A/N: All right, here we go, second chapter. It's shorter than the previous chapter, but I could just not coax anything further out. Also, it might be a longer wait for the next chapter. I've got Chapters 3 and 4 written (not edited, though) but I want to spend time developing Chapter 5 and 6.
This chapter was depressing to write. It's probably depressing to read. I tried my best. Tell me what I could improve on.
Thanks to all the kind, kind people who left constructive reviews. It is wonderful to hear feedback, especially when it's thoughtful. But I don't mind flames either. If I collect enough flames, I hope to trade them in for a toaster oven. Bring it on!
Disclaimer: Nothing in this belongs to me. It all belongs to J.K. Rowling who is neither a god nor goddess, but a simple mortal. May we all follow her example.
What A Good Girl - Chapter 2: Destruction
" 'They can't get inside you,' she had said. But the could get inside you...There were things, your own acts, from which you could not recover. Something was killed in your breast; burnt out, cauterized out."
- George Orwell, "1984"
Cold cement floor beneath her body. High spiraling laughter. Burning tears scalding her cheeks from tired eyes. Screams. The desire to die, to fade away.
Hermione bolted upright, gasping. Raising a shaking hand, she managed to turn on the lamp on the bedside table. In the sudden light she sat shivering, listening to the frantic beating of her own heart.
I am not with Voldemort. I am free. I am here in my apartment. I am not with Voldemort. Hermione rocked back and forth, repeating the mantra silently. Slowly, very slowly, her heart stopped its frenzied thumping. Still taking deep breaths, Hermione swung her shaking legs out of bed and wobbled to the kitchen to get a cup of tea.
Waiting for the water to boil, Hermione felt like crying. Three years. It had been three years since she'd been captured and imprisoned in Voldemort's castle. Three years and she was still having nightmares about what happened in there. Granted she didn't have them often but they hadn't left her no matter how much time had passed.
Startled by the high whistle of the steam, Hermione poured the water and took her mug of Earl Gray back to her bedroom. She sat in bed, cradling the cracked mug in her hands, taking sips.
She could still feel the shock, the choking realization that she had betrayed those dearest to her. And she still felt the wrenching pain that had come when she found out that Ron and Harry had betrayed her just as easily. Of all the horrible things that Hermione had anticipated Voldemort doing, she hadn't imagined that he would try and destroy their friendship. It had been a clever thing to do, for it had knocked the solid ground right out from under her feet.
I felt broken. And she had been broken after the Downfall. Hermione hadn't had any injuries besides some burns, but her spirit had been mangled. And while the doctors and nurses at St. Mungo's could perform miracles on the body, they couldn't do much for the mind. So she had went back home and huddled in her room for months. It had been awhile before her parents could coax her out of bed, longer before she would set foot out of the house.
If Voldemort were still alive, he'd be pleased at how low he brought Harry Potter and his friends. Even three years later I'm still trying to recover.
Shaking off the thought, Hermione finished her tea and set the mug on her bedside table. However, she didn't turn the lights back off yet. Instead, her treacherous mind took her back to the night of the Downfall.
After Voldemort had left her shuddering on the floor, Hermione had no recognition of the time that passed. She knew, barely, that someone had come in and fed her. She also knew that someone had changed her black travel robes to ones of pure white. But at that point, she hadn't cared what was done with her. In many, many ways, Hermione felt as if she was already dead.
However, she wasn't in truth and a guard eventually came. She was forced to her feet, pulled out of the cement room, and prodded down countless halls. As she walked down the bleak corridors, Hermione had enough prescience to notice that the layout was very similar to Hogwarts.
After numerous staircases, she and her guard had entered a room that had the same proportions as the Great Hall. The ceiling looked like the night sky, but instead of being full of tranquil stars, lightning flashed silently across it. The room was lit dimly, although Hermione couldn't tell from what source. It certainly wasn't from floating candles, for there were none. Also, there were no house tables. Instead, Death Eaters filled the room. The ones in front of her parted, allowing her and her guard through to the center of the room.
Breaking through the last Death Eaters, Hermione finally saw the source of light. Floating about six feet off the floor was a glowing quartz crystal. The light radiated from it in waves, brightly lighting the immediate area. And around it stood Voldemort, Harry, and Ron.
She was suddenly and painfully aware of her closest friends. While their trust and friendship in each other had been broken, the Iunctara bond was crazily not. She could feel the despair, fear, and hurt rolling off of them in waves. Hermione accidentally looked into their eyes and hurriedly ripped her gaze away; the flatness in the blue and green had been chilling.
