The young woman exhaled slowly as she stepped into 12 Grimmauld Place, wrinkling her nose at amass of dust. Hermione came to believe that no matter how many scourgify charms she casted, the home would never truly be clean. It was as if dust and grimed were essentials to the homes foundation, and any sign of cleanliness would result in its defeat.
Quietly she headed towards the kitchen where she could hear a multitude of voices bickering back and forth. Stopping just outside the door and suddenly wishing she had a pair of Fred and George's extendable ears.
"He's been in the damn coma for nearly twenty six weeks! We're losing men left and right, surely you can't expect us to twaddle our thumbs and ignore the pile of mounting death arriving at our stoop nearly every week!"
Hermione cringed hearing Moody's booming voice. He was right though. The Order could no longer continue living in their fantasy bubble, expecting the winning of this war to fall into their laps. Taking a quick inhale, Hermione pushed the door open, silently taking note of the empty seats and felt a pang of despair overcome her.
Fred, Charlie, Hannah Abbot, Susan Bones, Terry Boot, Seamus, McGonagall .
Dead.
She refused to let the tears slip. She, just like everyone in this room, had their chances to mourn. To dwell on the lives lost would result in more deaths. Squaring her shoulders a little tighter and her chin a little higher, Hermione took a seat at the end of the table beside Remus and Tonks, giving a nod of acknowledgement.
"How lovely of you to join us, Miss Granger. I hope whatever made you nearly fifteen minutes late was gravely important." Moody said with a scowl, his magic eye flicking from left to right.
"Alastor, lets continue with the Agenda, shall we?" Molly Weasley quickly interjected, much to Hermione's relief. Briefly studying the woman, you would see she looked nearly five times her age. What with losing two of your children and waking up every morning knowing you were on the brink of death, it's expected.
Moody grunted in approval, giving a curt nod towards Remus who cleared his throat and stood up.
"As you all know, Tonks and I have been actively hunting down for new recruits. We managed to get in contact with Hagrid who informed us he is making progress with the Giants and Centaurs, and I'm attending another meeting with a group of recent graduates from Durmstang and their current Headmaster. We should be expecting twenty new recruits."
Small applause and excited hush tones quickly spread around the table, "That's wonderful news Remus!" Ernie Macmillian exclaimed, a few other members verbalized their agreement.
"Is there any news on Harry's condition?"
Hermione didn't anticipate for her voice to sound so cold and distant, it wasn't preventable though. The key to winning this war relied on a boy lying stagnant in the rooms above. While new recruits were indeed wonderful news, it truly meant nothing in the end if Harry never awoke.
The smiling faces soon faded, shoulders dropped, gazes fell and the room fell deafly quiet.
"No." Remus said slowly, resuming his seat. "Dumbledore is still working with Severus on determining what poison was inflicted on him."
"Ah." Was all she could muster in a reply, sinking back into the rock-hard chair.
Great.
"Oy, 'Mione don't try to look so happy." Ron muttered sarcastically.
"Excuse me?" Hermione demanded, her eyes snapping up to the man down the table.
"We all know that we can't win this without Harry, but you don't need to go pour salt into the wounds! Merlin forbid we take a moment to experience a brief moment of hope at the thought of new recruits!" Ron shot back angrily, suddenly standing with his palms pressing on the table, leaning over to Hermione.
"How dare you Ronald Weasley!" Hermione shrieked in outcry, standing up so violently that her chair flung out from behind her and landed near the window, her eyes ablaze. "I'm the only one who's being realistic! We could get forty bloody new recruits and that would still mean shite as long as Harry is comatose!"
"Ronald sit down, enough!" Molly exclaimed, attempting to pull him back into his seat but he roughly pushed her hands away, "Bugger off Mum!" He snapped, his eyes darting back to the young, brunette witch, and realized that her hair—her bloody hair was crackling in anger. He opened his mouth to reply, but was stopped short by the far-away voice of Trelawney.
"Oh dear me.…oh yes…well….hm…" she muttered as she bumped into various pieces of furniture in the kitchen.
After the Ministry had fallen, and Dumbledore essentially being forced to flee his post, Hogwarts was under the control of The Dark Lord, Resulting in many of the teachers seeking refuge at The Order's Headquarters.
"Sybil do you mind!" Moody barked angrily, his magical eye focusing on the bubbling woman. Kingsley exhaled slowly as if he were attempting to calm his nerves.
"Oh yes….so s-sorry just wanted a s-spot of tea you s-see!" She exclaimed pitchly.
"Well get on with it will you?" he growled.
Molly quickly fluttered up, "Come Sybil I'll fetch you a spot of tea, yes?" she said as she looped her arm around Trelawney's to lead her towards the family room.
"Oh that would be lo-lovely, I just feel s-so faint….The Eye you know..." she murmured
"Yes yes dear, come." Molly interjected, her voice slightly annoyed as Trelawney stopped walking.
Trelawney stood frozen to the spot, her hands curled tightly into Molly's arm, causing to shriek in alarm. Trelawney inhaled sharply, her neck snapped back violently, and the voice that erupted was chillingly inhumane.
"Morality shall descend upon filth and pure alike The darkness prevails and His cortege remains Ashes shall fall and plague the soil And Death shall once again be free Until The Light is born, of Lions Mane and Serpents Tongue joined as one An Heir shall rise that will cleanse the blood and reborn the soil, He shall vanquish the Darkness and emit the Light."
The room was silent as everyone stared at Trelawney.
"Come. We must find Dumbledore." Remus stated hoarsely.
