True Colours
-Written for Round Four of the Diagon Alley Grand Battle-
(*)(*)(*)
"Stand up and fight, you coward," she smirks, training her wand upon him and walking towards him with an eerie grace.
Neville writhes across the floor, screaming in pain as she narrows her eyes and increases the power of her curse, ensuring that he cannot muster the strength to fight back. She has fought within the shadows for too long, playing the part of the puppeteer for too long to be taken off-guard now.
She sighs as she feels her lover stand beside her, his slender arm curling around her waist. There's pride in his eyes, and she feels herself perk up at his wordless praise.
After all, none can torture as she can. She makes it a work of art – it's a cruel thing to take a life, but it's oh so satisfying to make them scream. By her logic, if they beg for death, she isn't a murderer . . . rather she is a benevolent mistress, assisting them in beginning their next great adventure.
She watches as her victim – Neville – closes his fingers around a slender shaft of wood and howls in dismay, realising that his wand is broken and that he's at her mercy. It's amusing to watch a man abandon all hope and through the years, she has never tired of watching them break beneath her curses. This is merely revenge though - he has to pay for killing the Master's pet serpent. . .
"Confringo," a boy's voice yells, and she diverts her gaze for a second to determine its origin. Beside her, Draco moves with a feral grace, diverting the spell across the room and answering the attack with a lethal Sectumsempra.
Colin Creevey falls with a cry, grasping at his intestines they fall like twisting snakes from the deep slashes across his abdomen, letting out a shrill shriek of pain and shock as he recognises her. Not wishing to waste any more time on such an insignificant distraction, she nods at the platinum youth beside her, grinning as he silences young Creevey.
Her attention shifts back to the shuddering man before her, coughing blood and trying to crawl away whilst her attention is elsewhere.
She flicks her wand, releasing Neville from her curse, smirking in delight as he looks up at her with new hope dawning in his bloodshot eyes. It's hilarious now, and she can feel Draco at her side, chest heaving as he tries and fails to suppress his laughter. For his part, Neville's face grows ashen as he sees her raise her wand, sparks of jade dancing from the tip.
Coldly, her wand slashes the air and she cries out:
"Avada Kedavra."
(*)(*)(*)
"Confringo," she yells, her curse flashing through the air and tearing the staircase asunder. A trio of Death Eaters fall to their deaths several storeys below, taking with them a dozen or so members of the Order.
She doesn't care for the Death Eaters she's killed – they're just pawns to be sacrificed by her Lord's command. It's a game of chess and she's not a piece, rather she's the player. The Battle of Hogwarts has just begun and she's going to do her utmost to ensure their victory.
A giggle escapes her lips as she leans over the balustrade, the sight of her victims lying broken filling her with the desire to laugh. Suppressing her glee, she whirls as she hears a squeak of shock – coloured by fear.
Lavender Brown stares at her, hands clamped over her agape mouth, face blanching of colour. She narrows her eyes at the sight of the girl, this slag, before raising her wand before her. Above them, from a high tower, she sees Sybil Trelawney hurling crystal balls at the Death Eaters below, unable to see them from her position.
Perfect.
"Expulso," she says, a stream of silver light flaring from her wand and coursing through the air, as the castle itself heaves beneath the force of the enchantments laid upon it by Death Eaters and Order alike.
Lavender reacts faster than she expects, the blonde girl slashing her wand through the air and yelping, "Protego!"
Her curse is powerful though, slamming into the blonde's shield and sending her flying off the landing, a shrill scream leaving her lips as she plummets to the floor below.
Stepping towards the broken balustrade to witness the damage, she sees the feebly stirring form of Lavender Brown and raises her wand to finish the job. . .
Then she catches a glimpse of the rangy werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, loping towards the prone girl with bloody ribbons staining his chin. Grinning at the macabre sight, she watches with a sadistic delight as he gorges upon Lavender's flesh.
(*)(*)(*)
She stumbles, the floors uneven and scattered with debris. The castle is near ruins, ravaged by fire and torn apart by explosions . . . and worst of all, stained by death. The floors are soaked, Slughorn's potion bottles scattered and shattered across the rubble, leaking Veritaserum and Felix Felicis and so many, many more, the precious liquids dissolving in the water shed by burst pipes. Draco staggers beside her, limping lightly on a twisted ankle.
Dispatching of Longbottom and Creevey has been an easy task – but at the last second, they had been discovered by the Patil twins. Looks of horror spread across their twin faces; they had been duelling to kill.
