Disclaimer: JK still owns. Not fair, but true.
I'm not entirely sure what the policy is on thanking reviewers, so I shall just say a heartfelt thank you! to the nine who reviewed and hand out cookies as incentive :) (and now, the story.)
A few days later, Hermione was slipping up the driveway to the Parkinson's Scottish estate, a black cloak covering her and illusion charms surrounding her. She knocked on the door, and a house-elf greeted her. It was hard to resist the urge to try and free the poor fellow, and instead she aimed a harsh kick at it in passing. It led her to Pansy's sitting room, and whimpered and yelped its way back to the kitchens.
"Granger," greeted Pansy pleasantly. "I see you took precautions on your way here."
"My morals might have changed, but my sense hasn't," answered Hermione. Pansy waved her to a seat, removing the charms surrounding her. Another spell washed over Hermione, and she recognised it as a search ward.
"You'll forgive me for having to search you," apologised Pansy insincerely when the ward gave a cheerful little chime, finding nothing. Hermione nodded mutely, taking the proffered seat. "Your story does seem a little… incredulous." Pansy's manners had certainly changed since Hogwarts – she had turned from a pug-faced brat into an eloquent aristocrat – who seemed to guard her tongue well in matters concerning the war. It was surprising how decent she was, when her arrogance was kept in check. Hermione gave a little laugh.
"To be honest, I was afraid you wouldn't see me," she said. "I know it seems too good to be true… but Pansy, I really need your help. I need to get out of there, before it drives me insane."
"I'd imagine Potter's enough to get to anyone," murmured Pansy sympathetically. "Why don't you tell me the real reason, Granger? Tell me why you want to be a Death Eater."
"The same reason you do, Pansy." Hermione's voice was low, hungry, utterly convincing. "I'm fed up of being second best to bloody Potter. He takes all the credit for my hard work, never gives me my due… I'm sick of it. He's worthless anyway – what good is a supposed saviour" she spat the word "who can't fight back? These past two years, the Dark Lord has outwitted Potter time and time again, and Potter is just too weak to fight back. Why should I stay on the losing side?"
"Why should you, indeed." Pansy's face was expressionless, and she clapped her hands. A different house-elf appeared, bearing a tray of tea. "Do go on, Hermione."
The first hurdle was out of the way, realised Hermione – Pansy had addressed her by name. As an equal. She sipped her tea, recognising the familiar taste (by now) of veritaserum. She was thankful for her training, and made sure to keep her Occlumency shields up. Her mind was filled with a need for power, respect and fear. Just the image she wanted to project.
"There's not much else to say," shrugged Hermione gracefully. She had to show that she was good enough. "I'm not going to lose in this war. The Dark Lord is the clear winner, and Potter's luck is running out. If I join the winning side, I can finally achieve the one thing I've wanted since I found out about this world."
"Oh?" Pansy was excellent, Hermione noted. She showed no reaction whatsoever, until she had heard everything. "And what's that?"
"Power," answered Hermione, a glint in her eye. "The one thing that the Dark Lord can give me. I want to taste true power, not the substitute that Potter's been spoon feeding me. I was foolish in Hogwarts; I went with what I thought was 'right'. Now, though… I can see the truth."
"The truth?"
"There is no good and evil," she said, quoting directly from what Harry had told her about Quirrell in their first year. "There is only power, and those too weak to seek it." The effect this had on Pansy was electric – to hear one of the Dark Lord's teachings directly from the mouth of her supposed enemy was clearly a shock. Her eyes opened wide, and she visibly jumped, spilling tea everywhere. Hermione continued as if she hadn't noticed this.
"I am not weak," she finished. "I will not carry on with the worthless life Potter has provided me with. I want to taste true power, and I will not stop until I do." She had just the right tone of menace mixed with lust for power, and Pansy nodded slowly.
"You- certainly seem vehement enough," she commented, a whispered scourgify removing the tea from her robes. "But it's not me you need to convince, Hermione. I can take you to the Dark Lord, but I can't make him accept you."
"All I ask is that you give me that chance, Pansy."
The pureblood was silent, contemplating what had been said. Hermione bowed her head, out of apparent respect for the pureblood and out of hope. She knew she would be a valuable asset to Voldemort's forces. She only hoped this was enough, that her performance had been enough to get her to the next step.
Pansy finally lowered her tea, and leaned forward. She took one of Hermione's hands in hers.
"I can give you that chance."
Hermione sat in her room in the Leaky Cauldron, her hands clasping a black robe nervously. Tonight, Pansy had assured her, was the night she met the other Death Eaters. Pansy had even provided her with a robe – Hermione knew that Pansy would be rewarded for this- but only she was found to be genuine.
