Thanks for all of those who reviewed. You guys are just simply amazing! This chapter had actually been really hard for me to write which was in part why it took so long for the update. I'm trying to post a least two more chapters before the end of August. Cross your Fingers!
A BIG thanks to the betas Angstar54! And the usual disclaimer still applies: The characters and canon situations in this story belong solely to JK Rowling and any company affiliated with her. If needed any other item belonging to another will be copyrighted at the end of the chapter. The plot however is solely mine.
Chapter 14: Persephone, The Queen.
"Miss Bambi called?" The house elf asked, hesitant. The witch had always been kind to him, unlike that blood traitor that once lived in the house of his Mistress, never raising her voice when he did something she disliked—a rather frequent occurrence, though why Kreacher did not know. So to hear her scream his name meant that he would be punished. He should be punished, especially if the Miss' anger had to do with what the house elf thought it did. He would gladly take any punishment the Miss would give him.
"Where is he?" Her voice felt like mini glaciers pricking across his skin. The girl who never hesitated to offer him a kind word and a friendly order; it felt odd to experience this side of her, the side that radiated power—the very reason he knew it would be foolish to follow his Mistress' dislike of the young witch. Oh, Kreacher would admit that he disliked the woman at first, writing her off as a rude Blood-traitor who insulted his lovely Mistress. But Master adored the woman, even a lowly house elf could see that, so he begrudgingly accepted the girl—he was a good house elf and trusted his Master's decisions implicitly.
"Master Regulus had a mission . . ." he found himself unable to finish speaking as magic pinned him against the wall. The house elf's eyes widened as he realized the magic holding him licked across his skin, volatile and fluctuating—clearly a sign of accidental magic. Kreacher knew better than to mess with this kind of unstable magic, a good house elf like himself always did. This magic vacillated and caressed the skin; it promised dangerous delights, fiery fury, and tantalizing temptations. But the magic felt wicked as well—any sudden movement would surely be his last.
"Tell me where he is, Kreacher. I will not repeat myself again." The color brown faded from the young witch's eyes, an icy blue replacing the usually warm color. The house elf couldn't help but gulp at the level of peril held within her tone. He frowned, struggling—he wanted to save Master Regulus, he did. But to do so would violate direct orders from the young Master himself. Only bad House Elves violated orders of their Masters and he had never been a bad elf!
As if sensing his dilemma, the eighteen-year -old witch spoke once more. Hermione tried to keep her voice soft, reassuring even, though her eyes still held that frightening icy blue shade. "He will die, Kreacher. You don't want Master Regulus dead do you?" At the question the house elf's eyes widened astronomically and he shook his head frantically before he began to hit his head. The mere thought repulsed him. Why would he ever want the young Master dead? The master who treated him so kindly, who he watched grow up and flourish. To disobey or to kill? Which sin would be the least dreadful to live with?
The house elf took a deep, shaky breath. No matter what, Kreacher would gladly take any punishment given for breaking this order; he would rather face a thousand angry Masters and Mistresses than have to face the brunt of this young witch's wrath. She felt like fire and ice, sinful promises and hopeful tomorrows. The Miss still pinning him to the wall with her magic was giving him a choice—disobey orders, but save his Master's life or forever suffer with the knowledge that he killed Master Regulus. The decision required no thought at all, especially when he would only be helping her. The witch would do all of the work; the Miss would protect him as well, he knew the brunette would.
"Kreacher will take Miss to where Master Regulus is," He croaked out. The magic pressing against him had slowly begun to add more pressure and he found it harder to breath as the seconds ticked by. He knew that under normal circumstances, Miss Bambi would never hurt someone; however, nothing about this situation could ever be deemed normal either. His Master could very well be dead by now, and all because some filthy blood traitors and Mudbloods decided to claim his Mistress's society.
