With Darkness There'll Be Light
Eleven - Darkness Moves In
Hermione, though trying to be strong for both herself and her best friend, could no longer withstand the torture she had been enduring for the last twenty minutes.
Gemma cackled evilly, the whip cracking against Ginny's bloody back. The blood seeped through Ginny's thin layer of clothing; Ginny, eyes closed, did nothing. No tears stained her cheeks, no whimpers left her mouth, she was already dead…if only on the inside.
Hermione was on all fours on the ground, the pain searing through her like a thousand sharpened blades. Her eyes were watery and she had taken on quite a haunted look. Her hair was matted to her head due to sweat that was secreting through her pores. The eyes which had once been lively, sparkling and brown, were now deadened over with blackness, anger saturating her life force.
The trees surrounding them seemed to be moving in. Hermione sat up as the whip cracked over her own back. With each slicing came with it a brand new line of pain. Slowly, Hermione could feel her pain gates closing, due to the mounting lividness. She would not let herself be tortured this way.
This was not how Hermione Granger was going to die. She had more strength than that.
Evil rage flashed through her placid eyes and she got off the ground as Gemma advanced on a very immobile Ginny. Ginny was lying on her back, her dead eyes turned towards the sky; this was the scariest way to see someone. Dead in the eyes.
With a rabid screech, Hermione dug her nails into Gemma's shoulders and threw her off her course; Gemma went sprawling about a foot away, her anger building up with each sharp breath she took.
Hermione, hands clenched in fists at her sides, breathed heavily, each breath laboring and serrated; her shoulders heaved, her eyes narrowed, her mouth slid into a tiny slit. She looked like a wild animal ready to pounce.
It was going to be a fight to the death, as far as Hermione was concerned. One of them would not get out of this alive…she prepared herself accordingly.
*
Draco's eyes flicked between each Death Eater, trying to find his or her identity in hopes he could define their weakness and overtake them. He knew only about ten out of the hundreds. One of them was his father.
Lucius Malfoy did not bother pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, there was no need.
Draco slowly stood up, his knees aching from where he'd fallen, and stood face to face with his father. Behind him, he could hear the Weasley boys, Harry and Seamus all standing as well.
"What have you done with her, Lucius?" Draco demanded, his voice carrying the old coldness the boys recognized from their school days.
"Done with whom, Draco?"
Draco laughed coldly, shaking his head in irritation, "Don't play dumb. You know who."
Lucius glanced around, a dumb smile across his sneering lips, "I'm sorry, I don't see Voldemort anywhere around here. Do you?" The man beside him laughed stupidly, Lucius waved him off dismissively, cutting off the oafish laughter.
"What have you done with Hermione?" Draco asked, his voice holding such spite that Harry was surprised he wasn't spitting pure venom. Draco's teeth were bared, like he was going to plunge them into Lucius' leg and watch him bleed to death; Harry knew that if this happened, Draco would feel no remorse. Nor would Harry, if it came to that.
Harry's eyes grew large as he watched the wizard calmly survey his father, whom he hadn't seen in at least two years, maybe three. Draco's gray eyes held anger of a degree Harry had never seen…not even when he'd been face to face with Voldemort himself.
"The Mudblood?" Lucius spat, motioning his wandless hand towards the blank screen above him. His other hand was pointed towards Draco, the wand's tip directly between Draco's eyes, in a threatening manner.
"Don't call her that," Draco hissed, lifting his head up with pure Malfoy pride.
"I'll call her what I will," replied Lucius, his voice light and airy compared to his son's. "She's not harmed, dear boy. She's out in the forest with one of our more skilled Death Eaters…that scene you saw before, it was only what could happen. If you don't cooperate." Lucius smiled eerily.
It seemed that none of the Fellowship were surprised to hear, or find, that Gemma was a Death Eater.
"What do you want?" Came Harry's clear, calculating voice from behind Draco. Harry took a step forward so that he was now standing directly beside Draco. Seamus, Ron, Fred and George followed suit so that the six of them were in an even line; the line of the light side.
"We only want one teeny, tiny, little favor, Mr. Potter," his lips curled into a tell-tale sneer even as his voice held nothing but childish condescendence. He looked around at his very ample army, most of which had taken their hoods off. "We want to kill you."
