Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, even though I wish I did. Only the plot is mine.
Summary: The Light Side has been defeated forever. Harry, Ron, Dumbledore and the rest are dead and gone. All except for one girl, Hermione. But she is no longer a threat when captured by the new Dark Lord, almost 10 years after the final battle. She is in the hands of Draco Malfoy, and she will be broken. Or will he be the one who is broken? This is the nice version of 'Suspended'. MUCH nicer. This story is written in a more… gentle and sweet way, more romantic, not explicit in the least and generally not very offensive.
Coldest Hearts
Chapter One: Fight and Avenge
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Hermione sat in a small, cold shack at the edges of Hogsmeade, rubbing her hands together for heat and watching the flickering fire, transfixed. She was plotting her next attack on the Dark Ministry, her last one hadn't went well. Her small band of rebels had been crushed by the new Dark Lord. She didn't mourn them. She hadn't been close, hadn't been close to anyone since the first defeat, almost ten years ago. When everybody she had ever known and loved was slaughtered like animals before her very eyes. She had become hardened over the years, it wasn't for freedom and light she fought for anymore, it was for revenge. It was mechanical. What else was she going to do, just die? Just let the Dark Army claim her like it had claimed her loved ones? No, she wanted revenge, and she wanted something to do. So she wasn't mourning the rebels, there would be others to fight by her side.
Instead, she was thinking of the new Dark Lord. Voldemort had been defeated by one of his minions, she had heard, but she didn't know who this 'minion' was. Nobody did, except the highest ranking Death Eaters, and certainly none of her sources. It was more difficult like this, she didn't know his weaknesses and his perversities like she knew those of Voldemort. Voldemort was easy to manipulate. Anyone was, really, when you knew them well enough. And Hermione knew Voldemort. She had been fighting him for twelve years straight.
She laughed quietly. He was gone. Voldemort had been defeated, by his own follower, at that. She never would've thought it. If only she could've been a fly on the wall that day. She would've liked to see him die, to see him suffer in humiliation at the hands of his Army, that man whom she hated so intensely. She rubbed her sufficiently warm hands over her filthy camoflauge pants, tied the laces on her large black boots, stood up and straightened her pale green tank top and army jacket, and pulled her frizzy, matted hair into a pony tail. She smiled grimly as she walked into the streets of Hogsmeade.
Time to find some new recruits.
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The new Dark Lord reclined in his throne, not knowing he was the subject of the thoughts of a vengeful damoiselle. He sat sideways in the throne, his legs swung over one armrest and his arms behind his head as he watched his counsellors argue over a map of the world, wondering where they should go for a little 'entertainment', so to speak. Gods, this was the life. He wasn't particularly fond of the throne, it had been Voldemort's. But it did lend him a certain grandeur, a certain evilness, that he appreciated. After all, he didn't like having to kill his own men for impertinence. Best to keep them nice and intimidated. He sighed and raised a wand. Suddenly one of the counsellors jumped into the air, holding his injured backside. He pulled out a small dart and turned to face his Lord, shaking in fear and confusion, what had he done to anger him…?
"M-my Lord, have I offended you… I assure you, I…"
"Shut up Graffle!" The Lord yelled testily. Graffle jumped and took a step backwards, his face reddening as he heard the counsellors snickering. "Listen, you snivelling bats! All of you, go to China for your entertainment. Plenty of fine young Muggles there! And it's very far away from me!" He continued, and the counsellors apparated seconds after he finished. 'Finally!' He thought sighing. 'A little peace and quiet!'
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Hermione sat in the shack again, this time with a group of fifteen 20-25 year olds, rebellious and eager to fight. It didn't take long to muster a group of fighters when your opponent was the dreaded Death Eaters. She was drawing a fight plan in the dirt with a sharpened stick, throwing glares at anyone who dared to interrupt her explanations. She finished her plan, then said,
"Go get some sleep. We leave for London at the crack of dawn tomorrow. We fight as soon as we get there. You will need your strength and your wits about you. Rest." She said wearily. How was she supposed to encourage them when she couldn't encourage herself?
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Hermione led the group out into a clearing a short distance away from the town and gathered them around her.
"Do we know the plan?"
"Yes!"
"Let's apparate then." The group disappeared one by one, Hermione going last. They appeared in a dark alley in London, and the first thing Hermione saw was herself, on a wanted poster. It read: Unknown Rebel leader, armed and dangerous, reward: 5000 Galleons. The others watched her apprehensively as she took out her pocket knife and silently shredded the poster, watching the scraps of it float softly to the dirty pavement. She sighed and led her troupe towards the Death Eater head quarters, placed over the rubble of what had once been known as Madame Malkins. The shop had been torn down, and in its stead lay a huge green and silver-white building looming oppressively over everything in sight, even the legendary Gringotts. "NOW!" She yelled and they began to throw curses and hexes.
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The Dark Lord got out of his throne and walked to where his feast table, constantly laden with food, was placed. He picked up an apple and bit into it, then heard a knock on the door.
"ENTER!" He yelled. A minor Death Eater came in, he had heard that his Master was in a bad mood, but…
"Ehm, ah, well, Master there seems to be a tiny little rebellion… and ah we, we were wondering…ah, what to, ehm, do?"
"Fuck!" The Lord yelled, then spun and glared at the Death Eater. "Well? Summon the Death Eaters you little brat!" He ordered, throwing the half-eaten apple at the young man as he scurried to comply. The Lord growled and sat down in his throne to await his army. Being the Dark Lord wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
His favored Death Eaters hurried into the room and stood before him silently.
"Well?" He aksed again. Honestly. "Tell me what's going on?!" Gorgon, his highest ranking Death Eater, stepped forward confidently.
"The girl, sir, the girl is what's going. That damn little short girl leading a new band of rebels. Attacking this building, actually. Sir." He said and stepped backward into line. Draco banged his fist into the table.
"Why in the fuck will that little slapper not leave me alone? What in the hell did I ever do to her?" He looked expectantly at his men and they glanced at each other nervously, not knowing what to say.
"Uh, maybe you once, I mean, Volde…, I mean the Death Eaters once killed someone she, like, knew… or something." Said a brave one. The Lord stomped his foot.
"Great! We have to suffer the repercussions of that great poof Voldemorts asshole strategies! What Fun!" He yelled, and just then a tremor shook the building.
"She's attacking!" Exclaimed someone.
"No shit Sherlock!" Said someone else. They began to file away to fight her.
"Wait!" Yelled the Master. They turned to face him. "This time, get her, or else you will be sorry." He hissed threateningly.
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The battle raged outside the head quarters, until the appearance of the Master ensured it's end. After two hours of having his throne shaken, he stormed out of the building, wearing his traditional Death Eater cloak and mask. He shot down anyone who approached him, Death Eater or rebel, yelling,
"I'm going for a fucking pint! Have her when I get back!" Hermione watched him in wonder. He was a foot taller than her, and he seemed to have no love for the pompous rituals that Voldielocks had. She ran at him, determined to hex him. He turned and faced her, his mask preventing her from seeing the expression on his face. She raised her wand and began to mutter the words.
"Ava-" She was cut off as a stunning curse hit her. The last sight she saw was a tiny wand concealed in the Dark Lord's palm, the wand that had been her downfall. Oh crap…
TBC
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Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy. If you're looking for the violent and sexy version, go read my 'Suspended'.