Dark Decadence

By Nara Occult

And the darkness consumed her…

Series Summary: Draco, Pansy, Blaise… all next generation Death Eaters, destined to be darkly, gloriously evil murderers. If you think they're innocent, you're dead wrong. Literally. One shots Series

Colour: Grey
Antagonist: Draco Malfoy
Summary: Gray. Everything about Granger turned Gray in the end. What happens when someone you know dies? You feel bad, right? Think again Because this is me, Draco Malfoy that we're talking about, and I never did like Mudbloods that much.

Disclaimers: This is a series not a continuing story; that is to say a whole bunch of deliciously dark one-shots based around Draco, Blaise and Pansy. They are not connected. You could skip one and read others. I do not own or profit from Harry Potter. If this looks familiar, it's because they were originally individual stories and I decided to combine them.

And the darkness consumed her…

Gray. That's what it is. It's all Gray. I know I am supposed to feel elated but all I feel is numb. Granger is dead.

And it's all my fault.

It started so innocuously. But not innocent. Oh no. It was never innocent. My family has always been dark, my father after all, is Voldemort's right hand man and I myself wear the dark mark. I was given what I thought was a menial but boring assignment. I've never really grown into a taste for torture, though I can stand it. If Voldemort ran the ministry, I'd almost do the paperwork, but a Malfoy, a Malfoy is too good for that. Too good for anything but the role I was born into.

Naturally, if I wanted to, I could change, betray my own blood and my lord. But I don't particularly want to. I like being safe from the dark. I like the power, and I like the money. And to be honest, I don't care for ideals.
After this long in service, I didn't believe anything could shock me.

But she did.

Like someone standing, like an onlooker, I watch my hand elegantly clasped around the glass of brandy. I am, of age now, being seventeen. It strikes me now, that she had her own brand of the Darkness inside her. I bear it's mark on my arm, its teeth grown into me, my own Darkness. I don't mind much, and I suppose that is part of my problem. If I were a decent person, I would care, and that I don't… that doesn't bother me either.

Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini and I, we are the leaders of a new generation of Death Eaters. We don't have the zeal of hating Mudbloods, although of course, the contempt is there. What the Dark Lord hasn't realised is that this generation is different. Lucius, my father, cares. He wants to make the world a 'better place' in his own twisted way. So did the other Death Eaters. They wanted to make the world theirs and they wanted power.

We, on the other hand, just plain don't care. It's easier now, to play the role I've been born into. I call it fate, almost. Whispers of the word monster reached me from others, because they know it was my fault too. Don't get me wrong, I am not guilty, insofar as I feel no guilt. It was a curious thing to watch, because yes, I was there, and I felt nothing. And yet in death, she intrigues me as she never had in life. A useless mudblood. A wasted mudblood.

Reflexively, my fingers curl around the crystal brandy glass. Nothing but the best, for a Malfoy.

We started out slow, because she was our target. Unlike Harry, who we had been forbidden to touch, Hermione was the strategist, the brains behind the Golden Trio. How far from grace mudblood angels fall. Mudblood Angels. What an oxymoron.

It was little things, leaving notes in her dormitory. Making sure to steadily wear her down every day. Slowly, meticulously, we set it up so her friends drifted apart. Making things that little bit harder for Ron and Harry to run Quidditch, so they spent more time. Pansy drawing Lavender in. Parvati we dealt with, as she originally refused to co-operate. She had an unfortunate incident and switched schools, along with the Ravenclaw sister, Padma.

Hints to the youngest Weasel about Hermione liking Harry quickly set her offside, when enough 'evidence' had been amassed. And then the finishing touch had been a little spell, designed to imprint negative thoughts. And we planned. We spent a year of careful organisation, making sure we did this right. I think Pansy took pleasure in watching the transformation, a sign of her work. I certainly enjoyed things from the observers seat.
Soon she really had nowhere to turn. She could never really fall out of favour with the teachers, but her snappish melancholy disturbed them and alienated them from her. Where had the bright, promise filled student gone?

I took a sip of my Brandy once more.

It had changed when there were Rumors of Hermione having a fight with Harry on the top of the tower. We had quickly decided to watch, waiting at the bottom with others, the stupid, useless Gryffindors, who were to proud to notice one of their own was drowning. By the time we took off the depression spell, her own depression had set in so strongly that she was killing herself inside. We had ensured she would create her own demise, hopefully going off like a ticking time bomb. It was just a matter of time when.

I don't think any of us expected her to do it so spectacularly.

Then again, I would be somewhat annoyed if my friends failed to realise something was so wrong. Or perhaps I wouldn't care either? The thought doesn't really bother me, now that I think about it. Is this wrong?

My thoughts flash back to the day it happened, and I notice my hands grasp the glass of brandy a little harder.

I remember watching her at the tower. Watching her come out to find the crowd. Tears dripped down her sallow cheeks. She had wasted away. It was beautiful to see. Her brown eyes were dead and broken, but there was a queer light to her that I immediately noted. It was then that the suspense had started to build in me, and I had pointed it out to Pansy and Blaise, who too watched with an avid fascination.

Our Darkness had become Her Darkness, and Her Darkness had consumed her.

"WHAT ARE YOU ALL WAITING FOR?" Hermione had screamed, the crowd taken aback and muttering. I watched it all impassively, registering Blaise gauging the crowd and Pansy fixated on Hermione.
"YOU ARE LIKE VULTURES! PRAY ON SOMEONE ELSE!" Hermione had tears streaming now, and none of the crowd could bring themselves to look away. Then Hermione had quietened. She disappeared back for a moment and the crowd muttered. I simply waited. They didn't know whether she was coming back. I did. Some started to walk away, but the whispering returned when she did, and they turned to stare.

I actually, didn't realise what she was planning to do, until it happened. She was wet, covered in what I had assumed was water.
"Soronus" She'd said, and pointed her wand to her throat.
"It looks like you are all here for a show. I suppose I should give you one. Why don't you all watch me?" Her voice sounded like a strange whisper, sending shivers over the onlookers. I felt Pansy's anticipation as if it were my own. I watched passively.

Hermione laughed, in a high pitched, deranged way, and then got out a muggle match, and lit it, before dropping the flame onto herself, and for one moment she lit up, and it looked like she had reached deep within herself.

"Why don't you all watch me burn?" She'd whispered.

For that one last moment, she smiled fanatically, her robes, her hair, her body on fire. The smell was acrid in the air, it already thick with her screams as she burned.
I heard the gasps of horror, the terror, the cries of shock. I even heard Blaise laugh.
And then she jumped, the wind speeding up the process, feeding the flames as they ate her alive. St Mungo's said she was dead on impact.

I went back after, and looked. The ground she had fallen on had black scorch marks. But it was more than that. The ground she had hit would be blackened forever. I could feel it. The Darkness was in that spot. It would never be clean again.

I came back to reality and dimly realised I'd broken the glass… Brandy dripped over my hand, intermingled with a stinging sensation, the glass had cut me. I didn't really care, just as I had watched her fall and burn, I watched my blood and the brandy drip on our precious, expensive Malfoy carpet.

The Darkness infects us all in it's own ways.

And the Darkness Consumed Her.