Chapter 5

The vision lifted itself from her eyes and a tore gasp from her parted lips. It was as if she had been suspended in the beautiful golden light; she finally saw, the destruction, the scattered books and papers, the broken windows. Like white muslin had been lifted from her eyes, she saw all clearly…and heard it all just as clearly. The screams of terror from out side, horrified, she walked slowly towards the shattered window, to further gaze at her destruction. Was she capable of harnessing such inhuman power in her slight frame? She only had to look around her to answer the question.

Malfoy rose slowly from his protective position, visibly shaken. He stared up at Hermione with a mixture of awe and fear. All that power had been aimed at him; he had known it the moment he felt her release. But, he was safe, unharmed. A stinging pain rushed along his left arm, from shoulder to fingertips; then the sensations of warm fingers crawling along his entire arm as the pain dulled. He turned his head away from the approaching goddess, to inspect his arm. A large shard of reinforced glass was imbedded in his shoulder, protruding through his collar bone. Trembling fingers strayed to the wound, eyes wide he carefully ran a finger over the sharp point of glass, the size of a pizza wedge. Carefully he tried to slip his arm out of his robes all the while expecting maddening pain to wash over him, but that never happened. He gently tugged the fabric from the glass and let the black robe lie among the pieces of glass and debris.

Hermione walked right past him, oblivious to his wound; she walked towards the window preparing for the destruction she would see. However the screams had stopped and the cool breeze through the ruined window carried memories of relived sighs and magic.

He had not been expecting this; a Kardeshi did not begin ritual awakenings this early. Sprays of black spikes framed his sharp features; his dark eyes bore holes into the Headmaster. They had been like this the moment Hermione had walked into the library. Just sitting and examining each other thoroughly. Regret and guilt spiralled lazily around the older man, weaving little knots of tension around his eyes. Yaji's eyes were fixed firm on the Headmaster's face. And he is a hero among these earth fools he sneered inwardly, condescending eyes, burning with black fire.

Dumbledore had summoned him some moments after Hermione Granger had left. His little mistake had certainly started off a chain reaction, as Hermione had answered to him, when he had probed her. His little mistake may have cost him a few lives. Yes, the old fool did feel guilty, but he was not to blame, this had been expected sooner or later; just not so soon. Dumbledore heaved a soft sigh, righting his damned spectacles before he raised his gaze to meet the young man's eyes. What he saw in those pits of darkness was not comforting at all, his professors would be arriving at his door at any minute and Yaji's eyes spoke of his defiance to tell, to explain what, how and why this occurred. Oh, yes he could certainly explain the why, but not the 'what' or the how. His own understanding of Hermione's people did not extend that far, after all there was only Hermione herself, and Yaji; if that was even his real name. Varitaserum had no effect on the alien what so ever, which could mean, it had no effect on Hermione either. And what a coincidence it was that he appeared a few days after he, himself had noticed the subtle changes in Hermione. He could not trust this man, even if he seemed to be the only one with answers to his questions.

Yaji watched the guilt disperse slowly, as wisps of mistrust took its place. The old man, however composed he may seem, was like a picture book that displayed its content colourfully. Nearly all his mental shield were down, but he didn't seem to notice; from the first day he had met him, the old man's aura had told him exactly what the old man wanted to hear. So he told him. Well not everything was a lie, certainly not about his heritage or connection to the girl. But everything else was. He had no time for this game to continue, the girl needed attending to and so did any other person that had gotten in the way of her destructive power. Why she awakened so early he would have to research carefully when he was alone; but right now he would have to deal with the old man then get the girl.

Sunlight hit his raven spikes, but his hair seemed to absorb it like a sponge; keeping his profile hidden behind a curtain of hair; though Dumbledore was not sitting to the side of him.

"Mr. Yaji…I have just realised I have not been acquainted with your first name." a small smile twisted the Headmaster's lips, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

Yaji continued his observations, and watched a purple thread of anxiety weave through leaf green mistrust and violet regret. Then suddenly the amusing play of colour were sucked into the Headmaster's robed figure; Yaji's eyes hardened. The old man had finally noticed that his mind was unguarded; and with the realisation he had automatically called up his shields and fixed them firmly in place.

"Dumbledore…" he growled; a thread of white anger laced through that one word. "I hope you don't underestimate my capabilities, the outcome will not, as your people say, be pretty."

Dumbledore raised a greying brow to the young man, questioningly. "I do not underestimate you Yaji; it would be a grave mistake on my part."

"She has come into he true self, you know this as well as I do and she must be taught control before she becomes destructive."

