Title: Atrum Perturbatio, Caligo Scientia (Dark Passions, Darker Knowledge)
Author: Raevyn
Summary: It's not right, they say, that a Mudblood should be so powerful. Then Draco Malfoy steps in, and suddenly realises how much he doesn't know about the people he thought he ruled. Years later, and the two meet again. This is the story of After.
DEDICATED: to Coley, from my Gift Exchange. I tried to keep it in character, but I had problems, so I hope it works for you. Furby says she hopes you like the idea, which is all hers. ENJOY!
Slammed into the wall behind her, down one of the many secret passages linked to the dungeons, Hermione wondered why she had ever thought this would be a good idea. She'd needed a certain ingredient that was only found in Slughorn's secret store, unless she found a way to get to New Zealand, and the fact that it was the pit of night had only enforced Hermione's certainty that she would be safe in the passages to steal a slight amount. Surely, her mind had rationalised, they would all be in bed? Even DeathEaters need sleep, you know…
And so, determined to finish her potion that night – a concoction mixed with Ox Teeth and Papiyaten that allowed you to see in the dark, a clever brew even if she did say so herself – Hermione had taken to the shadows and dismissed her fear of being out in the open without Harry's cloak. She'd been without it many a time, and had developed a gradual skill with sneaking silently.
O, her mother would be proud.
However, Hermione had not taken into account that – although not coming up to their fortnightly meeting – McGonagall had given their test results back and, shock horror, she had gained top marks. They were bound to be furious about it.
Ignored Wade, she abruptly turned her head and glared at Anthony. Bringing her down was his, and his followers, way of proving to Voldemort their loyalty. She snorted inwardly. As if Voldemort cared any more than the fact she was a muggleborn.
"Now, Mudblood," the Ravenclaw said, pleasantly. "I believe you were asked – quiet nicely, I might add – to get a T in the Transfiguration essay last week."
Hermione widened her eyes in mock surprise.
"Why yes! I do believe you're right," she gasped. "How fantastic for you! Your ugly features haven't marred your brain yet, then."
"Hermione," Anthony scolded, a look of pity in his eyes. "That was pathetic."
"I know. I'm ashamed," she replied dramatically, nodding in that fateful way. "But the effects of your foul breath reduce me to cationic form." Never mind that it was Nox who'd never heard of breath mints, to her they were all one enemy with different personas. However, she did force a small blush away. She had never been any good at verbal battles, though she was improving. Taunting them was a great stress reliever, she'd found.
Nox groaned and pushed Anthony out of the way.
"Look, Hermy, you defied us –" he snapped, struggling to hold Montose back as he cut in angrily "Again, Mudblood!" but otherwise ignored him and carried on as if the blonde boy had said nothing: "– and that means punishment."
Hermione rolled her eyes, wondering who it would be this time, as they weren't civilised enough to keep a nice little rota for her to prepare herself. She saw Ambrose smile slightly, but it did not comfort her. Ambrose had no sense of conscience and no emotion, from what she had seen. He stood there and watched all with blank eyes. It was disturbing, to say the least.
And when he stepped up to her, features calm even as he levelled his wand at her, she paled. Dear Merlin not him please I beg of you not Ambrose I can't deal with him not now dear god no
"Hermione," Anthony said mildly. "If you'd just cooperate, we wouldn't have to do this every week, now would we?"
She didn't reply, instead staring with horror down the line of Ambrose's wand and wishing, desperately that someone would hear her, anyone.
"Mudblood, just say yes," Nox soothed, petting Ambrose with a maniacal glint in his eyes. "All we want you do to do is fail your classes, be a bad witch, and prove to the world the worthlessness of muggleborns. Just give in, and we wouldn't have to hurt you."
"I won't do it!" Hermione shrieked, shaking her head wildly. Wade slapped her, hard, and she choked on her next words, but managed to force them out through gritted teeth. "I won't give in! I won't break until you do!"
The boys chuckled, obviously amused by her, and Hermione shut her eyes against the view and tried to wish herself away from it all. She couldn't stand this. She couldn't survive it, she couldn't. Not anymore. Not again. Because Ambrose always used the Crucio, and various forms of the Curse. All brutal, and all blindingly painful. I can't live through another Crucio I can't I don't know how I'll go insane my mind won't take it my body won't take it I'll die I'll be like Neville's parents I won't be able to help Harry he'll die and Ron'll die and the world will die and no no no please no not again –
She was shuddering on the floor, a tiny lump of blood and sweat, when Malfoy came upon them. Her screams were in his ears and echoing and his eyes found her shivering form, something wary clinging to his heart. He shot his fellow students a suspicious glare.