"My Death Eaters, did I not promise you glory? Did I not promise you power? And did I not promise you Harry Potter and his supporters brought low?" Hermione looked up at Voldemort, startled by Harry's name. "Look at them, able with a few movements and a word to destroy me utterly. But I have destroyed them first though they breathe. I have destroyed them by cracking their bond of friendship. They will never ever recover."
The Death Eaters murmured and Hermione saw Voldemort grab Harry's arm. At that point, she realized that both Harry and Ron were wearing the same white robes as she. "See how he doesn't react. He's as good as dead inside his mind. There isn't always need to hurt physically; mentally and emotionally do just as well!" And indeed, Harry did nothing but gaze straight ahead.
Voldemort let the arm fall. "And today, Death Eaters, today you and I will finally have what is rightfully ours. Our power will rise above all others and we will crush the world to our feet."
"My followers, we will be gods and nobody, nobody, will be able to stand in our way."
As Voldemort ranted and raved, Hermione forced herself to look at her ex-friends again. Ron stood, dazed, gazing at the crystal in front of him. His blue eyes had a clouded cast to them; it was as if he had no clear idea of what was happening. Turning her attention to Harry, she noticed a distinct difference. Instead of seeming oblivious, Harry looked completely aware of what was going on. His green eyes stared at her calmly but bleakly. Clearly he knew he was about to die but didn't care.
"Death Eaters, here and now will we destroy all who oppose us, symbolized in this boy, whom the wizarding world fondly call 'The Boy Who Lived'. His blood will be the gateway to our power, his friends the funnel through which we will receive the power. Their blood, poured on the Crystal, will lift us all!"
As Voldemort shrieked these last words, the Death Eaters broke into triumphant yelling. Hermione, through her lucid state, felt something within her stir. Her conscience, which had been silent until now, slowly uncurled from its silent position in the back of her mind. It quietly assessed the situation and then spoke.
We must stop him.
No. I don't care, Hermione thought savagely back at it. I don't care what happens. I hurt too much to care.
You do too care what happens. You want it to end like this? Her conscience countered. All that studying, seven years worth, and you want to throw it away? Throw your dreams, your triumphs away? All because your friendship with Harry and Ron is broken?
Yes!
No! You don't truly want that, I should know. But that's beside the point. It doesn't matter what you want to happen to your life right now. What matters is following the rules. You always follow the rules Hermione. Always. If refusing to save the world because you 'hurt' isn't breaking one of the biggest rules of mankind, then I don't know what is.
Hermione closed her eyes, hoping to block out the little internal voice. Maybe I'm tired of 'rules'. Maybe I'm tired of being Good Little Hermione who does everything right.
Well, then this is a hell of a time to suddenly question your entire lifestyle! This isn't a matter of 'wants' right now. This is a matter of saving the world from a ruthless, powerful wizard. Her conscience ended on a note of exasperation.
I suppose you're going to tell me all the good things to live for in life? All the good things worth saving the world for.
No I won't. Life, a lot of the time, is bloody awful. And the good bits don't always counteract the bad. But it can be agreed on by everyone sane that a free world is better than an enslaved one. Do you think that Voldemort is going to give Mudbloods the freedom to study magic? Do you think that Voldemort is going to give anybody the freedom to do anything? Stopping this monster from enslaving the wizarding and muggle world is the only right thing to do. And you've always done what's right, Hermione; are you going to stop now?
Hermione opened her eyes. Though she didn't want to admit it, her conscience was correct. Trying to stop Voldemort was the only possible option, the only action. She couldn't accept death when it meant that countless others would suffer.
But she knew that she couldn't do anything unless Harry helped. Without him, the spell would never work.
Pushing the screaming inside away, Hermione force her eyes towards Harry's. She stared at him, willing him to see her. I know you hurt Harry. I do too. But we must forget that.
The green flickered, but the searing pain didn't leave. He looked at her, forlorn and pale in white. She wondered belatedly if he actually saw her.
Harry, mouthed Hermione. Harry, you must act first. Or it won't matter what I do.
To the side, Voldemort had pulled out a silver dagger. A foot long, it glinted jerkily in the crystal light. "And now we will kill them, put them out of their misery. We will take the power that is ours and I will lead you ahead of the legions of the Dark!"
Please Harry, mouthed Hermione again.
Voldemort walked briskly over to Harry, closed his crimson eyes, and drew the knife high. "Now is the time for the reaping!"
Please?
Without words, Harry leapt to the side and grabbed Ron's hand. Hermione, reacting on instinct, dashed forward and seized Voldemort's upraised arm, stopping it from plunging. The Dark Lord's eyes snapped open and he stared at her unbelievingly. Not thinking, Hermione stuck her left hand out and felt Harry grab it.
