AUTHOR'S NOTE: A BIG THANKS TO MY DEAR BETA Autumn Ivy WHO HAS REVIEWED AND ADDED HER AWESOME WRITING SKILLS AND IDEAS TO THE STORY.
WINGS OF TIME IS CURRENTLY BEING REVISED. I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS VERSION BEST. ALSO DON'T FORGET TO VISIT HER PAGE AND READ HER STORIES /.
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DELERIUM
She needed to get away from the wizarding world, if only for a moment. Guilt accompanied her with every passing moment she spent with her parents, knowing shots were being fired, real shots, and that she had fired shots... The feelings of guilt would not leave. Something would have to be done to protect her parents and soon. Although she already knew what had to be done, he had told her it would be the only way to ensure their safety; she just didn't want to do it. Right now she wanted to be with her parents, one last time - whether it was greedy of her or not.
There were so many things that she had to say goodbye to. A plan was already set in place to ensure that he parents would be safe. They didn't know about it yet, there was no need to alarm them quite so soon. She knew that it was selfish of her to be staying with her parents and that she should just get it over and done with. An Order member was watching her house, day and night, and she knew that the Order member had better things to do. Guilt again. But this could be her last time and that was the rationalization that she used, over and over again.
She walked down her street, for the last time perhaps, retracing all the old memories. She careful reviewed the memories, organizing them and filing them away in an orderly manner, carefully building a defense around her mind. She could not resist building her own, rather abstract, library of memories. It was easy to conjure the picture of the library, particularly the one at Hogwarts, and organize her memories around it. Every memory here was precious, filled with happiness. For that reason, they had to be carefully guarded. Occlumency wasn't the easiest art to learn and she didn't have years to master the art, she only had now. Then it was on to learning how to duel. Another art that took years to master, yet she only had a year or less to learn it. There was so much to be done and so little time to do it and it was all too easy for her to start feeling hopeless under the amount of pressure put upon her. But she remembered his words: look at the whole in pieces, then look at the pieces one by one, and then start your work at the piece you can get done now.
She stopped at a house near the end of the street, taking in all the differences between now and years prior. An old man used to live there. He had been good friends with her parents and had spent a great deal of time watching her when she had been a child. As a child, she had been difficult, to say the least of it. Babysitters and people working at daycare centers told her parents that she was, in so many words, a horrid child. Eventually, her parents had come to rely on the old man to take care of her during the day. He hadn't minded, all of his children were grown and lived far away. Up until her second year of school, they had always spent the holidays with him.
The man had moved away to be nearer to his family, after her second year at school. She still kept in touch with him, although she had her parents mail all her letters to him. It would be problematic to explain the whole 'I am going to a school for witches and wizards' despite the fact that he had been present for many instances of her 'baby magic.' She felt bad about keeping the truth from him, but lying had become a necessary part of life lately. She lied to everyone it seemed. It used to bother her quite a bit, but as time went by it bothered her less and less. Lying made her life manageable, both at home and at school. There were things about her life that her parents, Harry, Ron, Ginny, or anyone else did not need to know.
"You always have the tendency to think too much Hermione; it's why you don't have any fun in life." A voice she recognized spoke from behind.
She whirled around, and retorted almost before she thought better, "I don't think that our definitions of fun are quite congruent."
"But perhaps they could be parallel." The old man smiled, his eyes sparkled such that they would rival even Albus Dumbledore's. "I did have plans tonight, pizza, chocolate, movie; silent reverie isn't included in this plan tonight."
She smiled. "It has been too long. And your plan sounds wonderful. Thank you for coming all this way to see me. I am sorry my parents couldn't be here this evening, they had a dental conference."
"Oh, you," The old man took her hand and they started to head towards her house together, "I'm not here to see your parents. After your last letter, how could I not come and see you?"
"Things are much better now at school," It had been a moment of weakness on her part, hinting that something was less than perfect at school. "The teacher was fired and everything is better now."
A sigh escaped the man's lips and Hermione knew that he wasn't convinced by her lie. He was much harder to lie to because he knew her too well, despite the fact that he did not know about her magic. After all the lying that she had done at school, it should have come naturally. But around him, all the work that she had done to conceal the truth was going to come undone. There was no way she could come completely clean with the man, tell him about the rather minor fact that she was a witch and was attending a school of witchcraft and wizardry.
"When did you start lying to me Hermione? Tell me the truth, what is wrong? I am sensing that this is something more than the usual teenage angst centered on some boy or clique-ish rivalry. As the responsible adult, I must ask. I know that you don't always tell your parents the whole truth."
They had reached the house; she had hoped that her parents were still around. She could use them as a way to distract the man from the current topic of conversation. But they weren't. She was faced with the unsettling truth that she wanted to come clean to her old friend, more than anything else. But she couldn't, if she told him anything, he could be caught in the crossfire, if they saw him here tonight he could be caught in the crossfire; there was just no way out of it. No way out that would make her feel better at the end.
"There are just a lot of tests coming up right now..." she started.
"I see that I am going to have to do this the hard way, Quid Pro Quo?"
"What?" She recognized the term from Silence of the Lambs, not necessarily a movie that you would expect to watch with your parents, but it was one of her mother's favorite films.
"Oh you know this game, I tell you something and you tell me something, but after we get pizza. My kids will never let me get it when they are around, they say it is bad for my heart or cholesterol or whatnot."
Hearing him say that gave Hermione hope that they could just do well and avoid the subject for the entire night, if she could keep the conversation rolling in the direction that she wanted it to. And over the next few hours, the world became a blur of pizza, popcorn, chocolate, and movies. He had brought the Camelot, she had insisted upon Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. Both the movies had a particular relevant ring to them, and she found herself looking a bit closer at the images, thinking a bit harder about the messages that the film-makers were trying to send. Even through this, she kept a close eye on the topic, talking always about the movies and the food and never veering off towards anything personal. But eventually conversation just seemed to leave her and the room, the couch, and the comfort of being home became too much and she drifted off to sleep while the movie was still playing.
She had been nervous talking to him. It shouldn't have come as much of a surprise to him; the topic that he had picked was decidedly related to school. Tonight was a risky venture, he had an appointment with both her and with... whatever that guys name was. Decidedly, there was a hint of guilt in his actions; he could not think of Hermione simply as a means to an end, she was just simply too dear to him. But he needed to think of her as a means to an end, distance himself from her, if he could continue with his plan. Dumbledore had his plan and he had his. Both were cruel plans. Both had their prices and he was willing to take the gamble that his plan would come out with the better results, despite the high price.
It was a small wonder in his mind as to which plan would be more risky: his was by a long shot. But the risks that his plan contained yielded better results in the end. Dumbledore's was just so short term. It only looked at the current problem of things, not that he blamed the man. Dumbledore didn't have the benefit of a long term view, despite him being over a hundred years old. His plan left him with a bad taste in his mouth; it leaned to much towards his other tendencies, the tendencies that she, that woman, had always hated. But they were as much a part of him as any other tendency and ultimately, he couldn't keep that part of him suppressed forever. Light needed darkness as much as darkness needed light, it was a fact that any good lightworker hated to acknowledge. Working with the darker side of things always carried a risk, a risk that was considerably more obvious than the risk associated with working with the opposite end of the things carried. But what good thing, what worthy thing, anything really, what came without a high price?
