The Battle of Hogwarts was the sort of battle that would go down in history, but not for the reasons you'd think. It was a dark and terrible time, and the Light desperately needed a sliver of hope to cling to. They clung to the idea of Harry James Potter being their Saviour, but something went wrong.
The remaining witches and wizards were confused, hurt, and even angry by the occurrences. They didn't understand why the Death Eaters refused to surrender. They didn't understand why there was still so much unrest, and who could explain it to them?
Surely not Harry Potter, as even, he did not understand. There were so many questions that demanded answers, but the answers could not be found in the mutterings of confusion. No, they required deep thought and copious research. There was truly only one person suited for the job, and Hermione Granger took to task.
Unfortunately, she was no longer available to her counterparts, which caused great bouts of consternation between them. The Golden Trio was fractured, through circumstance more than anything else. Such was the way in war.
The Order of the Phoenix had a difficult time holding Hogwarts. It was an insurmountable task, and they managed for quite a while with their depleted numbers. It was impressive. Their passion, their heart, their unequivocal love for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was what fueled them, but it wasn't enough.
Voldemort might very well be nothing more than a ghost, to put it lightly, but his mind was still intact. While he absolutely refused to leave the safe confines of Malfoy Manor, he had no objections to sending others to do his dirty work. Thus began his work to thwart Harry Potter.
It was Harry's fault really, that Voldemort invested so much time seeking to destroy the arrogant little wizard. It wasn't enough to have the Elder Wand. He used the waning remnants of his humanity to keep it firmly clutched in his transparent fist. His current state was more than simple deep shame. It was a testament to the power of love, and well the Dark Lord couldn't abide such things. They were detestable to him.
The Invisibility Cloak, passed down through generations from the Peverell brothers, was the sort of magic he craved. While Voldemort knew obtaining the cloak was nearly impossible, it didn't abate his obsession. It didn't take him long, considering he was quite talented. His former professors would have been proud of him, had they survived.
The spell wasn't perfect, and it didn't last nearly as long as he wished, but it was enough to retake Hogwarts. Voldemort's Death Eaters had marked through the hidden passages and blasted their way into their former school. The Dark Lord had muted them, so they might not divulge their locations, as they weren't the brightest bunch of wizards to walk the earth.
They were supposed to deliver the Mudblood, but they failed. He shouldn't have been surprised. They would fucking fail at breathing if it wasn't an automatic bodily function. Voldemort despised them with every fibre of his being, but he needed them. He was a shell, nearly a waste, barely anything more than that blasted apparition Nearly Headless Nick.
His Death Eaters had gifted him a memory, and gods be damned he adored diving into the Pensieve again, and again to relive the moment. Especially now that Harry Potter and his Order had regained his most precious asset. It soothed his bad temper to see the mayhem they had caused.
"I really need access to those books, Headmistress." Hermione Granger, with her riotous curls sufficiently tamed in a makeshift bun, sat across from her former Professor, all prim and proper.
"Ms Granger, I am not one to discourage anyone from the pursuit of knowledge, however, the Restricted Section is restricted for a very good reason and…" Headmistress McGonagall was weary of the same conversations with her brilliant former student, but she knew the girl was persistent, as well as stubborn.
"Yes, I realise that, however, I am no longer a student, and the Hogwarts library is the only place that houses these particular books. If we've any hope of destroying Voldemort, I need more information." It was obvious Hermione was desperate.
"The knowledge you seek is not housed within the library any longer, Ms Granger. We couldn't take the chance that someone else would seek to do what Tom once did. I must speak with the School Governors before I can allow you access. I'll appeal to their sense of greater good." McGonagall lips spread into a small tight smile, and it was gone so quickly, Hermione wondered if she had seen it in the first place.
Her lips parted, as if to thank the Headmistress, but the castle groaned. The walls trembled slightly, and small streams of water began to cascade down the stonewalls and puddled on the floor. Hermione leapt to her feet, immediately on the offensive, but Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was faster than lightning.