Dumbledore widened eyes at this comment; he had suspected that when she awakened she would be a danger to the student body, but not destructive. Not Hermione. Though she had proven him wrong once, she could always do it again.

"You," said Dumbledore, mentally pointing his finger at Yaji, "said that she would begin ritual awakenings, when she passed her eighteenth summer."

"I said that," he confirmed with a shake of his head, "but you did not tell me she used a time bending contraption during her thirteenth summer, and that would add six moons, two seasons."

"Ah…yes, that must have escaped my mind."

"But it's a good thing your telepathic abilities are so weak." Sneered Yaji viciously.

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes, soft sparks of blue energy prickled over his skin, Yaji was getting more incompetent as time progressed and a man can only have his limits stretched to absurd lengths before he broke the boundaries. That was exactly what Yaji was doing and if he went about the Headmaster the right way, he would be regretting ever underestimating the old man.

"We may not all be as gifted as you are, but we do respect others privacy, whether it be a physical or metaphysical state." He spoke calmly, breathing out a tired sigh, and slumping into his armchair like a man defeated. His eyes narrowed to slits and then slowly shut. Yaji watched the old man slide back into his chair, but he was not defeated, not in the least. He stood up, no longer going to deal with the mess his relation had created, no; he would leave the old fool and his followers to scrape the blood off the floor. Right now he needed to meditate.

It was a gruesome sight to behold, torn flesh clinging to the glass, but it was beautiful in some psychopathic way. The teasing manner in which sunlight was coaxed into a spectrum as it passed through the opaque material, a kaleidoscope of patterns and colours dancing across his thigh. It wasn't so bad on the whole, the glass had severed a couple of nerves in his shoulder, when it sliced through him; as he could no longer feel his left shoulder to finger tips, nor could he move it at all. At least he wasn't in pain, pain was just a distraction, but he knew that other things apart from nerves had been sliced in half. Warm blood had soaked into the white tank top along with other things and it had been a real struggle to just untangle the synthetic from the crudely shaped object jutting through his collar. Now his torn robe and blood soaked tank top sat atop discarded books and debris. He was still bleeding not just from the wound in his shoulder, but from little cuts on his hand and other parts of his body; he'd need help soon, before he died from blood loss.

She stopped inches in front of the shattered window, the screaming had stopped, but only the juvenile looked out side the window after they had thrown an object through it. It was a matter of security, to protect her identity. Surely no one knew who the cause was, and the notion that people may ask what the cause was, crossed her mind. What was she? A monster…hadn't one of the goals in her life been not to ask stupid questions? Well wasn't that a stupid question. Her body was still in a state of shock, she had been numb for hours it seemed and finally feelings had mercilessly overloaded her senses. Sounds and smells, slapped her wits, clawed their way into her mind and gave her a kick start; a wake up call. Metallic, coopery blood had been spilt from a human body, tickling her senses, making her stomach churn; then the smell of meat, fresh raw meat, worked it way down her throat. Silence flooded her ears like water, enveloping her completely but never blocking out the smells, the sordid smells.

The silence, in her mind echoed through out her being, suffocating the flames that had raged inside her for so long, that had been denied no longer. But she was not to be at peace; yes, she was finally awake, the sweet state of shock lingering in the back of her mind; but now she would have to perceive her destruction. Her destruction, it was all her fault and she would have to deal with it, with everything; with Malfoy…

Fear rode through her at the thought of his name, the last time she had saw him he had been sitting with in the chair that was surely outside, she had not seen him when she walked towards the window, but only a moment ago the last remnants of the power had been flushed from her system, and now thinking about it all she was calm. It bothered her, but not as much as it should have. Blood… could Malfoy be hurt? She twisted her neck around so quickly; that her hair flew threw the air to whip her across the face, making her wince. But the pain only helped her focused her slightly fuzzy vision on the bloodied 7th year Slytherin. Her eyes widened. Draco Malfoy was sitting among the destruction, but was touching the torn skin around his wound. His ruined cloths sat in a heap beside him, white blond bangs caressing the top of his shoulder, dancing merrily around the jagged wound. He had his profile to her, his legs underneath him and his hair acting like a shield between him and the rest of the world; an unsightly wound in his shoulder, framed by a backdrop of chaos. Wouldn't you be surprised at his cool calmness?

