In the center of the room stood one figure brightly illuminated by a floating and glowing round plump creature which, Luna found cause to remind Hermione, were difficult to cultivate, train, and capture. It was a statement she mostly ignored as she looked over the person that made up Lucius Malfoy. After the dramatic-and if Hermione was honest, quite startling- cut off of the lights the creature had become the only source of visibility set in a hover about the crass and arrogantly face male with his hair slicked back and pony-tailed in a fashion she'd never seen him depart from. He was an overconfident ring-leader in the middle of barely illuminated faces with a puffed out chest and mild smirk. Hermione supposed that she would have felt incredibly confident too if her side had won the war and plunged her family into ludicrous amounts of prestige and luxury. From the top of his perfectly permed head down to the scuff-less shoes on his feet, everything about him screeched controlled aristocracy. He was instantly recognizable. Not because of Hermione's run-ins with him in the past, though there was that too, but mostly due to the fact he was similarly dressed like his son.
They both wore power rather well.
It didn't matter how many years had passed or how many speeches he gave on progression and change, this man remained the same. Hermione could practically feel superiority ooze from him from her position, nestled carefully between Luna and her favorite former professor. They both wore unreadable expressions-or in Luna's case, one of absolute boredom-but seemed attentive. She took that as a hint that she should also focus. After all, this was probably a once in a lifetime sort of deal and no matter how much she preferred to be back home in her lonely flat where everything was structured, safe, and predictable there was some part of her that had grown to crave the knowledge of such a… preposterous pure-blood tradition.
"Welcome, wizards and witches. I do hope you're enjoying the festivities?" He spoke, commanding the attention of the gathering with little effort as if he were the Lord himself.
"Naturally!" Came a feminine tone from the back followed quickly by polite and controlled laughter.
"I see the some have been enjoying the wine."
This time, there was more laughter, genuine even, though Hermione kept her lips pressed shut and her company didn't so much as let loose a giggle.
"Yet, the time for idle pleasantries are over. Now is the time for business, my friends, and I must ask that you create the proper form for our Lord."
The people shuffled sluggishly as if reluctant to lose their spots. Hermione didn't move, Luna's firm hand on her shoulder kept her still, but the outside of the crowd ring parted like the sea when Lucius, perhaps impatiently, gave a flick of his fleshly revealed wand.
"Come come now, leave plenty of room for your neighbor. All will see our gracious Lord." He purred, though even he seemed somewhat rehearsed in his words. Hermione supposed it was due to the fact that every year they did this exhausting event. If so, every year these wizards should be prepared to create this awkwardly opened circle.
"Some will see better than others," McGonagall mumbled, her words nearly absorbed by the slight ambiance that kicked up as booted feet shuffled and glassware clinked.
Hermione found that an odd thing to say but didn't have the time to question her, Lucius was talking again.
"Perfect," He started, tossing a squint across the shadowed faces of the crowd. For a moment Hermione held her breath as tension threaded through her muscles. Could he see her in the darkness?
His gaze came and went lingering no longer on her section than it did on any others. "Now, please prepare yourselves for His arrival. While our Lord needs no introduction I find it is my utmost duty to remind everyone that He is the reason we are-"
A loud POP went off beyond them, strong and sudden enough to cause several guests to flinch and cry out. It was certainly enough to make Hermione grimace, but her company didn't so much as gasp, oddly calm in the face of unpredictability. Black smoke billowed into the space, swirling visibly throughout the crowd like sentient tendrils. They crawled across the floor leaving a deadened chill behind them and Hermione gasped and jerked into Luna when she felt a tendril-why was it so tangible? So physical? -brush gently across an exposed ankle leaving an icy numbing sensation in its wake. The billowing darkness was highlighted oddly by the creature, whose light buzzed brightly in response to the coiling shadows but the bulk that rumbled across the floor between herself and the guests was not the only oddity inhabiting the space.
No, for all around them clouds of dark were illuminated by the living light, those plums setting up in various spots among the crowd only to shift and change in the blink of an eye as they became humanoid shapes. People, the floating clouds of smoke were people. Well dressed men easily filling in the holes among the crowd and laughing joviality at the frightened sounds of those they surprised. Despite the lack of true lighting Hermione knew, she knew that these late arrivals were His.
His Death Eaters.
And while the billowing black cluster that had collected on the floor writhed and merged directly behind a cringing Lucius two oddities filtered in among the other arrivals. One streaming cloud of black that shot toward the winding staircase and into the darkness there and one pale gray smog that seemed out of place as it touched down beside the self-appointed master of ceremonies himself.
Instantly it twisted from incorporeal to something more physical, melting or… freezing into the perfect figure of femininity. Blond hair with dark highlights, a carefully closed expression, and chilling eyes of blue were the first things illuminated by the creature that remained hovering beside Lucius. Though Hermione could tell that the woman was just as well-dressed, if not more so, than her husband. She wore her form-fitting dress of silver and green as if it had been born a part of her person and despite the moderate amount of jewelry that accentuated her neck and wrists she shined like royalty. It was as if she'd always been there, a constant vigilant fixture beside her husband whose expression was just as empty and patient as her own.