She was attuned to the needs of the castle, and the magic had been breached. She could hear the murmurings of the portraits and observed the way they vacated their frames. She knew they were in danger, and Minerva also knew she was expendable.
The fire of determination flared in her eyes, and she flicked her wand, barring Hermione's attempts to leave the office. The Invisible Death Eater standing against the wall nearly grasped the Muggleborn witch, but Minerva was faster. She hurled Hermione toward the Floo, wincing as the girl slid across the ground and landed beneath her desk.
She couldn't see the intruder, and regardless of all the Revelio spells she cast, the intruder remained hidden. Minerva McGonagall was never fond of Dark Magic, to put it lightly. She was a formidable witch, but when the enemy was Cloaked with Dark Magic Invisibility, her chances of survival were slim. She knew this. She accepted this, and still, she fought.
Minerva's magic swirled around the Headmaster's office, effortlessly upending the furniture as it sent her cup of tea hurtling through the air. The hot, sweet liquid met its mark, and she was rewarded with a yelp of immense pain. The brown liquid quickly ran rivulets down the thin, wiry Death Eater, and that's when she struck.
"Stupefy!" She bellowed, offering a quick, yet satisfied harrumph when the boy fell.
She contemplated more but decided to attend to Hermione. As the Headmistress of Hogwarts, her students were her utmost concern, and such things didn't alter due to a students' completion of studies.
McGonagall's hat toppled from her head, as she pulled Hermione Granger from beneath her desk.
"You should have let me help you. I'm not some poor damsel in distress and I…"
"Ms Granger, we haven't the time to discuss your riveting dissertation concerning feminism. In case it has slipped your attention, I am a witch as well, and last I checked, I needn't the aid of children to defend myself. This is an attack on Hogwarts, and I will not allow more casualties than necessary." Minerva McGonagall pursed her thin lips and dared the girl to refute her words.
Hermione stood and brushed the lingering specks of dust from her skirt. She was fully prepared to stand her ground, to defend the first place she had ever felt that she belonged. Instead, she was shoved into the Floo, and just before the green flames spun her away to Grimmauld Place, yet another Death Eater stepped into the room. She watched Headmistress Minerva McGonagall fall, with tears in her eyes as the green flames spun her toward home.
Voldemort delighted in Headmistress McGonagall's death. He had berated Theodore Nott for failing to secure the Mudblood immediately. It wasn't long after, Theo Nott was the perfect little puppet, as most witches and wizards were, while being subjected to the Imperious Curse. Voldemort didn't waste his precious time with such things. He delegated, like any good leader.
What he needed, truly needed, was his last remaining horcrux. He had hidden it well, which was an asset, yet also a detriment. Voldemort knew Harry Potter and his little entourage would have difficulty locating it, yet he was unable to travel freely to retrieve it. He also could not send any of his loyal followers to bring it to him.
The enchantments he has used to keep Nagini safe would kill anyone else that sought to retrieve her. Voldemort had always known The Order of the Phoenix had overestimated Harry Potter's abilities, and their shouts of triumph had been a testament to such. Fools! They hadn't the slightest idea Nagini was safely hidden in Little Hangleton, and it would take an exceptional wizard to discern her whereabouts.
Frank Bryce was long dead and gone. His cottage, however, was still quite intact. It truly was the perfect place to hide something precious. The villagers were not apt to go wandering about Bryce's property, nor that of the Riddles. The old rumours kept them all at bay, which was exactly what Voldemort required.
The magic within the walls of Hogwarts, revitalised Voldemort. Not to mention the Forbidden Forest was tauntingly close at hand. He was absolutely positive he could cajole, read Imperious, an unwilling young Death Eater to venture into the Forest and procure him a unicorn. They really were delicious this time of year.
Unfortunately, his forces hadn't managed to hold Hogwarts particularly long, and Voldemort had barely begun contemplating the move to his below par, former school, when poor Theodore Nott reported the news. He had raged for hours, but it did nothing really. The School was lost once again, and Voldemort was nearly back where he started.
