NEMESIS: Chapter 1
Disclaimer: The characters and the universe of Harry Potter belong to J.K Rowling. No disrespect is intended. This story is written for sheer enjoyment. No profit is being made from it. The story itself is mine.
My arms and legs are burning. My palms are cramping from being curled for so long and I can't properly see through the sweat dripping into my eyes. I take a quick break to wipe the perspiration from my face with my already sodden shirt. I balance and quickly let loose the last roundhouse of this morning's workout.
The punching bag dances in ever-slowing circles, gracefully swaying now. I allow my eyes to follow the bag's movement, allow my mind to fall into the trance-like state that is best for stretching. The hypnotic movement of the bag finally conquers my thoughts and I raise my arms for a well-earned cool down stretch.
Just a little over two hours later, I am completely ready for the first day of my last year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am showered, rubbed down with liniment (thankfully odor-free) and dressed. The muscles I have cultivated for the past sixteen years have been carefully glamouried. As part of my disguise, I have also donned the essential bulky robes and baggy uniform.
Every inch of my being: my body, my voice, my personality, even my hair, has all been subtly altered. Just enough to be unmemorable. When someone hears the name 'Hermione Granger,' they think 'the bookworm' or 'that insufferable know-it-all' or 'Potter's female friend.' Beyond that, I am quickly forgotten.
As is best for all.
No one here has ever seen my true form, nor has anyone here ever experienced my true personality. Those who have are few, and only four still live. My parents and my two mentors still breathe. My marks, well, they don't.
I gaze down at my body. Beneath the bulky robes, I can see the outline of hit-hardened muscles. I can feel the tautness of new scar tissue, being stretched from where last week's mark got lucky.
Although I know I should be more confident than this, I can't help closing my eyes to look at the glamourie in my mind. Just to make sure it is as it should be. That's always the trouble with glamourie. Unlike polyjuice, glamourie is not physically visible to the caster. My glamourie has never failed, but I don't think I'll ever get over my fear of discovery. This is good. Fear keeps me on my toes.
I take in the soft, pink body in my mind. It's been years since I was last soft and pink. I hope I've not grown jaded. But that's what being raised to be a contractor will do to you. I take the small indulgence and reminisce. I've got time; breakfast is still an hour away.
All my life, I had known what my family was, what they did. My parents never hid it from me. It was expected that I would follow the tradition. It was always there, but it was a given that my training wouldn't begin until I was 15. That would allow time for me to experience childhood. To play, to be as normal as I could be, for the short time I was allowed. That was the plan. Funny how plans don't always pan out.
We were all gathered in the living room, waiting for Grandmum and Gramps to arrive from their house in Newbiggin-by-the-Sea. My family's home in Durham was decked out for the Thanksgiving season. While it is an American holiday, my family takes every opportunity to spend time with each other. Statistically speaking, we don't usually live as long as others, so we treasure every excuse to be together that we can find.
Grandmum and Gramps were running late. Very late.
I remember we waited and waited. I remember how worried Mum and Daddy were, and how they tried to hide it. I remember as the hour got later and later, the faces of my relatives became more and more drawn.
I remember the phone call. The Northumbria police rang our house at 2:00 am that morning. A terrible accident. A senseless crime. Sorry, no survivors. Sorry, no suspects. Hate to be a bother, but the county coroner needed to have the bodies identified as soon as possible. Happy Thanksgiving.
That was the turning point. That was the last soft, pink day I have lived. At ten years old, my training began. My parents for martial arts. A mentor for muggle technology, bow and arrow, knife- and swordplay. And a mentor for wandless magic.
I trained, I bled, I fought. I never cried.
First year came, and went. Soft, pink 'Mione Granger quickly established herself as the resident know-it-all and best female friend of the Boy-Who-Lived. There was some excitement at the end of the year, but it was all good practice for me to keep my cover.
During summer vacation, I trained, I bled, I fought. I never cried.
Second year came, and went. Soft, pink 'Mione Granger remained the resident know-it-all and best female friend of the Boy-Who-Lived. There was quite a bit of excitement that year. And the specter of Voldemort grew.
During summer vacation, I trained, I bled, I fought. I never cried.