With his statement the magic pulled back, no longer touching him. However, he knew better than to relax; the magic might no longer be pinning him, but that did not mean it would not strike once more. The witch had long ago lost her tight control, Kreacher knew by the artic shade of blue that the young Miss' magic ruled her at the present. The dark ethereal shade of blue promising harsh retribution should he give her magic any reason to lash out once more. The House Elf frowned, rubbing his neck once, before reaching out a hand to the brunette. Once he felt her hand in his, he apparated to the location.
"REGULUS!" Hermione screamed, tears running down her face. Kreacher had apparated them just in time to see an Inferi grab Regulus. Without even thinking, the eighteen-year-old flicked her wand, casting an Incendio at the body attempting to drag her friend down into the water. The creature let go of Regulus and turned its attention onto the young witch, making her gulp as it headed towards her. Ire still burned in her very veins, but witnessing her best friend's near death had shaken her enough to light a spark of fear in her.
"Kreacher, apparate over to Regulus and bring him to me. I'll keep the Inferi away as best I can." Her voice held that fire in it once more—that aberrant promise of reprisal and ferocity—but Kreacher noticed how the fear seemed to be rolling off of her as well. Miss had given him orders, and even though he did not belong to her, they were for the good of his Master and therefore he would do his best to complete them as quickly as possible.
The witch proved herself to be capable, but he doubted she would be able to hold off a hoard of inferni. In fact, the house elf had no idea how she would keep those dangerous creatures away, but he decided to trust the witch for the few minutes it would take for him to apparate to his Master's side. He felt her magic, the frenzied power it contained. The fact she willingly would unleash this type of destruction, so untrained even, upon a population spoke volumes to her loyalty—to her willingness to help those in need. The power itself felt like ice, fire, and rage. Like night and the storm in the heart of the sun. It was ancient and forever, reaching out from the very depths of time. It was a magic long forgotten by Wizards and lost to the past.
Kreacher wondered how this would change the new climate of the Wizarding World. He knew his young master had pledged allegiance to that Dark Lord, the one shrouded in Dark magic and devious deeds. His name struck fear not only in the hearts of wizards, but also in the magical creatures themselves. Yet the Miss displayed a magical strength unseen for centuries. He wondered which power would come out the winner: hatred or love?
He apparated towards his Master, trying to do so in the shortest time possible and still be careful to avoid the hexes Miss Bambi kept sending out. As the minutes slowly ticked by, he could feel the hexes whizzing by him losing power—the Miss having begun to grow weary from her continual casting and the emotional upheaval. Kreacher pulled Regulus away from the water, getting burned in the process as a fiery Inferi grabbed him. Doing the only thing he could, he apparated back to Miss Bambi; grabbing her before quickly leaving the cave without so much as another word.
Once they arrived at the destination, everything went black for the trio—especially Regulus and Kreacher.
The house elf just hoped he made Master Regulus proud.
"I'll kill him!" Hermione seethed as she tended to Regulus. She had more or less demanded that Snape take care of Kreacher, and although he looked disgruntled he shocked the brunette by complying with her demand. It made some of her ire leave. She knew that for all of the bravado Snape expressed, he cared deeply for Regulus. It was one of the reasons why she had not bothered to fight Kreacher when the house elf brought them to Spinners End; even knowing he also shared the same Death Eater status as Bella and Regulus.
"Stronger wizards than you have tried," his liquid drawl responded. The young witch glared at the man, huffing as she did so. The man saw her attack a bloody werewolf and live—granted she did not really recall all that much of the incident, but the point still remained—and he questioned her capabilities?
"And those who had far more rest as well," Snape pushed her shoulder gently, watching as the girl struggled to stay balanced. He scowled at her, showing her just how displeased her latest actions made him—after all, he had to clean up her mess. "You are exhausting yourself, what would Regulus say?" the dark haired male asked, knowing it would upset her; but Regulus had always been one of the few capable of controlling the witch. There had never been any doubts about Hermione Potter's magical prowess, but she acted more like a Gryffindor in her fool-hardy actions to save those she considered friends. Snape sneered at the thought; Potter had always been a fool when it came to his sister; obviously the female sibling acquired the brains. Though her intelligence seemed to have been lacking today. Snape supposed it had to be the bit of Gryffindor peeking through.