Then, as one, they stepped apart and to opposite sides of the rolling darkness which had finally stopped it's writhing to take on a more becoming shape.
The mild laughter and sniggers of the new arrivals stopped, cut off so abruptly that Hermione momentarily feared for her hearing. The silence was deafening, created by held breath and stiff figures that waited patiently for the quick manifestation of the guest of absolute honor. When the darkness finished those nasty tendrils of ice simply vanished leaving behind a man in flowing cloak of black with green decorative highlights. Yet, there was no suit, no dress-shoes of impeccable taste as far as Hermione could see. No, it was simply the male in the robe and the undeniably loud rumble of his chest as a sound of curiosity rang forth beneath a raised hood.
It was so undeniably Him.
"That's enough, Lucius." He spoke, His voice so sinuous in tone and manner, so unforgettable.
How long had it been since Hermione had last heard Him? Since she'd felt the cold dreadful sensation of hopelessness fill her gut so completely? When was the last time her heart had thumped so heavily? When her lungs hadn't been able to get enough air? The memories were there, buried beneath a mountain of paranoia and shaky thought, but not unreachable. She'd never forget the feeling of hard gravel as it dug into her bruised knees nor the thick scent of smoke and burned flesh as it nestled in her chest while His voice rung over them all, commanding their surrender and announcing The Boy's defeat.
But there had been no corpse to prove-
"My Lord," Lucius bowed deeply, so deeply that it might have been better for him to take a knee. Still, his submission was gracefully executed. "Welcome to my household."
Silence kept command of their space and Hermione feared the rapid beat of her heart was far too loud.
"As always, Lucius, I am pleased and humbled by your acceptance of my presence." His tone was peculiar, a careful curl of tongue with lingering interest but the spark of humanity He expressed was gone just as quickly as it came. "Our traditions are important to uphold, after all."
"Yes, my Lord," Lucius was quick to reply as he rose from his bow and reached with one gloved hand for the grip for his wife. Narcissa had her gaze upon The Dark Lord however, and it took her some time to reach out and return Lucius grasp and even longer for her to join his side as he tugged her close.
To the unsuspecting eye, this might have seemed natural, intended even, but she was not certain that everyone was happy with the fanfare that surrounded them.
She brushed the thought away, turned off by the absurdity of the idea. Narcissa was a master socialite, to host His presence must have been a grand feat but the boost to the Malfoy name surely outweighed the stress of throwing a near literal ball.
With Narcissa at his side Lucius stepped backwards though not enough for himself and his wife to melt into the crowd just enough to provide unhindered vision of Voldemort. "My Lord, we have gathered today to hear your words and heed your wisdom. I have invited a great deal of your followers-"
"All of the wizards in Great Britain are my followers, Lucius." Voldemort interrupted, curious with head slightly tilted.
He swallowed nervously, "Of course, my Lord. Yet, only the worthy are so deserving of your time, your words. Many of the great pure-blood families and our allies are here for you."
For a moment silence followed and Hermione ground her teeth at the idea that she could possibly be a follower of-
No, wasn't it true? Here she was, a proper citizen, in a world ruled by what should have been absolute oppression? She would not fall to her knees before Him, certainly, but she wouldn't couldn't, openly defy Him either. Wasn't that just as bad?
She closed her eyes for a moment to take a deep breath. She was pragmatic. She was numb. None of this would matter in the long run so long as she kept her head down and tended to her work.
She was… a good girl now.
"Yes," Voldemort hissed, head now raised as He looked down His nose at His most loyal follower, "I suppose you're right."
Lucius made a soft sound, a sigh of relief.
"However, I do hope the guest I asked for is… here?"
Now he went tense and the crowd shifted, moved by a wave of nervous curiosity. Their mumbles were soft, their words barely coherent, and yet it all seemed so loud to Hermione who strained to understand the implications behind that one simple statement.
"M-my Lord," Lucius faltered, but it was Draco who stepped away from the crowd with his head held high and his emotions steeled.
"Yes, my Lord." Draco said, his gaze perfectly leveled with Voldemort's shoulder while his hands balled into fists at his side. "We're ready."
The idle dread that had festered in her belly grew, twisting unhappily with the liquid that had once occupied the flute held between her shaking fingertips.
"Godric have mercy, he's going to do it." Came a soft baffled whisper at her side, but she couldn't turn her head to see her professor's expression. Her gaze was trapped, enraptured by the Malfoy family and their Dark Lord.
Her Dark Lord, she supposed bitterly.
"Then let us begin." From the depths of His robe Voldemort removed His wand. The wood gleamed in the flickering light as He raised it and wordlessly the lanterns around them came to life once more. They twinkled with all their earlier brilliance as the creature that had hovered around the space zoomed off down a random corridor. It was forgotten quickly, no more interesting than a random passing mongrel dog.
"Mr. Pettigrew," He called, His thin lips upturned as if He'd smelled something particularly rank, "Bring it, my chair."
