Uncertain Circumstances
Chapter 2: War
Two days had passed, during which time she has only woken for vague moments, after which once again falling into a deep and turbulent slumber. Draco Malfoy was not sure how to react, even though the mediwizard had instructed him that this would certainly occur. The memory loss potion had safely been administered to her, as well, and now all he could do was be patient, which was one field in which he had never been particularly gifted.
He wanted Granger awake and lucid so that he would be able to question her before the Dark Lord had a chance to. However, he knew that this would most likely not transpire since Voldemort had requested his presence, later that evening.
It was to be a private meeting, this much he knew since none of his other fellow Death Eaters had been summoned. During the early afternoon of that day, he found himself impatiently pacing in his study, not quite sure as to what to do.
On one side, he could keep her presence hidden, until he found out why the Dark Lord requested that Hermione Granger be immediately found, and brought forth to him. This could prove to be somewhat difficult though, especially if she regained consciousness as well as her memory. She would fight him like a banshee, this much he figured, even though he would take the utmost pleasure in breaking her spirit.
The more severe problem regarding that plan however, was that Voldemort would eventually know of her presence. He would undoubtedly come across the information that Draco had kept her away from his master. He could probe Draco's mind all he wanted, but would find no information since his shields were far too strong. However, once Draco presented his master with the Mudblood, which would eventually occur, Voldemort could easily search her mind and find out the truth. This would put Draco in a severely unpleasant situation, and he could most definitely not risk disfavour in his master's eyes. Not after all the effort he had placed into winning back his lord's good graces after Malfoy Sr.'s many failures.
An not if his plans were to ever be put into action.
This only left him with the second choice of airing his discovery to Voldemort, during tonight's meeting. Not only would the information earn him a position of even higher esteem within the demon's eyes, but he would also be able to understand the importance of the Mudblood, at least to some extent. In his mind, the matter was settled, even though he wished beyond all hope that she would awaken.
Unfortunately for him, she never did.
That evening, at five minutes to seven, Draco Malfoy was impeccably clad in formal black dress robes that deeply contrasted with his insipid features, giving him an aristocratic sense of authority and power. After bidding his mother farewell, he made his way across the marble entrance hall towards the main door, and out into the darkness of the night. Once off the property, he apparated to his master's layer, housed at none other than England's own magical school, Hogwarts.
Not surprisingly, his surrounding seemed to be much gloomier, in contrast to his school years, probably due to the Dementors that guarded every perimeter. The creatures always managed to make Draco highly uneasy, even though he had learned to never show his discomfort.
As he made his way across the lush green fields, towards the imposing structure of the castle, he contemplated the past few months and how much everything had changed. He had come to the sad realization that most of the people that surrounded him, the elite pureblood society, were all a bunch of pathetic, inbred brutes.
War had done this to him.
For centuries, these people had harshly preached the importance of purity, yet ironically, this had only led to the creation of a weak population. His own family served as a prime example. His mother had only bore one child, and even this had been done with much difficulty, almost costing her life which had simply been speared so that she may suffer later on in life, due to her weak immune system.
The same had generally happened to all other pureblood families. It was a wonder that no one had questioned the reason behind this curse of sorts. As for their few offspring, they had all been thought since birth to continue valuing the essence of blood, creating virtual monsters. It never ceased to amaze Draco as to the absolute stupidity possessed by the people that now surrounded him. Only a select few had been speared this defect at birth, thus having the ability to stand as equals next to Draco. These would be the only that would truly survive. As for the rest, they were all a bunch of mindless swine whose actions were barbaric, to say the least.
He had seen it all take place in front of his very eyes, and he did not even flinch at their actions. Not even for a second, because that depicted weakness, and Malfoys were definitely not weak specimens, not at mind at least.
During the past few months however, he had also changed. He had grown up, and hardened. He knew it was certainly not something that one should be proud of, however, he no longer felt anything. He cared for his mother, but that was a given, even though sometimes he wondered if she died, how he would react. As for everyone else, why should they matter?
They didn't.
He had watched numerous people get killed, in the most horrendous of ways. He had witnessed torture far beyond anyone's wildest dreams. He had even administered said torture a good many
times. He had impassively watched women get raped by his supposed equals, and not once had he felt a single smidgen of emotion.