"HE WOULD HAVE DIED!" Hermione snarled, her voice higher than the wizard had ever heard before. The brunette did not know how Snape managed to remain so calm throughout this whole event—what if this had been his precious Lily? Would he be so calm then? She gulped and closed her eyes, trying to calm her emotions. Severus Snape had been nothing but helpful since they arrived.
"Be that as it may, you were foolish to be so reckless. But I must ask, if the peril were so great, then how did you manage to escape?" Snape asked, his inky black eyes staring piercingly at Hermione. Snape had never been overly fond of the girl, but ever since his fifth year he had a begrudging respect towards her. He had watched her blossom from a shy, quiet girl into a raging inferno—back at school, the female Potter gave the dungeons a strange, convoluted feel: she offered solace to those seeking comfort but retribution against any perceived wrongs. In fact, she reminded many of Bellatrix Lestrange.
"You're precious Dark Lord," Hermione spit out the name with a venom that surprised Snape, "Is a fool. For all of the intelligence and power he boasts of, he tends to forget the basics. The bond a House Elf has to their owners supersedes everything—even a magically protected cave enshrouded in dark magic." An eyebrow raised slightly, telling Hermione to continue her explanation as the one she had provided hardly gave the man any information. The only thing he had understood of her statement was that Kreacher had made escaping possible. But that did not explain why the she called the Dark Lord a fool, especially when so many would disagree with her.
"And pray tell why you would call the man a fool? He has proved himself far from one, I assure you," The elder wizard sneered. Severus had not expected the glare that Hermione Potter shot him, but he honestly should not have been surprised either. The young witch had always been very opinionated; she never held her tongue unless she felt it absolutely needed. For some, it garnered their respect. For others, it just painted an even larger target on the woman's back.
"He forgets the little details. Like house elves having a different magic," Hermione replied with a shrug, turning her focus back onto Regulus. Voldemort had forgotten many details. From house elf magic to the danger of women—he should have heeded the earlier warnings gifted to him. Those very warnings that he had brushed off might have allowed him to live. But now, now he could burn in the pits of Hell. And she would be sure his horcruxes followed him. He harmed Leo, and for that Hermione would deliver him to Death on a silver platter.
"And you claim to be any different?" Severus asked. This time his voice held a soft lilt to it, one that soothed Hermione a bit. One that also made her feel a bit guiltier for everything that had come to pass for the wizard.
"There is a graveyard in my mouth filled with words that have died on my lips. From apologies to damnations that should have been said," Hermione replied softly. She held many regrets, especially for Severus Snape. A man who worked so hard to prove himself to be better than he had first appeared; a man striving for redemption, even if the only way was to scar his very soul in hopes that it saved someone younger, more deserving of salvation.
"I will never claim to be a saint. I have a past filled with sins, and yet I still believe I'm a better person than that pathetic excuse of a Lord," Hermione replied, her voice holding a conviction that until today, only Lily had ever held. Severus had to agree with Hermione, but to be fair to the rest of the world he doubted anyone could ever be worse than a megalomaniacal psychopath intent on murdering most of the world's population.
"So what brought you to my home?" Severus asked, deciding to change the topic. He did not want a crying witch on his hand, and from the blotchy look on the young woman's face he felt positive in his assumption that she had cried enough today.
Her response shocked him into silence. "You are a good man," She replied simply, a small hand reaching out to clasp Regulus'. It still upset her to see her precious Leo like this—his light dimmed as he lay struggling for consciousness. None of this felt right. None of them deserved this harsh reality being thrust upon them. All three of them were supposed to be children—school crushes and drinking to bad break ups. But instead they were being thrust into a war, forced to don on a uniform and play child solider to both sides.
Something would be done. At this point, Hermione did not care which side ended up her victim.
