A/N: When I looked at this round, I immediately picked up the Underground and Dark!Hermione prompts. I was thinking of a Metro 2033-esque setting. You know, a place where only those survive who put survival first. Enjoy!

IWSC Round 6 - School: Mahoutokoro, Year: 1, Theme: Trackleshanks Locksmiths (Look at those trapped in a situation due to doing evil deeds or the evil deeds of another.), Main Prompt: (setting) London Underground, Additional prompts: (AU) Dark!Hermione, (character type) fallen hero

Word count: 2061


"How much?" Hermione asked. The hood of her dark coat hung over her eyes, casting an ominous shade on her face in the already dimly-lit room. Her gloved hands were resting on the small wooden table in front of her, where lay a picture of what appeared to be an iron-wrought safe of sorts. The room she was in could not have been bigger than a cupboard. What a place to live.

"However much you ask for," the man in front of her replied. He was a Muggle, probably in his early forties, Hermione guessed. He did not seem particularly menacing, unlike many of her previous customers, but the hunting knife dangling from his belt was a telltale sign that he was no stranger to the dubious dealings of the Underground.

"Five hundred," Hermione said, her voice cold, emotionless. "Two-fifty up front, two-fifty when I get back."

"Three hundred," the man said. Hermione expected this; it was rare that her customers did not try to haggle. It was no wonder; these days, money was hard to come by for all but the richest.

"I am not going lower than four hundred," she stated. "Unless a colleague of lower calibre will suffice."

"Four hundred it is." The man nodded. He unlatched a small sack from his belt and pulled out a fistful of oddly-shaped coins, holding them out for Hermione. "That's two hundred, give or take. Three days."

"Hmm." Hermione nodded, although her lips were pursed as she pocketed the coins. She snatchedt the picture from the table and left the room without another word. The room opened to a corridor, similarly dimly-lit by the red emergency lights and similarly suffocating. Hermione's eyes had long since grown accustomed to life in the Tube, but she could not get used to the endless corridors and tunnels; she would often feel as though the walls were closing in on her, threatening to crush her. She would hyperventilate, panic overtaking her senses as she clutched her head and curled up in a foetal position. But then, it would be gone, and she would be back in her quarters, somewhere in the deepest depths of Waterloo station.

A lot had changed since The Happening, but Hermione could still vividly remember the first few days. It had been a mere coincidence that she was near the Tube when it happened. Everything had gone by so fast.

She remembered tons of people cramming into stations before everything was shut down. Those who could not get there in time were left to die. The government was nowhere to be seen; they were likely sheltered off somewhere else. It all happened because of them, because of their actions, and now, everyone else was suffering for it. It all happened because some higher-ups were too selfish, too power-hungry, and now, Hermione was stuck here, no hope of ever seeing the light of the Sun again.

The first few days, it was chaos. Hermione had been with Harry and Ron, back then. The three of them had made a great team: they knew how to survive because they had lived through the war.

That, though, only lasted for so long. It quickly turned out that there was no place for morals in this new life, but Harry and Ron could not cope with that. It had always been their weakness, Hermione would often think. Her two friends always wanted to be morally superior, the poster-boys for the Light Side, even when it meant death. And so, they had gone, in what had been a truly gruesome affair, a few mere months after The Happening.

Hermione, on the other hand, had changed. She had tried to lead a respectable life. She tried not to use her magic to her advantage, trying out her hand in trading and helping out the few short-lived humanitarian efforts throughout the tunnels of the Tube, but it was not enough. She had been starving, and her will to live had diminished.

Her survival instincts had kicked in, overriding whatever morals she had left. She was a mere scavenger at first, using magic to steal ingredients and equipment. It was during one of her outings that she met an old acquaintance of hers—Draco Malfoy, of all people—who had presented her with an opportunity. All she had to do was to get rid of some person—she had never learned who they were to Malfoy, nor why they were a nuisance—and she would get enough money to last her a month in exchange.

It had not been the first time Hermione had used an Unforgivable, but killing… It had been different. It had been painful. And yet, somewhere deep down, Hermione knew this was the only way. She was stuck in the Underground for the rest of her life, and this was what would keep her alive. She had since taken on many dodgy missions, from petty break-ins to assassinations, and she would complete them all with surgical precision, using the magic all those Muggles knew nothing about, gaining a name for herself as the best contract rogue across the Tube. She had grown numb to it, maybe even relished in the rewards. From Hero of the Wizarding World to the Most Efficient Wand-for-Hire in the Underground. There was no going back, though. She had had a taste of the Dark Side, and she had done many evil things, and it was going to stay that way until the end of her life.

This mission, it was no different. She was tasked with retrieving a safe with undefined contents from Hampstead Station. Getting into Hampstead was tricky, as it was a well-guarded station, being the last habitable place on the Edgware-bound tracks on the Northern Line. The walk to Hampstead was also a fairly long one, but that was a non-issue. As Hermione retreated into the tent she had set up near the staircase of Russell Square, she began planning her journey to the North-Western edge of what remained of London.