He had learned important bits of information. They caused his lip to curl, and he abjectly refused to speak of them, but sometimes, while he was entertaining himself with Bellatrix, he would speak.
"I'm enormously tired of hearing my Death Eaters whispering about the power of love. Love! As if love can save them from their fate! As if love, will keep me from doing exactly what I was born to do!" The Dark Lord pretended he was capable of rest and closed his ruby eyes.
"My love," Bellatrix interjected quite carefully. "Lucius Malfoy's love did…sort of…damn you to your current state. You…did have form, prior to killing him." Bellatrix choked on the words, but she was compelled to speak them.
"Lucius Malfoy!" Voldemort snarled and snapped his teeth. "He never loved anything! He simply…he simply utilised magicks to foil me. I will prevail. I always prevail."
Bellatrix Lestrange remained silent, as it would never do to express her scepticism. She knew her sister and her awful husband had attempted to thwart the Dark Lord, but she never believed they'd be remotely successful. It was lunacy to suggest such a thing, and yet, the wizard she worshipped was essentially a fucking ghost.
"My lord, do you think you would have kept your form…if you hadn't…attempted to punish my incorrigible nephew?" Bellatrix batted her sooty lashes heavily, and slowly paced the exorbitant bedchamber.
"Blood magicks are despicable magic." Voldemort moved through the four-poster bed and lingered near the outer wall.
"Purebloods have utilised such magic for centuries, my love." Bellatrix crooned, but her words only exacerbated the situation, which didn't bode particularly well for her.
Despite the Dark Lord's current state, his magic had not waned, at least within the walls of Malfoy Manor. He spun easily, and Bellatrix yelped as a Stinging Hex was cast at her arse. She knew better than to retort, but her dark eyes blazed with unmatched fury.
It wasn't her fault the Darkest Wizard to walk the earth since Grindelwald was a bloody Half-Blood. Bellatrix was haughty, spoiled, and made no excuses for such. She believed if anyone should have known about the binding of Blood Magicks, it should be Lord Voldemort. Apparently, he disagreed.
Lord Voldemort wasn't nearly as entertaining as he used to be, at least that's what Bellatrix Lestrange believed. She was tired of entertaining herself with random Death Eaters. She longed for bloodshed. She longed for war, but she couldn't have those things until her Lord had a body to call his own.
"The Nott boy, is he still simpering about?" Tom Riddle twirled the wand that nearly took his life, with careful contemplation.
"Of course, he's waiting in the wings with bated breath to do your bidding." Bellatrix tossed her dark curls over her shoulder and willed her sister's roses to die as she glared out the window.
"As well he should. Send for him. He failed me, and I'm bored."
Bellatrix did as she was told, and just managed to squelch the revulsion that rippled through her emaciated body when her Lord walked through the wall. She truly detested when he did that. It nearly ruined her voracious sexual appetites, nearly.
Theodore Nott, on the other hand, was not thinking of Voldemort. He wasn't thinking of anything at all. In fact, he was simply staring at the wall, waiting for his next instruction. He barely blinked when Bellatrix touched his shoulder.
"You're really quite pathetic, aren't you?" Bellatrix sighed and dragged the boy to the Drawing Room.
She knew Lord Voldemort did his best work within the confines of the dark, foreboding Drawing Room. There were moments when she wondered if he drew his strength from the Dark Magic laced into the room, but she would never ask. She considered walking through the Manor door and creating her own chaos in the Wizarding World for a moment. It wasn't as though her Master could stop her.
"Hmm yes, here he is. Bella dear, why don't you catch yourself a bit of…fresh air?" The Dark Lord's glittering red eyes never wavered from Nott, but the implication was clear.
Bellatrix smiled and even cackled loudly with a glee she hadn't felt in years. She lifted her ragged lace and tulle skirts and ran for the door of the Manor. She snapped her fingers and a few nameless underlings scurried after her. The lunatic had been set loose, Merlin help Wizardingkind.