Hermione stood still, her blood going cold.
xx
Little did they know, somewhere unknown and surrounded by hooded men, a blond man fell to his knees screaming in agony to the heavens.
xx
Draco stood stiffly in line, hooded men on each of his sides. His eyes darting around briefly before coming to rest on the young man, unclothed on his knees in the middle of the circle, bent over so far his nose was crushing into the soil.
"I-I wish to join your ranks and serve you My Lord," the boy pleaded. By the sound of the boys voice Draco gathered he couldn't be more than sixteen years old.
Voldemort chuckled. "I can see that you fool." he sneered, raising his wand.
Draco's lip curled into a smirk of disgust. Such a bloody waste. He would be surprised if the boy even managed to survive the initiation-typically the young ones didn't. They were either too stupid to know when to keep their mouths shut, or they were weak.
This one just seemed weak.
When he first joined the ranks, he often suffered sleepless nights for weeks on end, and had to constantly fight the urge from vomiting during each meeting. When he joined, he expected to have power, a position, and a tramp or two on each arm.
In reality, he found himself powerless, in a joke of a rank, and he hadn't had a good rut in nearly three months.
He snorted quietly behind his mask.
'So much for glory,' he thought bitterly. Not batting an eyelash as the figure on the ground screamed in agony again.
The boy would learn, soon enough, that the key to surviving this initiation was to not scream. Granted, that was entirely and utterly difficult to even comprehend when your body feels as if it's simultaneously being drowned and set on fire. The key was to turn off your humanity, to force yourself to believe that the only person who mattered was yourself.
He himself had essentially managed to turn his emotions off. It was necessary for his survival. Sometimes, however, remorse and guilt would bubble to the surface, and he would quickly silence them with a bottle of the finest scotch.
"Pettigrew, come clean this mess." Voldemort commanded, pushing the bleeding, shaking boy over onto his back with his foot, his lips curling into a delighted sneer.
"Y-yes My Lord," Peter squeaked, hurrying to the boy and dragging him off to the side.
There were numerous pops of apparition, signaling the meeting was moving to the Headquarters-Malfoy Manor.
Draco's eyes narrowed as he watched Pettigrew inflict his own form of torture on the helpless chap, before he too disapparated with a pop.
He landed on the side of the drawing room, his eyes settling on Voldemort's figure sitting at the head of the table, causing him to snort bitterly as the irony dawned on him . His once safe haven was housing one of the most hypocritical, ego-maniac, murderous tyrants to ever live.
Draco slowly made his way over towards the far end of the table-silently grateful that he wasn't in a high ranking position. That ensured he could sit as far as possible from The Dark Lord, and essentially not draw attention to himself.
Merlin knows that the man looks for any excuse to torture the hell out of people, and if Draco could find a way to make it less likely to happen to him, damn right he was going to take that opportunity.
"My loyal servants...My children," Voldemort cooed, his words pleasant but his voice laced with venom.
"Some of you have so patiently waited to...have the opportunity to get into higher ranks. You have shown utmost loyalty and dare I say...Class." he mused, smirking.
"Draco, would you come join me by my right hand side?"
There was no question in his voice. It was a command. And to defy that command was to sign your death certificate.
And Draco Malfoy wasn't going to sign any time soon.
"It would be my honor, my Lord." Draco said silkily, bowing his head slightly before he walked towards Voldemort, bending and taking the hems of his robes and pressing it to his lips.
He felt the contents of his stomach churn as the smell of death and feces filled his nostrils as he kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes. He sometimes wondered if Voldemort was Death himself.
Slowly, he raised himself to his full height and resumed to the designated seat.
"I believe you are most fit for this task, Draco." Voldemort drawled, his eyes focusing on him.
Draco turned his eyes to face Voldemort directly. "I live to serve, My Lord."
"Indeed." Voldemort said, his voice hinting as if he had doubts. He directed his attention to the masses at the table, "As you all are aware, Potter is as good as dead thanks to Aemilus. The only resistance we continuously meet are from Dumbledore's fools,"
There was a murmur of agreement around the table.
"And each...feeble...attack these fools make are lead by none other than their precious Mudblood. The Granger girl."
Draco felt chills erupt down his spine as Voldemort's lips curled back into what could only be described as a smile.
"Draco, your task is to capture her. Break her. Turn her into clay and form her into one of our greatest weapons. If you succeed, you will have permanently secured the position of my Second in Command. Fail, and you will wish for death."
Draco bowed his head, constructing his facial features to look as if he had been blessed with the holiest of gifts.
"As you wish, My Lord."
The remainder of the meeting passed in a blur to him. Silently thanking Snape for teaching him the fine art of feigning indifference-or rather, whatever emotion was called for.
As the meeting was dismissed, he stood and waited for everyone. Feeling a sudden sense of light headedness, which he simply concluded was from the events that had transpired over the last two hours of hell, he thought nothing of it and headed towards the door.
And suddenly his brain registered that he was falling to his knees, and indescribable waves of pain started overruling his body.
'Is this death?' he thought. He knew his mouth was opening, and he assumed he was screaming, he couldn't hear anything. He vomited in between screams, clenching his eyes shut. Every nerve felt like it was being torn from his body, his blood felt as if it was boiling.
A white light flashed behind his eyes, and a foreign voice filled his mind.
""Morality shall descend upon filth and pure alike The darkness prevails and His cortege remains Ashes shall fall and plague the soil And Death shall once again be free Until The Light is born, of Lions Mane and Serpents Tongue joined as one An Heir shall rise that will cleanse the blood and reborn the soil, He shall vanquish the Darkness and emit the Light."
His body shook violently, his eyes barely opening. The last thing he saw was his brothers surrounding him, and a pair of red eyes gleaming in delight.
One last tremor shook his body, and he succumbed to darkness.