"ERRADICO SCHELUS!"
As both Harry and Hermione shrieked these words, the crystal cracked, blazed up in sudden fire, and Voldemort exploded into a thousand bits.
Hermione gave a small shudder, tears falling down her face. She didn't remember anything after triggering the spell. A flash of heat, a scream, and she had fallen into darkness. The Downfall had been that quick.
When next Hermione woke, she was in St. Mungo's healing from burns. She was told that both Harry and Ron survived and were recovering in different rooms. She could see them whenever she wanted. However, she never saw them and they never saw her.
Hermione sat in bed, reliving these memories that hung around her like a chain. They dragged her down each day. For the next couple of hours before she fell back asleep, Hermione cried silently for a friendship that had been destroyed.
The next morning, Hermione woke around ten. She groggily got up and stumbled her tiny shower. After cleaning up, she struggled into some gray sweats. She didn't have any interviews to dress up for, so comfort was the order of the day.
The rest of that morning and half of the afternoon Hermione spent owling potential employers with an owl that she had rented from the Owl Post Office. Ad after ad she tried, trying to find a job. She eventually gave up trying for a strictly research job and began looking for anything that she might be qualified for besides minimum wage. Fortunately, that morning yielded a few prospects. She even got a possibility of an interview.
Hermione pillowed her head in her hands and stared out the window. The sun slowly went across the sky. Just as she was nodding off, the phone rang.
Jerking out of her trance, Hermione raced to the kitchen and snatched the receiver.
"Hello? Hello?" Hermione paused and listened to voice. "Oh, mum. Yes…I'm all right…yes, everything's all right Mum. I just was asleep and the phone startled me. What is it?"
Hermione rolled her eyes at the anxious question. "Mum, I'm fine, just peachy keen. Yes, I'm still haven't a job. Yes, I looked in today's paper! No, I haven't heard anything back from the Ministry. It hasn't even been a day yet. They're not going to contact me the day after the interview. I mean, they said that it would take a…"
Hermione trailed off as a ball of glowing light appeared above his kitchen table. Inside it, the face of Mr. Bradbury appeared looking quite nervous.
"Uh, Mum, I have to go. I'll speak to you later!" Hermione slapped down the phone and then remembered what she was wearing. Hiding the grimace, Hermione tried to look as professional as she could in sweats.
"Ms. Granger? Can you hear and see me?" His eyes peered anxiously out of the glowing orb.
"Yes, Mr. Bradbury. Perfectly well."
"Good then. I am orbing for two reasons." At this point, Mr. Bradbury's eyes lowered. "First to tell you that we've decided to hire somebody else for the position that you interviewed for. I've terribly sorry about that."
"Not as sorry as I am." Hermione managed to hide her disappointment. However, her curiosity began to grow. Normally a rejection meant a post from an owl, not a personal orb.
"I do have another message. Recently, there have been killings in the wizarding world, quite a few killings. And while the Aurors have been working hard to catch the murderer, they haven't been successful."
Hermione frowned. "And you are telling me this because?"
Mr. Bradbury looked earnestly out of the floating ball. "We believe that the murderer is copying the murders of Volde…mort."
Of all things he could've said, this was the last that Hermione had expected. "Oh."
"We want you to come in. The Aurors want all the information they can get about…You Know Who, in order to try and catch the murderer before somebody else dies. You're one of our resources, being one of the three who witnessed the final destruction of Vol…de…demort. Furthermore, the Minister wants a few words as well."
Hermione was dumbstruck. She didn't know quite what to say. But then a disturbing thought popped into her mind. "Are Harry and Ron coming in as well?"
Mr. Bradbury was silent for a second. "Yes."
"Then my answer is no." Hermione turned and hoped that Mr. Bradbury would accept that without argument.
"I'm afraid you have no choice," she heard from behind her. "Whether you want to come or not doesn't matter. If you don't show up nine o'clock tomorrow morning at the Ministry, Aurors will come for you. I think everyone would rather you show up on your own instead of in a full body-bind."
Hermione turned around furiously. "You can't do that!" But inside, she knew they could. Obviously things had escalated to the level that the Minister could order in witnesses.
Mr. Bradbury sighed. "Ms. Granger, you know full well that the Ministry has the authority. Will you be here? Or do I have to notify the Aurors to be at your flat tomorrow?"
Hermione anger deflated. She swallowed and hunched her shoulders. There was no way she was getting out of it. "I'll be there."
"Very good, then. It was nice to see you again, Ms. Granger. The Minister looks forward to talking to you tomorrow."