"What is going on here?" he demanded. The Ravenclaw boy stared back unwaveringly, while the others exchanged awkward glances, and none of them replied. Malfoy frowned and pushed the lump onto her back, wild brown curls falling to reveal Hermione's pale face, robe torn and bruises dotting her shoulder, over old cuts that were slowly fading. His mouth twisted bitterly. This happened a lot then. He hated realising how much he didn't know about the people he thought he ruled.
Hermione clenched her jaw against the tears, gazing up at Malfoy with something akin to resentment, though he had been the one to stop the pain and send the Mini DeathEaters away. This stupid boy who was a Mini DeathEater himself.
"Shouldn't you be happy?" she muttered, pulling herself to her feet and leaning against the wall with exhaustion. Her fellow Sixth Year simply stared at her, as if confused.
"I don't understand it," he replied, blankly. "You know so many Spells. Why don't you use them?"
Hermione snorted.
"And have one of them Hex me while my back is turned?" she said scornfully. "I'm good, Malfoy, but not that good."
The boy scowled at her, grey eyes icy.
"Then you're just proving you're weak, Mudblood," he snarled, and turned on his heel to leave her there, knowing that the boys could be around the corner, waiting to make her suffer again. Hermione shook her head incredulously.
"Really?" she snapped, eyes flashing. Malfoy paused. "Then tell me, oh high and mighty Pureblood, can you fight seven DeathEaters and win? Can you even last long enough to Curse more than one?"
He turned, sneering.
"Yes," he scoffed, and glared at her when she stepped from the wall, stumbled, and leant closer to him. He didn't like that she was practically his height. It reminded him that he was small for a boy.
"I'll believe it when I see it," she retorted quietly. "Maybe I'll hop along to Voldemort's lair and suggest it as part of your initiation. Would you like that, Malfoy?"
He had a feeling that, if he were worth it, she would do exactly that and find a way to make it work without her ultimate death. But, as she turned and strode away, limping, he knew that he was as important to her as a skrute. And for some reason, he found that he wanted to prove her wrong.
Hermione eyed the man from the shadows, wild hair tossed into a clever curtain to hide her from view as she scrutinised the situation. It seemed impossible, and yet, lately it was what they had thrived on. They had said the Resistance was impossible. Now those critics were eating their wands.
"Harry, you can't be serious –" Ron was hissing incredulously to her right as the Boy Who Lived took a hesitant step forward, and then another, and another, until he was stood by Moody's side, a shadow of who he had been, and yet so much stronger. Hermione raised an eyebrow as Ron turned to her for support, and – seeing red – he stepped down sullenly.
"Keep him Confunded until he's in a safe and warded area," Shacklebot said tiredly to the few present members of the Order. Hermione cast a keen eye over the motley group, some who she recognised and others who she didn't. The secret rooms of Hogwarts had become a Sanctuary for those trying to escape Voldemort's notice; the less you knew about those involved, the more chance you wouldn't give away key coordinates and members. She personally thought it was a stupid rule, but she wasn't in charge. She was merely another expendable member of the illusive Order, only kept in slightly higher regard because of her attachments to one Harry Potter.
Bitter? Not much. She was mostly angry. She was the one who had come up with most of the Wards and Spells to help protect them at Hogwarts, but it never seemed enough. People still went missing; nasty murders still took place right under her nose. It seemed that, no matter what she did, Voldemort was always one step ahead.
"Hermione."
Arms folded, the young witch looked up from her position leant against the far wall. Harry was staring at her questioningly, green eyes depressingly dull. But they all had their own problems; Harry would have to deal with his demons alone, for now.
Letting out the breath she'd been holding slowly, Hermione nodded. They might not have been as close, and their link of normality might have been severed, but they could still understand each other with only a single look. It was simply…them. Ron made a strangled sound, but didn't protest as Harry turned and disappeared into the nearest hallway, leaving the Confunded man alone. The red-haired man glanced at Hermione, jaw working, and then followed. Straightening, Hermione turned her gaze to the wizard.
