A/N: WOW, I seriously have no idea where in the blue blazes this came from, but it wouldn't stop haunting me like a bad burrito from Taco Bell. So, I started writing, and then everything just started to fall into place with a plot. A reminder that this is MAY become a DraMione fic. This fact will depend entirely on my mood and how the plot evolves, (though I oddly have a fondness for that pairing) and there will be so many shenanigans in this story that it hurts. Why? Because of a little good will action that Headmistress McGonagall decided to put into action from her own summer holiday trip. There will be old faces, and there will be new.
ALSO! If you happen to see this little guy: 0-0 , THAT means that the line break I typically use for transitions was being an utter prat and I had to put that in there to show a change of scene.
Special note: For those of you who also are reading my Sailor Moon fanfiction, Courage-less; have no fear, as I am still working on it between sewing skirts, jackets, bustiers, and making props.
Warning: This is rated M for language, graphic violence, possible sexual situations in much later chapters, peril, very foul language in later chapters, and other such things I can't quite think of yet. But it's still rated M!
With love,
Korrupted.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters aside from the OCs and new ones that I am melding into this world that J.K Rowling has so lovingly crafted for us fans.
The warm summer night air swirled about the small room, the soft beams of moonlight slowly crawling their way across the wooden floors as an owl hooted cheerfully in a nearby tree. The figure on the bed groaned in sleepy frustration, the irritation causing the small room to feel too small, the warmth oppressive, the soft light blinding. Covers seemed to shift and toss about fitfully as the sole occupant tried to find comfort, the long mane of curly dark hair tangled from fruitless efforts until Hermione Granger sat up in her bed with an angry huff. Dark circles lay under her brown eyes as she scanned her flat out of habit: constant paranoia seemed to be one of the many quirks that she still could not shake from her travels and the war. The witch swung her feet over the edge of her bed, a beam of moonlight illuminating the scarred word that had been viciously carved into her left forearm via he tip of a wand.
Hermione traced her fingers around the raised skin, almost still able to hear her own screeches from the Cruciatus Curse and the maiming of her limb, her eyes lingering on the word the letters spelled out; 'Mudblood'. She heard her wand clatter on the night table slightly at the thought of it's former mistress, the nineteen year old witch sighing. The wand was still a bit taken with Bellatrix Lestrange, which concerned her greatly, but otherwise it was as good as her old wand for the most part. Finally, the girl pushed herself to standing as the lights flicked on at her unspoken command. Some days, non-verbal and wandless magic did have it's perks. Soft footfalls sounded as she walked through her room and to the bathroom, turning on the light there before glancing at the mirror in passing only to jump, cursing herself seconds later; her dark, curly hair and worn eyes had caused her to once again imagine that it had been her former tormentor instead of her reflection. Hermione was half considering brewing herself a sleeping draught, but felt that sleeplessness was a far better alternative than the nightmares that haunted her in the world of dreams, no matter how much they had waned in intensity since the war.
"Look at the filthy Mudblood, all scared of sleep." A silky yet insane female voice crooned tauntingly from the shower, Hermione whipping her head around swiftly in terror for the source.
Wide brown eyes met contemptuous wild dark hues, Bellatrix Lestrange leaning idly against the wall as her left hand lazily propped her wand between her teeth. Hermione could feel her entire body shudder in fear as the insane Death Eater grinned eerily at her, praying to Merlin that it was just another horrible nightmare. "As if your dreams could do me any justice." The cruel witch jeered, the younger woman shrinking against the wall visibly. Bellatrix cackled in mirth at the sight of the brilliant Muggle-born shying away from her in unrestrained fear.
Hermione could feel the marred skin on her arm aching dully, half wondering through her fog of terror if this was like the phantom aches Harry had mentioned while Voldemort was still alive, the girl rooted to the spot. She could feel her heart thundering painfully in her chest, her form trembling almost violently at the sight of the witch who had brutally tortured her at Malfoy Manor. It couldn't be real; Molly Weasley had killed the unhinged Death Eater right in front of her! And yet here she was, now sauntering closer to the petrified girl with a nearly palpable air of cold superiority and disdain. "N-no... You're dead..." She whimpered, shuddering as she felt the wand jab at the healed wounds that it had inflicted upon her.