Hermione didn't move, just stared at him. A slight tightening in her abdominal muscles seemed to draw her attention back to herself. The smell of blood was no longer repulsive but strangely intoxicating; she could practically roll the essence of meat in her mouth, as if it were solid. Now she knew were these beautiful aromas emanated from. Malfoy. So vulnerable, totally defenceless, just waiting for her to come and taste his sweet blood; to test whether it is as delicious as the smell. She shook her head sending her hair flying once again in all directions, blood…taste…Malfoy food? What in the world was she thinking, this wasn't her; then again, whispered a little voice in the back of her head.

Soft murmuring could be heard from the other side of the library, what was formally the reception, then a soft sigh and silence. Malfoy turned his head towards the sound slowly, his muscles were unbelievably tense. The whisper of shoes on glass had had his attention for a while until the voice. He was quite aware that Hermione Granger was no longer in destructor mode and that she had finally spotted him. He was weak at that moment in time, having used a considerable amount of energy, trying to sojourn the blood flow and at the same time, keep his mental shields up, but he'd realised how utterly stupid it was, when his vision had begun failing him. The small cuts along his physique had clotted over, his own flesh had gradually sealed around the glass, in order to stay the blood, but he was still weak and would not last much longer if he was not attended to soon.

With his walls down, anything and everything metaphysical came his way like fire flies to light; and that was overwhelming considering he had been shielding against practically everything since the day he had hexed his farther. With the sudden heightened awareness, he had seen in vivid hues of turquoise, crimson and all the colours of the rainbow, Hermione Granger startled out of her trance; and watched silently in his head, her tentative steps towards the window, her sudden awareness of her surrounding and eventually him. Long, aristocratic fingers caressed his wound unconsciously, drawing wide circles around the swelling flesh as he watched her confusion, and saw her muscles tighten in need. Then a swath of violent red, with speckles of black washed through his mind, subsequently lost like a memory; but he would remember this, he would remember catching a glimpse of her darkness. The buzz of hunger shivered across his skin, but it wasn't his; this hunger would never be his. Then, came the soft murmurs from the other side of the library, Madame Pince…he thought; his hearting skipping a beat as he realised that even with his shields down he had not sensed her. Though surely she was alive, she may have been weakened by the discharge of energy, so much so, that she had become psychic white noise, however he very rarely had to cope with the weighted hand of all metaphysical beings and energies on his already weakened shoulders.

Hermione had fought down the persevering tightening in her body, the need. Whiffing the tangy scent of bodily liquid through her nose had not eased the struggle. Fear danced down her spine, fear of this unrelenting need, but the increasing fear had helped her suppress it. The ghastly scene around her had not registered in her mind, apart from the irritating noise her feet made as they ground into the shards of glass. She had seen Malfoy, all bloodied and looking quite harmless, but she had not set eyes on Madame Pince. 

The strange hunger was but an ache in her physical being, not a roaring mind boggling need. She could think again; Madame Pince was somewhere among all this carnage, and it was her fault. Her chest ached, it was her fault…this isn't the time for self pity she chastised herself. First she would have to deal with Malfoy and then she would need to get help. Before that she had to make sure Madame Pince wasn't in any immediate danger. Yes, back to your pragmatic self. She thought. Though no matter how hard she tried she would never be the same old Hermione Granger. What would Harry and Ron…she couldn't finish the thought, no more self pitying; she would deal with them when to got to them, not before. How well she seemed to be coping with everything was, confusing; looking on the wounded Malfoy didn't bother her, blood never did bother her; chaos never did bother her. As a matter of fact, death had never sparked a reaction from her. Hermione walked anxiously towards Malfoy, what did bother her though, was seeing Malfoy, so weak. He had always been unwavering, strong, arrogant and looking on him now as she steadily approached him, he was none of those.

She reached him in a few long strides and as she neared him, his shoulder wound became more disconcerting. It was clearly obvious that he needed her urgent attention; she snorted, urgent attention…what seemed like hours ago, she had wanted desperately to get away from him; to find her magic ball. Hermione stopped before him. Her magic ball… looking up ahead of the injured Slytherin, she set cool eyes on the luminescent sphere, now spinning lazily above the ruin; while in her unnatural trance the sphere had spun fiercely, slicing the ancient runes deeper into its skin, as it glowed a brilliant blue. Now, the sphere was as she first spotted it, shinning a pale blue, almost turquoise, though no longer did it look evanescent.

Malfoy felt her before him, standing so, very still as he felt her search for something, then find it. Her aura raged around her like crimson flames, licking at his sealed wounds and his shoulder. At the touch of her metaphysical fingers he felt his own aura respond to hers, shimmering in warm waves of heat above his skin. Then he remembered the meeting, how when Hermione's body had become slack then unexpectedly tense; he had caught a diluted wisp of fear from the old man. The lack of blood had slowed down his body, and suddenly thinking was becoming a chore. Would she just stand there all day and stare through him as if he were a curtain of fine silk?