The crowd reluctantly parted and Hermione sneered as a stout man in a suit that looked entirely too tight for his body hobbled out with wand extended and a rather plush but oddly average chair levitating behind him. He was quick to set it down, all nervous smiles and eyes that seemed too shiny.
"Yes my Lord, of course, my Lord, here? Is here fine?" He babbled, bobbing his head as he set the chair down none too~ gently behind Voldemort's form. Hard enough that even Narcissa squinted at the manhandling of the furniture.
If Voldemort were capable of displaying irritation He didn't and instead, with masculine grace, He settled in the chair.
He took a moment to get comfortable with arms stretched forward and pale fingertips set to grip the end of the arms on the chair and His wand before He looked to the small man and emotionlessly uttered-"Go."
He bowed once, then again, before he melted back into the crowd. No one moved to touch him nor did they watch his departure. Hermione was surprised he was still even alive.
"My brethren," Voldemort began, His voice once again able to easily recapture the attention of the currently gathered audience, "It has been too long since we've seen immediate change. For six years we have toiled away, creating a better future for ourselves, for our children, for our family blood lines… Yet, we cannot be satisfied with merely this. This simplistic falsified peace is shaky, threatened still by those we would call our neighbors."
Hermione gave a slow lick of her lips, flute now empty though she wished it weren't.
"They live in ignorance, clinging to old ideals and forsaking our traditions. They are important, are they not, Lucius?"
His answer was immediate- "Yes, extremely, my Lord."
"We mustn't let them die. And yes, they are dying, my friends. Purposely."
The crowd rumbled, unhappy.
"Worry not, I have no intention to allow us to forget them. Our education must be expanded. Like an eager school-child, we must be willing to take something old to create something new, something stronger. I have been researching deep in the old one's tombs that line the ruins of east Albania. I have been learning, forging new paths that will allow us to keep our security and prosperity. Our superiority will not weaken, our magical ways-old and new-will not be tainted by those who'd wish us to mingle with Muggles."
Here the crowd grew loud, voicing their displeasure openly while Hermione took a deep breath. She felt numb to it, this explosion, or perhaps used to it.
"Silence, our Lord speaks!" Lucius fussed, but Voldemort only had to raise His hand and the crowd was hushed.
"I will not have us mingling with Muggles, we have plenty of power… of blood, here among us."
"From the Muggle-borns?" Someone whispered from the left of the crowd.
"Of course," Voldemort replied, His hearing abnormally impeccable, "Our Half-bloods and Muggle-born brethren are eager to prove themselves worthy to our cause. They wield magic just as we do, those Muggle-borns, but they are ignorant of our customs and still worry about their place. We must continue to teach them. Their complicity will assist with our progression, we are the shepherds and they are our lambs."
He paused for a moment to glance around the crowd and Hermione saw a great deal of uncomfortable and confused faces.
"My Lord!" Cried a voice, breathy and strained as Umbridge pushed to the front of the crowd.
"My Lord, the Muggle-borns are dangerous! Already we have allowed them to remain among us and I still fear they steal and tear at our bloodlines, weakening us with their overall presence and lack of control!"
"Lack of control, you say?" He replied. If Hermione hadn't known any better she'd have said He was amused.
"Yes! A Muggle-born is nearly beast like, my Lord. They've stolen our magic-"
A groan erupted from the crowd.
"-And have fooled our society into thinking they are one of us, but they are impure. I fear no amount of education can change that, only tight regulation. My Lord, I find it unwise that they are not strictly controlled. Within them dwells the distinctive need for violence and anarchy."
Hermione sucked in her bottom lip, biting it so hard she could taste copper in her mouth. She tried to remember to breathe but a powerful urge was building within her, one that whispered sweetly of how quickly she could end this drivel if only she were to remove her wand from her purse and point.
"Interesting, don't you think? This theory of stolen magic? Lucius, if you would?"
With a brief bow of acknowledgement, Lucius motioned to the crowd and from the darkness Yaxley appeared, his hands held tightly around a thickly wrapped book. Quickly Lucius removed the coverings and handled the object to the Lord, who took it carefully, treating it with an amount of care Hermione would have thought Him incapable of.
"In the tombs, I uncovered a great deal of theory-work on magic, on pure-blood, and on Muggle-borns. I find these theories far more… credible, Ms. Umbridge."
The woman paled considerably while Draco, now beside his mother, lifted a hand to cover his smile.
"It is suspicious, isn't it? The power they hold? Why some would say there are Muggle-borns out there with more force and potential than a pure-blood."
Now, the crowd rumbled uncomfortably again but out there among the faces there were smiles, strange smiles.
"That's a waste to me. Destroying and oppressing magical persons of genuine talent when they could be cultivated, nurtured… and lead down the right path. You would see the squandering of that talent, Ms. Umbridge?"
Umbridge swallowed thickly, face flushed and hands flexing but she was quick to speak, "No, my Lord. Never! But I must state that I doubt they have talent. They were merely basking in the glory of their betters. Lucky, perhaps! Taking the credit for things they couldn't possibly accomplish-"
"And what of the Golden Girl?"
Hermione gasped, but luckily the sound was absorbed by the roar of the crowd whose surprised sounds seemed exaggerated in comparison. She hadn't expected Him to remember her, to speak of her, not here, not now.
