Mankind never learns from its past mistakes. Worse, after defeating Harry Potter and affirming his power over Wizarding Britain, Voldemort takes it one step further. He looks back to a time when people were dragged from their homes in the middle of the night, when they were put in trains and sent off to concentration camps, where they either worked or died. Muggleborns, scum of the Wizarding World, undeserving of their magical powers, are the new targets. Will old rivalries grow deeper and deadlier in such dark times or will they be washed away by the horror of it all, in order to make way for something rare and precious…true love? A Hermione/Draco story.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Harry Potter.
Holocaust – III
Hermione decided to take a detour, despite the rain pounding down on her. She couldn't yet face the dreariness of her dismal little room, not after such an emotionally-charged encounter. Running across soggy parks and jumping over streaming gutters, she tried to remain as long as possible beneath shop awnings, even though she couldn't possibly get any wetter than she already was. It was the cold that bothered her really, so as soon as she reached the London Library in St James's Square, she dove in to seek the warmth enclosed in those endless halls of knowledge. The new Wizard Government had kept her away from magical tomes of any kind, but it couldn't take from her the Muggle literature that she loved just as much. However, she was after something other than comfort that afternoon. Having lived through a war and suffered the aftermath had kept her well away from the History section the past year, but Hermione felt determined as she made her way towards it, dripping water all over the marble floor.
There were quite a few people in the library, probably due to the abominable weather, but none paid Hermione any attention. Sadly, she felt much more at ease amongst the Muggles who roamed the halls, whose world she had put aside almost eight years ago, than surrounded by her own kind in the Leaky Cauldron. None of the individuals searching the shelves or reading quietly on the couches actively wished her dead. None of them knew the first thing about Potions, Quidditch and Voldemort, being preoccupied instead with problems like global warming and the impending Millennium Bug, just a mere six months away. Hermione loved them for their problems that seemed so small in comparison (only they weren't really of course, it was just that she had been set apart from many of those concerns long ago to care much anymore). She felt at peace, at least for a little while.
Scanning the rows of books and the tags that detailed the different sections, Hermione wondered at her sudden macabre curiosity. She knew a little about World War II, about the millions of people, mostly Jews but also gypsies, homosexuals, disabled people and political prisoners, who had been ruthlessly executed in camps all over Eastern Europe. She'd seen a couple of films during the holidays she spent away from Hogwarts and had even read a few references to it in her History of Magic manuals, but had been too young when she left Muggle school to have learnt about it properly. What she did know of, however, was the link between the genocide, Hitler's dictatorship and the issue of the 'purity of race'.
At last finding the correct section, Hermione knelt down, running the tips of her fingers over the plasticized spines. Titles kept jumping out at her, but she didn't really know exactly what she was looking for. Books containing columns of bone-chilling statistics would be of no help to her and neither would the several survivor testimonies she stumbled across. Oppression and terror was different for everyone and she didn't think any of the texts would aid her to cope. What she wanted was an inkling of what might lie ahead, even though a large part of her hoped it would never come to that. Finally, she selected a couple of books on the concentration camps and was about to get up when a dark volume caught her eye. 'Scientific and Medical Experiments conducted by the Nazi Doctors'. A chill ran up her spine, but she ignored it and added the book to her pile.
Sitting at one of the long wooden tables in the Reading Room, Hermione began to while away the afternoon, pouring over the tomes, filing away in her mind any piece of information she thought might be useful. Sometimes she left her chair to search for other books, books on the start of the war, on the political problems that with growing dread she realised were quite similar to the ones at present within the Magical Community. She thought of Ron, working for the Ministry… for Voldemort. It was simply power over the masses by making them feel important, useful. Give them security, give them the sentiment of being part of 'it' (never mind what 'it' really was) and they will comply, regardless of their previous ideals. It pained her that Ron seemed to be a perfect example and that he kept resurfacing constantly in her thoughts.