"Stupid creature. Of course I'm dead. But when I gave you this," The shaking witch yelped as the word that had been carved into her flesh burned, the scars reopening as blood slowly trailed from the gouges. "I must have some of my magic behind in that dirty, filthy, mud blood of yours. If I wasn't dead, I would kill you for such insolence." Bellatrix sneered, looking down at the other witch in furious contempt before an unstable grin spread across her face like a fissure opening up in concrete. "But, I think we need to finish that chat we started, little Mudblood."
Hermione was openly sobbing in fear, cowering as the walnut wand was leveled at her face with far too much satisfaction from the older woman. "Please... PLEASE!" She begged, the phantom ignoring the voice as she went on. "Girl to girl!" Hermione was screaming in terror, her eyes firmly squeezed shut at the curse she knew was coming.
"CRUCIO!"
0-0
Hermione was screeching in terror when she felt someone shaking her awake, her wildly flailing arms being held down by a second set of hands, brown eyes snapping open to see a pair of bright brown above her. "Stop! STOP, it's me! It's Ginny!" She heard a familiar female voice urge as she slowed her frantic struggles. By the time she could once again make sense of her surroundings, Ginny was gently stroking the panting witch's hair in a sisterly manner.
After a few more moments, the trembling young woman shifted her attention to the figure who was sitting above her head and just now easing the grip on her wrists. She took note of the concerned but wary dark blue eyes framed by mused silver-blonde hair, Fleur's lips set into a thin line. "Zat was only a dream, 'Ermione. You are safe." The older witch assured, finally releasing her altogether to allow Hermione to sit up.
It took several minutes for her to recall that she was at The Burrow and not at her flat, sharing Ginny's room as she usually did on her numerous trips to visit. Thumping from the floor of the hallways was the only warning they had before an utterly ridiculous amount of red-headed males and a lone female came spilling into the already small room, the loud din of confused and worried voices making it impossible to understand a single word, until Molly Weasley finally demanded the vast amount of the men out of the room; it seemed only Ron and her husband Arthur were permitted to remain. The young wizard swiftly sat next to his clearly shaken girlfriend and lightly took hold of her right hand as Ginny and Fleur remained in their spots, his father finally speaking amid the crushing silence. "Another nightmare, I suspect?" Was the elder wizard questioned, the nod from the girl providing her with his answer. He granted her a kind smile before apologizing for the intrusion and leaving to room, presumably to reassure the horde of anxious males that were no doubt lurking outside the door. The entire Weasley clan had grown fond of the Gryffindor girl over the years, and she was practically as good as family.
Molly sighed as she took up a seat to relax a little, her brown eyes tenderly settling on the brilliant young witch. "Dear, what happened? You had been doing so well with the dreams." Was the soft inquiry.
For a bit, there was no sound as the girl in question spoke. "I don't know. She was just... there. But it was so real, and..." Her voice trailed off as she glanced at her left sleeve in response to an odd sensation there, seeing dark crimson blossoming across the dark grey fabric of the long sleeved top. "I'm...bleeding...?" Hermione's voice was filled with horrified awe, her eyes not leaving the spot she knew the opened wound of the slur that branded her skin lay under the bloody cloth.
Instantly, Fleur swooped in and pushed Ron away with likely more force than she had intended, gently coaxing the fabric up her arm to stare at the shockingly reopened injury. "Zis... Zis is impossible..." She whispered in a slightly shaking voice that betrayed the worry that was barely hidden beneath her mask of calm.
"Fancy that, you filthy Mudblood." An eerie voice whispered into Hermione's ear, causing her to go pale and shudder. It had been Bellatrix's voice. That much was painfully obvious to her, her brown eyes as wide as saucers with fright.
Ginny noticed the hazy yet fearful gaze on the girl's features, her hands resting on the pale shoulders of one of her closest friends as she tried to gently speak to the distraught witch. She hoped the Muggle-born young woman would come out of it relatively soon; the worst episode had been shortly after the end of the war a little over two years ago, when she had woken up screaming in pure terror and had Stupefy-ed anyone who got close to her until she had calmed down enough to realise it had only been a dream. The red-headed girl continued to soothe Hermione as Fleur and her mother tended to the injury, Ron holding her right hand lovingly, though clearly unsure of what to do.