Hermione was pacing down the tracks, her wand lighting the tunnel somewhat. Her footsteps were barely audible, thanks to the charm she had placed on her boots, but she could still see mice and rats scurry away with each step she took.

"Homenum Revelio," she muttered, watching as the charm swept forward. There was nothing at first, but in a few seconds, Hermione saw the sparkling outline of two people in the distance.

Must be the guards, she thought. She extinguished the flame at the tip of her wand, deciding not to draw attention to herself as she closed in on the station.

For the next few minutes, she walked in complete darkness, guided by the cries of rats and the light of Hampstead station that grew with every step. Soon, Hermione could make out the two figures, pacing at what seemed to be the entrance. She pushed herself against the slimy wall of the tunnel, trying to stay out of sight as she inched closer.

"Stupefy. Stupefy," she cast when she got within a few metres of the guards. There was no need to kill them, unless her cover got blown.

Hermione waited. If sirens had gone off, she would have to utilise the chaos. If somebody had come by, she would have to deal with them as well. She had to be ready for anything.

Alas, nothing. Nothing but the ringing silence of the Tube's dead tunnels. Hermione let out a soundless breath, jogging her way to the station and climbing up the stairs. She had cleared her first obstacle.

All of a sudden, she froze. There was somebody behind her. She ducked, just in time to see a red flash of light pass her by. A wizard?

She spun around, only to be hit square in the head with another hex. It made her feel dizzy, but she could just about make out a man, armed with a wand and a pistol, both pointed at her.

Shit, she thought. Scrambling her thoughts, she sent a silent Petrificus Totalus the man's way, but it was quickly dodged. The man cast another curse at her—she could just about make out a Stupefy—and Hermione, doing the first thing that came to mind, rolled to the side, casting another Petrificus Totalus at the man. This move appeared to have caught him off-guard. The man was mid-cast of a Protego when Hermione's hex hit him.

He landed back first with a thud, gripping the pistol and the wand still.

Hermione, her head still aching from the dizzying hex, climbed to her feet, taking a few steps closer.

"Unfortunately for you, I take no witnesses," she said. "Avada Kedavra. Finite Incantatem." The man's body slacked, releasing both the wand and the gun. Hermione Accio'd both, breaking the wand in half and putting the gun in a holster she had on her belt.

"Even more unfortunate for you two," she said, turning to the two guards that lay on the ground, knocked out. Briefly, two flashes of green light lit up the tunnels before everything went silent again.


Hermione made her way through the station relatively quickly. She was familiar with all the nooks and crannies of Hampstead, but she was well aware that there was always something that could surprise her, like the man had that day.

Wizards and witches were not common in the Underground. Despite the government being gone, magic was still a secret to Muggles. Hermione would sometimes come across wizards and witches, usually as guards or traders, but they were few and far between. She was in semi-regular contact with Draco Malfoy, mostly because of the contracts she would occasionally complete for him, but she had not heard anything about any of her other former schoolmates, not since Harry and Ron's death.

As she tiptoed towards the locker room she was expecting to find the safe in, she listened for any noise. It was eerily silent; not many people elected to live on the borders, so stations such as Hampstead were lacking in the usual hustle and bustle that was omnipresent in Victoria and King's Cross.

The door of the locker room creaked, and Hermione stepped in, her eyes scanning the place for signs of a trap. When she found none, she took a few tentative steps forward. Locker 42, that's the one. Her eyes soon found the number.

"Alohomora," she muttered, and the locker opened with another creak. Hermione almost rolled her eyes; she had expected more of a challenge. The safe was quite sizeable, so she cast a shrinking charm on it and slipped it into her beaded bag. As soon as she shut the locker, however, the blare of a siren went off.

Fuck, Hermione cursed mentally. She had two options: try to hide, or make a run for it. Fuck, make a decision, now!

Hermione chose to run. She made herself invisible with a quick charm, and she sprinted out the door. Her boots were clanking against the metal floor, and she could already hear shouts coming from behind her. Somebody was chasing her, though they likely couldn't see her. She was running as fast as she could muster, but the shouts were coming closer and closer. Hermione could almost feel the guards' breath on her neck.

As she ran, Hermione frantically looked for an escape. There must have been a vent of sorts. As the guards caught up to her, she caught a glimpse of something. A hole, just above a door that was lining the corridor. Hermione leapt, barely clinging on to the hole. With all the energy she could muster, she pulled herself up, curling up in what seemed like a vent. She watched as the guards went by, panting from her lung-wrecking sprint.

And then, she waited.


"Here," Hermione placed the locker on the small table, the hood of her cloak once again pulled over her eyes.

"Hmm," the man hummed. "Not bad." He reached into his sack, pulling out a fistful of coins before handing them to Hermione. "Two hundred, give or take."

Hermione nodded, counting the coins without a word. When she was satisfied with the amount, she nodded again, slipping the coins into her beaded bag. As she turned to leave, though, she posed a question. "What's in it?"

The man's mouth curved into a smile. "Something magical."