The Enemy Chapter 14
Nobody moved, and after a few moments I knew my foot was asleep. I fought the urge to stamp it against the wooden floor but it was getting rather difficult. I'd gone into shock the moment Voldemort's crumpling body had hit the floor; it was almost too much to comprehend.
The man my father had dutifully served for an unbelievable amount of time, fifteen years, to be exact, was gone. In one moment. That was all it took to defeat him, it seemed…one moment. One swish of the wand, one angry curse bellowed through the air, and he was gone.
They said that the Killing Curse didn't work on him; that he was superior to the rest of the wizards and witches because he was the only one who could escape such a final and ultimate means of death. Yet, right here, right now, he had died from it, we'd all of us witnessed it…Hermione, myself, Potter, and the seven or eight death eaters littering the room like trash. I looked over to my father, and his jaw was dropped, the yellowish, fang-like teeth quite visible to the rest of us. Now was not a time to think that my father really ought to whiten his teeth, but sometimes I had the tendency to think of trivial and petty things at inappropriate times. I looked over to Hermione and she was clutching Potter's robes as if her life depended on it. I wanted to walk over to her, reassure her that everything would be okay—I wanted to be the strong, supporting man in this time of dire need. Potter got everything. Always!
I reasoned with myself. Now was probably the worst time to be jealous of Harry Potter. He'd just killed a very high-profile criminal, so to speak. I couldn't take the deafening silence anymore, I had to speak. I had to say something, at least. But speaking meant that you were confirming the situation, truly putting it into reality. Speaking meant that you were dealing with it; finding ways to solve new dilemmas.
"He's dead," I finally found myself whisper. I was angry that I hadn't said the words any louder; I felt weak and ready to pass out all of a sudden. But I had to be strong; hell, I wasn't even involved in this bloody mess…well not really. Aside from the fact that it was partially my fault that Hermione had ever received the Dark Mark, ever become Voldemort's heir. Merlin my life was so screwed up!
My father turned to look at me, his cold grey eyes staring directly into my identical ones. "Good observation," he said icily. For the first time I did not back down to his ridicule, because as I'd noticed throughout these death eater ceremonies… it wasn't about him being ruthless, cruel, or uncaring. He was teaching me. In his own sick and twisted way he was really teaching me—telling me that real life, after Hogwarts, wasn't exactly going to be lambs frolicking in a field…and I had to know how to respond. I had always backed down to him, and somehow, I knew at this point that he didn't want me to do that. Never wanted me to do that. He was telling me, instructing me that I had to be brave and stand up for myself. And now, now that anything was possible (If Voldemort had just succumbed to Avada Kedavra, then anything was truly possible!) I was going to do it.
"I know," I replied, mocking his distant, harsh voice.
The rest of the death eaters, plus Hermione and Potter, seemed to be quite immersed in the little drama-fest my father and I had just created. We stared each other down for a few seconds before he finally broke it. A fleeting feeling of joy and triumph spread throughout my body; I'd beaten my father at something! Beaten the unbeatable. It seemed to be somewhat of a theme tonight…or should I have said, this morning. I glanced at my watch. Nine a.m. What the hell was Dumbledore doing right now? Panicking, that three of his students were missing?
Amusing situation, really. Too bad I wasn't there to see it.
Hermione spoke next, her voice almost trembling with each word. "What are we going to do?" she said softly.
I looked at her, and slowly drew in a breath. "Go back," I said as forcefully as possible. "We have to go back."
As I began to walk towards her, Potter's voice echoed throughout the house, and all of the death eaters, who couldn't stop looking at the fallen form on the floor, looked up with interest. "No, Hermione. You will not move."
Hermione glanced at her friend in fear and confusion, and I saw a flicker of ice-cold determination on Potter's face. His voice, although raspy, contained a certain strength that the strongest man would stop to listen to. Yet another thing to be jealous of, goddamn it!
"Hermione," Potter said dangerously, "did you hear what Voldemort said when he was dying? Did you?"
Hermione looked down at the floor.
"You did, didn't you? Now I've been catching bits and pieces of this weird situation here between you, Voldemort, and Malfoy over there, but I deserve an explanation. And you are giving it to me."
Hermione sighed, and as I looked around the room, I noticed every single Death Eater, including those who actually did know what was going on, had turned their heads to watch Hermione intently as she began the long explanation.