Please, don't let Him know I'm here.
"The mud-Granger? The swot? That slip of a girl she-"
"Many theorists stated that The Boy- " The way He referred to him made her shiver, "Would not have made it as far as he had without her."
Some part of her, small and twisted and hungry for praise, swelled at the unspoken implications of her genius and talent. She grew flushed under the missed attention as He indirectly talked about her. She was confused by how powerful the reaction felt. He was not truly her Lord, and certainly, He couldn't have possibly been impressed.
"I don't… she…" Umbridge opened and closed her mouth like a gaping fish with sweat-slick brow and trembling fists. "Surely you don't believe that."
So much for not embarrassing the Minister.
Slowly He leaned forward, His pale fingertips gently splayed over the pages of the book in His possession as the glow of unamused red leaked from beneath the hood that hid His features.
"Ms. Umbridge, what if I told you what I think about these ancient texts and these theories about our Muggle-born community? What if I told you that I believe you incapable of growth, stunted due to a lack of fresh blood, fresh pure blood that some of our misunderstood brethren could possess?"
The sound of indignation she made was loud among the sudden silence. The crowd failed to react, perhaps stunned by Voldemort's admission. Hermione was suddenly painfully interested in whatever He had to say and rather wished the toad-like woman would melt back among the crowd with her shame and her crackpot regressive ideals.
"I… you can't….W-wha-" Umbridge stuttered, but Voldemort pressed on.
"Listen very careful for I am not the sort to repeat myself," His words were harsh but his tone was light, amused, and eager, "How did the very first of our people come about? All those centuries ago? Before Salazar? Before Merlin? They were born with their magic, perhaps from the mundane, from Muggles in this case, my dear."
Slowly He leaned back, the gleam of His gaze fervent with passion, "They were the first of our kind, our liberators in fact. Powerful, inspirational, and awe-inspiring. They carved our cultural path and put in place the very laws that now govern us and we, their loyal children, have taken great care to uphold their teachings."
He scanned the crowd briefly and Hermione swore His gaze lingered on her.
"So where does that leave our other families, my brethren? How did they come about? How did they suddenly discover they were different from their inferior surroundings? They broke the chains of their Muggle bondage and established our great families and along the way we forgot that great families do not merely manifest themselves from thin air."
Slowly He rose from His throne and approached a trembling Umbridge, the book carefully set to rest upon the chair once it floated from His open palms to the space He no longer occupied. He pushed uncaringly into her personal space and towered over her with only the idle swish of His robes as proof He existed. Her squeak of anxiety was ignored by the crowd, no man nor woman moved to help her as He took His wand and gently placed it beneath her chin.
Yes, Hermione thought, hanging on His every word and fansinated by his actions against the woman that had made her youth a living hell. She was swept up in the propaganda He whispered like sweet poison, caught and yet unaware the trap had been sprung.
"They are born First. "
"I… I don't understand."
"I did not expect you to," Voldemort replied smoothly, "These are higher concepts, I'd only expect the brightest of minds to grasp. I will, however, continue to explain it as one such as yourself could use the education."
"M-my Lord, I-"
"-These Muggle-borns are not our enemies. Not all of them. Some are lazy, unintelligent, unworthy… but I have met a great deal of blood traitors that I would claim are the same. Pure-bloods, even some among us here, that are just as… filthy and useless."
Umbridge cringed but didn't dare move as the tip of the wand pressed more firmly against the twitching skin of her pulse, "Yet, there are some Muggle-borns among us with extraordinary talent. Undocumented ability that has been… wasted because we were improperly informed by former now liquidated departments."
If Umbridge wanted to scowl she didn't dare do so before the Lord, yet Hermione doubted she could do much other than shiver in fear. How fascinating!
"My brethren, I have cause to believe that some of our Muggle-born friends are Firstborn. These witches and wizards are the first of their own individual pure-blood lines, lines that must be separated from their Muggle parents in order to thrive. This discovery will not only replenish our world of viable magical persons but provide more eager followers ready to commit to our ways and embrace our traditions as we expand and revive the great families. The proper order of things has been lost to us for far too long. Our ancient texts are spread far and wide across the landscape, forbidden even to their rightful owners! Our enemy have festered a misguided sense of hate that must now be thrust toward purpose. We will collect those Muggle-borns who we feel are First and guide them in the proper pure-blood ways. They will renounce the pitiful Muggle heritage they have been brainwashed to embrace and join us seamlessly as true wizards and witches as the first of their lines. Rejoice, for soon we will fatten our ranks with the worthy and avoid the death of our bloodlines by mixing it with Firstborn purity. Do you understand? Do any of you understand?"
Lucius was the first to scream, his voice loud and impassioned-"Yes, my Lord!"