'Please, let me convince him.' It had been easy to convince Pansy – she was so fixated on the benefit of having one of Harry's best friends as a Death Eater that she hadn't interrogated Hermione as hard as Voldemort would: and he would interrogate her as thoroughly as he could. She shivered at the thought.
"Almost time," she whispered softly. She couldn't leave from the Order – too easy to trace – and this gave the illusion of distance, too. It was perfect. The robe was a Portkey and when it was time, she would be transported to the meeting place. Pansy would meet her there, and then-
-then she would be face to face with Voldemort.
"Am I doing the right thing?" she wondered aloud, throwing herself back on the bed. She'd asked herself that every day since coming up with the idea, and each time the answer made her more determined.
'Yes. I'm doing the right thing, because this way we can defeat Voldemort once and for all.'
"Yes," she whispered aloud, hugging herself. She slipped the robe over her shoulders, and moved to stand by the window as the clock ticked down. "This is the right thing to do." She glanced up at the clock – five seconds – then swallowed as the familiar pull of the Portkey took her from the centre of London to a snow-covered forest in the far corner of Europe, to try and fool the great Dark Lord himself.
She landed in a snowdrift, her mouth filling with snow as she did so. Pansy was standing next to her, her face hidden behind the mask of all Death Eaters.
"Come," she commanded imperiously, hoisting Hermione to her feet. Hermione had no choice but to follow, and she straightened her robes, pulled her hood up and tidied herself as she walked behind Pansy. Along the way they were accompanied by several other Death Eaters, marching along wordlessly to the meeting place. Hermione felt the tingle of wards pass over her – strong wards, too; hinting at the power of Voldemort – and knew they had entered the meeting place.
"I was surprised to see you here," commented Pansy, taking her place within the circle of Death Eaters. "I expected you to back out."
"I don't ever back out of something I want to do," replied Hermione evenly, quietly. There was no sign of Voldemort, and idle chatter was passing around the circle – much of it aimed at her presence there. She was recognisable, even with a hooded face, and Pansy must have alerted them about her.
"Well, well." A smooth, icy voice came from behind her. "Look at what the cat dragged in." She recognised the voice without turning around; Lucius Malfoy. And she'd bet any money that Draco was at his side, smirking.
"Granger is here to see the Lord, Lucius, not you." Pansy said this rather half-heartedly, as if saying it to keep up appearances. Hermione felt a hand on her shoulder, spinning her around. Sure enough, she recognised Draco's eyes through the white mask, standing next to Lucius.
"You have done well, Pansy." The hand gripped Hermione's chin, lifting it up so that she could stare defiantly in Lucius' eyes. "If she is loyal, she will make a good ally."
"If she is false," continued Draco, "she will make a good plaything." Hermione suppressed a shudder, and met their eyes evenly.
"If I were loyal to the other side, I would not be here," she said firmly. An explosion of whispers followed this statement; immediately followed by a deadly silence.
"I'm glad to hear that, Miss Granger."
Without even turning around, Hermione knew the speaker this time, too. There could be no other. She turned around to face the tall, robed figure, and dropped to her knees in a bow. Only then did she dare tilt her face upwards, into the snake-like red eyes.
Lord Voldemort had arrived.
"Good evening," he said, his high-pitched voice almost pleasant. His thin mouth was twisted into a grotesque mockery of a smile. "How may we help you today?"
Hermione wished she could shiver at that smile, show some of the repulsion that was itching to course through her veins; but she couldn't. That would be weakness. Already she could feel the gentle probing of a skilled legilimens, trying to find out the truth. She prayed her shields were strong enough.
"My lord," she said in a low voice, lowering her eyes respectfully. "I have come to offer my services." A titter of disbelief rippled around the circle, silenced only by Voldemort's hand. Of all the Death Eaters, only two did not laugh: Pansy, and Draco.
"We must show respect," ordered Voldemort. He held out his hand towards Hermione, and she took it as calmly as she could. She knew her hands weren't shaking; she knew there was only confidence, where sheer terror should be. "Come with me, Miss Granger." Voldemort led her to the centre of the circle, and then he let go of her hand.
"If Miss Parkinson speaks the truth, as I believe she does – she is not intelligent enough to create such a deceit – then you wish to become one of my Death Eaters." Voldemort was talking to her, but he looked right through her, to the people around them. "Could this be true, my esteemed friends? Would Potter be enough to drive Miss Granger into our fold?"
There were shouts that she couldn't hear properly, but Voldemort could. He tilted his head to one side, his red eyes fixed on Hermione's calm brown ones, and he listened carefully as the circle erupted into contradicting shouts and screams.