"Well," she began weakly. "It started…started at the beginning of seventh year, when Draco was asked to sum—"
She stared at me in disbelief, and I knew my expression mirrored the same feeling. Loud, hacking coughs flew out of her mouth, and she was choking again. I was terrified. This meant that that charm that Voldemort had placed on her; it was still there, it was still active. Well if it still existed then who knew what other unpleasant surprises that he'd left behind? I almost didn't want to know. I rushed over to Hermione, who'd fallen to the floor, knees buckling in weakness.
Potter beat me to it. "Are you okay?" he asked her worriedly. "Talk, Hermione, why can't you?"
She just shook her head and looked pointedly at me. It was then that I remembered that Voldemort hadn't placed any charms upon me; he'd trusted that I wouldn't go rag to Potter or Weasley about what really happened. And ordinarily, I wouldn't have. I'm not that kind of person and Voldemort had an uncanny ability to tell exactly what kind of person you were. In Hermione's case, she was kind, caring, open-minded and honest. He'd put in a lot of effort to reverse those aspects…and it was working. She wasn't all that kind or caring anymore, and neither was she honest. I wasn't sure about open-minded because I myself was not of muggle descent, so I couldn't tell, but I suspected she had moments when she felt anger for mud bloods.
Potter glared at me. "She obviously wants you to speak for her, Malfoy," he said, stressing my name as if it were the Dark Lord's name, "so go ahead."
"Well," I bit out, "She can't talk herself because of a convenient little charm that's been placed on her," I informed him, "and neither you nor I have the power to break it. One of those lovely charms that can't be broken unless the placer of the charm is the one to remove it."
Potter gazed at me stonily, but I could see the doubt creeping up into his eyes. "I see," he finally said. "Do go on."
"Well," I said, fighting the urge to slowly let the tale unfold—I was a little scared of the fact that Potter was capable of killing—nobody would have thought it possible. "Er, I was… instructed by Voldemort and my father," I gulped, glancing over at him. There was no way that I could throw all of the blame on him, or on Voldemort…because I was right here in a nest full of his supporters. "to bring Hermione to Voldemort, and er, I didn't really have a choice, so, uh… I brought her to Voldemort about a month ago."
Potter didn't say anything. He just looked at me, a cruel glint in his eyes that was quite unnerving, though I'd rather die than admit that I might be slightly afraid of Wonder Boy at this moment.
"When I brought her to Voldemort," I said softly, "He gave me the Dark Mark…and, well, er, gave Hermione the Dark Mark as well."
Potter drew in his breath sharply, but still didn't speak.
"He proclaimed her Heiress of the Dark Lord…his heir," I continued miserably, suddenly desperate and anxious to finish up the story. "He had her drink Firehorn potion, and if you're not aware of what that is, it basically lets him into her head and infuses their thoughts together."
Potter was looking at Hermione now, who was sitting up on the floor and watching me as I recited the events.
"And," I said, even faster, "As time went on it became increasingly obvious that she was under his influence. She, um, said and did some things… that were very Voldemort-like, and I knew that he had a pretty good control over her thoughts."
I finished up rather lamely and stared at the two of them. Before any of us could speak, my father and another Death Eater, Avery, stepped up, and grasped Hermione's wrists.
Avery looked really rather pissed, and my father did too. In fact, I noticed that all of the Death Eaters had formed some sort of ring around us.
"You," Avery growled to Potter, "Lucius, take care of him."
My father dropped Hermione's wrists and advanced menacingly towards Potter, who didn't back down. This ultimately turned out to be a bad idea on Potter's part; my father had soon whispered a silky binding spell and Potter was soon situated in a corner of the room, excluded from the circle, hands and feet bound. He probably couldn't see a thing and I soon noticed the cleverness of Avery and my father; by not letting him see what was going on they were giving him one of the worst punishments someone so interfering as him could possibly have.
Avery gave me a withering look which basically meant shut up and sit tight. I knew that if I dared intervene in any manner Avery would not hesitate to kill me. That my father was there was only a slight reassurance—I knew he didn't want me dead but if it was for a "greater evil" then he would not mind such a small sacrifice.
Finally Avery spoke to Hermione. "You," he spat, "are but a filthy mud blood. We all of us were terribly afraid of going against Voldemort's will, but now that he is out of the picture (and here he sent a quick glance in the direction of the corpse, which sat directly in the middle of the circle…all the death eaters avoided looking at it), we can do whatever we want to you."
Hermione cowered, and I wanted nothing more to help her. Unconsciously I took a step towards her and before I knew what happened, Avery had swiveled around and sent a binding spell towards me.
Miserable I sat down on the cold floor and waited unhappily, only an observer of the darkness around me.
-------------------------------------------
I was afraid.
