Tainted
"No light but rather darkness visible, served only to discover sights of woe."
- John Milton, Paradise Lost
It was cold out.
The moon peeked through the broken clouds of the wintry, November eve, bathing the grounds with its effervescent light and casting shadows on everything it touched, and the stars had long retired in the blanket of the awaiting storm, leaving nothing but a trace of dust that now dissolved with the sparkling tears of heaven. The surface of the Black Lake glittered under the satellite's glare, its peacefulness disturbed only by the rays that penetrated its murky depths and the occasional breeze that stirred on dewy wings and icy breath, coursing beneath the clouds to brush the treetops and spiraling down, leaving small ripples as it leaned in to kiss the water. While the castle stood in its grandeur, the blazing torches that usually lined its stone walls now extinguished in ashen coals. Quiet and peace reigned the slumbering night, except for the silhouette that moved around one of the castle's towers and danced behind the curtains.
A figure lurked in the shadows, watching the person up in the tower with eyes as cold as the night air, and a grin tainted with hunger and malice. Another silhouette joined the first one, and from where he stood he could see them locked in an embrace and a kiss. He was pretty certain it was her so-called boyfriend she was with, and the mere thought of it made him sick. He couldn't believe she's actually got the courage to turn her back on them – not when they accepted her in their group and treated her like a family. He wasn't as surprised now as he had been when she first announced her relationship with the guy, though. She was, after all, a filthy little mudblood and he's her trusty evil boyfriend. She soon won't be walking the same ground as he did, and it won't be long until then.
For now, he would have to endure their crumbling friendship and her cheating on him. He could plan later on of how he'll bring the demise of one Hermione Granger.
Ronald Weasley was many things.
He's the youngest son among the seven Weasley children, Wizard's Chess champion, one-third of the Golden Trio, best friend to the Boy-Who-Lived; but most of all, he prided himself for being a War Hero. He was, however, also a delusional teenage boy who drowned himself in the belief that the pretty girl should end up with the hero. Growing up with five older brothers, all who have established their own identities and left a legacy, he was easily overlooked and taken for granted. Who would, after all, waste their time in a nobody?
So when opportunity presented itself to him, he wasted no time seizing it, trapping it in his fingers and taking matters in his own hands. He befriended Harry Potter. But it wasn't enough. Yes, it wasn't. Until came Hermione Granger. He didn't expect the mudblood to be of much help in the beginning, as it only made the sticks and stones poked at him grew worse, but it paid off rather greatly in the long run. She helped him with his workloads and even achieved something the Potter brat wasn't able to do: she made him a Prefect. At last, he's in particular with his brothers! But he's not satisfied, he wanted more. Then the War came. Instead of worrying about the future as the others, he spent his days perfecting his plans of how he'll make the world see that he's so much more than the youngest Weasley son.
First came victory.
He had everything after the war: fame, glory, money. He didn't even care that he lost one of his brothers, no. He only cared for himself, shunning his own family and reveling himself under the limelight. People loved him, praised him, worshipped him, even. He loved every moment of his fame too much that he had strayed too far from his plans and it was too late when he realized that.
Then came defeat.
Safe to say, things didn't go as how he planned them to be. Instead, he found himself at the end of the wrong line. He had been reckless – impulsive, even; and his own scheming brought him a defeat he never sought. Did he plan to seek help? An advice? No. He's too prideful for that. Even if he did swallow his pride, he'd only end up as a laughing stock. Imagine the hilarity that could possibly ensue when a war hero asked someone's help over a trifle. Yes, he didn't need that. But then again, he's Ronald Weasley, and Ronald Weasley will never learn.
It didn't help that things went right down the gutter for him when Hermione Granger began to date Draco Malfoy. Who would have thought? A mudblood and a Death Eater scum sharing dreams of their future. Only he decided there'll be no future for them. Not when he's still there, and certainly not until Sleep beckons to him. It was just one of his numerous delusions, of course. But he'll make it happen! He just had to wait for the perfect opportunity.
And his downfall.