Then it spread, a sickening madness that swept up His most loyal first. They screeched about His glory, cried out about his wisdom. All too soon she heard someone else from the crowd suddenly scream out in crazed fanaticism until roars of 'Our savior!' and 'Brilliant!' rolled around her like a rising tide. Her breath came in great gulps as she registered the implications of this speech. He was twisting them into something else, turning her blood into something more than it had ever been recognized as before. Yet, in doing so He was binding every viable or talented wizard to His collective. To resist or deny His theory would result in that Muggle-born being deemed disposible rubbish, nothing more than a false figure unworthy of magic. It was a carefully cultvated political platform for the new age no longer run on the fear of mingling but on some sense of perverted selective unity. Whether whatever He spoke was right or wrong He had them screaming His name, crying out for justice toward their yet visible enemies to free their 'newly recovered pure-bloods' from the lies that had made them lesser.
All because He willed it.
And it was that power He used to calm them. With only a slight raise of His hand, they quieted, leaving only heavy breathing and idle whispers behind. Umbridge was still His captive, held frozen in place by the strength of His gaze and the threat of His wand.
"So, do you see? Ms. Umbridge? It has been your misinformation that has kept us from progress. We were hunting, oppressing, killing possible lines. This is the sort of drivel Albus and his misguided Order might have spread-"
Those once soft whispers became growls of disgust as faces twisted in anger. Hermione spared a glance to her company but found Luna only amused, with high raised brows and wide glistening eyes while her professor looked tired. Incredibly tired.
"-to keep us from understanding our true potential. Yet, I must be mistaken. I did not fancy you a witch that took stock in anything Albus might have spewed."
"No!" She blurted out, her breath leaving her in a panic, "No! Never, my Lord!"
"Then, unless you have more to say, perhaps you'd like to take your place among the crowd?"
She licked her lips like a frightened rabbit, but as she stepped back while rubbing her hands together she had one last thing to say-"P-proof, my Lord."
"Proof?"
"Y-yes. Do we have… do we have proof? Proof that a Muggle-born could really be a…"
"Firstborn, Ms. Umbridge?"
"Yes. You said that only some may be Firstborn, that only some have the potential to rise among us."
"That is correct."
"T-then… who? Who could possibly-"
With a flick of His wand He cut her off, sealing her voice with a nonverbal spell that left her gasping for air and clutching her thick throat.
"I am not in the mood to be questioned, though I will indulge your curiosity."
He turned to the crowd, ignoring the heavy meaty thud that Umbridge made when her knees hit the pretty manor floors. "There is already one identified Firstborn, a Muggle-born of suspicious talent. It was something I suspected long before I encountered these texts though now that it has been confirmed I wish to start work immediately."
Oh.
"I will start our tradition now, I will usher in a new era of change-appropriate and perfected. I will sponsor the very first of our new first generation pure-blood lines. I will share my knowledge, my wealth, my prestige, and all that comes with it to further the progression of this individual's family name."
Oh no.
"And in return, all I ask for is absolute obedience."
Oh no no no.
"Our Firstborn is here, is she not, Lucius?"
Lucius stepped forward, ignoring the blue faced Umbridge and her loud obnoxious wheezing. "She is, my Lord."
"Good," Finally He released His victim and she fell over, her pretty-no, it was hideous-pink dress rumpled about her hips.
"Then bring her to me. The Golden Girl."
She dropped her flute, though the sound of shattering glass was absorbed by the wild screaming in her head. Hermione took a step back, then another, but Luna's grip upon her wrist kept her from running. The crowd was roaring their approval and their confusion. Faces were searching the collective, seeking her and Luna was keeping her from leaving. She jerked her wrist but her companion seemed unnaturally strong in that moment, tightening her hold as she smiled almost wistfully in her direction. She mouthed something, whispered words that were easily devoured by the sound of shuffling feet and clinking glasses, but despite her panic Hermione understood her words.
'He'll destroy you if you fail here.'
She tugged once, then again, and Hermione found herself moving forward.
"Here, my Lord! I have her."
Her voice was so sweet, so painfully interested, as if Hermione's heart wasn't thudding powerfully against her chest and her eyes weren't slick from a sudden sense of fear. Despite her maturity, despite her age, she felt like a little girl again, lost and alone without The Boy or the ginger and forced to face the possibility of eradication alone.
Yet instead she was facing another sort of destruction, some vast unpredictable chasm had opened up ready to devour her and she was being pushed toward the edge by her own friend.
"I hate you." She trembled, her palms slick and purse clutched in her free hand.
"You don't," Luna answered casually.
Hermione only had time to toss a look over her shoulder toward her professor but the older woman was gone, already swallowed up by the eager crowd or perhaps departed thus leaving her to the mercy of Voldemort and his plan.
She suddenly felt very very alone.
Luna stopped them before the Lord and Hermione kept her head down, willing herself to become invisible before His presence. The warmth of the hand upon her wrist felt more like a shackle, something binding her to a destiny she wasn't ready to commit to. She couldn't raise her head, she lacked the courage, the strength, but she could see His wand as the tip glowed ever so slightly, perhaps still hot from Umbridge earlier strangulation session.
"Ah, Ms. Granger, was it?" One of His hands moved and soon she felt chilled fingertips upon her cheek. She swallowed harshly and held her breath as He lifted her head. "No need to be frightened, my dear. Today is the beginning of your glory filled life."