And why should he?
This was war.
War did this to people. It caused them to become monsters and as sad as it may have been, Draco Malfoy knew he was quite close to being exactly that. He knew that nothing and no one would ever be able to save him from the destiny he had mentally set up for himself. The love of his mother had not been able to save him, and everyone else really did not matter.
He sometimes wondered whether love even really existed, or if people were just trained to believe it did. He only loved one person and that was himself. And he also loved victory, and he knew it would soon be his
The only thing that seemed to play any importance in his current life was his victory. He knew Voldemort's time was coming to an end quite soon. After he lost his battle with life, Draco could easily step up and take what was once rightfully his. Take it away from him. He was nothing but a half-blood. And even though that no longer played so much importance, he was nothing but a traitor to his own people, his own side. Draco would make sure he paid for that. Not many things held much importance to him, however, he had always regarded honour as a highly crucial thing, and this being towards which he possessed so much hatred did not seem to possess this highly coveted aspect of human nature. Voldemort's excuse was that he was not human, yet what was the others' excuse?
Draco was meant to do great things. He would make them all bow down before him. All those stupid brutes that used violence as their only tactic. He would make sure to do something with the decrepit world within which they now lived.
He walked up the stone steps pushing his previous thoughts to the back of his mind, and preparing his mental barriers to keep the beast out of his only sanctuary. He soon entered what had once been the great hall. The room seemed considerably darker. The enchanted sealing displayed dark clouds that took over the sky.
It had been a miserable day.
The room was lined in torches blazing through the darkness, while the only furniture in the room was a large, grotesquely ornate throne. The being occupying the throne was most clearly not of any human form or nature.
Draco Malfoy bowed low to the ground under the demonic gaze of slit like eyes, ruby, like the fires of hell. They followed his every calculated movement.
"You may rise, my servant," hissed a voice, pertaining to the creature seated.
"My Lord, you asked for my presence this evening?" replied Draco.
"Indeed, there are some matters of great importance that I wish to discuss with you, but I feel that there is something you wish to inform me of first. It is written in your eyes," said Voldemort, his figure visibly slouched in the throne as if under immense pain.
"Indeed I do, your eminence," replied Draco with a phantom smirk. "I come bearing news, which will hopefully please you. As per your orders, I have been able to locate the Mudblood, Hermione Granger," he continued, causing Voldemort's eyes to light up in pleasure.
"Excellent! I only wish all could prove such loyalty, Draco. I wish for her presence immediately."
"Indeed, my Lord. There is a problem, however. She is currently unconscious due to unknown damage that she has sustained. I found her this way, unfortunately disabling me to know what has happened to her," continued Malfoy, careful to not avoid the creature's eyes.
"How unfortunate. This sets me back once more," said Voldemort, a thoughtful expression grazing his serpent features.
"My personal physician has checked her, and he believes that she has suffered from a coma, accompanied by extensive physical damage," continued Draco, taking his cue. "However, he believes that she should regain consciousness soon as she is merely suffering from severe exhaustion."
"I see. Under such circumstances then, I wish for the Mudblood to be brought before me immediately upon regaining consciousness, is that clear my servant?"
"Yes, my Lord. As your eminence wishes," replied Draco, bowing his head once more.
"As for the reason to our meeting, it will be postponed. I shall address you after probing her mind, which should be soon, for we do not have much time."
"My Lord?"
"My time is coming to an end, Draco. We both know this, however, I do not wish for my life's work to be destroyed," began Voldemort. "This body I have constructed for myself is far too weak to continue sustaining me. Once I pass on, my legacy is to be maintained. We will discuss this further the next time we meet, but for now, just understand that the Mudblood plays a crucial part in my plans."
"As you wish, your eminence," was the only thing Draco said in response.
"You may now go. Your news has greatly improved my current moods," said Voldemort, signalling Draco to take his leave, only after bowing once again.
His mind underwent a torrent of thoughts on his journey back to the manor. His interest had been spurred even further as to the current situation regarding the Mudblood. It was unfathomable to him as to what possible importance she could be of in Voldemort's plans. Nevertheless, the knowledge that the demon's life was soon coming to an end contented him immensely. The Gods had graciously chosen to remove the largest obstacle currently blocking his path, and this, he was thankful for.
