Disclaimer: I own nothing except a laptop and the plot. Characters and world belong to J. K. Rowling.
Destroyer
By Catsitta
Chapter five;;
Shadows danced on delicate cheekbones as firelight flickered in the night. Across a mouth that was easily seen as too wide for its owners face; a chin with a stubborn set; and a unremarkable nose—light mingled with darkness, setting aglow the plain features of a waiting lioness. Hermione would never be described as beautiful, even when she reached her physical prime, she was an odd breed of pretty at best. At the moment, thick tangles of curly hair inauspiciously framed her visage and she had yet to gain enough weight to be considered healthy, much less cut a womanly silhouette. Not to mention the heavy bruises beneath her eyes and the horrid state of her fingernails.
Had she really chewed them that much in her youth?
Letting out a deep sigh, Hermione regarded the campfire that burned bright before her. Soon enough it would sputter out. The non-magical flames devoured with ancient, primal hunger the sparse kindling provided. Almost as if it were alive, the fire ate away at it nourishment, uncaring that it would soon burn up all sustenance, effectively ending its life.
Birth. Life. Death.
Hunger. Need.
Fate.
The fire knew not its sire, nor paid heed to its life, and in death it went in silence. It was fated to consume, destroy, and devour…then fade into ash. From the ashes would spring new life, given fertile soil and room to grow. That was the life of fire. It had purpose in its purposelessness. It was not driven by instinct or pulled about by destiny. It simply existed. To harm or to heal, it worried not in its use.
Hermione shuddered slightly, drawing her robes close around her body.
She closed her eyes and tried to chase away her envy of the dying flames.
.x.
In the light of morning, the broken remains of a tiara lay abandoned amongst the ashes.
.x.
Severus threw back a shot of Firewhiskey.
Retrospectively, he was quite fortunate to still be alive. What were a few broken bones, lacerations and a concussion in the grand scheme of things? The Dark Lord could have done much worse to his young spy for failing to bring the witch whom dared to defy him through the decimation of his ranks.
Destroyer, the darkest wizard declared her, would either join their ranks or meet her end before Hallows Eve.
Severus wondered idly what his punishment would have been had the Dark Lord gleaned any inkling of his meeting with the powerful, teenaged witch? Death he supposed would be quite the welcome end should the deception be discovered. Voldemort was dissolving into ruthless brutality unseen afore by his loyal followers. Traitors like himself need not fear assassination as much as capture and a bloody session beneath the man's fists.
The Dark Lord was once very much above physical abuse.
What changed?
Three nights ago, when Severus both found the newly named "Destroyer" raiding his supplies as well as faced his Dark master, the Dark Lord did not look nor act like the man he knew. Lord Voldemort, recently as a month ago, was a charming wizard. Charismatic, handsome and utterly transcendent in his charms. His touch and soft words of approval were what every Death Eater sought when they knelt at his feet and proclaimed him their master. There was something perversely alluring about submitting to the will of a living god, one who could ensnare the senses and capture the mind with his presence alone.
His Darkness only acted to amplify his appeal.
No man, no matter how Light, could dismiss the seductiveness of a truly Dark creature, for that contained chaos reached out to whisper sweet, addictive promises to all whom would listen. It was why the Dark Arts were so dangerous, albeit misunderstood. Darkness was chaos. Chaos was power. Power always corrupts. But Darkness was not corruption. Darkness was not inherently evil. It merely was the complement to the Light and what balanced the shining serenity of what the lesser learned called Good.
However, the Dark Lord no longer exuded cool control over his perfect chaos. His calculating mind was warped into a paranoid, violent wreck that would no doubt lead to a terrible self-destruction. It was rather difficult to control the world when you have crushed in the ribcages and skulls of your obedient, little followers.
Severus reached for the bottle of Odgen's Finest resting on the end table beside him, his gaze focused on the perpetually burning fire of his Floo.
Whatever the wayward witch was doing, it was beginning to look as if it would be the death of him.
He threw back another shot, savoring the trademark burn.
Perhaps tomorrow evening, after class, he could check on the Malfoy's. Lucius' lovely wife had sent Severus a letter announcing the Lord of the manor's continued recovery. The blond hadn't spoken much in the past few weeks, his mental and emotional state still in question despite his physical wellness. When the Professor last penetrated Lucius' mind with Legilimency, all was in disarray and Severus found himself unable to connect enough of the fractured memories to learn how the man came to be in a broken state.