Bella clenched the note in her hand, torn between familial obligation, desire, and fury. She had long ago seen Hermione as family, someone to protect. But she had also told the witch that should she do anything foolish, then they would end up on opposing sides. But for Hermione to do something like this meant the war had finally reached its breaking point; the pivotal moment between two raging titans that could possibly decide the fate of their world. Hermione had no mercy for those who harmed her loved ones, her warning still ringing clear as day in Bella's ears.
"Blood will rain, I care not whose."
Such a dangerous phrase coming from one so young, but Bellatrix knew that Hermione would make good on her threat. The young witch reminded her of herself after all. The world knew how far Bellatrix would go to make it bow; it hardly seemed improbable that Bambi would do the same.
How ironic that a name so innocent had been gifted to a witch ready to burn the world. The crazed witch looked at the letter once more. Had anyone else read it they would have merely saw a facetious poem; one with no real merit to their world other than its pretty words and relation to mythology. But Bella knew the truth.
…Queen of the Dead,
to forever reign
in the fires of hell…
a beautiful queen,
plotting against her king.
They never wanted you
to know the hunger of Persephone,
how she starved for something
other than pomegranates.
The primal thirst
that burns all women's throats…
Listen closely to the voice from hell, sweetheart.
"You are a queen;
don't wait for a king."
The words were damning, though for whom she really did not know. Hermione Potter had basically declared war. And yet she held out one last olive branch for salvation. Bambi had conveyed that Bellatrix would never be more than a silent queen to the Dark Lord, one with his favor but none of the control. Something the young witch knew Bellatrix had sought out for years. The Lady Lestrange had been a devoted, adoring follower to the Dark Lord for as long as she cared to remember. She loved him, far more than she would ever care for her husband anyway. But despite what the other Death Eaters whispered when they thought she could not hear, Bellatrix knew her degree of loyalty had never been reciprocal.
But she had remained loyal in spite of that because without her devotion, Bella had no clue what she was outside of that. She had spent years being the support of someone else; how could she adapt to being otherwise? As a pureblood witch, she had always had to be devoted to her House and her Husband. It never mattered if that piety had been returned, at least not until she had met Bambi.
The witch who took Slytherin by storm—who cried for those that would have hexed her for simply looking at them with her Blood Traitor eyes. The witch who fiercely protected Regulus from everything possible: from schoolyard bullies to even his own family. Devotion so fierce and a love so strong, Bellatrix felt positive that the Gods themselves would weep should anything happen to the pair. It made Bellatrix envious.
She wanted that relationship—that love, respect, and devotion. Having something to protect had made the younger witch strong. But for that same respect to be returned? That just made everything all the better. Every day, the Lady Lestrange threw her life into a battlefield, knowing she could die. It terrified her because at the end of the day, Bella still found herself wanting to live—the witch had begun to wonder if she really wanted to chance her life for a man who did not care if she became just another casualty. Bambi would mourn her. Bambi would try to bring down nations to see her safe. Bambi would even dare defy a Dark Lord with followers at his beck-and-call; all to see her loved ones safe. The devotion Bellatrix had long since coveted had already belonged to her for years. It just took the woman a bit longer to realize it.
But did any of that change anything? Bella knew that for her, she was already far too deep into the trenches. She had already sold her soul in exchange to be Queen, no matter how silent. Bambi wanted her to claim a new role—one the young woman fully believed had been owed to Bellatrix if the poem was to be taken seriously. She had already marred her soul in red, killing who ever dared step in her way. But if she had to, could she really kill Bambi?
No, could they really kill each other? Their loyalties were on opposite ends, Bella felt sure of it. Despite the unreciprocated loyalty, Bella still loved the Dark Lord. Bambi, however, had different loyalties. Their sweet girl would never allow harm to come to her family, not without retribution—be that the Black Cousins or even the Potters. But who had become the target that instigated such a fury—a fiery rage so strong that Hermione felt the need to declare war to one of the most devout Death eaters?
Did one of the Potter's die?