She had always wanted to hear those words, but never from Him.
"Take her away." He mumbled, and two figures broke from the crowd to grab Umbridge's coughing twitching body and haul it back to the collective.
"My Lord," Draco said, his tone impossible soft and small, so far away in Hermione's ears, "She is to be your sponsored Firstblood?"
"Yes, Draco," Voldemort replied though His gaze never wavered from her. "Should she prove herself in the trail."
Though she could not see him well from the corner of her vision she saw Draco smile. It was utterly wicked, filled with the sort of excitement that did nothing to ease the tumbling fear in her belly.
"My Lord, I would ask to test her with your blessing, this first generation pure-blood, so that she may find her place among our families. As she is the only heir of the Granger line, for her to ascend to a worthy position in your regime I find it only proper she display her… potential among other heirs."
She held her breath, lost and barely conscious of the words Draco spoke. Her attention was upon Voldemort and the power she felt ooze from His fingertips. She could almost taste it, the force of His authority, the dominance of this man… no, this thing that no one would dare to question sans the foolish. To call Him something as simple as a man was to… humanizing. He was no man, not here among His worshippers.
Because certainly they thought Him a god.
"How clever of you, Draco. Your opinion, though not asked, is indeed an interesting one. I shall agree to your petition. Let us see the might of Malfoy's hier against Ms. Granger. Though, you shall have assistance."
He released her and suddenly sounds came back into focus. She gasped and stumbled backward, released from Luna's grip as the woman raised her hand as if she were still in class and not the beginning of some twisted pure-blood ceremony. With a hand to her chest, she tried to catch her breath and watched as Voldemort turned to her friend.
"Ms. Lovegood, you too wish to test Ms. Granger in the trails?"
"As her companion, it seems only proper. I claimed rights over this one, my Lord."
Hermione gaped as Luna flashed her a dazzling smile. She spoke so familiarly with Him, as if they were discussing tea and nothing more.
"Then take your place."
Luna gave a slow wave of her hand before she moved to the opposite side of the room from Draco. The crowd was abuzz with excitement and quickly made room as another figure slipped from the darkness-
"M-my Lord! I, as well!" Pansy stuttered, trying to appear brave in the face of absolute terror.
"Your place, then," Voldemort replied.
Enough.
"W-what is this? What's happening?" Hermione found herself placed at the center of a peer made triangle. Draco to her right, Luna to her left, and Pansy directly facing her. They held their wands at the ready and while Luna looked pleasantly at ease she didn't much care for the looks Draco and Pansy gave her. They were too hungry, too eager.
"Ms. Granger, you will prove yourself to be a proper Firstborn. You will duel your peers in a brief test of your ability and should you please our Lord you will be granted your sponsorship and education." Narcissa said, speaking for the first time that evening in a tone that seemed superior and bored.
"I'm going to… I didn't… agree."
"You plan to disagree?" The woman asked, the frosty bite of her words more than enough to stir more fear within Hermione. She gave a soft huff as she stepped past her husband and moved toward her son with carefully controlled hands. Out of all the wizards and witches there she seemed the least impressed with the display she was witnessing. "I doubt that's rather wise and you are the brightest witch of your age, are you not?"
Hermione's tongue felt thick and heavy in her mouth- "One cannot simply claim that I am a… Firstborn. I am no woman of particular importance-"
"-Our Lord finds you important," She answered back casually, only pausing in speech to fuss with Draco's hair and tie. "Tsk Draco, stand up straight now."
Hermione bit her lip and flinched unaware that she had practically gnawed a hole through it earlier that evening, "W-what do I need to do? To… to prove to my Lord that I am worthy?"
For if she was anything, she was pragmatic.
"As I said you will duel and if your performance is admirable-don't slouch, Draco-you will join our elite as our Lord's sponsored. His… apprentice, if you will. It would no doubt make you…"
Here she hesitated and cast her gaze not to Hermione or even the Dark Lord but to the looming darkness of the spiral staircase before them. She stared there for some time prompting others in the crowd to toss their gaze in that direction but if she'd found anything there it didn't matter for all to soon she was back to fussing over Draco.
"Yes… it would make you one of the most powerful wizarding families in Great Britain since the Noble Ancient House of Black."
The gasps that rang out after that drowned Hermione's questions and while her mouth flopped open Narcissa hastily approached her, stiff and devoid of emotion. She reached her out hands and made a habit of fussing with Hermione's hair and adjusting her dress, an action so out of place and surreal that she was flabbergasted by the moment.
"You must listen and you must listen carefully, you silly girl." Narcissa hissed and though her hands remained gentle her tone was not, "If you fail here, you will die. You will be known as false, a Muggle-born undeserving, and you will be destroyed. There is no redo, no return to St. Mungo's, only oblivion."
And then she moved to Pansy, who puffed out her chest and grinned with nervous excitement.
Hermione quickly opened her clutch and with trembling hands withdrew her wand. She felt torn asunder, out of her element and out of the control needed to survive it. Yet something else stirred within her when she felt the familiar warmth of her wand and the weight of its wood, something long dead, something that had held no place within her after the war.