Partway through Camelot, Hermione started to doze, thanks to the sleeping potion he had slipped in her drink. Colorless, tasteless, odorless: with Snape as a potions teacher he had to be careful to make the sleeping potion that way. Putting that kind of effort into a potion even, since he was flying under the radar, was risky. Living as a cat did have its advantages, he had to acknowledge that, but the hairballs were intolerable. All Hermione needed to do was sleep soundly through the rest of the Camelot, while he slipped out for a short meeting. A lot was due to happen in the next day or two and if all went according to plan, and if she went according to plan, then his plan would be well under way.
He got up slowly and walked towards Hermione and touched her face gently, testing whether or not she was awake. Thankfully, she only shifted her position on the couch, indicating that the potion had taken effect. Not wasting another moment, he headed towards the door, he couldn't risk putting any wards around the place, for risk that a certain someone might catch on to his magical signature and pursue him. He had no doubt that she would be just as passionate in pursuing him as she had in the past. It was crucial that he wasn't caught in the next twenty-four hours or so.
Outside Hermione's home, per his plan, was one of Dumbledore obedient watchdogs. The Order of the Phoenix, a band of rag-tag people whose combined skill and trust in each other did not match the Death Eaters or Voldemort, but whose but whose grasp on sanity surely tipped the balance more in their direction. No one liked or trusted this particular Order Member, Snape he was called, never Severus, even by his peers. All because he dabbled in the dark arts and brewed a fine potion. There might have been the fact that in his younger years he was 'oh-so-good' friends with Lily Potter. Maybe even the fact that perhaps his knowledge of magic outmatched them all. Oh, there was the minor fact that he was a Death Eater and was guilty of killing his share of muggles and wizards, but the information he provided to them was invaluable. The man was fearless, did a job that no one else would do, and they shunned him. It was always one minor fact that defined a man, not the many major facts that made up his life.
Idiots.
He made his way over to Severus, who had cast a slight notice-me-not charm around himself. Severus, ever the good spy, noticed this action. And why should he not? He laughed to himself, without any effort an old man was defying a notice-me-not charm. Not a bit of magic employed to do such.
"I assure you my friend; she will keep well until morning. You need not linger here. Not that you could if you wanted to. Meeting tonight. Change of guard should be here any moment now."
Snape turned around sharply and glared at the old man, causing the old man to smile, and laugh softly, "You take life far to seriously Severus, you never use what time you have been given to be happy, you're so caught up in hating. Just like him, you know, just like Salazar was."
"Obviously not a muggle, like Miss. Granger seems to think." Snape said in a nasty tone of voice.
"I assume you want my name" He would not deny that this sort of taunting was an un-necessary thing, but it was just simply to fun and to tempting.
"You assume wrong. Go away." Severus snapped back.
"My given name or what people call me?" He couldn't help himself. It wasn't as if Snape could actually harm him or whatnot. But a duel outside Hermione's house would be inconvenient.
"Right now my position is to care for her safety, so I am free to extract information out of you any way I see fit."
"My, aren't we of short temper tonight? You could never pronounce my real name, but some people called me Merlin at one point, dear Salazar for one." He dropped the sarcasm in his voice near the end of the sentence, for the sheer effect of it. But he knew that it would do little to help the situation. The shock factor, however, was well worth it.
It was obvious that Snape thought that he was insane, saying things like that. After all, immortality was impossible. Wizards, like humans, could not live forever. But Merlin wasn't entirely a wizard and wasn't that much of a human. He was more of a demon than anything else and it was this that gave him immortality. Muggles had said that he had this trait when they wrote their mythologies about him and they had been correct; wizards had no sense of Christianity and as a result, no belief in demons. Wizards dismissed them as a muggle creation and offered other solutions. But demons existed. Not necessarily in the Christian sense of things, but they did exist.
"I am not amused." Snape started and began to make a move towards ending the whole encounter. A man of short temper indeed.
"I was told to meet a representative in Knockturn Alley, however, since you are here how about you take me instead? I am sure that you have been invited to the meeting." He drawled. "I am expected tonight."
"So you are the one with the proposal. We had no idea that you were so close to Miss. Granger." He drawled.
"In order to pull of this particular move, I have to be close to Miss. Granger. She is a diamond." Then he added, "My that change of guard sure is late and I thought that timeliness was one of the foremost traits in any honest lightworker."
Snape snorted in response to that, a snort that said everything. It was obviously the youngest official member of the order. Nymphadora Tonks, daughter to Andromeda Black, was renowned for not knowing a thing about her family's history, being a metamorphamagus, and a complete klutz. He suspected that there were only two reasons that she had been inducted: being from the Black Family her presence gave them a modicum of credibility and having her against them would be disastrous to say the least. She was an endearing girl, if anything, even if she did have unfortunate taste in men.
A loud crack resounded in the air and a voice called out, a bit too loudly, "Wotcher Snape! Sorry I am late!"
She ran up to them, panting, and carrying a bag of some sort. It looked like it contained fast food and chocolate. "I got help up in a dementor attack and..."
"In line?" Snape snapped.
"Girls gotta eat sometime dontcha know?" She said petulantly. "Who's your friend?"
Snape was about to put in a comment along the lines of 'that is no excuse' when he decided to butt into the conversation. "I am afraid I am a rather new acquaintance of Severus. I have heard of you, Andromeda's daughter isn't it? So nice to finally meet you."
"Oh, uh, pleasure to meet you as well. Um, er... who told you about me?" He inwardly smiled at her reaction, saying that he was a recent acquaintance of Severus basically equated to, in her mind, that he was a Death Eater. Mentioning that he had heard of her and knew her mother, to some extent, increased the nervous reaction.
Purposely ignoring her questions and throwing out a historical bone to bait both of them he replied instead, "You remind me so of your ancestor, Polaris. Have you ever heard of her? She was quite the star back in her days."
He kept his eyes one Snape, watching his reactions as he brought up the largely unknown female Black. History had not been kind to her in the least, barely giving any indication as to what the girl had done. There had been a slight hope that Snape at the very least would have known about her, but seemingly the connection between him and Sirius Black ruined any chances of him actually researching the family and gaining any respect for them. It wasn't even an assumption on his part; there was definable confirmation in Snape black eyes as they took on an even more unfeeling appearance than they normally did. Understandable. But still quite obnoxious. Polaris had been quite a dear girl in the short time that he had known her.
"Sorry no, I don't know a lot of my relatives." The girl shifted nervously at hearing any mention of her relatives. Obviously she had been told of the many evils that her family had committed more recently leaving figures like Polaris long since forgotten and hated. Like many other kind people of any era.
"She married into Slytherin House and was ultimately the cause for the fall of the family. Quite the character."