She stared at the sphere for a moment longer oblivious to Malfoy's plight. Finally she remembered what she had intended to do, help Malfoy. With a gasp, she dropped to her knees before him, reaching out a hand tentatively to touch him. Her physical fingers brushed past his own that were still caressing the wound in his shoulder absentmindedly. The touch tore a gasp from his lips, and slowly he turned his head towards her, his hair falling into his eyes and around his face like a curtain. Hermione draw her hand way from his, thinking that she had caused him pain, wrinkling her eyes in what seemed to be her own pain. Or maybe it was exhaustion, so many emotions had been riding her since she came to; though she had never been truly asleep, the strain was testing her limits; but the day was not done with her yet it seemed.

She peered at him through the curtain of his almost frost coloured hair, trying to find his eyes. The door to his soul; unbeknownst to her, he had had a taste of her soul and it made him ache. Her eyes slid down to his lips, chapped, dry lips as he heaved a sigh and moved his jaw up and down, she watched the muscles in his throat and jaw work, clench and unclench as he tried to speak to her. Alarmed, she put a finger to his lips, quelling the wasted attempts to speak and with another hand, brushed the hair from his eyes, leaving him blinking at her. She noticed how his eyes, though they seemed to look at her, expressionless and devoid of anything, even pain, were unfocused. Blood…she looked around her, at him, smelt the tangy flavour of blood and instantly knew he had lost a considerable amount of it. His chest was smeared with blood, along his arms long, deep cuts were clotted over, his shoulder…in patches of unstained skin, the blood and colour itself seemed to have drained out through his wounds leaving his skin a chalk white; but he was not ice cold to the touch. No, she realised as she trailed a finger down his cheek, he was hot to the touch, skin too hot and clammy that she knew his body was burning up, as if he were in the grips of an intense fever.

"Malfoy…" she whispered through trembling lips, she knew it, as simply as she knew how to breathe, that Malfoy would die today. And it bothered her; it filled her with pain, then confusion and denial. She was mourning for Malfoy, even before his death! But she could not accept this death like she had accepted the deaths of others; she had not known them, none of them, as she had known her enemy; maybe that is why it hurt her. Another sigh escaped him, and he closed his eyes, his fingers stopped playing over his wounds; and then as Hermione's eyes widened, his entire body became slack and came sinking down towards her.

His head fell into her lap with a soft thud, his shoulders held above the ground, arms by his side and knees folded underneath him. Obviously the position he was in was not a comfortable one, any conscious person would have been complaining, but the boy in her lap was unconscious; and she hoped the he would stay that way, hoped she would have enough time to keep him alive, permanently. As she pleaded silently, eyes wide in shock once more. She did not notice the gasp, and crunch of glass underfoot. She did not hear the screams of panic and patter of feet, nor did she see Madame Pince limping out of the library with the help of Professor McGonagall, or feel the pairs of hands that lifted her up while another pair dislodged the young Slytherin from his place in her lap. All this she did not hear, see, feel, because she had, by the time the boys had come; been whisked away by exhaustion and shock into darkness; and this time she welcomed the silence, the peace with open arms. Lost herself to the void she had feared to give herself over to for so long, and she found comfort within the abyss, and a peace that she knew she would never find; not in any form of meditation, but only the darkness would ever bring her any kind of equanimity.

She sat high upon her mighty throne and gazed down at her loyal followers. Not with scorn or with compassion. Her pale colourless eyes glittered like diamonds, as she sat on that mighty throne of hers. Somewhere in the distance came the sharp echo of footsteps on the marble floor, but apart from that the throne room was silent, no one dared to make any sound that might gain them the young queens displeasure. For her consort had just perished, leaving her child fatherless and her own heart broken.

The footsteps approached, the sound of metal heels crashing against the smooth surface of the marble tiles seemed unnerving for the straight-backed guards by the door. A black cape swept into the room, the face hidden by its thick hood; the silence deepened, here entered the murderer; here stood an elite of the Kardeshian army; a betrayer.

If one had thought they knew silence, then they were wrong. As the commander, stood before his queen, the silence was utterly complete. It was a silence without a meaning behind it, without a motive. It was true silence that enveloped the throne room. Fiery raven spikes, framed the fallen worrier's face, like thorns around a rose. He was beautiful, sharp cheekbones, bronzed skin, full lips, and eyes of the abyss. Profoundly calm, even though he knew what was to come; intelligent eyes that were framed by the graceful sweep of his eyebrows. His bone structure was delicate but he was fierce, fierce when he wanted to be.