It was the perfect plan. Yes. No one would suspect it was his doing. After all, he's her best friend, and no person wanted their best friend dead, but him. Yes, yes. Draco Malfoy would regret laying his eyes on Hermione Granger. It's simple, really. Very, very, very elementary. He need not to be a genius or smart to execute his plan without any flaw. He just needed her cooperation.
He could not wait.
A crazed laugh escaped his lips as he stood outside the Head quarters, a maniacal glint shining in his eyes as he gave the portrait the password. The password – she really needed to be very careful to whom she entrusts such information next time. Tsk. Too bad there'll be no next time for her anymore. He's too much doused in his own excitement that he failed to notice the frantic leave of the woman from her portrait.
The Head students' private chambers was as dead as the night, so quiet that he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. Ah, the rush of hunger for blood, how sweet it was to his own tongue. He could almost taste the coppery flavor of the thick liquid and its tangy scent. Yes, he's just a stair away from reaching his goals. Just a few more steps and he'll be done here.
No sound stirred from anywhere upstairs, nor was his arrival acknowledged by any flickering light. Perfect. He crept very slyly to her room, his heartbeat growing louder with every step he took, then opened the door. He slipped inside as quietly as he came, locking the door with a charm and silencing the room.
His angel was lying on her bed in a mass of silken reds and golds, illuminated by the soft moonlight that streamed through her slightly parted curtains. Oh, how long he ached to touch her; to run his fingers through her smooth curls; to trail that jawline with his own lips. Sadly, that's not what he came here for. No. He stood for a moment, drinking her in, his eyes raking her figure hungrily. She broke his heart.
He reached out and caressed her cheeks, his fingers ghosting over her skin, causing her eyes to flutter open. "Ron?" she asked, confused. "What are you doing here?"
He did not answer. Instead, he grinned at her and stepped back, turning on his feet so he was facing the window. "Ron? Is there something I could help you with?"
Yes. Yes, there is, you clever witch! The crazed grin was back in his face, but he refused to speak or look at her direction.
There was a soft rustling of sheets behind him, and his eyes glittered with darkened excitement for a brief second. He heard her footsteps and felt her breathing. Her breathing. He wanted to laugh, but he suppressed his desire and composed himself before facing her. "Hermione," he whispered, his voice sounding broken. His mind was howling with laughter and enjoyment of the whole thing. Poor Hermione! He mentally cackled with delight. If only she knew. But she did not!
"How can you do this to me?"
"Do what?" the brunette asked, puzzled. What could he possibly want from her? And at the dead of the night? "Look, if you want anything, it can wait tomorrow. Please? I'm tired, Ron. I just want to sleep."
Oh, you'll be sleeping soon. Literally. "You know what I want?" he said, a creepy smile pulling on his lips. "I want you dead."
There was a pregnant pause between them, then she was chuckling as if he'd just told her the best joke ever. Yes, the best joke. "Come on, Ronald!" she snorted and gave him a look of amusement. "What is it that you really want?"
He did not answer. She thought it was a joke! And she even laughed! Laughed! No, the final laugh would be his. Not that she'll be there to witness it, anyways.
"Fine. I'll tell you," he answered, fishing something out of the pocket of his robes and advancing dangerously to her. She took a step back with every forward he make, fear gripping her body at the weapon he had in his hands. "I hate you, Hermione. Disgust you, even. You should have been mine after the war, not Malfoy's. I should've been the one telling you where you properly being with."
He saw her eyes flickered towards her nightstand where her wand lay then at the door, and a cruel smirk pulled on the corner of her lips. "No one will help you this time, mudblood," he laughed, driving her against the wall. "W-what are you talking about?" Her voice came out rather shakily as she tried to escape from him but in vain. "I d-don't understand what you're talking about."
He didn't expect her to. He just wanted her to be quiet. "Oh, it's very simple, Hermione," he cackled. "If I can't have you, then no one else can. Ever."
"Wha-" her words haven't even began when it ended. There was nothing but a quick flash of silver that tore through the quiet darkness of the room. She was motionless for an instant, her brown eyes wide in shock and disbelief as they bore through his glacial blue ones. She fell as gently as the leaves of the autumn.
There was no sound because of the carpet.