There was something to be said for the magicks Tom Riddle didn't quite understand. Of course, he'd never admit to such things. He refused to accept his lack of knowledge and simply responded with the rage befitting of his station as the Dark Lord.
Malfoy Manor had stood since the first Malfoy had requisitioned the properties long before Merope Gaunt had even been born, let alone conceived her son. Considering young Tom Riddle had been raised in an orphanage of Muggles, how was he to know the powers surrounding Blood Magicks?
If his mother had never bewitched Tom Riddle Sr., the Dark Lord never would have existed, which would have saved Wizardingkind from his rampage, however, what was done, was done. A poor, half-blood wizard with a thirst for power and an evilness unmatched rose from the bowels of the forgotten. Albus Dumbledore sought to save the boy, and perhaps the misguided wizard saw bits and piece of himself in Tom, yet Dumbledore was no angel in his youth.
It could almost be safe to assume, if Albus Dumbledore had continued on his path with Grindelwald, that particular duo could have rivalled Lord Voldemort's decimation. Thankfully, the former Headmaster of Hogwarts saw the error of his ways in the face of tragedy. He gave forth a valiant effort to lead young Tom away from the darkness, but honestly, it was too late.
It had been born in him. Perhaps it was due to his genetics. Perhaps it was due to life circumstances. Perhaps, it was due to a desperate need for acceptance, a way to harness the hatred for a Muggle man he'd never truly known. There are no answers as far as Lord Voldemort is concerned, but one thing is certain.
He is not a Pureblood wizard, and as such, he would never have had access to the ancestral spell books passed down through the generations. Despite all his best efforts, Tom never would have uncovered magic he never would have been able to use.
When King William granted Armand Malfoy the piece of land that would become Malfoy Manor, Armand immediately set to work. The former landowners were Muggles, and that would never do. Armand utilised his vast knowledge to implement the perfect spells in order to dissuade Muggles from stepping in the vicinity of his sanctuary.
The stones of the Manor were imbued with centuries old magic, bound with his blood. Armand recorded his findings, his experiences, and his life's work in a leather-bound journal, embossed with gold lettering. It was revered by the Malfoy family and kept in a place of honour.
It was the only source of amusement the Malfoy's entertained, while they could. Voldemort had often walked passed the Malfoy Book of Spells, raging against anyone in the vicinity. Would the Dark Lord have been able to defeat Harry Potter if he had held the Malfoy book in his hands? Probably not, but it amused Lucius Malfoy to believe so.
In fact, Draco Malfoy often wondered if his father was happily chortling in the depths of hell. The poor boy had to occupy himself somehow, now didn't he? It wouldn't have made much difference in the end, not really.
Lord Voldemort, Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord, was still nothing more than a half-blood wizard, with a childish vendetta of hate, due to his lacking childhood. He wouldn't have been able to access a single spell, let alone open the snake engraved cover. He would have destroyed many things during the midst of his temper tantrum, and still accomplished nothing.
He would still be barely corporeal. He would still be more than capable of walking through walls and sinking through furniture. Most importantly, he would not be able to leave Malfoy Manor, despite his best efforts and appropriate fury.
The world had never been safer. Well, that wasn't exactly true. Those pesky Death Eaters were still lurking about, but the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry for Magic were diligently capturing them, when they could. The bastardly minions had grown by leaps and bounds, in terms of their magic, and had proven to be quite elusive. It was quite a source of contention for not only the Ministry but for Harry Potter as well.
Their stronghold in Hogsmeade had collapsed the moment the Order regained Hogwarts. It truly was a constant push and pull, as far as the Wizarding School was concerned. Each party felt holding Hogwarts was the beginning of the end. They were both wrong. It was nothing of the sort. It was a show of machismo and bravado, which quite honestly, had nothing to do with defeating Voldemort or Harry Potter.
The bond between the two rivals was nearly broken. It had more to do with Tom Riddle's current state than the destruction of the horcruxes. In fact, there was one remaining horcrux hidden away, and it was up to Harry Potter to discover its whereabouts.