After the arm had been wrapped up in bandages and she was no longer quite so pale, the four Weasleys were once again sitting around Hermione, watching her sip at a hot cup of tea. She could feel them all silently worrying over her, and so the Granger girl cleared her through in a voice that she hoped didn't sound as shaken as she felt, "I've decided to attend Hogwarts in two weeks, to finish up my schooling. I still need to go through my seventh year, and Headmistress McGonagall already has sent an owl to saw my request has been approved.
The silence was deafening before the noise that shattered it erupted like a volcano.
"WHAT?!"
"Zat is fantastique!"
"Hermione, have you gone mad?"
"Are you sure about this?"
The furious barrage of questions pelted at her, the bookish witch smiling faintly to herself at the reactions she had seen coming. It took the four Weasleys a good few minutes to quite themselves, waiting with a great deal of irritation for an explanation from the still nightmare plagued girl to stray so far from their protection. She had been doing far better in the last several months, now only a few nights of tossing a week instead of the nightly horrors she had been dealing with right after the torture and war. Hermione took another patient sip of her tea as she mulled over her next words with incredible care, opening her mouth to speak at long last. "As I said, I have yet to go back and attain my NEWTs - Don't give me that look, Ronald. You know I was going to go back sooner or later."
Her words quickly deflated her indignant boyfriend, continuing on, "I also think it might do me some good. Since the whole bloody war, I have been really only focused on trying to forget everything, but I can't. Maybe, if I have a new focus, I could start to recover? It's possible, and you all know how I loathe being idle. Even though you have been more than willing to allow me to be for your own piece of mind." Three pairs of brown eyes and one pair of blue cast downwards, as if to avoid being guilty of allowing the girl to become stagnant. "Therefore, I will be returning to Hogwarts in the autumn."
Molly sighed, a habit she seemed to be developing this night, and pursed her lips in contemplation for a minute or two as she decided on what to say. "If that is what you truly want, then I will support you dear." Ginny, Fleur, and Ron all nodding in agreement with her words, though the wizard's nod was far more grudging.
Ginny tilted her head to the side thoughtfully before she seemed to recall that this was her room, and all except for Hermione were not supposed to be there; though she was secretly glad that Fleur had been in the room next door to hurry to help her when Hermione had started fussing in her sleep. Her brown eyes looked at the three other Weasleys irritably, her face stern. "Alright, she's fine now, Mum! Can we have some time to ourselves now so we can sleep?" The ginger girl half snapped, earning nasty glare from her mother and protests from her brother, causing her to roll her eyes at the latter. "Oh yes, of course you may stay since you put it like that." The boy's expression rose moments before a copy of The Quibbler rolled itself up and swatted him across the back of his head. "No, you prat. Now go. We need to rest."
Finally, the others did leave the room, Ginny waiting until the door clicked shut before giving her friend a final worried glace. "Are you sure you're alright with this, 'Mione?" Was the gentle question, as if it was about both her emotional state and her choice to return to Hogwarts.
At the firm nod, the younger witch relaxed far more visibly, a small smile on her lips. She had finished her own seventh year just before the summer holiday, having taken a year off to try and get her life back in order after the loss of Fred and so many others. Ginny arched her eyebrow with a grin as she recalled some very interesting and shocking news that the headmistress had told the students at the end of the year, eager to share it with her friend. "Want me to tell you about a little surprise McGonagall has for next year?"
Draco paced his room restlessly, his expression unreadable. He had grown so very sick of his father over the last year, his mother overbearing but still slightly better than the bedraggled Lucius to the boy; his parents were both smothering him and his father was simply intolerable. Wearily, the young former Death Eater looked over the letter in his hand once more. McGonagall had replied to his inquiry of resuming his studies with a very hesitant yes; she had mentioned that it was only on the virtue that he was not truly without hope of redemption that she was even allowing him back. Now all he had to do was inform his parents of his choice.
