The horcrux isn't quite like Lord Voldemort. Where Lord Voldemort leaves an undisputed trail of dead bodies with marks of the Killing Curse all over them, the horcrux leaves behind a different set of victims. They are drained of their life, their spirit—anything that differentiates them from everyone else. They are practically Inferi, just without the looks and appearances.

And then, there are the ones who are lucky enough to survive. Granted, there are many more survivors, but there are many more scars.

Hermione isn't quite sure what she wants to do. She isn't like Harry, who's strong and sure of himself and wants to finish Voldemort more than ever.

She lets herself be empty. Devoid of anything and everything. Simply filled with the spirit of nothing. At night, her nightmares don't bother her. During the day, she is sure that demons hunt her.

She can't let herself feel.

Because if she feels, she'll feel too much.

Maybe that is why Voldemort seems so inhuman. Because he doesn't feel anything at all.

After viewing the seventeenth set of victims, Harry Potter kicks the pile of snow. Hermione barely notices, and she doesn't really blame him. They are lost. Both without their ginger best friend. Both without a horcrux they're supposed to destroy in the first place.

Not lose.

"I've been up in the air
Out of my head
Stuck in a moment of emotion I've destroyed
Is this the end I feel?"

Moving through the piles of snow, Hermione wonders what she'll do when she sees the horcrux again. Will she destroy it? Kill it? Or will she fall prey to it all over again?

Her chest tightens. With horror, she finds the last bit not too painful than she thought it would be. And even worse is that she misses it. Misses him.

"Up in the air
Fucked up our life
All of the laws I've broken, loves that I've sacrificed
Is this the end?
I wrap my hands around your neck so tight with love, love"

Rage. That is what she would feel if she chooses to let emotions in. But more than rage, too. That emotion is a dark, disgusting thing she would hide to the end of time.

Why does she feel that way?

It's not possible.

And while she walks across the graveyard, she kicks the snow and daydreams the death of Voldemort's horcrux. The Killing Curse is too good for it.

Rage.

She'll wrap her hands around his neck.

Rage.

Tighten her grip.

Rage.

And watch as he slips gently away to his death.

It would be so sweet.

It would be one step towards the end.

"A thousand times I've tempted fate
A thousand times I've played this game
A thousand times that I have said today, today, today"

Voldemort knows he's getting stronger. So many souls. So much life to absorb until he feels whole again. He forgets how much fun it is to not use the Killing Curse—to limit himself. To toy around with hearts until he gets what he wants. Patience is so a pleasant virtue.

The orphanage he grew up in would call him the fallen angel, the devil, or the devil's spawn. But it doesn't matter, does it? He might as well be all three.

The orphanage used to do silly little exorcisms on him. They would pray to God and hope that He would be able to cure the disturbed little boy.

Voldemort snorts. As if there is even a God in this world.

Biblical stories. The Devil—whose name is Satan—was once a glorious archangel. The brightest of all angels. The Morningstar.

Lucifer.

Voldemort sucks away the life of a woman. He doesn't know who she is or where she came from. All he knows is that she can do a lot for him. Like provide him more power. More energy.

He can feel his body becoming even more solid.

Lucifer, the light archangel.

Who fell into darkness. Fell due to his pride, due to his jealousy, due to the call of the dark.

His first few victims—namely his filthy Muggle father and his equally filthy family—called him a demon. A devil's spawn. Someone who shouldn't exist but does. They cursed him and his mother, so he cursed them with death.

Lucifer.

He is not Lucifer. He has always been in the dark, and that is where he will remain.

The woman stumble back from him. Clutching her stomach and nose, she moans, "What have you done to me?"

He could hardly care.

He turns to the overarching mountains in the distance. Taking his nose to the air like how a snake would, he delicately sniffs. Feels. Knows.

His eyes widen suddenly.

Hermione Granger is close. Hunting him down.

He smiles—smirking, more like.

He has to admire her. Even after absorbing so much of her soul, she is still living and surviving. She still has strength to go on. Muggleborn or not, she is impressive.

Worthy to play.

"I've been up in the air
Lost in the night
I wouldn't trade out for you lies you lost for my life
Is this the end?"

He is close. She can tell.

Perhaps it is because of their connection. Perhaps it is because of the way Harry clutches his scar. Perhaps it is just because of…

She isn't quite sure how she can define her relationship with the horcrux.

Night obscures the monsters hidden in the shadows; the new moon shows them nothing in the darkness. The graveyard is empty except for Harry and her.