"As in the Slytherin family? But I thought that no one knew what happened, that Salazar left behind no real heir," Tonks started, nervously. Despite the fact that she was a metamorphamagus her hair remained a mousy brown which was the product of genius of Dumbledore not making her use the talents she had, a poor taste in men, and Dementor Duty.
"You would have liked her. She was a great woman of her time," Giving an ambivalent answer. Not saying another word to Nymphadora, he held out his hand for Snape to take, which he did without hesitation and immediately apparated.
He didn't need darling Voldie to tell him where he was hiding, anyone keen at sensing where magic points lay would figure it out. However Salazar's art was apparently lost on his own descendent who despite any claimed inclinations at subtlety, had a rather large flair for the dramatic. A close study of Snape hinted that he had at least had heard of this particular art, an art of which Salazar had been famous for back in his day rather than the art that he was famous for in the present day. Parselmouth indeed. People were so bland in these modern days.
Snape made no comment as they moved towards the part of Malfoy Manor, the pinnacle of purebloodness. A notion to which every stone, leaf, and speck of dirt in the manner paid honest tribute to. He hadn't actually seen Salazar's descendent in person before or after the radical transformation he had gone through. When he caught his first sight of what could only be called a hideous creature, he bit back a curse to kill it. Despite the fact that he knew that Snape was watching his mind looking for information as to who he was, even in light of the fact that he had told Snape who he was, there was just no holding back an image of Salazar the person. No image remained of the founders, no descriptions, just their school remained. Snape had no way of knowing what he saw in his mind, who he saw; the most controversial man in all the era's of wizarding history. A man who had been quite the man of his time in one sense and quite forward thinking in another sense. Held back only by grief.
He shifted his appearance only slightly, in an effort to hide his grief and anger, a habit that he would do well to break. Right now he needed to be the merciless chameleon. Right now he needed to remember why he was doing what he was doing. Playing the game meant betting his life and the lives of everyone else. Taking one more glance at Snape he stepped out onto the stage.
The man was filled with anger directed towards the Dark Lord, although Snape could not figure out why this was. The man was not good at holding back his emotions. They were easily readable and perfectly contradictable. A mire of love, hate, and sadness that were plaited together almost too seamlessly. It did not seem directed towards the Dark Lord, merely flowing around him gently and then angrily flowing towards something else far away from him. An interesting reaction to someone so close to Miss Granger.
Trying into his mind gave him nothing; there were just images of trees, darkness, and the occasional flash of bright blue eyes and red hair. The image seemed to play heavily on his mind and hard a large amount of conflicting emotions associated with it. Beyond that mire of emotions and images of blue eyes and red hair, that bore an almost eerie resemblance to Ronald Weasley, there was nothing useful to be gleaned from his mind. And, from the look that the Dark Lord was wearing, it seems that he was getting the same results as he was. Which could mean nothing good if even the Dark Lord could get nothing from this mans mind. Snape bit down on his lip, drawing blood, and wondered quite openly in his mind, who exactly this man was. Merlin indeed.
The man was clearly not afraid of the Dark Lord in the least; there was an ever present mischievous twinkle in his eyes and a smirk upon his face that just would not go away even if he tried to conceal it. The man was a chameleon, switching from "kindly grandfatherly mode" to "cunning enemy mode." He seemed completely at ease in the room, filled with the most dangerous people in Briton, and that is what made the tension in the room even greater than what it normally was.
He decided to remain indifferent on the subject of identity right now and focus on the clues that the man offered as to his identity. The man was obviously a powerful wizard and was also much older than he looked. Snape sensed that he had lived most of his life in England, and despite the well off appearance he gave off now, he had come from very humble means. The man seemed well educated and versed in several subjects, both magical and muggle, but where was he trained? Surely a wizard of his caliber would show up on the records for some notable feat or another, as Severus did not recall seeing his face for any feat. Knowing faces, knowing people, that was all part of the game as a double agent. Unless this man was a metamorphamagus, wasn't completely impossible, just highly improbable.
"It is the sad matter, my dear Dark Lord, that you have no mind for strategy." The man said, without any hint of decorum, "Killing Dumbledore using the Malfoy boy would not do you well in the long run. The Malfoy boy is a product of his ancestors, who were cowardly and remain so to this day. You must kill Dumbledore's hope in order to win this war."
This comment would have killed a lesser man, but revealed something about the man in front of him: he was eager to leave the meeting an eager for their help for whatever reason of his own. No one told the Dark Lord his failings and lived to tell the tale of it. But when two red flashes of light left Bellatrix's wand, headed towards the man, they simply hit him and were absorbed. Nothing. No effect. Snape bit down on his lip harder, drawing more blood. The man glanced over at Bellatrix and smiled and from his hand, produced two roses, red as the spell had been, tipped with black.
"For you, dear Lady. It has been so long since I have been thrown a curse, too long. Your generosity does you credit." His tone was nothing but mocking and the roses he conjured floated their way over to Bellatrix and settled hear her hand.
"And what would this hope be?" The Dark Lord ground out, not taking any pains to disguise the displeasure that laced his voice. "Harry Potter?"
"Potter? The boy is a half-wit at best. Weasley, the boy is a disgrace. It is the girl, Hermione that is the hope of Dumbledore. Who else could ignite such a hope? Who else, but a girl that defies all of your philosophies without even taking effort. I have witnessed it so myself, the greatest feat of all muggles past and present."
Effort? Miss Granger put nothing but effort into all of her work. If Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley were not her friends, then Snape doubted that the girl would have ever left the library for socialization. Her essays were always filled with careful research, quotes from multiple sources, and carefully drawn conclusions. It was obvious that she read the text multiple times before coming to class, took detailed notes of all the chapters, and took detailed notes of all the teachers' lectures, before and after the class. Her life was filled with her efforts. There was hardly a thing that she did that she did not put effort into, besides her hair. He had long ago concluded that no amount of magic or muggle product could tame that girl's hair, it was a viable rats nest and it was going to stay that way. But on a deep level, Snape suspected that Hermione actually liked her hair the way that it was, rats nest or not. Much like him in a way, despite what other people thought, greasy or not, Snape actually liked his hair just the way that it was.
"Following this train of thought, the next logical step would be to kill Hermione and her family over the summer vacation, while she is still injured and the family is vulnerable. It is the perfect time. It makes the right statement at the right time. Dumbledore will not be able to replace her and it will cause just the right amount of shock to the Potter boy to put him off balance."
It was a brilliant plan. A subtle, brilliant plan. Taking out one piece, visible and yet in the background, would cause everything to topple all at once. Instead of concentrating their efforts in killing Dumbledore, they would leave him to try and pick up the pieces of his strategy that had rested on the trio's shoulders, and they could concentrate their efforts on taking over the ministry. Snape wished that he could see into this mans mind.
The Dark Lord saw the brilliance in the man's plan, fortunately, thought Snape, despite his hurt pride. The man settled down in a chair, facing Bellatrix, smirking, and pretending to flirt with her. "There are just one or two, minor conditions for this particular idea. I will not let it be initiated otherwise."
Silence.
Was this man trying to get himself killed?