Third year came, and went. Soft, pink 'Mione Granger remained the resident know-it-all and best female friend of the Boy-Who-Lived. 'Mione became something of a teacher's pet that year in order to secure a time-turner. She fell out of favor with her friends, regained their trust, saved the notorious Sirius Black and helped bring to light the involvement of Peter Pettigrew. She revealed Remus Lupin's secret and discovered another side to Severus Snape.
During the winter vacation, I took the time-turner to my mentors. They were able to create something like it, utilizing both muggle technology and ancient wizardry. The result was a time-turner that could turn years, hours, minutes or seconds. It could also be used as a portkey to a specially designed training room.
My training spanned a full year that summer, thanks to the bootleg time-turner. I branched further into weaponry, quickly surpassing my mentors' goals for me. During that summer, I trained, I bled, and I fought. I never cried.
Fourth year came, and went. Soft, pink 'Mione Granger remained the resident know-it-all and best female friend of the Boy-Who-Lived. She aided Harry Potter more than usual that year. She shocked the school by showing up on the arm of famous Quidditch star, Victor Krum and battled nasty tabloids. By the end, Voldemort's specter was not just a foreshadow, he had returned.
During summer vacation, I sat and passed my O.W.L.S. My mentor was more than qualified to preside over them, and my scores would be recognized as being awarded from Salem Institute in the United States. That summer, for a full year, I trained, I bled, I fought. I never cried.
Fifth year came, and went, and with it, my magically changed seventeenth birthday. 'Mione Granger remained the resident know-it-all and best female friend of the Boy-Who-Lived. She aided Harry Potter in starting the D.A., she outsmarted the 'High Inquisitor.' She fought Death Eaters in the Department of Mystery. She lost a close friend with the death of Sirius Black. She became completely obsessed with the Library, trying to find clues to help Harry Potter. In the process, she found something of far greater importance to me. In the annals of the Library, a stack of Daily Prophets from six standard years past revealed the answer to a mystery that had long haunted my nightmares.
On the front page of the Daily Prophet stood the remains of Grandmum and Gramps' house. The caption, 'Dark Mark Spotted over Gutted Muggle Residence in Newbiggin-by-the-Sea!'
My world crashed. Suddenly the worlds of 'Mione Granger and Hermione collided. I retained just enough sense to cast a silencing charm upon myself before the rage poured vocally from my body. I vented my anger, but reigned in my sadness. There would be time for that later.
After I regained control of myself, I calmly collected the Daily Prophet, and made my way to the front of the library. I allowed 'Mione Granger to come to the front once again. She nodded politely at Madam Pince and returned to her dorm. The rest of fifth year passed uneventfully.
During summer vacation, I sat and passed my N.E.W.T.S. That summer, for a full year, I trained, I bled, I fought, and I cried. I screamed my grief to the heavens and the Gods heard my desperate cry for vengeance. That summer, at eighteen, I was granted my first hit.
To be honest, I don't remember the name or the face. I do remember the silver mask it wore. I remember its screams of agony. And I remember the beautiful feeling of justice that overtook me when it finally breathed its last pain-filled breath.
Sixth year came, and went. 'Mione Granger remained the resident know-it-all and best female friend of the Boy-Who-Lived. She participated in more skirmishes with Death Eaters, all the while biding her time for when I could deliver justice.
The war loomed closer and closer to Hogwarts. More students were losing loved ones, and more contracts were coming in. My mentors handled the negotiations for me. I just wanted the justice end. 'Mione was hard pressed to escape her hangers on, Harry and Ron, but I had been trained well, so there were not many problems. Until the last day of sixth year.
The contract had come in; I had escaped the school and had taken my place to await my mark. When it came, it was not alone. It cursed its companion with an Unforgivable. It laughed in a high-pitched voice and a flash of silver caught the moonlight as it adjusted its grip on its wand.
My lips curled into a smirk as I slashed the air with my magic. The mark raised stunned eyes to meet mine. It opened its mouth to speak, but could not find its voice as I had ripped its vocal chords from its throat. I released my hold on my magic and allowed it to fall to the ground beside its recent victim.
