Mankind never learns from its past mistakes. Worse, after defeating Harry Potter and affirming his power over Wizarding Britain, Voldemort takes it one step further. He looks back to a time when people were dragged from their homes in the middle of the night, when they were put in trains and sent off to concentration camps, where they either worked or died. Muggleborns, scum of the Wizarding World, undeserving of their magical powers, are the new targets. Will old rivalries grow deeper and deadlier in such dark times or will they be washed away by the horror of it all, in order to make way for something rare and precious…true love? A Hermione/Draco story.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Harry Potter.
Holocaust – Prologue
Hermione Jane Granger, 19, barely felt the prick of the needle as it went too far through the layers of fabric and into her already sore thumb. Not used to sewing the 'hard' way, she'd already hurt herself a number of times. The tear-shaped piece of light brown felt swam before her eyes and her fingers kept trembling of their own accord, despite her efforts to hold everything in place. The silky material of the cloak she was altering made it all the more hard, but it was nothing compared to the thoughts going through her weary mind. Sealing her own fate, condemning herself, that was what she was doing. She had no better alternative and she hated it, hated herself for lacking the courage to spit in their faces and die honourably. If Harry could see me now… A drop of blood spread through a corner of the brown cloth, soon joined by a bitter tear. She'd never been able to live down her failure, everyone's failure, and doubted she ever would. A drop of crimson, fading into a larger drop of mud. Funny…no matter how hard she tried to set herself apart from what they called her 'condition', she was always brought back and shackled tightly to it, sooner or later. It had been like that even at school, the powerful drop of magic that was rightfully hers always ended up being overshadowed by that of her birth, dirty as the nickname 'Mudblood' implied. It had often seemed unimportant at the time, petty name calling. Only now did she realise how stupidly confident she had been, how naïve. Only now, as she sat in this dark and dreary attic passively marking herself as bait, did she measure how far the 'blood grudges' could go.
Had it only been a year since Harry had died at the hands of Voldemort? A year of missing her two best friends, one gone forever, the other kept well away from her. It seemed to Hermione like forever, as though the times before that final battle were all a dream shaped into existence by grief and sheer exhaustion. Had she really been happy once? Had unchecked laughter existed as more than two words strung together? She honestly wasn't sure. She flung the cloak across the room, the blown patch coming partly unstitched. Hell, she thought. I'll allow myself one more day of freedom. If they caught her, she would be taken away. It was a risk, but she knew she wouldn't be able to stand the stares, the uncomfortable whispers of those who had almost nothing to fear. As soon as she was done with her sewing, as soon as she showed her 'true colours', they would follow her like the wind until they suffocated her. They would leave an easy trail up to this tiny room, her only sanctuary. She would be snatched from her bed in the dead of the night to vanish to Merlin knows where. She would fade into darkness, like a candle almost burnt out. Pulling on an old muggle coat that had once belonged to her mother, Hermione slipped her feet into a pair of muddy shoes and left the room, carefully locking the door behind her. She would make the most of it, come what may.
A/N: I'll leave it at that, for the prologue. There is a lot of angst to come, along with plenty of surprises. You stand warned… I you want me to continue writing, please say so…along with any suggestions, remarks, etc.