"First, I must deal with Hermione, no one is to touch her but myself. Second the people who accompany me, preferably Bellatrix and a companion of her choice, must kill her parents, quickly and painfully before her eyes. And third," he added in a sarcastic tone, "If anyone betrays me, anyone, I will kill them and send them to hell. Otherwise, it's basically a free for all."
Another curse flew the man's way, only to be transformed into a lily. The Dark Lord looked as if he were about to speak when the man said, quietly, "I can send you all to hell if I want. Let's just do what I want. You get all the credit and I get what I want. It is a win-win."
The general reaction to this statement was laughter and fury. Laughter from the Dark Lord, dark laughter, and a general undercurrent of fury from everyone around. Sending people to hell? Hell? Such a place did not exist! The people around jeered and laughed at the man, they had all been taught of the absolute foolishness of the muggle religion. Quite the opposite in his case. His father had been a strict protestant and had forced Severus to learn his bible verse by heart. He knew plenty of the schematics of the muggle afterlife. But the mans confident, smirking appearance still remained and that unnerved Snape the most. He didn't share the views of his comrades on most things, but hell was a concept that he had never really put much thought into. Or the afterlife in general. Death was inevitable in his line of work and he didn't much fancy and didn't have time to spend time contemplating what happened after life. If anything. Just because the Dark Lord had not yet accomplished a feat, did not mean that it could not be done.
If a person wasn't paying close attention, they might not have heard the man whisper, "want a demonstration?"
Snape, keeping his thoughts clear of any opinion one way or the other, watched as the man eyes scanned the room, like a cats eyes looking for a mouse and settled on Dolohov. The smirk disappeared from the man's face and was replaced with a satisfied smile. Dolohov, the man responsible for cursing Hermione at the Department of Mysteries. Hermione was still in bad shape from the curse, Snape knew, and was on a strict regiment of ten potions a day. Snape had seen this man with Hermione, the way that he laughed and pretended to care for her. Or perhaps he really did care for her? Then why? He bit his lip again, and pushed the questions from the forefront of his mind, then cursed himself for developing a nervous tick, a visible nervous tick.
Snape was not a man who liked to question what the particulars of a situation were. He was in the sphere of knowing. He cursed himself for not knowing about this man, for not taking more of an interest in Hermione sooner. Sooner. But when had he had time, he tried to rationalize. But he could name unoccupied hours and minutes from previous years. Truly, he should have been tutoring Hermione in secret since her first year. Then he would know all that he would need to know about her. Then he would know the identity of this man, or at least who Hermione thought he was.
Glancing at the Dark Lord, he noted that his master was studying the man. The Dark Lord had taken note that this man had picked a quarry and was aware of Dolohov's action towards Hermione. Snape almost physically grimaced when the Dark Lord said, "To Hell?"
"Are you ready Dolohov?" The man whispered.
It was a surreal moment, when the man walked over to Dolohov, who through a curse that was turned into a lilac. It was the same curse, Snape noted, that Dolohov had thrown at Hermione. One of his own creations.
"I am disappointed Dolohov, very much so, that curse was based on an older one. The creator was a student of mine. To hard for you cast I guess," the man smirked. "He developed it after his mother was killed by muggles."
"Why the hell should I care? That girl is no more Dumbledore's hope than Harry Potter is the chosen one. Neither of them are a match for our Lord!" Severus found it slightly amusing that the Dark Lord did nothing to stop the man; indeed, he seemed to find it highly entertaining. Despite the man's lack of respect for him, Severus hypothesized that the Dark Lord would enjoy having this man amongst the ranks, if only for the humor that he provided.
"Then I take it you don't know who developed that curse you based yours on. It's not supposed to be cast by a wand and that is your first flaw Dolohov. Idiocy is your second."
Dolohov never had a chance; the man silently cast a curse that seemed to cause extreme amounts of pain while freezing the man in place, a horrid combination of petruficus totalis and crucio. Then the man kissed Dolohov on the forehead and then Dolohov simply disappeared. But there was a black mist that seemed to surround the man for a moment afterwards, and Severus swore he heard faint voices in the background. Perhaps this man had really sent Dolohov to hell, alive. Perhaps it was all an elaborate illusion.
"To hell then and nothing more." His eyes were closed and picked up the lilac and kissed it. "Then I am to assume that my plan is approved, or shall I demonstrate on you, my dear Lord?"
"I should kill you," the Dark Lord drawled. "But I will approve your plan. The mudblood has been allowed to live too long."
Bellatrix glanced around the room, analyzing each of her comrades carefully. Severus wished himself invisible, he had no desire to participate in such an event, but Bellatrix was seemingly clued into the fact that he was a spy. Despite all her insanity, which greatly endeared her to the Dark Lord who saw her as sort of a lovable pet, in some respects she was quite keen and quite sane. In that respect then, Bellatrix greatly unnerved him, her sanity was much worse than her insanity.
"One other thing, before I leave. Severus cannot participate in this. It would compromise his position too much. We are not here to play games nor to prove anyone loyal or disloyal. Simply accomplish my goal."
Upon saying that, the man turned and simply disappeared. No familiar crack that signaled apparition. Nor trace of smoke. Severus wanted to know the mans secrets in earnest now. There was something quite unexplained about him and he was a man of explanations by his very nature and profession as a professor and resident potions master. Participating in the talk and discussions was decidedly difficult that evening and he was glad to leave. Of course, there was always the problem of Wormtail but he was easily dosed with something.
If only Wormtail hadn't been hanging from the ceiling.
He had left the meeting early enough to ensure that he had time to make a short run to the store. Chocolate was his goal. He had lived in the time before chocolate, it had been a grim time, but once he had been freed from that damned tree it had been the first thing that he had eaten and had become addicted to the substance. Hermione knew this and always sent him some chocolate for Christmas, wizarding chocolate carefully disguised as muggle chocolate. She was being so terribly fake around him and her parents, ever the polite daughter, as if they had been neighbors and had known each other for the course of a day rather than years upon years. But it was something that she had to do. Obviously, someone was training her, and guilting her, into acting in this manner. Snape. It was truly a shame that he had not taken an interest in her sooner, but that was something that couldn't be remedied now, he thought as he walked into the house.
Hermione was still asleep when he got there, although she did show some signs that she might be waking soon. He settled himself back on the chair that he had been sitting on before he had to go to that meeting and started in on the chocolate that he had bought. There was an odd sentiment to the moment in his mind, a trace of emotion that he had fought to suppress. Tomorrow he would engineer the deaths of Hermione's parents and rip her from her life. The world would change. He would never again sit with her in this manner again. A thousand 'if only's' rushed through his mind, but if all the 'if only's' really came true then the world would be in worse shape than it was at present. A wish wasn't going to save the world. Action was.
Action, however, always had a price. In this case, the price was something that he didn't want to let go. It was hard for him to admit to himself how much Hermione actually meant to him. Beyond her rather unique ability for a muggleborn witch, she was the first person in a long time to actually care for him. Once she figured out that it was him who engineered this whole scheme, she would never forgive him. But what was one little loss in a field of so many gains? No matter how many times he pondered over the fact, he could not have both a happy ending for the world and Hermione's friendship. It was vastly unfair in his mind, he who had never really been loved by any person to loose the one piece of love that he had gained in his life. But in this case he had to apply the human's sense of altruism and do what was best for the masses as opposed to what was good for him.