It attempted to scramble to its feet, feebly trying to locate its wand. I couldn't control the chuckle that escaped my lips at this display. This mark had had this a long time coming. Its eyes were shiny with tears as it looked up at me. I saw recognition flicker into its eyes as it gazed upon 'Mione's visage. I watched gleefully as terror replaced recognition as I melted the glamourie to display myself, or as the Death Eaters know me…
"Nemesis!" it mouthed, a small croak escaping its ruined vocal chords. All know my face instinctively, though none have survived to tell others. I am known to them only by my actions, and they fear me.
Never breaking eye contact with the mark, I reached behind me to my sword sheath. This mark did not deserve to die by magic. The sword was muggle, reinforced with ancient ruins for strength, but it was a wholly muggle weapon. The sweet hiss of steel against scabbard echoed sinisterly in the silent night.
It began to blubber. It began to bawl. It's pleas sounded humorous, raspy as they were. I allowed my laughter to creep into my eyes as I stared down at it. I reached out with my magic and secured it in place as it attempted to escape.
However wrong it may be, I savored its fear. I wondered, did Grandmum and Gramps feel this fear before this creature and its companions killed them? I shook the reverie from my mind, and concentrated on the quivering mark at my feet.
Enough playtime, Hermione. Finish the contract, secure the victim, and return. I gazed down dispassionately at it. I spoke the last words it would ever hear this side of hell.
"Goodbye, Peter."
Its eyes widened, staring into eternity as the sword swept its head clear from its shoulders. Two thuds and the contract was full-filled.
"Justice is served."
I glanced down at the mark's victim. Shock filled my being as I stared at Professor Severus Snape. My eyes met his for a brief instant, before he returned to unconsciousness. I stood for I do not know how long, just looking at my professor. I had known for a few years that he was a spy, but to see him in the clothing of one of my chosen marks, it was enough to unsteady me.
I quickly shook myself free of my trance, glamouried myself and cast concealment charms on both of us before levitating him back to the castle. I cast a distraction charm to slip us into the infirmary. Once he was settled on a bed, I summoned a house-elf, gave him explicit instructions to fetch Madame Pomphrey in two minutes' time, and then made myself scarce.
The next morning, Harry, Ron and I boarded the Hogwarts Express homebound.
During summer vacation, I graduated school. My graduation certificate was sealed and placed within the Department of Education in the Ministry to be opened upon my seventeenth standard birthday, at the end of my seventh year. That summer, for a full year, I trained, I bled, I fought. I cried no more tears.
My energy went into exterminating the Death Eaters, and preparing my mind for the coming year. I turned twenty that year. I did not dwell on that, because as far as anyone at Hogwarts was concerned, I was just 'Mione Granger, know-it-all, best female friend of the Boy-Who-Lived, seventeen year old mudblood.
That summer, Nemesis became a household name among the Death Eaters. It was spoken of with more fear than the name of Voldemort, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The Dark Lord himself will look over his shoulder in fear before I am finished with him.
I am Justice. I am Vengeance. I am Nemesis.
My internal clock chimes and I rouse myself from my reverie. I check my glamourie once more, and then head to the door of my room. This year, I had made Head Girl. I wasn't very surprised, 'Mione Granger was expected to achieve this position.
The Head Boy and I did not get along particularly well. Draco Malfoy, second smartest student in Hogwarts. Of course, we might have gotten on better, if I wasn't a mudblood, and if Nemesis wasn't trying to kill his daddy. Oh, well.
Being Head Girl came with certain privileges. A bedroom to myself, for one. A bathroom to myself, for the other. Plenty of room to transfigure a workout room. And extra hall privileges to aid in my contracts. Not that the Headmaster knew that.
I paused my thoughts, brought them to heel, consciously stooped my shoulders and trudged out my quarters into the hallway. 'Mione Granger was going to breakfast.
TBC
A/N: As it seems my muse is openly taunting me in my endeavors to write more of 'The Puppet's Master,' I decided to submit what said traitorous muse has given me. I only hope it can be met with the same kindness that my other story has been met with. While this one was beta'd by my loving hubby, together, we may have missed some grammatical errors and sentence flow problems. Please don't be shy in pointing these out to me.
As always, please read and review.