With a heavy sigh, the white-blond male wandered to the door and tugged it open, stepping out to stroll down the short hallway and down the staircase. He could hear his father muttering something he could quite catch as he approached the drawing room they were in, his mother hissing back at him, "Lucius, your contempt is driving him away. And we both know that other Death Eaters find our whole family to be traitors for abandoning the Evil Lord's side."
Her hushed voice was laced with worry, as if by speaking too loudly would summon the very few still free and loyal servants of the dead Lord Voldemort and bring death down upon them. "Don't you think I know that?! However, he is still a coward." The words cut through Draco like a searing knife as he moved closer to the large room's door, his grey eyes widening in sadness just marginally. "He knew it was Potter. He knew, but he said nothing. We could have been redeemed to the Dark Lord, Narcissa!"
He could hear his father's anger, malice, and slight intoxication through the ajar wooden door that separated them, the young man looking down at his left arm where the Mark used to stand out against his pale skin moments before his mother responded, scoffing at the dark-hearted man, "And then we would be in Azkaban, left to rot. Have you forgotten that I too betrayed him? Or is it because it allowed us to find our son that you so gladly overlook my indiscretion?"
The words caused the Malfoy boy to ponder any feelings of anger towards his mother; perhaps it was out of a need to protect him that she was all but crushing him with her presence. His father, however seemed to still be caught up in the same evil that Draco himself had rejected in the end. Taking a deep breath, and clutching the bit of parchment in his hand tighter for added courage, the pale young man pushed open the door and strode into the large drawing room, his eyes taking great care to avoid the very faint, small bloodstain that marred the surface of the wooden floor; no matter what the house elves had done, Hermione's blood seemed determined to mark the location of her gruesome torture. Part of him still felt the deep pang of guilt for having to identify her, even if he had not out-right exposed her. Draco looked at his father with a cold gaze, speaking to his mother who stood off to the side, "I have decided to return to Hogwarts. I refuse to remain associated with that ridiculous order I despise. At least one Malfoy should have his honor in this family, and I suppose that task falls to me."
Lucius seemed to puff up in fury at his words his unshaven face contorted in pure anger. "How dare you... I have my honor! I served the Dark Lord! You were content to not even identify that disgusting little Mudblood!"
The young Malfoy turned from the man in barely controlled rage. "I wasn't loyal to him, I was scared of him. He terrified me and so I obeyed his orders. He set me up to fail. Set us up to fail, and I just never had it in me to be a killer. I'm not like you." His final words were soft and calm, a stark contrast to the whirling tempest of emotions within him, struggling to break through. His grey eyes were filled with a haunted expression, almost able to hear the dreadful screams from the Granger girl that had echoed through out the estate over two years ago, and still clawed their way into his mind. "You didn't hear her screaming."
His father seemed to suddenly grow sympathetic, gently placing a hand upon his shoulder. "Son, the Dark Lord was frightening, yes. But he commanded power, respect, and the loyalty of many witches and wizards that way. And killing isn't nearly as fearsome as you claim it to be; it's as easy as brushing dried mud from your boots after a long walk. The first is always the most difficult." His own grey hues narrowed in distaste at the mention of the girl, his voice turning to a slight scoff. "And of course we all heard the girl, we were right there in the room-"
"No, you didn't hear her!" Draco suddenly roared, rounding on his father as he pointed a finger at the discolored spot on the floor only seven feet away. "There! Right THERE is where she was tortured! Aunt Bella just kept going, and going, and Mudblood or no, I can't forget that! I can't and I won't! I will go back to Hogwarts to be a better wizard! A better man." He turned to face his stunned mother, his eyes filled with pained regret, his voice quieting. "I don't want to be remembered for what I almost became."
Narcissa looked between her husband and son, relaxing as she took in the boy's intentions. He wasn't evil. He didn't have the same darkness that cloaked his father, the air about the man thick and tainted by death and cruel deeds. His grey eyes still had the faint rays of hope in them as he pleaded with her to let him try to restore the honor of their house with his remorse and conviction. "Draco, there are those still loyal to the Fallen Lord who are free. They would call you a traitor, their children within your very own house would try to cause you great harm. Are you willing to face that?" She inquired in a solemn voice as if to test his resolve and his own morals; he was their only child, after all. She had a sacred duty to ensure his well-being.