But as the saying went, better to have loved once than to have never loved at all. As Hermione slowly opened her eyes, he was caught in a moment of temporary moment of rage and then had the undeniable urge to cry. He did neither. He sat there and looked impassive, ready for his final peaceful talk with the girl.
"Sorry I nodded off there," she said between yawns, "I guess that I am still tired from school."
"It's alright Hermione; I don't think Camelot is going to change from viewing to viewing. Although this is dependent on whether or not you have a blueray player, because apparently that changes everything!" He quipped.
"So much stuff. It all seems boring. I mean, what real happiness can you get out of having so much stuff? Seems to me like you are emptying a river with buckets. Completely useless." She said, unable to hide the depression in her voice. Philosophizing had that effect on her, the more she thought about the world, and the more she was inclined to hate it.
"You think too much, the happiness that a plasma screen and a blueray player could bring you is by far superior to that of a fulfilling life and deep relationships." He stated the obvious fact. Forgotten by most people.
"The more that I see of this world, the more people that I meet, the more I am dissatisfied with it. Like Elizabeth Bennet." Part of this depressive streak in her voice hinted that the sleeping potion might have softened her mental barriers a bit. If that were the case, then this little meeting between him and her might turn emotion for the both of them. He didn't know if he could handle that.
"What happened to the girl who was going to change the world singlehandedly?" He asked gently.
"What difference can one person make in the world, against to much corruption?" She offered as a way to defense to her rather depressive outlook.
"Butterfly effect. Domino Effect. One or the other. Did we just watch Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves or was that my imagination? Did you forget the meaning of that movie? He shot back.
"It's a movie, not real life!" She practically screamed.
He folded his hands and rested them neatly on his lap. "What happened at school? What has you so upset?"
"She hated me," Hermione whispered, "she wasn't there too teach us, she was there to slam government rhetoric in our heads. She discriminated against everyone and we didn't learn practically anything useful. The world isn't childproof! And there is a whole government out there still, backing the likes of her." Her voice gradually increased through the course of the rant.
Umbridge. If he hadn't been flying under the radar, then he would have tortured the woman in this world and in hell. People like her were granted a special place in his heart. That woman had always said that sentiments like that were what separated from the normal person. People should be justly tried. But not many judges in this world were actually just and indifferent. If they weren't then who was left to judge?
"Do you want me to sing my reply or should I tell you thee title of the song?" He said. The look that she gave him, one of annoyance mixed with a bit of humor was all that he needed to go ahead and reply, "Waltz for Evita and Che from Evita."
"So you are not quoting the whole movie?"
"I could, but that would be redundant." Hermione glanced at the clock and then at the pizza, taking into consideration the time and the fact that he was supposedly an old man. "I propose we reheat the pizza and put in another movie. I am not tired yet."
Hermione was practically to the kitchen before he finished his sentence, then turned around and said, "Although judging by the bag at your feet I think this is more of an excuse to eat as much chocolate as you can before you have to return to your children."
"You have your addictions and I have mine."
After sorting through all the movies that the Grangers had available, he finally settled on The Three Musketeers, the first one which was a delightful romp and one that Hermione would not object to on sight. He knew of a few movies that would send her into delightful rants about historical accuracy or just the sheer absurdness of it all. He could see one at the top of the stack, a place that was typically reserved for the most beloved movies, that was sure to send Hermione into conniptions. Two words: Romantic Comedy. While The Three Musketeers had both romance and comedy, it was not considered part of the genre. Hermione's mother, however, loved romantic comedies much to her daughter's everlasting disdain.
Before long, Hermione fell asleep and he feigned sleep for a time before getting up and walking around the house. He took in the memory of the house and filed the memories somewhere secure. By the door, cast aside, he noticed a small purple beaded bag. There was a spell on it, and the beginnings of another spell. He picked up the bag and shoved it in his pocket, knowing what he could do with it. There was one thing he could do for Hermione that would surely help her. True, it involved a bit of dishonesty. But for her sake it would be worth it. Intent in mind, he stuffed the bag back into his pocket and closed his eyes. Semi-guiltless sleep was always wonderful.
...
He had left early with barely a mouthful of breakfast. She was an early riser by nature and habit, whether she got eight hours of sleep or not. As for her, she was starving and missed the great big breakfast that was always laid out for them at Hogwarts. Cooking her own just didn't have the appeal. Nevertheless, she made a fair effort; despite her habit of always following a potion to the letter, she loved to experiment in the kitchen. Whereas magical ingredients frequently caused explosions when they were mishandled, messing up on a kitchen creation did not carry such risks. Her parents were due to arrive at any moment, they had hinted at something akin to a surprise, and so she endeavored to make enough for the both of them. Love her mom as she did, she did not love her mothers version of breakfast. Toast was warm not cold, tea and eggs were essential, and it was the most important meal of the day whether she would admit it or not.
"Hermione, we're home," Her mother said as she entered the house.
"I'm in the kitchen," she replied, smiling as she finished serving the food.
Her mother and father walked in the kitchen, showing signs of having gotten up early to make it home at this hour. They did not appear to be tired. Her Father, ever tactful said, "Oh Hermione how lovely, we weren't expecting this. Thank you."
Her mother on the other hand, "Oh sweetie, this is so nice of you, but..."
"I know mother," she drawled, "I am not hungry right now or I don't eat breakfast."
"Now Hermione you know that I have never actually said that," her mother replied, "This is lovely, but we really need to get going we have a trip planned for today."
"Mom, I really can't go on a trip, my shoulder! Dad please you guys," she started.
"Oh Hermione, we are just going to go on a day trip to Stonehenge, honestly you'll be sitting down in the car for most of the day and you won't have to do any heavy lifting," Her father said as he sat down to eat what she had prepared for him.
"I told both of you that I need to stay home and take it easy for a while," she sulked. "Magical injuries are different that normal injuries."
"I thought that you said you fell down a flight of stairs," Her mother started.
"By a stunning spell that the one of the kids in Slytherin came up with, I was lucky not to break my back," Hermione finished as she drank down a large gulp of tea.
"Well then, we always have the options of staying home and watching romantic comedies all day," Her mother smiled, knowing what Hermione's response would be.
"Anything but romantic comedies, let me go get changed," She said as she hurriedly stuffed her last piece of toast with egg in her mouth and downed the last of her tea.
Her mother and father were left in the kitchen laughing at her response; it had really been a hopeless argument from her end from the start. She would do just about anything to avoid watching romantic comedies or for that matter, comedy of any kind. She hurriedly changed into a comfortable pair of jeans and a long sleeved top, to cover up the magical injury and put on a well worn pair of tennis shoes. She grabbed her wand, a book for the car, and a sweatshirt just in case she got cold. No one ever got harmed by being too prepared she thought to herself.