And him.

He's so beautiful. A monster like him shouldn't look that way.

A well-sent blue jet of light knocks Harry out.

Clutching her wand, she isn't sure who stunned him. It could have been her. It could have been the horcrux. Time and space seems to bend when she's around it.

Him.

"You were the love of my life, the darkness, the light
This is a portrait of the tortured you and I
Is this the, is this the, is this the end?
I wrap my hands around your neck so tight with love, love, love"

Beautiful with hard edges and dark magic clinging to him. The horcrux hangs around his neck, and he looks so solid—too solid. More human than ghost. His robes floats across the snow as he closes the distance between them.

He raises his hand, his finger brushing her jaw.

Feather-like touch.

So gentle. So calm.

It shouldn't be because of a monster.

All thoughts of killing him goes away. No Killing Curse can finish him. He is too difficult to stop, and she knows that she doesn't have the strength to finish him. She can't finish him.

Her heart pounds so much.

Her bottom lip trembles.

And she closes her eyes.

Waits for her end.

It doesn't come.

Instead, she feels his mouth on hers.

And she doesn't feel so empty anymore. Or vengeful. Or hateful.

Just complete.

It's not the first kiss she has had with him. But it is the first kiss she can truly remember. It's not the kiss that she remembers through fuzzy dreams and distant memories. This is a kiss where she can feel his warmth, feel the softness of his lips, and brush against his robes. She can smell him. He smells like…

A little bit of cinnamon…

A little bit of lemon…

And iron-rich blood.

He has killed.

She can't bring herself to care.

"A thousand times I've tempted fate
A thousand times I've played this game
A thousand times that I have said today, today, today
A thousand times I've tempted fate
A thousand times I've played this game
A thousand times that I have said today, today, today"

He leans a little back from her.

He has said so many things. But never before has he said this.

"Come with me."

He offers her a hand.

"I've been up in the air
Is this the end I feel?
Up in the air
Chasing a dream so real
I've been up in the air (I wrap my hands around your neck)
Is this the end I feel
Up in the air
Chasing a dream, Chasing a dream"

She isn't quite sure what to make of it.

His offer, that is.

Promising her death would make sense. Promising pain would make sense. But promising this? Why does he even want her to follow him? She is a Muggleborn witch, a friend of Harry Potter, and an enemy of his. Why?

Raising her eyebrow, she asks, "You want me to come with you?"

"Yes."

And that word is like opening a floodgate. Something happens between them, but Hermione Granger doesn't feel sick anymore. Not the way she felt when she said yes to him.

She is whole again.

"Take no more
Take no more
Take no more
I'll take no more"

Everything rushes out of him. All the air sucks out of him. Someone must have punched him in the stomach, but he knows that is Hermione who has done this. Reverse. Reversal of what he did to her.

Is this her revenge?

He stumbles backwards, his legs tangling with his robes. Clutching his head, he screams aloud. Scream, scream, scream.

Until all he can feel is light.

And he can't stand it.

The darkness can not exist when there's light.

"A thousand times I've tempted fate (I'll take no more)
A thousand times I've played this game (I'll take no more)
A thousand times that I have said today, today, today (I'll take no more)"

He feels like he is dying.

Fire eats him. Piece by piece.

He has lost.

Flames consume him.

And the lies are catching up with him, because of the one truth he has spoken. It is true. He would let Hermione Granger come with him. He doesn't know why. But logically, it makes sense. She is smarter than any normal witch or wizard. Twice as brilliant despite the unworthy blood running through her veins.

He falls until there is nothing but ash.

"Today (I wrap my hands)
Today (hands around)
Today (your neck)
Today (with love, love)
Today (I'll wrap my hands)
Today (around your neck)
Today (with love, love)
Today"

She stares at his fallen body lying on the bed of snow. She can feel the anger rushing through her head. Distantly, she muses that rage is what Harry must feel sometimes. It's… powerful.

It could make her do something reckless.

Moving before her mind realizes it, she bends down and grips the robes tightly. In a rush of words, she whispers, "I will give you what you didn't want."

Love.

The ultimate light.

"I'll wrap my hands around your neck
I'll wrap my hands around your neck with love, love"

Yes, the format of the song lyrics is changing back and forth. It's quite annoying, but that is what I can do. Anyway, please read and review! I love feedback.

Especially because I'm writing an unfamiliar ship and writing in an unfamiliar fandom. Well, sort of. I have written a Harry Potter fic before. But I wrote it when I was eleven, so that doesn't count.