Adrenaline? Need? Purpose?
She couldn't describe it, the anticipation that built in her belly, nor could she contain it as Narcissa carefully went to fuss with Luna next who tried to strike up a conversation about Nargles and garden weeds only to be hushed when the older witch sighed and put a finger to her lips.
Some part of her, tired and yet now flexing, wanted this. Some small sheltered part of her being shivered with the chance to utilize her magic for more than closing doors and flicking on lights. It made her throat feel tight and her skin itch while energy tingled along her flesh-raw potential just waiting to be manipulated, used…
"Bow." He said and Hermione obeyed without thought, bowing deeply to her duel mates as she tried to control the rushing pump of her blood and the heat that began to tumble through her belly, thick and strong and entirely totally misplaced.
"Begin."
" Flipendo! ' Pansy screeched, her voice so loud Hermione thought the very rafters might have shaken with the expression of the spell. She thrust her wand out perfectly and Hermione twisted to the side to avoid the spell which was flung off in some direction behind her by a whooping crowd member's deflection.
Draco was quick to move forward, wordlessly thrusting out his wand in a spell Hermione didn't hear, but her senses were tuned and she was quick to take her wand and deflect the wayward shimmering silver toward the ceiling where it cracked loudly against the wood.
She thought she heard a sound of irritation from the nearby Narcissa for that.
Her wordless spell was noticed but her opponents weren't finished. With a soft mumble, Luna thrust a spell in her direction which she quickly twisted around to catch and rebound toward a nearby casting Pansy. Her squeal as she dove toward the floor was enough to let Hermione know she had some time to face Draco right before his next spell shot like a beam from the tip of his wand.
One breath, then another. One spell, then another. She twisted and twirled with a grace she hadn't expressed since her youth, keeping back the onslaught of spells that threatened to tear her asunder. The stakes were high and the intensity of the battle more than enough to keep her on her toes-despite the fact that she was dueling in heels-and yet…
She'd never felt so alive.
She didn't bother to resist the smile that spread across her face when she successfully hit Draco with a stinging jinx. His snarl of pain and displeasure was music to her ears and it wasn't long before she was… laughing as she slung spell after spell back in his direction in retaliation.
Fun, this was fun.
With one hand covering his face and the other holding his wand he flinched and jerked while throwing up shield after shield until-
" Crucio!" Pansy was back on her feet and the ominous color of the once forbidden curse as it swung toward her was her only warning before she twisted about to face it.
Wordlessly her shield-charm went up, bouncing the spell into the crowd and despite how weak it felt when it smashed against her barriers she still heard someone screech as it collided with their chest.
Pansy… Her mind snarled and her smile twisted further into something less than friendly.
With a hiss, she thrust out her wand and the magic came to her call, easy and familiar and yet, this time, different. From the tip came a burst of blue flame, wild and hungry as it streamed toward Pansy at near incomprehensible speeds. She twisted the fire to do her bidding, commanded it's properties to change and fit her situation and the magic obeyed, eager to assist, to burn, to consume.
Pansy screamed as the funnel of fire broke over her person and hit her with such a force that she was flung up and back into the scrambling crowd. The fire burned and ate at her clothing while she rolled and flopped about, pressing an unbearable heat about the room that even Voldemort's icy presence could not calm. There was yelling to the left, to the right, everywhere but the fire did not spread-not with Narcissa there barking at the guests to move move mOvE!-and Hermione could not afford to split her attention for as soon as she had sent Pansy soaring she heard-
" Colloshoo." Luna's voice was so soft among the chaos but the spell that struck her was more than effective. She jerked as her shoes refused to move and hissed while Draco twisted his wand in preparation for more spell-slinging, seemingly unbothered that his fellow Slytherin classmate was still rolling about on the ground and screeching.
" Expelliarmus!"
With a gasp, she watched her wand fly from her grip while she twisted and shook in her frozen shoes. Luna and Draco-the latter of which laughed happily-approached her. With a snort, she gave the pair an uneasy smile and as they raised their wands to finish the duel she flung one arm forward-
The first small explosion rocked the chandelier above them ripping it loose from its maical foundation while the second ripped a banner askew and it fell smoking to the ground. Draco and Luna dove out the way as the massive structure came barrelling down from the ceiling only to smash into hundreds of tiny pieces in the spot they had formerly occupied. They stumbled to their feet confused as another small blast rocked the space sending more of the crowd pushing back and tumbling over each other as they tried to predict the effects of her magic.
Her wandless magic.
She broke out into a cold sweat as she reached for her wand and with only a soft mutter it snapped up from the ground and into her grip, instantly amplifying her control and filling her with a sense of exhilaration. Their distraction was enough for her to wiggle her feet out of her shoes and once her bare toes were firmly on the cold ground she began the second round.
And pressed forward to end it quickly.
" Expelliarmus!" She stated firmly, yanking Luna's wand from her grip with enough strength to send her toppling forward before she quickly turned her wand to Draco and snarled-" Stupefy!"