This of course had been achieved through Harry Potter's diligent efforts in destroying all Horocruxes, something Draco was not supposed to be aware of.
His plan was quite simple, really. He dreamed of creating a utopian society, towards which only the strongest survived. They would be the modern Spartans. In this world, rank was not to be measured through blood, but through strength, for it would be survival of the fittest. To create this world, he knew that Voldemort would have to be eliminated first, followed by is most loyal followers, even though this would not be too hard.
The past generation viewed Voldemor's visions as idyllic, but their children, Draco's generation, had no real value for them. The battle no longer revolved around blood, it revolved around power, and Draco had been somewhat smart enough to understand this many years prior.
He had never worshipped his father's Halfblood lord.
In his master plan, Voldemort had played a crucial part, by purifying the wizarding population, in the sense that only the strongest survived. This did not only mean Purebloods, but it encompassed everyone who had been smart enough to live, even if they were currently hidden in some obscure cave or what not. The new battle would purify their world of all those weak Purebloods that had remained standing throughout the war, due to the protection offered to them by their master.
Those who remained would be a race encompassing the strongest and wisest.
Those who survived.
And this new race of modern witches and wizards would be reigned over by none other than he, Draco Malfoy. He understood that the only way of ensuring the survival of his race would be through the intermingling of the blood lines. Old blood would have to mix with new, so as to give birth to a generation stronger than ever before, a generation that did not prize blood over everything.
...
Pansy Parkinson was not beautiful. At least she had never considered herself as such by conventional terms.
During her years of school, people had often referred to her as resembling a pug. Even though this association was largely exaggerated and far from true, it had had a great effect on the young girl, and seemingly set her destiny in stone.
Her hair had been a lacklustre shade of black that fell just below her shoulders in a shapeless mass and always seemed rather greasy. Her skin was as pale as that of a corpse, often making her look rather pasty in contrast to her dark hair. As for her facial features, they had never really been overly defined. She had a small, button nose, thin pale lips and a heart shaped face that gave her chin a rather pointed appearance.
The only feature that seemed to ever win her any praise was her eyes. They were unusual to say the least, but not in a negative way. They were lime coloured, like those of a feline. Dark lashes framed her almond shaped eyes giving her a look of childish innocence.
She had been shorter than most of her school mates, something that she had always seen as a great disadvantage. She had never really been the girl with the lean long legs, and graceful figure. Instead, she had always been short, slightly pudgy, not attractive at all Pansy.
This had caused her to come to the conclusion that she would not get anywhere in life based on her looks; therefore, the cunning Slytherin that she was, she had taken an interest in other methods of manipulation.
After much diligent study and practice, she had become a master of seduction, able to manipulate even the most rigid of males into melting at her feet and doing her bidding.
Her talents further evolved to even encompass the female population, thus giving her a great advantage over anyone who ever dared question her. Nevertheless, this talent of hers was not based on her looks, but rather on her personality, and dark mystique.
Over the years she had learned the importance of positively highlighting even her most negative features, causing her to change into a confident woman rather than the shy and vile little girl that she had once been. She had her hair cut into a short angular bob that wonderfully complimented the shape of her face. Her jet-black locks were now glossy and pin straight as opposed to their previous appearance.
She had also learned the importance of makeup, and what it could do for masking one's flaws. She learned to cherish her flawless pale skin which no longer looked pasty, but rather like porcelain. She had learned how to define her features, accentuating previously non-existent cheek bones and always darkening her eyes so as to make them stand out even more.
She now embraced her small fame, and no longer referred to herself as short, but rather as petite. She mastered the art of walking on tastefully high heels that gave the onlooker the fear that she could break her neck at any moment. Men seemed to love that along with the fact that even in her five inch heeled shoes, she was still much smaller in frame by comparison. It made her seem more fragile, more innocent, even though in reality she was neither of those things.
The thing that attracted people to Pansy was her dark allure.
