Regina, the Queen of Random: Hello, and welcome to my newest fic, Pay the Reaper. Just to be quick: title comes from the Bif Naked song, 'Lucky'.
I do not own Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, or any other of the Harry Potter characters or places.
Warning: If you are not a Draco/Hermione shipper, turn back now. If you are, however, be sure to ask the librarians for assistance (they are the ones wearing leather!).
Oh, and if you like this story so far, review, and then check out my myth-based 'The Unseen Face of Love'. And another thing. Check out my D/Hr music videos (right now only 'Taking Over Me' and 'Until the Day I Die' are up) at Sweet Reflections. Address is in my bio, in case you do decide to go check them out.
Okay, no more shameless plugging now (for this chapter anyway. Sorry if it is a bit short, they should get longer).
Pay the Reaper
Chapter One: The Target
There was no name on the piece of paper. Only an address.
But that did not matter. He knew what was being asked of him when he was handed that piece of paper. Its occupants were his next target.
Little did he know that that little piece of paper was to be his downfall...
It was in a Muggle town. The target, or targets, must have thought they could hide amongst the Muggles, pretend to be just like them. That was impossible. Very few wizards and witches could pass through the Muggle world without attracting some sort of attention. They may have been inferior, but that did not mean that they were as dumb as animals.
The black of his clothing helped him hide in the patches of shadow made by the street lamps. The matching hood helped to hide his face. He had not bothered with too many concealment spells – and anyway, he would want the target to know who it was who had come to wipe them out.
A car was parked in the driveway – oh, those foolish Muggles! Forced to drive, lacking broomsticks! – and he barely noticed the bumper sticker.
Dentists make you smile!
He was focused on the task ahead. He had the advantage that came with surprise, but even if they were able to defend themselves, he had an arsenal of spells, all designed to hurt and yes, even kill.
He would save that one for the very end.
A whispered 'Alohamora' solved the small problem of the door. There were no lights on in the hallway, although a faint glow seemed to be coming from what he guessed would be the kitchen.
A spell he had cast earlier muffled any sound that his careful footsteps may have made, although he had done this so many times he was able to move as silently as a breath of air, as invisible as a shadow at midnight.
Yes, it was the kitchen. The light was coming from the – what was it called? – refrigerator. Someone was up for a midnight snack, it seemed.
He paused, looking at the person who was now the first target to be eliminated. She was completely unaware of his presence, completely vulnerable, as she rummaged through the shelves.
She was dressed in simple pyjamas, slightly rumpled. Her hair was dark – it was difficult for even him, with his excellent night vision, to define the colour – and messy from sleep.
And she was young. In his twenties, like him.
But that did not matter. She was one of the targets, perhaps the only target. He was curious as to why she had been targeted, but that was just a side concern. He would ask when he was finished, ask the person who had given him this assignment, perhaps.
He pulled his hood down, revealing his face.
He did not wait for her to turn around. She would see his face soon enough.
It would be the last thing she would ever see.
He raised his wand.
"Crucio."
The effects were immediate. The woman fell to the ground, writhing in agony as waves of pain wracked her body. She struggled to breathe, knowing only pain.
A small smile crossed his lips. He thought he had stopped enjoying this...
She opened her eyes, saw his face, saw the smile that he wore. They closed again, as painful sobs escaped her lips.
Hands clenched and unclenched, and began clawing at the ground, trying to escape this pain.
She tried to speak. Failed. Tried again.
"Please..." her voice was a whisper, "... stop..."
Everyone else had begged for their lives, although he had to give this woman credit.
The others had begged before the torture, or before he cast the final spell.
Never had anyone spoken to him under the pain of Cruciatus.
"Please..." she tried again. "Draco..."
Ice coursed through his veins. How could she know his name?
"... Malfoy... please..."
In a flash, he realised something.
The hair was not messy from sleep.
It had always been that way.
Had been for as long as he had known her.
As long as he had known...
Hermione Granger!
The realisation broke the control he had over the spell. Hermione fell flat on the floor, every cell in her body sighing with relief that the pain was gone.
Her breathing was ragged and harsh, but she was still breathing.
Her mind slowly came back from wherever the pain had sent it. She saw lights and shadows moving across the back of her eyelids, as though there was an entire galaxy there.
Her lips were dry, she could feel them crack more and more as she breathed. Each breath came easier, but it was a long time before her chest rattling.
Memories of the pain passed through her, almost as bad as the real pain had been. She knew she would never be able to forget it.
Never.
Finally she was able to open her eyes.
The kitchen of her parents' house was bathed in the gentle gold light of the refrigerator. Shards of glass lay on the ground next to her, where she had dropped the milk bottle. The milk had started to be absorbed by her sleeve.
And Draco Malfoy was gone.