There's a thumping of footfalls against the cracked floor and broken stone and she whirls, sighing in relief as she recognises Harry and Luna coming up behind them. A broad smile crosses The-Boy-Who-Lived's face, he reaches out and claps her on her shoulder as Luna kneels, her wand flicking as she repairs the damage done to Draco's ankle.
"Have you seen Neville?" Luna asks anxiously, her hair matted to her skull with blood and grime. Draco nods – he plays the path of a double agent so well – and gestures wordlessly to the room they had just walked out from. His silence speaks volumes, he's feigning a sense of sorrow and the eccentric Ravenclaw eats it up, her intuition failing her in her grief.
Of all those that she's had to fool, Luna has always been the hardest.
"He's not . . . he can't be," mutters Harry, his hands trembling as he curls an arm around Luna's shoulders, lending her whatever comfort he can in this short, stolen moment of peace.
"The horcrux," she mutters, looking at Harry and Luna through hopeful eyes, linking her fingers with Draco's as a loud screech tears the air. It's not hard to place – the voice has a vaguely Asian accent about it, obviously Cho Chang has met her end somewhere in the battle.
Strangely enough, none of them feels a slightest bit of sympathy for the girl. Draco and she, because they simply do not care . . . Harry and Luna because they have both already lost people oh so much closer than a random Ravenclaw.
"We couldn't find it," Harry sighs, but before she can respond the very air explodes around them, a blasting curse striking the ceiling above them.
She's coughing and falling back, hoping against hope that the stones have crushed her supposed compatriots, thus saving her and Draco from having to slay them.
Her hopes are dashed as she hears Harry's voice and internally, she swears at the sound.
"We can't get through! We're going to try and go around," he yells through the rubble.
"Good luck, mate," lies Draco, taking her hand and pulling her after him.
"I had to push him out of the way," he explains, "The Dark Lord wants to kill Potter himself."
She nods, even though she hates the waiting. It doesn't matter anyway.
It will not be long now.
(*)(*)(*)
"Repello Muggletum," mutters Minerva, turning away from the broken window to catch sight of the pair of them, standing side by side and aiming hexes down a corridor.
"Muggle Repelling, Professor?" she asks, twirling on her feet to dodge a jet of green light.
"The protective spells of secrecy around the castle are weakening," shudders Minerva, aiming a jinx at a Death Eater on a broomstick, a dozen metres in the air.
"It will do us little good to win the war today, to be exposed to the muggles tomorrow," the transfiguration professor adds as she comes to stand beside them, and the look on her face is enough.
She can see Minerva wondering as to why two of the Order's best fighters are duelling from the shadows, shooting curses into the crowd rather than facing their opponents head on. It doesn't take long for Minerva to come to the truth, though, but by then it's too late.
Body stiffening as the first stages of rigor sets in, Minerva's corpse is kicked aside as Draco and she continue to pick off Order members from above.
(*)(*)(*)
"Harry Potter has fallen! The Dark Lord is unstoppable!" declares Bellatrix, prancing before the slowly marching army. As they approach the castle, Draco pulls her to her feet, and the two of them stagger towards the dark witch and their master.
Elder Wand and Resurrection Stone, Cloak of Invisibility, none of them had had the power to save poor Harry in the end – it's simple really, he's just a pig raised for slaughter at the right moment. He isn't the stuff of legends – he's just another piece to be moved along the game-board and sacrificed when most appropriate.
Her friendship with him was beneficial . . . her standing with the Dark Lord is even more so.
It glimmers in her hand, and she hands it to him, the Sword of Gryffindor, drawn from the hat by none other than Remus Lupin during the final minutes of the battle. There's an armistice now and she finds it ironic that he isn't able to see it – perhaps had he not gone to the Headmaster's Office, searching for some weapon to try and turn the tide, he would still be alive.
After all, Draco had only opened his throat when he refused to hand over the sword.
The Dark Lord accepts the sword, his last and final horcrux, the one he will create using Harry Potter's death as a catalyst. Then he looks at them, Draco and her, as they drop to their knees in respect.
"Well done," proclaims Voldemort, grasping her by her shoulders and helping her to her feet.
"Thank you, my Lord," replies Hermione Malfoy, the darkest witch of her age.
-Also Written for the Greek Mythology Mega-Prompt Challenge: Hyperion (Write about Hermione Granger)
For more of Dark!Hermione, be sure to check out 'Eye of the Storm (Calm)' which is the prequel to my upcoming Multichapter "Tempest"