The young man pondered on his reply, truly weighing what it could all entail. These dark witches and wizards would undoubtedly shun him, the students would likely resort to hexes and humiliation tactics if not outright violence. And yet, if he didn't do this, then he would be forever remembered as Draco Malfoy; the boy who sold out Hogwarts and the entire wizarding world. He couldn't bear the thought of it. "Yes. I am. Mother, I have to go. You understand that." The blond urged, gaining a nod from the woman.
"Well, I forbid it. You will remain here, and I will personally see to it that if you wish to continue your education, you will be attending Durmstrang." The frustrated wizard stated in a cruel drawl. He was still the head of his family, and his son would do as he was told.
However, his wife leveled stern blue eyes at him and with a defiant flourish, pulled out the wand Draco had gotten made just for her as a gift from her skirts to point at him. "Do not dare stand against me on this, Lucius. He has the right to go back. It's for his sake that I wish him to go. He's right. He isn't like you; there's still hope for our son." Her eyes became pleading, not giving in to him, but trying to help him understand. "Don't you see? He can reclaim the respect for the Malfoy name we lost. I lied to the Evil Lord about Potter being dead, which spared our family in the end. But our dear Draco can save it! Say what you will, the boy will be returning to Hogwarts in two weeks." She finished, her tone leaving absolutely to room for compromise.
The wandless wizard glared at his wife, but instead stalked towards the door and sneered at his son in disgust as he passed him, exiting the room along with the dark tension that had filled it. Draco looked at the witch in open amazement, the worn woman granting him a gentle smile as she opened her arms to him. "Oh how you have grown, my darling boy." Was all she said before he rushed into her embrace. She had always loved him, though now that the Dark Lord was truly dead and gone, it was like a veil had been lifted from her mind and things were that much brighter and warmer. She was give anything to see her son happy and safe.
0-0
Lucius was positively fuming as he stormed off from the drawing room. How dare his own wife stand against him like that? And how dare his own son give her a new wand, but not him? The Ministry had strictly forbade him from ever purchasing a new wand as his only stipulation for being free from incarceration, therefore his son would have to gain one for him as he was too paranoid to hire someone to get one for him. He had groomed the boy to one day join the ranks of the Death Eaters as he had, to serve Lord Voldemort in his mission to scour out all those of Muggle birth, to stamp out the impure blood-lines that they created, and to raise the wizarding world to it's rightful place as the leaders of this world. But now, Draco spoke almost sympathetically of the Granger girl's torture under his roof. It was to his constant annoyance that her filthy blood still sullied his home, no matter what potion or spell he or the house elves employed upon it. The very sight of it repulsed the pure-blooded man to no end, wanting to rid himself of her disgusting presence. How he desired to knock some sense into his son for those disastrous thoughts of mercy for that Mudblood. 'Though once I too betrayed the Dark Lord...'
The unbidden thought was swiftly ushered from his mind, justifying his declaration after the first war that he had been under the Imperious Curse with the fact that it had allowed him to continue his work for Voldemort while others had been either trapped in Azkaban, or in hiding. His so-called cowardice had allowed for the Death Eaters to have a suitable base of operations, and a vast pool of wealth and influence to draw upon. Perhaps... Perhaps he could start anew, for surely a new wizard would soon take up the mantle of his fallen master. The sobering, unshaven man found himself before the mirror that hung above his dresser, looking into his own cold, stern, prideful eyes as he straightened his posture to his former one that spoke of power and authority, a cruel smirk coiling to place on his lips.
Yes, he would help usher in the new savior of the pure-blooded wizarding world. He would reclaim the honor of his family while razing the Muggle world, and his son would once again stand by his side.
A/N: So, what do y'all think? Should I keep going? Yea? Nay? I do have a lot planned, so I might just go on regardless. As always, please be find enough to drop a review if this pleases you since they help motivate me, and thanks for reading a fic of mine that isn't nearly as dark as Courage-less.