Armor and Skin by ObscuroMeNot
Chapter 1
My heart was pounding louder than the rain.
'You can do this. You can do this.' My mantra.
I glanced up to molten silver pools, my name is Hermione Granger, and I'm drowning.
September was uncharacteristically cold, laced with a sharpness that froze the breath in your lungs. Hermione pulled her cloak closer to her body, trudging through the snow at a quicker rate than the rest of the crowd.
She reached the massive doors of Hogwarts with a sigh of relief, the dementors around the grounds, swooped and swallowed up early frail ounce of warmth that tried to break through the atmosphere. Hermione studied them with an intense look before closing the doors behind her.
Hogwarts was not the same glowing sanctuary she once knew, bruises of the Final Battle were etched into the very walls. Every step she took held a painful reminder of the following years tragedies. She, unlike most, had returned to Hogwarts for her eighth year, even if it was only a shadow of what it used to be. She made her way to her private room, one privvy to the '8th year' students who decided to return. The room was a blessing, she needed all the privacy she could get since the books she carried under her arms were titles the restricted section would glower at.
Truth was, Hermione Granger was not the same girl she used to be.
She doubled checked her wards, clarifying that she was truly alone, before removing her cloak. The deep satin article hit the ground with a plopping wet sound, weight should have been lifted from her shoulders, yet they felt as if they still weighed a ton. She kicked off her shoes with a inconsistency that would make her old self shudder, and gasped her way to the connecting bathroom, nevermind the red droplets that mirrored her path.
Her skin crawled, every ounce of will power she had was crumbling faster than her tub could fill with water. She felt the sharp sting of tears threatening her vision, and sunk under the water before she could find out if they fell.
The light was dim in Knockturn Alley, ever since Harry Potter's defeat nothing seemed warm anymore, she tried not to think of how out of her mind she was. This was suicide, she was an idiot. Even the blood in her veins felt heavy. She wore a complexed glamour charm which allowed her free range in the normally forbidden area. At first she thought they would catch her right away, smell the weakness radiating from her. It wasn't until she passed Yaxley and Greyback without a second glance did she find a new hope within her plan.
Ron and Harry had gone into hiding, without her, she tried to recall without the horrible sense of abandonment she felt. They decided they must have missed a horcrux, something must have gone wrong, both Harry and Voldemort escaped the battle with their lives, yet the Dark Lord himself held a strong hold over the Wizarding World. The Order and Harry both at a loss for where to go from there, whisked the boys away, leaving Hermione with Professor McGonagall to form a strong front at the weakening hold of Hogwarts. She pressed her back into the stone as another group of Death Eaters exited the pub she had been standing outside of. One of them wolf whistled at her glamoured form, as her bouncing blonde hair was revealed from under her hood when rushing past.
She had prepared for the bright light that accompanied most pubs, but this one was lit with a fitting array of dim black candles suspended from the air. Charmed vultures glared down from their posts upon the rim of the ceiling.
Sit down, Hermione. She scolded herself. Order a Firewhiskey, act natural.
She nonchalantly sat into a creeking barstool and bellied up to the dark granite ordering a double glass of Firewhiskey on the rocks. She waved her hand under the bar, placing a modified wandless Sonorus on the back corner of the bar where her targets sat. She listened quietly, occasionally clinking her ice against the edge of her glass, taking mental notes before her attention was stolen.
"You look like a tiny beacon of light in this darkness." A figure sat down next to her, and playfully tossed a strand of her blonde hair over her shoulder. Hermione froze, her brain automatically kicking into overdrive. Blaise Zabini smirked at her, "Mind telling me your name, Love?"
Before Hermione could open her mouth, Theodore Nott joined them, sloshing two overflowing mugs of Dark Ale onto the bar.
"Who do we have here, Zabini?" He asked, heavy lidded eyes trying to focus on Hermione's glamoured form. Blaise grimmaced and steadied his friend.
"Well if you would kindly sod off, I would have figured that off by now." He raised an eyebrow at Hermione, but Theodore picked up no clues.
"I think he fancies you-"
"Farrah." Hermione quickly spit out, wondering how in the hell she thought of that off the tip of her tongue.
Blaise and Theodore's curiosity rose at the mention of her foreign name. Blaise leaned in close to her, Hermione fought the urge to pull back.
"Ah, Miss Farrah. Do you have a surname? Gods know we only take to certain...kinds, around here." Theodore snorted a drunken laugh into his mug.
"Blaise had to kill the last slag he picked up, found out she was a mudblood mid-" He didn't get to finish his story, Blaise had whipped him over the back of the head with his palm, shooting him a deadly glare. Hermione prayed to whatever god that was listening that she didn't show fear.
"Farrah VanArleston." She said, slipping into her role of primed and perfect Pureblood. She extended a graceful hand. "I'm visiting, I recently graduated from Drumstrang. My father wanted me to get more involved with.. the cause." She dropped her voice over the last of her words, hoping neither of them were too daft to pick up her hints.
