into the bushes and observed how he nervously glanced at his watch.
The quiet of the park dampened the thrill Hermione had felt when following Harry through Diagon Alley. Now it was just the two of them. She suddenly felt stupid for hiding like a child and trailing her maybe only friend like some super sleuth.
Stepping out from her hiding spot, she cancelled her charm to face the matter at hand. That's what old Hermione would have done. She had reverted into a coward, a disgrace to her intellect.
Harry jumped violently. Then, he sighed. "Hermione, what are you doing here?" He rubbed his face.
"I'm worried for you, Harry."
"I don't know how you got the idea that you need to worry for me, but you really have to leave. I don't have time right now, Hermione." He suddenly jumped up, quite agitated.
Hermione took a step back. "What's up with you? I don't know you like this!" He frightened her a little. "What did you buy from George Weasley?"
"From George? Nothing." His answer came too quickly, and he looked caught.
She eyed him sceptically. "Do you take drugs?"
"What? No! Merlin, Hermione."
"Then what were you trading with George?"
His hands fisted in his hair as he started pacing. "Just… leave it. Don't concern yourself with it."
She put her hands on her hips. "No Harry, I'm done with not concerning myself, and I'm done with all the dead bodies you send me. I've hidden away in that cellar for long enough now, don't you think? I'm done nodding and agreeing with everything people do and say. And I can just as well start now and with you."
Hermione took a step closer, forcing him to look at her. "When did you start killing them? When did you stop caring for their rights and justice? You became a monster, Harry. I don't recognise you any longer!"
"I didn't kill them, alright?" Harry practically exploded. "I didn't kill any of them. It's a ruse."
Hermione squinted her eyes. "A ruse? I saw his body, Harry, I saw Draco-sodding-Malfoy with broken bones and bloody face, and you tell me you didn't kill him?!" Her voice was unusually high pitched.
"Can we talk about this later?" He pulled a face. "I don't want to drag you into this, Hermione."
"I want proof."
"Please, can't you just take my word for it?"
"How can I believe you when I looked into Malfoy's dead eyes?! He right in front of me, and he was as dead as the others you've brought me!"
He slumped back onto the bench, his face in his hands. "It's better for everyone if you know as little as possible."
Harry looked up and saw the resolution in her face. He gave her a sad little smile. "I haven't seen you this emotional about something since Colin's burial. How ironic that the only secret I kept from you is your way back to the Hermione I know."
Hermione faltered. "I'm sick, Harry, but I love you, and no mental illness can prevent me from caring for you." Her voice was barely a whisper. She had never admitted out loud that her condition was more than just as moodswing. It made her feel weak to name it, but it had made her feel weaker to try and hide it.
Harry nodded. "Wait with me. I'll give you the proof." He didn't say it with resentment but with warmth in his eyes.
So they waited in silence between the blooming roses.
No five minutes later, Hermione's heart did a leap at the sight of the wizard that appeared in front of them.
"Potter," he greeted, his eyes not leaving her.
She hadn't missed Malfoy's nervous twitch when he had spotted her upon his arrival. He was afraid.
"Granger," he said with a small nod, his voice carefully emotionless.
"You're alive," she managed in reply.
Malfoy shot Harry a glace.
"Ahem, she saw your replacement," Harry explained.
"Oh." Malfoy looked a little embarrassed.
Hermione felt faint; the whole situation was unreal.
"Let's get you out of here, won't we?" Harry asked Malfoy. "Here's your portkey." He handed him a white plastic cup. "I packed some Muggle clothes and money," Harry added, handing Malfoy a backpack.
"Thanks, Potter." Malfoy didn't look happy about depending on Harry, but he was grateful nonetheless. Hermione couldn't help but stare at him, he seemed so different.
"It should activate any moment now, you came just in time," Harry said with a glance at his watch. Malfoy nodded and a few seconds later, he disappeared. The last thing they saw of him was a relieved smile. It was a dazzling sight. He looked nothing like the boy she had known at school. Older and tired. Like a man on the run. Hermione tentatively returned his smile even though he had already vanished with a plop!
Harry turned towards her. "I'll take you home, I'm sure this was a lot to take in for you."
Hermione nodded and linked arms with him, glad that he offered her something stable to cling to as they left the quiet space between the rose bushes and entered the Muggle-filled area of Hyde Park.
"How does it work?" she asked.
Harry shrugged. "It's a trade. I've been working with George on this for some time. In the beginning I had to… I had to confund you."
"You what?"
Harry cringed. "I'm sorry, but I needed you to sign their death certificates." He grinned at her sheepishly. "You were too observant to not notice something was off with the bodies. It's George's invention. They are expensive to make, but after months of trial and error they are perfect now. Even you didn't notice the difference anymore."
"And why all that?"
"I'm helping them escape." Harry shrugged.
"That's illegal!"
"I'm aware. But the real criminals are sitting in the Wizengamot. I'm appalled by what they call trials. I simply couldn't watch them anymore. I get that the Death Eaters from the first war deserve Azkaban for life, but their children were as much victims of their circumstances as we were. I couldn't leave them to the fate the Ministry deemed for them."
"So you fake their deaths?"
Harry nodded, looking a little proud.
She chuckled, surprising herself with the sound that was almost unfamiliar. "And here I thought you had turned into a murderous maniac."
Thank you Nora Fares for beta reading :3