Narcissa Malfoy and Hermione Granger had spent many hours together within the walls of Grimmauld Place, poring over tomes. They bonded through secrets, whispers, and the written word, much the way the Golden Trio was formed.
"Your hair isn't nearly as horrid as my son said it was." Narcissa slammed yet another book closed and pinched the bridge of her nose.
"I'm sure he exaggerated everything." Hermione sunk into the lumpy green sofa and pressed her fingertips to her temples.
"I hope he didn't, considering how often he railed against your brilliance. If you aren't half as intelligent as Draco believed you to be," Narcissa paused and pursed her lips, "we're succinctly fucked."
"You've been spending too much time around Weasleys." Hermione shook her head, and her troublesome curls brushed against her cheeks.
"You wouldn't guess it, but Arthur has a tendency to say the filthiest things while we're…"
"Please, stop. They're rubbing off on you. I think I preferred it when Harry truly believed you had a wand firmly lodged in your arse." Hermione stood and stretched her arms over her head, wincing as her elbows popped in the silence.
"If you're captured by Death Eaters, they'll do unspeakable things to you…if you're a virgin." Narcissa altered the conversation to suit her needs with a small sigh.
"Cissa, why are you telling me that of all things? Don't we have more important things to worry about? I know what will happen to me if I'm captured. I have no delusions, I'm as good as dead." Hermione tossed her hands into the air and resisted the urge to pull her hair from its roots.
"Abraxus," Narcissa continued on, as though Hermione had not spoken. "His belief systems were…skewed, to put it lightly. He didn't believe a woman should be touched if she had been sullied by another man. Hannah Abbott was not a virgin upon her capture, and while I was concerned for her safety to a certain extent, I knew the Death Eaters would not ravish her. I can't say the same for you, unless of course, you've been sneaking off to Mr Weasley's room…" Narcissa's words hung in the air, and she patiently waited for Hermione's response.
"No, I haven't…I don't want…I don't feel…that way about Ron. I-I mean I used to, at least I thought I did, but it's different now." Hermione grasped her thick curls and twisted them on top of her head, before she thrust a quill into the mess to keep it aloft.
"I suspected as much. The Weasley twins gifted me Extendable Ears. They're an innovative invention and have allowed me to hear that which I probably shouldn't. Mr Weasley often laments to Harry his inability to understand your reticence. I do have it on good authority that you've engaged in a bit of kissing, however." Narcissa Malfoy smiled at the blushing witch, with affection.
"Once! It was one time! We thought we were going to die! It was a heat of the moment sort of thing, but everything I thought I felt completely fizzled in that moment, and I wish it was the same for Ron. Gods, I wish it was the same." Hermione paced the small study, and Narcissa almost regretted upsetting the girl.
"Mr Weasley is of the opinion that you're quite…smitten with my son." Narcissa carefully watched the fleeting emotions cross Hermione's face, and she had her answer.
"That's ridiculous. We're in the midst of a war. We've got loads of work to do, and Merlin knows, those two aren't going to be a bit of help as far as research is concerned. I'll go and set the kettle on, I can't believe it's this late already. We've barely put a dent in that stack of books. We're going to be here all night." Hermione rushed toward the door, but Narcissa spoke, and the younger witch paused.
"Will you not entertain the idea of formulating a plan…in case?" Narcissa probed gently, her voice low.
"No. I won't. I'll be careful. I won't get caught." Hermione barely glanced over her shoulder, and then she was gone.
"Her cockiness is going to be her downfall." Narcissa Malfoy mused quietly, as she mentally compared her arrogant son to the arrogant Muggle-born witch. The differences were subtle at best, which just so happened to amuse the Malfoy Matriarch to no end.
She would regret not pushing the issue with Hermione Granger. She would regret being unable to save the girl from the horrors of the Manor. Narcissa Malfoy was not one to linger on regret, yet for Hermione Granger…she would.