It was only as she glanced up at the clock above the door to the Reading Room that Hermione realised that she'd been there three hours and that if she wanted to get home before nightfall, she'd better hurry. Picking up the books that were scattered around her, she noticed one in particular she hadn't yet looked through. With a second chill coursing through her, she saw that it was the one on the scientific experiments that had been undertaken in certain camps. Momentarily forgetting about the other tomes waiting to be put away, she tentatively opened it to the first page, her fingers barely touching it as though it were a dangerous animal with a tendency to unexpectedly lash out. Should she really be reading this? A large part of her wanted nothing to do with the knowledge that lay inside the book – a feeling she'd never experienced before when reading. But what if it contained some valuable information? After all, the whole conflict responsible for the mess the Wizarding world was in came down to one simple, biological element: blood…
"Although most concentration camps were merely used to house and later exterminate individuals that the members of the Nazi party judged undesirable, some included medical facilities where scientific experiments were carried out on the prisoners. Taking advantage of the nearly endless supply of subjects and the inhuman way in which these were regarded (which meant that abusive treatment would go unpunished), the doctors working in these camps conducted all sorts of tests that, even though most resulted in no more than a horrific, painful death for the victim, served to greatly advance medical knowledge at the time…"
Hermione shut the book with a hard snap and pushed it away. What horrors could be committed under all sorts of excuses! In the name of science! She shuddered, feeling colder than ever. What if Voldemort took an interest in the blood of Muggleborns? What if he tried to find out why those he considered unworthy of possessing magical abilities did, even if it would cost his victims their lives? Hermione didn't even want to think about it, though she knew that if it ever did come to that… Hastily putting all the books away, she took her coat from the back of her chair and left, almost running out of the library and into the street, where the rain had thankfully stopped. Walking along the pavement in the direction of what she still couldn't bring herself to call a home, Hermione tried to slow the beating of her heart with deep, measured breaths. Voldemort had no interested in finding out what constituted her blood. It was what he hated most. If worst came to worst, all he would do was simply get rid of her as swiftly as possible.
Before she knew it, lost in her thoughts, Hermione had reached the front door of the boarding house where she rented her little room. Letting herself in, she started as she saw Mrs Finn, the landlady, sitting in an armchair in the common living room with the cat on her lap. The woman had been, if not exactly friendly, at least understanding of Hermione's situation. She knew that the only job Hermione had been able to find (as a cleaner in a supermarket) without any Muggle qualifications didn't pay very much and she never complained if the rent came in a couple of days late.
"Good evening Mrs Finn. Do you think I could use your kettle for a cup of tea before I head up to bed? Mine broke yesterday…"
Waiting for the older woman to answer, Hermione tried to push a smile onto her face. She hated having to ask for small favours all the time. When she'd been a student at Hogwarts, still naive and relatively carefree, she'd promised herself never to depend on anyone else as soon as she could get a job. How quickly all that had changed, as the opportunities open to her before the war had vanished one after the other… Forcing her mind back to the present moment, Hermione saw Mrs Finn looking back at her with a strange, distant look in her eyes. She almost seemed sad about something, yet when she opened her mouth her voice was even.
"Of course you can, dear."
Refocusing her attention on the playful tabby, Mrs Finn gripped the armchair softly with her left hand. Her wedding ring, old but well cared for, flashed briefly on her finger. Mr Finn had left years ago and never come back. Hermione blamed her landlady's strange behaviour on a sudden surge of painful melancholy. As she was about to head into the kitchen, Mrs Finn said softly:
"Could you shut the living room door, please?"
It was almost as if a berated child had spoken and Hermione frowned, but did as she was asked. After having made herself some tea, she carried the steaming mug up the three flights of rickety stairs, careful not to spill any of the fragrant brown liquid. So concentrated was she on her charge she failed to notice that the door to her room was open until she reached inside her coat pocket for the key. Glancing up, she let out a small cry of surprise, which immediately died in her throat as two muffled voices hissed 'Lumos'. The mug trembled in her hand, sloshing some of the tea down her front. She took a step backwards, but the men were already in the doorway, the first one reaching out to grab her arm. She wanted to scream and fight but found that she couldn't. She wanted to slam her cup down over the brute's head and make a run for it. Instead, her fingers merely loosened and a shattering noise filled the air. Something wet hit her legs as she felt tears reach the corners of her eyes. It couldn't be happening, not now.
"We understand you went somewhere you shouldn't today, Miss Granger. Thought you wouldn't be recognised without your insignia? My, my… to say they told us you were smart. Well, we should be grateful for your recklessness really… our Lord the Prime Minister certainly is."
It was only when the man mentioned Voldemort that Hermione's instincts finally kicked in. In her mind, she saw the look on Mrs Finn's face, while the woman's subdued tone rang in her ears. She was a Muggle! She had nothing to do with Hermione's world. Why the hell had she let these two strange men in? As Hermione tried to pull away and run for the stairs, she felt like she was choking, slowly and painfully. It was just like everything she had read about that very afternoon. She heard someone utter a curse and felt the beginning effects of the Imperius creep up on her. She tried to remember her DA trainings with Harry, tried to recall how to throw it off… but it was no use. There was nothing to fight for anymore.
A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update, but I started university in September and have been quite busy. Also, I apologize if this chapter wasn't as interesting as the rest (mostly about Hermione's trip to the library, really) but there are elements in it crucial to the overall plot. As you can tell, it's not a very nice story… if you feel uncomfortable or squeamish or whatever (I totally understand if you do), I would advise you to simply leave it at that and stop reading now. Any form of criticism is welcome, but please don't complain that I didn't warn you about the angsty contents.