She hadn't given him time to prepare and as such he flopped over uselessly once the spell hit him straight in the chest. Panting wildly she then turned to Luna who had her hands up in the universal sign of surrender but her eyes still twinkled with the sort of mirth that should have only been reserved for less lethal games.
She was… proud of her.
" Enough! " Voldemort yelled with the strength to calm the roaring crowd and be heard over the rush of blood in Hermione's body.
"I've seen enough."
With a snap of His fingers, Lucius rushed forward, his grip around his son as he began the appropriate counterspells to relieve Draco from his stupor. Luna casually strolled to pick up her wand and Pansy shambled out from the crowd, her pretty dress and hair ruined but her flesh intact if a bit red and overheated.
Her purse had been lost in the chaos but she could have cared less. She had never felt so alive, so aware of how numb and drab her everyday existence had been before this . Even when Luna dispelled her shoes she found them just as boring as her actual reality and was somewhat reluctant to step back into them, as if reclaiming them would be to return to that shell again.
She couldn't live like that, not anymore. She wanted to feel.
"Ms. Granger, you have impressed me with your defensive and offensive use of spellwork."
She gave a slow nod of her head trying not to show how strongly His praise impacted her. She cursed the swirling feelings of adoration and blamed it on His unnaturally effective charisma.
"T-thank you, my Lord."
"You are worthy and shall join our new age as the first Granger of your line. Tell me, my dear, where are your Muggle parents?"
She felt the color drain from her face as she looked up from the mess she'd made of the chandelier and the dented floor-"A-ah… sir?"
He was quiet, patient, waiting...
"I am not sure, m-my Lord." Hermione swallowed thickly, "They do not remember me, they are unaware I exist."
His smile was wicked, a true genuine display of his pleasure. "Excellent, my dear. Already you have renounced your old roots and are eager to embrace your true purpose."
She had nothing to say to that, she wasn't sure if it was true.
"Come, Hermione."
Her name on His lips made her shiver, or perhaps it was the creeping fear that mixed ever so well with the battle-lust that still clung like beads of sweat to her skin. He held His hand out to her, the pale flesh almost glowing in the lantern light and she was hard pressed to take the offered appendage. With twitching fingers she took the offered hand, her heart still very much a jack rabbit in her chest as He turned her around to display for the crowd.
They were quiet, staring at her like mindless zombies, waiting to either condemn or praise her all depending on the moods and ideals of their precious Lord.
And in return, she too was bound by His scheme, bound by the promise of an education she could have never had back in Hogwarts and various darker aspects that frightened her beyond comprehension.
Shame that her excitement was so much greater.
"I present to you Potter's former Golden Girl, now MY Golden Firstborn. She will be the beacon of change, the heroine to guide us toward our new future. You saw her display, her command of wandless magic. So untrained, so sloppy, and yet the chance for growth is there! The Granger family is now secondary to my own. This protege, my apprentice, will only be petitioned by those I find pleasing and valuable to my reign."
She breathed heavily before the crowd, her eyes wide and unseeing as she twisted her gaze this way and that. He held her hand firmly, lifted her arm above her head as if she were some prize He had acquired. His mention of Harry barely registered, The Boy was far from her mind. It was His words that continued to rattle about her head or specifically the last bit of them.
Petition?
"A proper maiden needs a proper courting. Who will be the first to approach my apprentice? Her companion rights have been claimed by Ms. Lovegood, there can be no other until proper union-"
Companion? What?
"Who seeks this Firstborn's hand?"
For a moment there was silence, deafening and all-consuming but from the corner came a blurted-"I do, my Lord! I would be proud to court your Firstborn!"
Then another yelled from the crowd-"Me! My Lord! I am worthy! Me!"
Followed by, surprisingly Pansy-"I would do it, my Lord! Please, allow me!"
With a wide open mouth, Hermione watched them bid toward the Dark Lord. Women, men, even Draco puffed out his chest as he stumbled to his feet, screaming that he had known her the longest and was thus owed the right.
Yet it wasn't until a bone-chilling cackle broke through the bidding that Hermione felt cold, as if her very heart had stopped and there was nothing to fill her lungs with. It came from the spiral staircase and the darkness that dwelled there, such a nasty wicked thing it was, that laugh. Sometimes it haunted her dreams like a familiar obsession, inspiring unwanted misplaced longing for something more among the terror it inflicted. For, as wicked as it was, as wicked as she was, there was no denying the beauty to that beast.
"Pick me, my Lord, oh please pick me." That voice purred, so soft and sensual, with just a touch of mocking madness as wild hair tumbled over a fair-skinned face and lips pulled back to reveal perfectly white and properly cared for teeth.
The collection shrunk back, their lips closed, their bids silent, and even Draco hunched over defeated with glistening pupils and eyes a tad too wide.
"My dear, come closer. Let the girl get a good look." Voldemort said, but His voice seemed barely a whisper as Hermione lifted her gaze to the staircase behind her, wearing what she was sure to be a look of unrestrained horror.
And yet when they locked eyes something else, something indescribable and foreign, swam up from the depths of her gaze.
"Hello, my pet." Bellatrix Lestrange said in sing-song tone and playful manner. "I've missed you."