She always wore dark clothing, beautifully tailored to hug her shapely body but only to the point where it was appropriate. She only allowed but a glimpse of the milky white skin that lay underneath, so that imagination would further complete the image and cause the mind to wonder.
Furthermore, she never allowed people more than a glance within her soul. There was always an enigmatic aura about her that caused people to want more, to desire to know more and through that passionate need to bend to her every will.
She had perfected her calm and rather nonchalant attitude.
She was the image of tranquility, always keeping her temper in check. Very few knew how irritable she could get since she always made sure to hide her annoyance. And yet she knew how to change her attitude to match the situation. She could go from sweet and friendly, to cold and indifferent within a split second, something that often caused men to wish to return back within her good graces, no matter what it took.
Yet surprisingly, Pansy's power over men had absolutely no sexual component to it.
When glancing deep within her eyes, men often saw the most desirable of carnal pleasures being fulfilled, yet even though this promise lured them, it never really came to be. Pansy was well aware that using sex to one's advantage was fairly risky, mainly because it could not hold one's interest for prolonged periods of time. The promise of something that would never come to be however was far more alluring. Contrary to popular belief, Pansy was not a tart, and had never in her life acted as one since she knew that it would spoil the facade that she had meticulously created.
She currently sat in the reception area of Malfoy manner, awaiting the return of the master of the house. She was alone, since she did not wish to solicit Narcissa's presence due to the nature of her visit.
She was there to discuss business and nothing more.
She placidly awaited Draco's return, briefly wondering how much longer she would have to wait. Her question was soon answered however, when she heard the front doors open with a crash. She smiled to herself as she came to the conclusion that her dear, old friend may not have been in the best of moods and indeed, she was partially correct as he stalked right by the room and towards the staircase, without so much as taking in her presence.
"Draco Malfoy, you absolute cad! How dare you ignore me? And here I thought Narcissa thought you better, yet I suppose her many ruminations may have been wasted upon ignorant ears," spoke a silken voice, stopping Draco in his tracks, before he even had a chance to reach the stairs. He did not need to glance into the room to know that the person accompanying the honey voice was none other than his former Slytherin colleague, none other than Pansy Parkinson.
"Ah, my dear Ms. Parkinson, ever the pleasure," replied Draco without skipping a beat as he smoothly made his way towards her. "To what do I owe the delight of your company on such a gloomy evening? Here to cast away the fogs I presume?"
"I do believe that's more like it. Yes, in a way I am here to cast away some of the fogs that seem to have permanently settled themselves upon your brow," she replied, frowning as she glanced over his thoughtful features. "But before I share with you what I have come here to say, I do believe you owe me an explanation as to your current mood."
"Yes, that I do. But before, may I suggest that you accompany me to a room more adequate for this meeting?"
"As you wish," relied Pansy airily, not missing the meaning behind his words.
He wanted to talk in private, and this he would therefore get. She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, before he gracefully led her up the grand stairs, and towards what she assumed would be his private office.
The room was of a fairly large size, with walls painted in rich burgundy, and outfitted in matching mahogany furniture. Contrary to popular belief, the house was not furnished solely in different shades of green and silver.
Once she was seated within the confines of his lush office, Draco proceed to pour himself a glass of cognac, before assuming his own seat on the other side of the desk.
"I see a sudden wave of paranoia seems to have washed over you, my dear friend. You do not trust yourself to speak even within your own manor?" she observed.
"Hard times await us Pans. You know this as well as I, therefore there is no reason for me to fathom even the slightest notion of privacy anywhere within this retched world," he replied easily. "Now, where wore we?"
"I can read the impatience in your eyes, therefore I shall keep you waiting no longer. Once I am finished however, I will hold you to answering my previous question."
His grey eyes twinkled in amusement, "As I am most certainly obliged to do."
"I bring you good news for now. I daresay my mission has gone rather smoothly and I simply wish to report to you some of our most recent conquests," she began, her voice clearly portraying how pleased she was with her accomplishment. "Stephen Cornfoot, former Ravenclaw seems more than, willing shall I say, to join our cause. The same goes for Mr. Croaker, both currently employed within the Ministry of Magic."
"Excellent. You really do have a way with the male population, I see," he teased.