However, he was the epitome of calm, standing before the queen without his features in the dark, as she had wished. They were to be able to see the traitor's face, hold him in their memory for however damn long they lived. Though he knew the real reason she would have his actions revealed to all; power corrupted all, however small the rot was to start off with. That she had not had him publicly whipped before the entire court was a mystery to him, and if she were to punish him, she might as well get it right. The throne room was situated inside the Shoraun Kath of Dekeatha. Kingdom of Light, this light of the Kardeshi; and where there is light is there not shadows? Shoraun Kath. It was laughable, but he was not here for a laugh.

"Yaorina Shoraun Kath deka." The traitor bowed low at the waist. The movement enacted with practiced grace, that simple movement stole a gasp from the queen's throat; making the courtiers fidget.

"Yaorine?" she mocked, her voiced laced with the richness of anger. "Gora nedeka Shoraun Kath veh!"

The courtiers bristled at the tone of her voice. Their queen was usually so composed; secret glances flittered from eye to eye telling of the rumors that were still floating around the Kath, even though the queen had decreed that should any of these obtuse rumors reach her ears, it would mean death.

"Neran deva nesan, Tamarra Mikeshido!" said the young queen with quite a lot of vigor. How dare he stand before her now and mock her, no queen would tolerate that kind of behavior; and he was lucky he had a merciful queen…if it had been Naveda he had betrayed; she would have slit his throat herself, bathed in his blood and watched the life fade from his eyes as she did so.

Yes, she thought at the image, reminding her of three nights precedent, when she had bathed in Savitah's blood. His frost coloured hair, stained pink with his own blood; and he had kneeled before her, weak; and she had devoured him, from his beautiful winter's storm eyes to pastel white toes…

Winter's storm eyes…frost coloured hair…pastel white skin…Draco…

"Draco…Draco, can you hear me dear?" a fuzzy warm voice said, a note of apprehension attached to her words. Hermione awoke from her dream sleepily, listening to the voice coo Malfoy's name repeatedly, in an attempt to wake him up. She blinked sleep drugged eyes and metally shook herself; one didn't have to be genius to figure out that her; along with Malfoy were in the Hospital wing. White washed walls filled her vision, making her wince in pain; the colour, or rather the colourless walls were so bright it hurt her suddenly sensitive eyes.

"Get away from me you old crone" growled a voice; whoever it was sounded as if they had had their throat scrapped raw, but she heard no pain to sharpen their obviously rude outburst. Hermione blinked, and finally the brightness of the hospital walls dimmed. A heavy weight on her stomach caught her attention, slamming her brain into gear from the panic that rushed through her. At that moment she had thought that Malfoy was still lying on her lap, a quick mental rewind fixed that thought. The weight shifted in what seemed like sleep; Hermione was still lying on her back; but pressing her chin to her chest let her catch sight of a mop of red hair and a pale forearm. The alarm must have washed away the grogginess, as she quickly processed the rather blunt features and decided that it was either Ron or Ginny. "Ginny" she whispered to the mop of red hair. It had to be Ginny, if it were Ron then Harry would be with him as well; then again she was lying on her back. She attempted to lift her right hand to graze the red head on her stomach but found that the muscles in her arm were stiff. A fabric plaster sat in the bend of her arm and she realised that, there was a slight pain oozing from the bend of her arm.

She could not move her left arm, Ginny/Ron was sprawled across that arm; an idea occurred to her, let's wake 'em up. Ginny lifted her head away from Hermione, as soon as the thought appeared; and pinned sleep induced eyes onto the girl beneath her. Hermione stared back, a small smile curving her lips in greeting. Ginny widened eyes, all traces of sleep vanishing in an instant and opened her mouth to call Madame Pomfrey.

"Get your hands off me!" shouted a hoarse voice; the effect was the sound of nails on black boards. Ginny had to grin; a Malfoy would always be a Malfoy.

TBC

A/N: Yesss….its done, when you're motivated enough, you can do anything! I want to say thanks big thanks to:

ghypscee: Glad u waited that long for the 4th chappi! Just shows how much u appreciate the work

Mikasa Wormhole: Good to see there's other people who have an interest in my work

And a even bigger thanks to etiolefilant83, you are great to talk to, just that I never see you online!!! You know who you are, and by the way seeing that you are really enthusiastic about DIMS is really, really motivating! I thank those who have the curtsey to REVIEW!!!!!

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