"VanArleston? You say." Blaise took a sip of his Ale. "Very old family, I wasn't aware they had such...young blood in their line."
Hermione mentally clenched, knowing she should have picked a different Surname over the millions she had memorized.
"My father wanted to keep me under the radar," She lied between her teeth, "He wanted to make sure I was perfectly ready to serve our Lord." Blaise's eyes darkened as he ran a hand subconsciously over his own Dark mark.
"A wise father you have. Why isn't he here with you? I don't know many whom would so proudly leave their kin unaccompanied for their first reveal." He studied her with a look only acquired by practice.
Hermione looked towards the floor, faking sadness, then raised her chin eyes filled with a new fire.
"My family was killed by the resistance in France, I've been making my way slowly to London by myself. It's hard...knowing who to-" She paused looking at them both "trust."
Nott clicked his tongue.
"Ahh, to be so young again."
"I'm Nineteen." She rebutted.
"You're white, pure as snow, clean as-" Nott was cut off again by Blaise but this time with a silencing hex.
"Enough Nott, you're beginning to sound like an idiot. I hope the Dark Lord Crucio's you fifty times for your insolent behavior." Blaise hissed. Hermione straightened her back in her chair.
"You don't think you both could accompany me tonight? Would you? I have no one else."
Blaise stood, his form towering over her, and extended his hand.
"Miss VanArleston, it would be my pleasure to bring you to the Dark Lord."
Hermione took his hand, every nerve in her body screaming at her to abort her mission. She met his eyes, nodding. He didn't notice it was no longer blue eyes that starred back at him but her original amber fire.
Hermione had never experienced such pain, never in her life had she pulled such focus from her magic to keep her glamour charm up while a thousand poison coated knives drilled into her skin. She imagined the Cruciatus curse was painful but never to this degree, never this horrible, every part of her skin was on fire. She swore her internal organs were melting. She had to keep the charm up, any slip now would surely cause her immediate death.
The looming figure of Voldemort raised over her, lowering himself down to her level to lift her chin with a ghastly cold hand.
"Look at me, child." He ordered, Hermione swore the words slithered over her skin. She opened her eyes and fought another involuntary shudder. "You did so well, perhaps you are indeed worthy to join the cause." She wanted to cheer with the small victory but found no energy, instead she kept her mind projecting fake images of her imaginary life. Tea parties in the garden with a elegant witch, lavish ballroom parties till the early hours of the morning, her imaginary father preaching to her about the Death Eaters and his theories of dirty blood.
"Yes-s. My Lord." She cooed out with a determined affection. "Let me help you bring victory to our side." She nuzzled her face into his hand. "Once and for all." Voldemort threw her weight back onto the floor.
"Bring me back the hearts of a filthy muggle family when we meet next. I want them to still beat warm with the life you stole in the honor of your Lord." He hissed the order, Hermione felt her stomach roll with protest, but she kept her eyes down.
"Anything you wish, My Lord." Hermione heard a sick giggle that could only belong to one sadistic mad woman. Bellatrix Lestrange.
"You're so kind, My Lord." She roughly came up to pet Hermione's blonde curls, her monstrous rings snagging in her hair, tearing strands from her scalp. Hermione took this time to use her remaining willpower to scan her surroundings. She felt a heavy stare barring into her form and turned to meet a familiar face.
Draco Malfoy's eyes burned into her, his lips set in a permanent scowl she knew so well from her younger years. She met his eyes and he sneered, turning his attention back to Voldemort speaking to his Aunt. Hermione crawled her way next to Nott and Zabini whom didn't offer her help up, but didn't move or protest when her weight shifted against his.
The meeting ended with Voldemort disappearing in a cloud of heavy black smoke. The death eaters spoke among each other quietly, eyeing her with interest. She hadn't been proven to them yet, but she was still a blood line of Respect.
Zabini rested his hand on the small of her back, pushing her towards the stone entrance.
"Come now, Farrah. You'll need to rest." Hermione wanted to fall to the floor and cry, her mental shields screaming to crumble, her body felt like a battlefield.
The room was a still blanket of lingering grey smoke, perhaps thats why no one noticed when Farrah's hair gave away to a darker shade of blonde, and her eyes suddenly appeared deeper in color.
Draco Malfoy stepped forward and fingered the brunette strands of hair he picked up from the ground, rolling them over in his hand, his eyes never leaving the woman who stood with a shaking form between Nott and Zabini.
Hermione steadied herself against the enemy, willing herself to keep going, that she could almost feel the warmth of her fireplace in her room. She just had to make the charm hold long enough to get back to the castle.
She hissed inbetween her teeth as a somewhat sober Nott roughly grabbed her hand for side along apparition. The last thing Hermione saw before she felt that nauseating tug from her stomach was a raging storm among a sea of gray.
AN: Well, There's the first chapter! Hopefully it's a new spin on an older plot. This fic will be rated M for dark themes and later chapters. No fluff here, folks! Let me know what you think!
As always,
OMN