.x.
Dressed in his teaching robes, the potions master was an inky stain amongst the lavish gardens of Malfoy Manor. Albino peacocks strutted about the lawn, eyes unblinking as they watched the newcomer approach, screeching their obnoxious call as if they were banshee's announcing the arrival of Death himself. Severus never understood Lucius' obsession with the hauntingly lovely animals. Their beauty could not compensate for loathsome shriek peafowl claimed as song.
Haltingly, Severus slipped through the autumn kissed garden and past the iron wrought gates between he and the magnificent front doors. His mind awhirl with foreboding contemplations, he almost did not notice when he reached his destination and a house elf announced his arrival to the household. Only Narcissa's cultured greetings that shattered his darkening thoughts and brought his focus to the present.
"My Lady," the young Professor offered politely. He dared not smile, smirk nor sneer at the wraithlike woman whose fingers he gently kissed, as he was wont to do. They were friends, aware of each other's faults and shortcomings, and all too eager to pry said flaws apart with a sharp remark; but at this moment, rapier wit seemed an edge too keen. Narcissa was not a weak woman. A nervous wreck under the pressure of a fight, all too desperate to avoid conflict, but not weak. She was the ice-cold mistress of her home, a true Pureblood lady of the finest breeding and social grooming. It took strength to become this way.
But it was not strength he saw before him now.
Narcissa was prim and proper, not a hair out of place, nor a crease in her diaphanous gown. But her red-lipped smile was strained, her analytical gaze dull and distant. And instead of making a cool remark of her before shoving the infant son in her arms into Severus', claiming he was so good with children and inquiring about his current state of bachelorhood…she merely stepped aside, allowing Severus entrance into her home.
"Lucius is awake," she told him, stroking Draco's sleeping face. "I trust you can find your way to the library?"
"Indeed."
Slowly, Narcissa wandered away, the way she held Draco radiating possessiveness. Severus wondered if he would ever hold his godson ever again given how it had taken years for the Malfoy's to produce a living heir and the stress of his birth left Narcissa unable to carry again to term. Now with Lucius having lingered at the edge of death, it would be no wonder if the young woman squirreled herself and her son away, desperate to hold onto her precious baby boy. Family meant more to her than she would ever admit aloud.
Severus swept up the grand staircase, ignoring the niggling reminders of what had occurred here less than a month earlier. So many injured and dead. The floor would forever be akin to a sea of blood in his memory.
Quietly, he made his way to the library, a grandiose room as ostentatious as the rest of the manor: with marble floors, sculpted columns and walls filled with tomes rare and ancient. The Lord of the house sat in the midst of the elegance, draped over a lush velvet chair, wand dangling casually from his hand. If it were not for the fact that Lucius, a consummate social climber, despised idleness, since time could be well spent playing the political fields, Severus might not believe anything wrong with the man.
His silence bespoke volumes.
"Old friend," Severus murmured, rounding the blond so that he could perch himself in the chair opposite of the quiet wizard. "I see you are well."
Lucius nodded absently.
"You know the reasoning behind my visit?"
The blond sighed, adverting his normally piercing gaze.
"What do you remember of your attack?"
A curl twisted upon Lucius' lip,"And thus the interrogation begins."
"Lucius…" Severus started.
"Can you not let a broken man nurse his wounds? Do you savor my humiliation?"
"Lucius!" The blond tensed at the admonishment. "Your behavior is juvenile. It's clear that the only thing wrong with you is injured pride."
"You know nothing."
"I know nothing? I know that you were attack in your own home Lucius. I know that you were brutally maimed and left for dead. I know who did it. What I do not know is why and if you refuse to cooperate, I cannot help you, old friend."
"That sneer of yours had no effect on me, Severus." Lucius replied after a long pause. Dismissively, he waved the younger man's building fury away. "I have no wish to talk. Do not press the issue."
"Daring to defy the Dark Lord's orders, are we? How bold."
The blond had the good sense to cringe,"Leave me."
"Only when you tell me what happened that night. You must know why you were attacked."
Resignation, that was what Severus saw in Lucius' eyes when he turned those steely-blues his way.
"I do not wish to speak of it."
"Then I must take alternate measures."
Obsidian captured blue and delved deep into tumultuous waters of Malfoy's mind.
TBC?
A/N: (Next chapter will shed light on the attack on Malfoy as well as pave the way to a certain twist in the plot. Things have yet to get…complicated for the pair.)