Or did someone a bit closer to home?
"Blood will rain, indeed, Bambi. I just hope it's neither of ours," Bella whispered softly. For everyone's sake, the Lady Lestrange just prayed this blasted war would come to an end. Bella had grown tired, far too tired to continue this much longer.
Bellatrix Lestrange could be called many things. But no one would ever be foolish enough to label her a queen, let alone give her a crown. No, that title belonged to one person only: because if anyone could change the world, it would be her.
Bambi.
"You owe me a life debt, and I am collecting." The glacial tone sent a shiver down Sirius' spine. He had never heard the young witch speak so coldly, even in all the years they had known each other. The dark haired male remembered when he first met Hermione; she had so clearly adored James back then. But times have changed, and the witch before him no longer held such devotions—through no fault of her own.
Sirius had thought about what Regulus told James that day in the park. It felt odd, seeing James begin to question himself. Sirius had never thought he would see the day where his best mate actually admitted that Regulus might be right; after all, James reacted so negatively the first time Sirius brought it up.
"I do?" He questioned, quirking an eyebrow; Sirius did not remember owing the witch one. His curious gaze was returned with a deadpanned one. Witchling obviously did not like what he had just said—too bad, since he honestly did not remember owing the witch anything.
"Need I remind you of the werewolf incident back in your fifth year?" Hermione's voice held a dry sarcasm to it, which made Sirius recognize one of the many reasons this witch had been sorted into Slytherin: her devious ploys, cunning word manipulations, and that haughtiness that every Slytherin developed from an early age. But her eyes also held a warning in them. Right now, standing before him was no mere witch; instead a viper rested before him, coiled and ready to strike a deathly blow. Sirius could practically see the poison ready to be embedded into his very veins at a single mistake.
"I would hardly refer to it as an incident—" Sirius was cut off by a harsh laugh. It took him a moment to realize it came from the witch. He frowned, that laugh should never come from a woman like her. The raven-haired male knew that somewhere, deep down, she still held that soft warmth that made James worship her when they were younger. Hermione Potter still had her hope—it had just been buried.
"You nearly had another student and myself killed! Had I been Dumbledore, I would have had you all sent to the Ministry to be tried for attempted murder," Hermione spat. The brunette had long ago forgiven Lupin for the event, not like he could control it anyway. But it had still aggravated her that after all these years those dolts had yet to apologize. Oh sure they had told her that they were sorry, but they never said a word to Snape. To the teen they had knowingly sent to his death. Hermione Potter did not care what Dumbledore or that group thought—she would never refer to that incident as a prank.
"I only meant it as a joke! Besides, Snivellous deserved it: he practiced dark magic and called Lily a . . . that!" Sirius defended. The Black knew very well it had been a mistake to lure the git into the forest during that time of month—Remus had persecuted him about it enough. But it had been years ago, surely Witchling did not hold any grudges against them for it anymore; they had apologized after all. Dark, silver eyes watched as Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose once before she spoke.
"Do you know why I do not put much emphasis on petty notions of what people conceive as wrong?" Hermione's brown eyes focused on him, and it felt like they pierced his skin with the torrents of browns swirling in her pupils; occasionally flecks of blue blazed to the forefront. The witch standing before him had grown up, clearly a child no longer. "It's because during my years in Slytherin I learned one thing about the darkness of people: it serves a purpose, showing us that there is redemption in the chaos." The way she spoke sparked something in Sirius, made him question things he had always saw as fact.
Slytherins were evil, never to be trusted. Yet on two different occasions this witch had come to him, personally seeking help for one of her friends. The first time he denied her, such would not be an option this time. But Hermione Potter had always been the exception to many things, from her quick quips to her brash loyalty. For the longest time Sirus had always just assumed that Snakes only cared for themselves; after all, self-preservation had always been on of Salazar Slytherin's mottos. And then she came along and wreaked havoc on that notion, not only with her own actions but by the actions of his brother and cousin as well.