Seeing a bit of the countryside, getting away from the city, and generally traveling was something that he parents had always loved. Perhaps if the circumstances were different, she might have enjoyed the trip just a bit more. But with her shoulder still on the mend it made the trip unpleasant and awkward as she had to provide some explanation for the potion that she had to down at periodic times. They were going to see were sights that they had already seen, such as Stonehenge. But it was a welcome distraction at a time where any distraction would be welcome.
She was well versed in the history of Stonehenge; it was a monument that was highly discussed by both muggles and wizards alike. Neither side had much of a clue why the monument was built in the first place or what it was really used for. Although theories were plentiful on both sides, each more unlikely as the next. In one of Professor Babbling's famous digressions, she went into detail about several of the most popular theories about Stonehenge (both muggle and wizard), and proceeded to find the flaws in all of them. The class had ended before she could get to what her theory of Stonehenge. True to her character, she had never returned to the subject and Hermione had never really thought to ask.
The surrounding countryside leading to Stonehenge was truly lovely, green and lush, well kept by the muggles who showed the place off to tourists. Her parents walked slowly, not truly trying to keep up with the tour group, just taking time to enjoy the sites. Hermione was glad of this, her shoulder, while it wasn't in excruciating agony like it had been a few weeks ago, still needed a lot of time to heal. She needed to be cautious, not exert herself too much if it was to heal properly. It didn't hurt to be overly cautious at this point, particularly since Professor Snape was going to continue with their private lessons. She knew that he was going to teach her how to duel properly, and she couldn't be more excited to learn from him. A quick recovery then was necessary.
"What's on your mind deary? You've been so quiet this whole time?" Her mother asked.
Hermione turned to her, and smiled and began to spin her lie, "Oh nothing, just thinking about school. There is so much that I have to do, I have NEWTS coming up next year and those determine so much, everything really. Right down to whom and where I can take an apprenticeship and such."
"Ever the serious student, aren't you? I was rather skeptical at first; I didn't think that magic school would offer you much of a challenge. But it is quite the opposite and you fit in so well there. You have truly found where you belong." Her Father laughed an agreement.
Belong, thought Hermione, yes I do belong there. I have as much of a right to attend that school as any pureblood and I will prove it! She kept her thoughts to herself; speaking such thoughts to her parents would shock them to much. But in order to keep going to school, the events that seemed to happen each year needed to be abridged. But that didn't change the fact that she would have liked to talk to her parents about what was going on, her mother and father had always been kind and understanding. They would have given her good advice, had she reached out her hand. But doing that meant the possibility of them loosing their lives or her not being able to continue her education. She had made the choice in her second year and there was no turning back now, as Professor Snape had so kindly pointed out.
"But your mother is right," her father added, "despite whatever we thought before, you really have found your place in life. Regular school just did not fit you in the least and I can't say that I miss all the calls from your teachers. Although I really wish that wizards would stop using birds to deliver the mail, it gets messy and it is hard to explain to the neighbors."
"I am afraid that there are some things that will never change." Hermione laughed. Developing a different system of mail delivery would be something the wizarding would never do, despite frequent attempts on her part to explain to Ronald how the muggles delivered their mail, she was closer to getting him to understand arithmancy than the muggle mail system.
The tour guide was in sight, Hermione heard him talking to a few of the other members of the group and started to head towards them, eager to hear what the tour guide was saying. In the back of her mind, she started to consider Professor Babbling's lectures on Stonehenge and wondered what the tour guide was going to offer them in the ways of information. She was sure that she knew more than he did at the very least and made a silent promise to herself to not get into a debate with him about the odd monument. No matter how tempting.
"What do the wizards think of Stonehenge? Do they use it to perform rituals?" Her mother whispered to her.
Hermione glanced at her mother and then quickly scanned the group to make sure that no one was watching them before whispering in her mother's ear, "No one really knows why it was built, although they are almost positive Merlin did it before he disappeared."
The tour guides eyes were on them, an unreadable look was on his face as he gestured them foreword to the front of the group. Hermione's parents, with her in tow, made their way to the front of the group, eager to hear this mans lecture on Stonehenge. In one way or another each tour was different, the tour guides always provided the same information, but the way that they did it was always different. That was one reason she liked to travel. There was always something new to learn, she thought as he began his lecture on the monument.
"As the story goes, events took place many centuries ago when the Giants still walked this earth. Merlin himself was present when these stones were brought here with the Giants aid. It was collaboration between three different races: the centaurs, the giants, and Merlin. You see, the Gods were angry and the wizarding folk were losing their abilities as payback. In order to prevent that from happening, Merlin decided to pay a tribute to the Gods by bringing these Stones to this precise place." The tour guide smiled as he told his tale, his unusual bright blue eyes sparkled as he seemed to scan the crowd, and finally stopped until his eyes met her mahogany ones.
Hermione felt a cold shiver run up and down her spine as she took in the man's words inside her head. His eyes sparkled just a bit to much and he seemed ever so slightly tense. But that wasn't what disturbed her, caused her to bite down on her lip and carefully slip her wand from its hidden case in her sleeve. It was the fact that she could not perform legilimency on his mind, a sign that he was not a mere muggle tour guide, but a wizard. It could be one of the Order members in disguise, she tried to tell herself, but that was unlikely. He could be just another random wizard, this job could pay as well as the next, and she tried again. But her mind kept on screaming, Death Eater and she really started to regret not obliviating her parents sooner. But all of this was temporarily wiped from her mind when she heard a loud scream and saw a girl emerge from the stones.
The girl could barely walk and showed signs of being horridly malnourished. A few of the tour group members let out shocked gasped from the back of the group, one even started to head towards the girl but was held back by another member, whispering of a wasting disease the girl might have. Hermione's mother sighed and headed towards the circle before Hermione could stop her from doing anything, swearing underneath her breathe, and Hermione ran after her mother, determined to keep up with her fast pace and prevent any harm from coming to her.
"She's doesn't have a transmittable disease," her mother said in-between fits of profanity, "it's cerebral palsy, I would know it anywhere. That and she is malnourished. Where in the world did she come from?"
"How would you know that?" Hermione panted.
"I considered multiple career options, like any capable woman." Hermione mother snapped back. It was one of her mothers defining traits, one that she had inherited. Her mother had always had a short temper; her father had always been level headed. Once her mother was set off, it was better to ride through the rant.
Hermione glanced over her shoulder and saw that the tour guide wasn't heading in her direction, which he would have if he were a Death Eater, but started to herd the tour group away from the circle. Her father, however, stayed behind and started to make his way towards the stones. Closer inspection of the girl revealed that her mother's assessment of her had been correct. The girl's hair was long, matted, and the closest to blue black that Hermione had ever seen on a person and her eyes were a deep amethyst that sparkled and glared at the world. Yet her eyes were not her main feature, it was her scars. There was one long one down the side of her face and another long one that went down the length of her neck and dipped beneath the chemise (a chemise of all things) that she was wearing. Both of them were made by magic and Hermione would bet her teeth that there were more of them covering her body. But those weren't the things that bothered her the most, the question of how she got here and who is she rang true in her mind and temporarily sounded out the notion that there might be a Death Eater in the vicinity.