I hadn't expected the Death Eaters to gang up on me the second that Voldemort had died. I felt fleeting loss, I didn't know why but I was truly upset that he had died. This current attack on me did give a good reason to be upset that Voldemort was dead, but…from the minute that his body hit the ground I felt that a part of me had literally died.
I didn't know if his voice was still in me, but I shuddered to think how creepy it would be to hear a dead man in your head. Oddly I was half compelled to wish that he was still in my head—I'd grown, disgustingly enough, a little fond of him. He'd been rather a confidant, not a willing one of course—but since he could read all my thoughts anyway, it hadn't been half-bad.
Avery glared at me most unceremoniously before speaking. "You don't deserve such an honor," he said angrily.
Honor? I wondered to myself. "What do you mean?" I bit out, not wanting to show that I was in the least bit afraid.
Avery growled impatiently. "You don't even know the powers you have? This is so ridiculous," he said to the men and few women around him, "truly ridiculous. He names her heir and she doesn't even know the importance of it."
I didn't say anything. Briefly I wondered how frizzy my hair had turned out to be in the stressful situation. I also was curious to know what had become of Harry. I felt terrible for him, poor thing, being pushed to the side. I wondered when Dumbledore was going to come save us. I did not doubt it; he was an omniscient being to us. He knew everything. I tried not to think of the possibility that he had no idea where the three of us were.
"Mud blood," Avery said nastily. "Let me explain this to you."
I looked up, propelled by this desire that I have to know everything that is possible.
"You will never need to apparate," for one he said angrily. "You can transport yourself and others simply by thought."
"What do you mean?" I asked, suddenly trembling. I had a very bad feeling about this. I knew I'd done something…
"Well… you just have to have a burning power to transport them—have to have an exact location, et cetera. How do you think Harry Potter found his way here in the first place?"
I gasped. I knew I had done something! I'd transported Harry—while he was sleeping! Envisioned him in Godric's Hollow, fully dressed and with his wand…who knows, I could have planted a murderous thought in his head, one that made him capable of murder!
It was absolutely terrifying.
"What else can I do?" I asked softly.
Avery scoffed, but didn't answer my question. I suspected that he himself did not know the full extent of powers that Voldemort had bestowed upon me. Now that if any other thought was pretty scary.
"Anyway," piped up Pettigrew, that stupid excuse for a death eater, "We've decided to get rid of the obstacle."
Avery shot a nasty glare in his direction, and Pettigrew squirmed under the limelight. Served him right, I thought angrily. Horrid little bugger!
"Voldemort's not here to protect you anymore," Lucius said, his voice cutting like steel. "Can you believe this?" he asked his death eaters. "The Lord threatened my son, my family, for the likes of this! This intruder into our circle!"
The Death Eaters raised up a chant that certainly agreed with Lucius's words. I wondered how they were going to kill me. I knew I had no chance for escape—the only two people on my side were bound and one of them couldn't even see what was going on.
Avery pulled his wand out of his robes, chuckling softly. "Say goodbye, sweet heiress," he said sarcastically. "Too bad you weren't able to fulfill your master's final wish."
At that moment, something in me really clicked. In a dangerous way. How could he insult Voldemort, how dare he insult the man he served so faithfully for fifteen years? How awful, the bloody idiot was going to pay…
"Merlin help me!" I found myself barking at them. "How am I supposed to do the Dark Lord's work with idiots like you! You think that you can suddenly kill me and get away with it? I'm the Dark Lord's heiress, soon to be the Dark Lady!"
Avery looked at me, a puzzled expression on his face. "Yes, that's correct—Voldemort knows what is going on. He wasn't an idiot, and by doing this, are you saying your ex-master was stupid? Do you?"
Avery dropped the wand.
"You blasphemer! Bad name upon the Dark Lord!"
I found myself bending to pick the wand, my hands shaking slightly. "Avada Kedavra," I snarled angrily.
The light hit him and in a flash another body lay on the ground, expression of fear and disbelief still lingering on his face. I suddenly felt drained and exhausted and slumped towards the floor myself.
It wasn't the fact that I'd just killed someone.
It was that I wasn't quite sure if Voldemort's lingering thoughts had done it, or if I'd done it of my own accord.
A/N: Thank you for your magnificent reviews. Well I'll be wrapping up next chapter, in which Hermione will see the path she wants most, a lot more D/Hr interaction, and Harry, Ron, and Dumbledore. Please review this chapter! Thanks. Oh and one last thing: Tell me if you prefer a Dark Lady Hermione or a good Hermione. This may or may not influence my decision but I'm just curious.