"There is doubt," he said calmly, silencing the circle, "about where your loyalties lie, Miss Granger."
"I expected as much," she said, hanging her head as if ashamed. "I am not proud of my past. But… I do believe that this is the right thing to do."
"We shall see." Talking to Voldemort was not what she'd expected. She'd half expected him to talk nonsense, spewing out righteous anti-Muggle slogans left right and centre, complete with maniacal laughs. He was nothing like this. If anything, the only thing that scared her more than standing in front of Voldemort was the fact that he was sane, and highly intelligent.
Fooling him was going to be impossible. Hermione struggled to keep herself composed. 'I've come too far to give up now.'
She was so focused on this that she didn't notice when Voldemort's wand was raised, and the first thing she knew was when the pain of the Cruciatus wracked her bones once more, causing every nerve end in her body to scream in agonising pain, causing her to collapse and twitch across the floor, a loud scream raising from her mouth and echoing around the circle. This was nothing like being under the Cruciatus with Harry on the other end of the wand – this was ten times, a thousand- a million times worse than she'd ever imagined and the pain was horrific…
"Who do you serve?" Voldemort's voice cut through her scream, she could feel his legilimens at her shields harder than ever. Hermione managed to face Voldemort, and she stopped her scream long enough to answer.
"You, my lord," she gasped. The pain intensified. She felt her mouth being forced open, a liquid trickled down her throat. It tasted like veritaserum, but somehow it felt different. Was it a modification?
"Again. Who do you serve?" The pain intensified even more, and she thought her spine was going to break.
"I serve… I serve-" She broke off to scream, and to fight whatever the potion was that they'd forced down her throat. It was far stronger than veritaserum. "I serve you!" she managed to scream. "You, my lord!"
The pain stopped. She was lifted to her feet by a spell of Voldemort's, and he dangled her in the air helplessly. She didn't fight. She couldn't; she had to show total obedience to him.
"Why do you serve me, Miss Granger?" Voldemort's eyes bored into her own, and she knew she couldn't show any signs of doubt, any sign of internal conflict – only complete and utter loyalty to him. Around them, the Death Eaters held their breath as one.
"Because you can give me power," she whispered weakly. "When you win this war, people will respect me, and I will have the power and wealth I have always dreamed of."
Voldemort dropped her.
"Power isn't everything, Miss Granger," he said softly, dangerously. "And neither are words." She clambered to her feet, and found Pansy next to her, holding out a mask. In silence, she put the mask on.
"Prove you are faithful," said Voldemort, almost gleefully. "Join us, in this most glorious night." He disappeared. All around her, the Death Eaters apparated away. Pansy grasped her arm, not unkindly, and disapparated with Hermione in tow. Only her thoughts lingered on the meeting ground.
'Oh Merlin… what does he want me to do?'
They apparated in the middle of a village. All was dark; the villagers in bed sleeping, unaware of the shrouded figures outside their windows. In silence, the Death Eaters spread out, casting charms on the village – Hermione realised that the villagers couldn't call for outside help any more.
"Draco," called Voldemort, "bring our guest. Pansy, come with me. You will form my retinue." It was twisted, but it made sense, and Hermione joined the 'retinue' happily, an eager look in place beneath the mask. 'This is more like it,' she thought, letting that slip past her Occlumency shields. Voldemort gave a small smile.
"Welcome to Little Torrington," whispered Voldemort in her ear. She could feel his snake-like tongue flickering in the air above her earlobe. "Tomorrow, this village will be no more." He straightened up, pointing to a house in silence – this was for his retinue to empty – and gave a loud screech.
"Attack, my comrades! Kill them all!" Dragged forward by Pansy, Hermione followed Draco as with a single spell, the door disintegrated and the three of them surged into the house. Voldemort stood outside, laughing like a child as all around him, hell broke loose.
Hermione was directed to a bedroom, to take the occupants outside and present them to Voldemort. She stiffened her resolve, sending a silent apology out to the members of the house before she pointed her wand at the door, blowing it off its hinges, and burst into the bedroom.
Two children sat up in bed, having been woken by the noise. They looked young; no more than five. Hermione's heart stopped.
'I'm sorry.'
"Mobiliacorpus."
The two children were lifted by her wand. One of them started to cry in fright, directed out of the door by Hermione's spell. She floated them down the stairs. Draco joined her, his hands stained with blood.
"A fine catch," he said with relish, eying up the two children. "Nice one, Granger." They left the house, and Hermione floated the two over to Voldemort. Deep within her mind, buried under her Occlumency shields, a part of her was crying.