Until she heard a snap and an explosion in the distance.
It seemed to her that everything happened at once. All of a sudden the tour guide had stunned her father and was making his way towards her. The man shot a spell at her – one that she had never even heard of that was definitely not based on a latin word. She blocked it with a simple protego and screamed at her mother to run. There was still the fact that she was a minor under the wizarding law and she prayed that someone from the ministry would come any time now. She found herself frowning as the man shot another spell at her and again in a strange language and she shot one back to meet the spell, but hers had practically no effect, save to cause a minor explosion. Perhaps it was to keep her from detecting whatever spell he was using but one thing she knew. It was not dark magic. Yet.
But that was nothing. In the distance she heard people screaming and she knew that there were Death Eaters here, carefully disguised, ever so patient, straight from Azkaban Death Eaters. Leading them was Bellatrix Lestrange and Hermione knew that she had little, if any chance of survival given her level of training and the wound on her shoulder if backup did not arrive. But it would. It did before. Bellatrix gleefully shot spells at the muggles, causing them to scream in fear and agony. She recognized a few of them, crucio, incendio, avada kedavra to name a few, but there were a few that she didn't. It was hard to keep up with her and duel the tour guide at the same time.
She blocked his spell again and this time narrowed her eyes dangerously as she realized that this man might actually kill everyone once he was done with her. Her mother and the girl behind her screamed loudly as they both ran behind the stones seeking shelter from the spells being fired, despite her urgings that they should just run for it. Hermione's heart sank as she realized that one or both of her parents might die today because of her selfishness. All the attempts she made to stun him didn't even have an effect; he didn't even cast a protection shield or spell. The spell didn't seem to harm him at all and then he did the unexpected, he laughed at her. Her eyes were wide with horror and her heart beat threatened to stop as she came to realize this fact. This man was simply toying with her. She had fought death eaters in the ministry and her stunning spells did work so why weren't they now doing anything now!
"Who are you? What do you want!" she asked while she increased the grip on her wand.
He gave her no answer, except a manic laugh as he shot another spell at her this one was too fast and penetrated her protection shield, hitting her fully on the chest. A small surprise 'Oh' escaped her lips as she felt herself fall back on the ground next to her mother and the strange girl. The spell was spoken silently; a technique that she had yet to encounter thanks to their hodge-podge collection of defense teachers, so she only recognized it after it was cast. Petruficus Totalus. The man walked up to her, levitating her father behind him, and dropped him on the ground beside her. Her mother screamed and threw a rock at the man, which never hit him.
"Why are you doing this?" Her mother screamed.
"It's a calculated move. Hermione didn't tell you she is a key target in the current war? He turned from her mother and yelled in the opposite direction, "Remember Bella darling what we came here for, I am already doing your work for you."
"She didn't tell us," her mother sobbed.
Her mother picked up another stone and threw it at the man, but it turned into a violet. The girl beside her screamed and clutched her mother; an air of wild magic surrounded the girl. Her mother threw another stone at the man, which turned into a violet, and the girl yelled something in an odd sounding form of French. This caused the man to turn around and face them again with an annoyed look on his face.
"Mrs. Granger," the man said in the lightest and merriest of voices, "you are upsetting Paulina. She has a delicate constitution; she doesn't like it when people scream. Please refrain. Or shall I petrify you as well?"
"Considering the circumstances, very easily. Now, be good, or I will kill you and Paulina now." At this statement, her mother cast a glare at Hermione, blaming her for the entire incident and remained silent. Hermione was glad that her father was petrified, or else she would be getting a similar glance from him. If only...
It was another minute or so before Bellatrix arrived at the stone circle, cackling about the muggles that she had killed. Strangely, the woman remained silent and leaned up against the stones. Hermione wished that she could see Bellatrix's face more clearly, see the expression that she was wearing, and hear what she was muttering. But even in Bellatrix's absence from the crowds, you could still hear the screams of muggles. How many Death Eaters were in attendance today, Hermione thought to herself. But she didn't have long to contemplate these questions, for the man grabbed her hair and pulled her towards the alter stone at the center of the circle. If only she could have moved her mouth, she would have screamed in pain and begged him to stop. The ultimate un-Gryffindor act.
He leaned her against the stone and said, "I want you to watch this, as he watched this, and remember what it means and what it feels like. Never forget, for he never forgot either."
Positioned against the alterstone, Hermione could see that Bellatrix was making faces at the man, clearly not happy to be here, and under his command. Near where he had been place, was a small bottle that had smoke coming out of it. The man approached her mother and Paulina and grabbed Paulina's hand, and forced her to walk towards the smoking bottle then threw her on the ground. It was then that two things happened at the same time, as if they had been rehearsed in some sick play. The man turned towards Bellatrix and nodded, Bellatrix smiled and pointed her wand towards her father first and a single green light shot out the wand. An easy, horrific, painless, and fear filled death. Her mother got up and started to run, like Hermione had told her to do earlier, but was felled just as easily.
Hermione strained against the bonds of the man's magic, eager to break free and avenge the death of her parents. The shock from seeing the act almost distracted her from seeing what the man did to Paulina. He took out a silver knife and first cut off a lock of the girls hair and threw it in the bottle, then twisted back her palm and cut a piece of skin off and threw it in the bottle, but it was his last act on Paulina that was the most horrific. Strangely, the girl submitted to these acts, as if it was an everyday occurrence. He paused briefly, and closed his eyes, before stabbing the silver knife into Paulina's eye and gouging it out, then putting the whole of the eyeball into the bottle. Paulina didn't scream, even then, but had a strange look of relief on her face. A silver mist seemed float out from the eye socket and it collected the in the man's hand. After a minute, the mist ceased and Paulina lay still, then the man added the last ingredient to the bottle, the silver mist, and swilled the bottle around three times clockwise.
"Seemed a bit elaborate and un-necessary, why couldn't we just kill her?" Bellatrix snapped.
"I don't remember stating that we would kill her, just get rid of Dumbledore's hope. She is more useful to me alive."
"Then you both will die!" Bellatrix screamed.
She shot the killing curse from her wand with no effort, aimed straight at the man. He though, remained motionless and whirled around to meet the curse and caught it in the palm of his hand and held it there. She shot the killing curse several more times, but they all ended up in the palm of the man's hand. Just who was he really? Hermione thought over and over again, as she tried to blot out the other thought that was circling in her mind 'my parents are dead, my parents are dead because of me.' The man opened his palm and blew what appeared to be green rose petals towards Bellatrix. She fell to the ground before the petals reached her and other people in the distance started to fall to the ground because of the petals. Muggles and Death Eaters alike.
He approached her slowly, a look of sadness and gentleness on his face, a single tear escaping from his eye. The consummate sociopath. He lifted the potion to her mouth and gently poured it in. Despite all appearances and logic that suggested otherwise, there was only a mouthful to swallow. He then tapped her lips three times and stood up and stepped back.
The man seemed to nod and close his eyes as he put his wand away. He then opened his eyes to stare back at her, "You will do." He spoke in once again what she thought to be the deepest but at the same time captivating voice she had ever heard, "The Gods will be pleased this time, achailínmochroí."