"What do you want?" Sirius asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. Contrary to his actions, he felt no annoyance towards the witch; but he had grown tired of her always flipping his views on their head.
"Tell me all you know about the Order of the Phoenix," Hermione replied. Her tone brooked no arguments or even a possible rebuttal. Sirius could see very clearly that she wanted the information and she wanted it immediately. The Order never specifically made its members take a Wizard's Oath; however, most of the members did keep tight lipped about anything the organization might be doing.
"I'm not sure I can do that, Witchling," Sirius told her, both hands held up in a submissive gesture. Grey eyes watched for any sign of retaliation, but none came. Instead a soft, hollow laugh rang in his ears.
"Honey, I'm not giving you a choice. I told you I am collecting a Life Debt. If you do not give me the information freely, I will show you my version of pranks." Blue flecks sparkled in a sea of brown, as Hermione Potter's eyes remained narrow. By just the way the young woman held herself, Sirius knew his earlier assumption had been right. He had no other option than to help her—this time she refused to even give him a real choice in the matter.
Would it really be so bad to help her though? She had come to him for a reason, one that had remained a mystery so far. Besides, Hermione Potter had already seen a handful of the Order members when she had come barging into her family's home during the Yuletide Holiday. If she had wanted to do any damage to them she would have already unleashed some form of chaos on them—especially since both Regulus and Bellatrix were marked Death Eaters. Hell, she probably would have told Malfoy if she really wanted them gone.
"Alright, I will tell you want I can. But only if it does not harm anything we are currently doing," Sirius told the witch. He watched as the blue faded from her eyes. What caused that strange shade to appear in the first place? He had never heard of another magical person, aside from a metamorphagus, who could change their appearance. But Hermione only ever changed her eye color—perhaps a medical anomaly? Or maybe the Gods just decided to take pity on the rest of the population and instill a warning sign in the witch?
Sirius told Hermione all the information he felt he could safely divulge to the witch; watching her eyes light up on certain pieces. Sometimes her eyes would narrow on certain words, as though Hermione Potter had uncovered a buried secret. Had he not been nervous with what she might do with the information, Sirius probably would have found her reactions amusing—perhaps even a little endearing. He could certainly see why James had adored his younger sister; but right now, that kneazle got the cream look frightened him just a bit.
"Is that all?" the male asked when he finished. He watched as a sly smile graced Hermione Potter's lips. She certainly looked like an angel with that expression—a devious one perhaps, but an angel nonetheless.
"Just one more thing," The witch responded. Before Sirius had any time to ask what it might be, a fist collided with his nose. Hands immediately flew up towards the injury, despite the shock he felt at being hit. He heard Hermione say something before she walked off. Though Sirius did not know exactly what he heard since the pounding of blood in his ear seemed deafening, the young Black thought she said something along the lines of:
"That was for Severus."
First and foremost, before I get questions on it I would like point out that Hermione is not a Powerful!Hermione with a rare magic. The Magic Kreacher referred to was not a special type of magic, it's more so Ancient magic long since buried since Wizards had focused on obtaining power and were blinded by greed. Think of Lily's sacrifice for Harry since it is the best example to use—in fact I would just say it is the same type. Both empowered by love and the willingness to sacrifice themselves without any ulterior motive.
Copyrights are listed below. I would love to hear from you guys!
"…ice, fire and rage. Like night and the storm in heart of the sun. It is ancient and forever, reaching out from the very depths of time." ©Doctor Who
"Darkness…serves a purpose, showing us that there is redemption in the chaos." ©Brendan Fraser.
"Queen of the Dead,to forever reignin the fires of hell…a beautiful queen,
plotting against her king.They never wanted youto know the hunger of Persephone, how she starved for somethingother than pomegranates.The primal thirstthat burns all women's throats…Listen closely to the voice from hell, sweetheart."You are a queen;don't wait for a king."" ©Emily Palmero, Persephone.
"There is a graveyard in my mouthfilled with words thathave died on my lips." Emily Palmero