"My lord," she said with a deep bow. Voldemort reached out with his wand, and she felt the children move into his control. 'What is he going to do with them?' All around her were screams and laughter, the smell of fire and scorched flesh reached her nostrils, and bodies were floating through the air – some of them alive – as if they were quaffles.
"Such beauty," mused the Dark Lord, a long, elegant finger gently caressing the cheek of the crying child. "Don't you agree?"
"Exquisite," agreed Pansy from behind Hermione's shoulder. Voldemort smiled – a happy, child-like smile. Hermione was more scared now than she ever had been before – but she had to do this, she had to for the sake of the world – and she raised her eyebrows behind her mask as Voldemort dropped the children.
"It's cruel for them to see this," he murmured. "Miss Granger." Draco, from behind, took her wand. "Perhaps you can help them sleep."
'What? I have to kill them? With my bare hands?' Hermione's thoughts were muddled as she bowed to Voldemort, and knelt next to the children. 'It seems so. I- I have to. I'm sorry, children.'
She took the hands of the smallest, picking it up in a motherly fashion. The child clung to her as she walked over to the house – and gave a quiet cry of 'Mama!' and Hermione held it out, and swung its head into the corner of the wall. The child – who was only about three – died instantly, and Hermione threw it down, like a discarded doll.
"He sleeps, Lord Voldemort," she said calmly, fighting the urge to vomit. "Like a baby." The body was levitated from by her side and added to the pile of bodies in the centre of the village square. Before she could send the other to sleep, though, Voldemort had picked him up.
"Add this one to my collection," he ordered, and a passing Death Eater took the youngster from Voldemort and disapparated with it. Voldemort gave Hermione an appraising look. Behind him, the pile of bodies began to burn, giving him an aura of fire.
"It seems perhaps you aren't entirely Gryffindor," he commented. Draco returned the wand to Hermione, and slipped away into the gathering crowd. Voldemort moved to stand behind Hermione – she could feel his breath on her neck, and his hand clasped her wand hand.
"Come, Miss Granger," he whispered in her ear, raising her wand to the sky. A word came to the forefront of her mind, as if planted there by the Dark Lord, and she knew what she had to do.
"Morsmordre," she whispered, shooting the Dark Mark into the smoke-filled sky above the burning village. She had a brief chance to glimpse her handiwork, and to see the beautiful, dented head of the child in the pyre burst into flames before Voldemort disapparated, taking her with him.
They were in another building, though this time there was only the four of them – Voldemort and his chosen retinue for the night. It wasn't a room she recognised, but it was blissfully devoid of people she had to kill, which made it a room she liked.
"Underneath that Gryffindor exterior," mused Voldemort, removing Hermione's mask and running a long, skeletal finger down her cheek, "there lies quite the cold-blooded killer." He seemed impressed, though it was hard to tell. "If you are lying to me, Miss Granger; if you betray me, as you Gryffindors are prone to doing, then I will make you wish you had never tried." His voice was a low, gentle one, almost like a teacher comforting an upset pupil. "Death will seem like heaven when I am done, and believe me, Miss Granger, a lot more impossible." His finger trailed down her neck, down her arm, and he yanked up her sleeve.
"Usually, I would have a ceremony," he said apologetically, pressing his fingers to her forearm, "but for you-" he whispered something, and her arm was burning with a pain worse than the Cruciatus, worse than anything she'd ever felt before – she thought it was going to drop off – it had to-
The pain stopped. She looked down, and was greeted with the sight of the Dark Mark, burned deep into her forearm. Pansy and Draco clapped briefly.
"-For you, Miss Granger, I have no time for ceremonies," Voldemort hissed, throwing her back at Pansy and Draco. "She is yours," he snarled at them – his change in mood frightened Hermione, and it was a struggle to keep calm. "If she betrays us, I will hold you both responsible." Even though Draco had only become involved in the village they had attacked. Hermione thought she was going to faint with everything she had seen and done that night. "Do not let me down."
"I will not let you down," chorused Pansy and Draco, a twisted parody of the very words she had exchanged with Harry before this venture began. Voldemort said no more, but left abruptly. Pansy helped Hermione to her feet, and Draco stood before her. His mask had been removed, revealing the smirk that she knew was there.
"Granger, the baby-killer?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I bet Potter would love to hear that." He gave another smirk. "Welcome to the Dark Side, Granger. At last, you've made the right decision."
Her knees were weak, her spine in agony from the Cruciatus, and she felt sick; but it was with defiance and pride that she stood face to face with Draco to answer him.
"I know I have."
Oo-er:p
Um, yes. :p Next chapter shall go up next weekend sometime, hopefully. Enjoy!