Pain filled her entire consciousness as she gasped as a sudden dark purple spell surrounded her. The desire to not see anymore, to shut out the world and the pain, the excruciating pain enveloped her. She finally felt herself hitting something solid before she blackened out.
She felt dreadful. Her feet were throbbing, her head felt like it had been hammered repeatedly against a stone wall, and she ached all over. To make things worse there was a loud noise nearby that made her head throb even more, they might as well have been clanging a metal pan right next to her ear. She could hear horses and men screaming and then her heart sank when she heard metal clashing against each other. What the hell is going on?
She shut her eyes tighter, wanting to block out the world around her, she felt worse than she did after the department of mysteries. Her head was one thing, but it was her shoulder that hurt most of all, but it wasn't just the one that had been cursed by Dolohov, the other one hurt too, which could only mean that her arm was broken. She shifted her position slightly in an effort to make herself more comfortable and her hand touched fabric and a piece of wood. Her wand. She couldn't even remember what had happened to it during the battle, yet here it was beside her and that bag... she had left it at home on accident. It contained many of her spell books, the ones that were required for school and the ones that she had borrowed from the Black House, amongst other things. She knew that she had not brought the bag with her to Stonehenge, so the man must have gotten it out of her things at home, which meant that he knew where she lived. A thousand questions raced through her mind at once, centering on the question of why the man would leave these items her for her.
Her eyes opened as she felt knew that she must heal the broken arm sooner, rather than later, if she was to get any relief from the pain. Opening her eyes brought her back to the reality that she was in: she remembered the man with the wand and the strange purple spell that she had been hit with and then absolute darkness. But most of all she remembered the deaths of her parents, the death of that strange girl, and that potion that the man had made her drink.
Panic was about to set itself on her when she realized that it was pitch black now and that something was absolutely wrong. Where were her parents and the other muggles? What had the man done with them? The ministry… surely they would have arrived by now and arrested him but that didn't explain why she was still here! But now was not the time to panic. She gritted her teeth together and cast the necessary healing spell on her arm. It took all of her self control not to scream in pain from the spell. It also took all of her self control not to break down crying, but distancing herself from harmful emotion was something that she had learned to do in her third year at Hogwarts.
"Lumos!" She cast as quietly as she could, longing for the ability that the man had displayed. The ability to cast spells silently.
The spell illuminated the area around her in a bright white light. In the distance she could see men fighting and covering their eyes from the shock of seeing such a bright light in the darkness. But a quick scan of the area revealed something; she was no longer at Stonehenge, which begged the question of where exactly was she.
Her head began to hurt even more at the endless thoughts running inside her head. Suddenly her thoughts were the least of her worries as a loud scream startled her from her reverie. All around her people were mounting horses and fighting each other. Men slit each other throats, cut each other limbs off, and screamed in either from pleasure or pain. It was hard to tell which in a battle situation because some people honestly seemed to enjoy it, and with the rush of chemicals that occurred in intense situation such as there, who could really blame them? For a moment she stood there paralyzed, unsure of what to do; everyone there seemed to be locked in battle with someone else and had no time to come chasing after her. This wasn't her battle; there was no reason for her to stay. It could be an illusion since, there was that spell or it must be a dream. She tried to tell herself over and over again, but everything was unfortunately too real, especially when someone's head went flying on the grass and it rolled until it stopped by her left side.
She swallowed dry as her eyes were set on the killer, a black rider in front of her. The rider was dressed in dark robes that appeared to be black and as not wearing a speck of armor like the man he had just beheaded had. Not being intently locked in battle gave him the opportunity to pay attention to her, which lessened her chances of escaping. She felt her heart stop when he jumped off his horse and marched towards her. At that moment, she was thoroughly lost for words even though she knew that she would give him some sort of explanation as to who she was. Above all, she hoped this man wasn't a Death Eater, because if he was then she would surely die. She could not yet see his features as her lumos spell had long since gone out, but all that was forgotten when she was suddenly brutally brought upwards and all of her breath abandoned her when she felt something cold lean against her neck.
"Do not come any closer!" The man that had her shouted.
Hermione's eyes widened in horror as the man seemed as frightened as she was. She didn't understand a single word that had came out of his mouth, although some of the words had sounded somewhat familiar she still could not point out any meaning to them. "P-please…" she attempted in a very frail voice as she tightened her hold on her wand.
The dark cloaked man stopped but Hermione could now look right into his features. His hair was a shocking scarlet and reached well past his shoulders, his eyes reminded her of a deep blue stormy sea, and his skin had a dark olive tone to it. He had a wild look on him as his features were stained with blood. "The girl… is not an acquaintance of mine. She matters not." He spoke in a language that she did not understand, calmly keeping his blue eyes on her.
Her skin prickled as she had the faintest feeling that they were talking about her. "Tell your men to fall back or I'll have her killed! I'll swear by the gods that I will!" the man that held her hostage spoke in a vicious voice.
The red-haired man laughed and said nothing else. The two men seemed to be now having a staring contest and Hermione couldn't help but to shake against her supposedly captor. The dark-cloaked man blinked and then tilted his head to the side and stared back at Hermione and then she followed his gaze to her wand. It seemed like he was challenging her to get rid of the man. Very well. She had no choice.
She closed her eyes and pulled a memory from her library, one that had seemed insignificant at the time that she had filed it, but now was deadly important. Her parents had, in an effort to control her magical outbursts had enrolled her in a karate class. She had learned some basic self defense moves, such as how to throw a person off of your back that was larger than yourself. She reviewed the memory carefully in her mind and adjusted her feet to the necessary position. In one quick movement she threw the man to the ground and jumped away from him, turning her back to the dark cloaked man.
She pointed her wand at the man who had held her captive and yelled, "Reducto!" This sent the man flying backwards.
She whirled around to face the man who cocked an amused brow. He took a step forward and watched as she stumbled back, pointing her wand at him, "Stand back!" she shouted and watched as the man shook his head and spoke back to her. To her horror, she could not grasp a word of what he was saying. It wasn't English and it didn't sound like French or German, a language barrier was not a good thing particularly since she was not versed in translation spells. The battle noise had died down and she noticed that the ones that were still on horses and others on foot were standing very still staring back at her and at the other man who she took it to be their leader. Internally, there was only one thing that she could do, swear vehemently at herself for not learning a simple translation charm.
She watched in horror as the man kept walking toward her. The robes that he wore were of an older fashion, known to be worn around the time of the founders, and she didn't recognize his face from the pictures of known Death Eaters. But it didn't do her any real good to try and identify the man if she couldn't understand a thing that he said. He seemed to think that she was ignoring him or was purposely being rude both of which she wasn't doing. Feeling like a trapped cat she found herself waving her wand, ready to stun the man. Only she was not expecting to see him counter attack her spell with only a wave of his sword.
She gasped loudly and fell on her knees as she stared at the sword bathed in the moonlight. She would recognize that sword anywhere.
Gryffindor's sword.
Oh fuck, she thought to herself.