Fred scoffed, "Ha. I can assure you we won't make it easy on you. We won't just bow down and let you Avada us. We're not COWARDS like you."
"I wouldn't want that, Mr. Weasley," Lucius assured, seemingly ignoring the rude comment. "Of course, we have to wait a bit while my Lord gets himself ready…he would like the pleasure of killing Potter himself. As he hasn't been able to before, it'd be a very lovely treat for him." Lucius articulated each word with such precision that it was obvious he was stalling. Either that, or he didn't want anyone misunderstanding him.
Harry held his wand up, pointing it directly at Lucius, "We don't take things lying down," he muttered, his voice full of rancor, his eyes narrowed at his captor.
Lucius laughed shortly, "I don't want you lying down. I only want you to stand there, still like a good boy. I promise it won't hurt a bit." He laughed again, this time glancing at the henchman standing beside him. "Goyle, I'll ask you to disarm our worthy opponents."
Draco and Harry exchanged a very brief look that held one word only. It passed between them quickly and then spread to the other members of the fellowship like lightning.
Attack.
*
"It's no use, Hermione," Gemma groaned, kicking Hermione off her. Hermione flew into the air and landed with a thud next to Ginny. "If you anger me, I'll only kill you faster."
"You won't be killing me, Gemma," replied Hermione, standing up once more. Her voice was strong and her motions deliberate. "'Twill be I who kills you."
Gemma tipped her head back and let out a bark of hallow laughter, "I'd like to see you try."
"Haven't you noticed?" Hermione said, inching towards her. "I already am."
Gemma stayed still on the ground, not even needing to move. She was so sure she'd win, that she might as well have given up trying.
"I know how this works, Gemma. You can't do anything without your Master's final approval." She said the word master like it was a very dirty swear word.
"You are very skilled," Gemma admitted, sitting up. "but I really wouldn't get too cocky if I were you."
"Oh?" Hermione asked, eye brow raised. She stopped moving towards her target. "Why's that?"
"Because you've already lost, little girl." Gemma smiled at her in a mockingly way.
"Have I," Hermione repeated, taking a last step towards where Gemma lay. "You're not going to kill me."
"I'm not," echoed Gemma, her voice full of laughter. "Why's that?"
Hermione held a wand out in front of her, its tip pointed at Gemma's heart. "Because I have your wand. And I know you, you're completely useless without it. You're one of the worst witches I've ever met. You wanna know why?"
Gemma growled in response.
"I'll tell you why. Because you didn't bother to learn any Muggle ways of fighting. You've relied on your wand far too much, Miss Moon, and that is a very, very dire mistake…for it'll end in your demise."
Gemma cackled, "You can't kill me. You're far too good for that."
"After being held captive for days, after watching my parents die in front of my eyes, after watching my best friend slowly dwindle away…I no longer care about what's good and what's right. I only care about one thing."
Gemma's eyes flashed with a tad bit of fear, but she quickly overcame it and it was replaced with anger, "Oh, really," she stated flatly. "And what's that?"
"Revenge," snarled Hermione, sticking the wand directly against Gemma's chest.
Gemma squirmed against the sharpness of the wand and suddenly the severity of the situation hit her. She was about to be killed with her own wand. "Please," she begged, "Hermione don't do this. This isn't like you, you're good…you're not evil, you're full of complete goodness; you are too good for killing."
"Ha," Hermione said, "I'm not too good for anything, not anymore. Being in a depressive cell does things to you, Gemma; it made me so much stronger, stronger than I ever knew possible. There's only one thing you can count on in this life…and that's yourself. I'm counting on myself right now so I can save my friend's life. That awful place changed me, and I'm not going to say that it's for the better." She chuckled, "Well, maybe it's the better for me, certainly not for you."
Gemma's cold demeanor diminished and was replaced with a paleness of complete and utter terror.
Hermione took a deep, steadying breath and pushed the wand against Gemma's robes. Her face saddened slightly before hardening over and her voice was low; a quiet, desperate whisper that hung in the air long after the words were spoken and the trees lit up with green smoke.
"Avada Kedavra."