"Darling, you know as well as I that Ravenclaws are the easiest blokes to manipulate, considering most of them didn't partake in any sort of social activity within their younger years," she defended.
"Yes, I do suppose no woman in her right mind would develop any interest for a Ravenclaw. Mighty tiresome specimens they are," he continued, earning a giggle from Pansy.
"Well in any case, this does provide us with two quite capable contacts within the ministry. The Department of Mysteries to be more precise," she stated triumphantly.
"Most excellence! It quite possibly is the only Department holding any importance. But this is indeed quite perfect. We need to know their precise movements regarding many issues," said Draco, more to himself. "I daresay we need to act fast however."
"Certainly. What exactly is it that we are looking for? You never truly specified."
"Truthfully, I'm not quite sure. During one of our previous meeting, he mentioned a prophecy. Thus, I am assuming the unspeakables will have some sort of knowledge as to what he was referring," said Draco. "I am assuming it is the best place to start since it is the only real information we have regarding the matter. But from what I understand, if the information it possesses is to fall into the wrong hands, presumably ours, it could truly cause him great harm, even defeat."
"That is indeed most pleasing to hear," said Pansy with a sigh. "Truthfully Draco, I don't know how much longer I can go on like this."
"I know Pans. It will be over soon though, I can feel it," he replied, hard slate eyes softening for a brief second before he took a sip from his glass, licking his dry lips.
"I hope you're right," she concluded, before her voice once more returned to formality. The moment of tenderness was broken between the two. "Now then, I do believe you owe me an explanation."
"Indeed I do. But I do believe simply showing you will be worth a thousand words," said Draco, standing up and bidding her to follow him out the door. They walked in silence through the halls of Malfoy manner, until Draco stopped in front of a non-descript door. He took his wand out and muttered a complicated enchantment to unlock the door. It opened with a soft click allowing the two passage into the seemingly mysterious room.
Pansy followed him within the chamber. A small gasp escaped her parted lips once her eyes settled upon the occupant of the room who was in a deep slumber.
"The Mudblood?" she gasped in surprise as her keen eyes searched Draco's face. "But how? Where did you find her?"
"She more or less found me," he replied quietly, looking over at the sleeping figure.
"My word, I never really took her as the imprudent type. What a stroke of luck!" said Pansy, a glint of emotion evident in her usually vacant eyes. "I'm assuming the lord is happy."
"Indeed he is. There really is only one problem, she's not sleeping right now," he said, inhaling deeply. "She's unconscious; she's been like this ever since I found her."
"Well there's a setback. I'm assuming you've had her checked?"
"That I have and I received most startling news. Apparently, the damage she sustained during an attack caused her to fall into a coma. This state was what kept her from appearing in any battles and I have reason to believe that Potter or anyone else for that matter had no idea as to her state or location," concluded Draco as he walked towards the bed.
"Why do you stay that?" she questioned arching a perfect brow.
"Most of London is destroyed. Now answer this, why would one recently woken from a coma, and likely an amnesic be wondering the streets alone at night?" he questioned. "The answer: she woke up in an abandoned, partially destroyed hospital and had no idea as to where she was. If Potter and his posy had known of her location, they would have surely taken her away from there a long time ago."
"Yes, I see your point. But this is amazing. We can use her to our advantage and literally destroy any lasting resistance. Hopefully the lord understands what possibilities this holds and shan't kill her."
"I doubt he will. He has a plan that involves her. I do not know what it is just yet but I intend to find out."
Hello everyone. Well I do apologize for the long wait but I have decided to take this story in on a rather different path, hence causing me to change much of the pre established plot. I know that many things have been left unexplained, but this has been done for a reason. For the next few chapters, I wish to establish the environment before truly thickening the plot so bare with me. I hope that it has somewhat spurred your interest however. Any advice is greatly appreciated, since through this experience I truly wish to improve my own writing. So please, do leave a review and tell me what you think of my attempt at writing so far.
Also, I find it an interesting idea for authors to provide a picture for some of their characters particularly the les well established ones. My interpretation of Pansy can be found on my profile, and as the story progreses, I plan to add other character pictures if this is something that you all find favorable so do include your views on this in REVIEWS!
-Gem