"Malfoy," she sighed, taking his hand to lead him away. "What have you got yourself into now?"
Dirty and tired, Hermione stuffed her wand up her sleeve and dropped her pack onto the floor, wearily leaning against the wall as she stared at the book in her hands. It was plain enough, a simple white, stained at the edges from use, the odd blood splatter marring that innocent colour. She fancied she felt a faint burning of her skin, warning her against the dangers inside. She frowned.
"Harry and Ron will kill me," she muttered, all at once feeling uncertain of her actions. When she'd found mention of the book, she hadn't thought of the consequences, only of getting it and studying it and finding out how Voldemort had his power to stay one sep ahead. How he'd split his soul into so many pieces. She'd only thought of the knowledge, and as she gazed at the book, Hermione felt a quiet thrill race through her.
What was that old cliché? Ah, yes. It's only a book. What harm can a book do?
What, indeed.
Eyes set with an odd gleam, Hermione swiftly hid the book in the folds of her pack, and then hid the pack in her trunk with several Spells of Protection surrounding it. It would not do to have her roommate find such a book on her; there was no telling what he would do. And though Hermione knew that no one would take his word of hers, it was not worth the risk. He had an odd appetite for trouble where she was concerned, and the more of her activities she kept out of his eyes, the better.
Speak of the devil, the object of her thoughts stalked into the room without so much as a greeting to her, pinning her immediately with a steely glare. Hermione rolled her eyes resignedly.
"Where have you been?" he demanded, and the flash of concern Hermione caught was brushed away harshly by his anger.
"Hello, Hermione! Oh, hello, Draco. How are you, Hermione? Oh, not too bad, Draco. A little tired, a bit dirty, nothing a long bath and a sleep won't fix. I'll leave you to it then, Hermione. But it's nice to have you back. It's nice to be back, Draco. Goodnight, Hermione. Good night, Draco," she performed, sending him an overly bright and cheerful smile and she bounced from character to character. Malfoy watched her impatiently, too used to the girl's strange antics to be dissuaded from his question.
"I will not repeat what I said, Granger," he said, somewhat calmly. Hermione sneered at him. "Answer the question."
Hermione ignored him, not harbouring any inclination to answer him. One of the rules of Sanctuary at Hogwarts: you didn't ask anyone where they'd been, what they'd been doing. It was an unwritten law, and to not abide by it was the epitome of disrespect. And that was the problem with Malfoy; he didn't play by the rules. He'd been at Sanctuary for over two months. Two, and he'd made no effort to do anything but hide like a child.
Irritated, Hermione pointedly looked at the state of her clothes.
"Malfoy," she began, barely controlled impatience toning her voice a harder shade. "I am tired, and I am dirty, and all I want to do is have a nice, long soak in a hot bath and sleep for three days without interruption. Is that so much to ask?"
"Yes," he replied immediately. "Yes it is. It is too much to ask when you disappear for three weeks without telling anyone where you're going, or how long you're going to be, and leaving me alone here!"
"Didn't know you cared," she scoffed, turning on her heel toward the bathroom. Malfoy growled and grabbed her, sharply spinning her back around.
"I care more about blast-ended skrutes than I do you, Mudblood, but the idiots that are in charge made you my bodyguard, and if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named gets into Hogwarts then you better damn well be here so I can bargain my freedom with you, or use you as a shield!" he hissed, and witch and wizard glared at each other fiercely. Kill. Hermione could hardly form any coherent thought, just – I will kill him one day.
When she stepped back once, eyes never leaving his, the atmosphere was colder than ice. Something hard and cold had dropped in her stomach and refused to budge, and with great effort she took a deep breath and released it.
"What is for dinner tonight?" she asked, very calmly, despite the fire in her eyes. As always, Malfoy's answer was smothered in steel.
"I believe the House Elves are making steak and potato pie and chicken with rice."
Hermione nodded. It was constantly like this; they would fight and then one of them would step away and direct the conversation to a cold and formal end. It was just the way it was.
"And what time will it be ready for?"
"Slightly later than usual; seven thirty, I believe."
"All right. Good night, Malfoy."
She turned and headed towards her room as there was a pause behind her, and then:
"Good night, Hermione."
Hermione sighed from her spot in the secret passageway, watching her old House through a wall she had charmed to be invisible to her, but not to them. She followed the line of Gryffindors with her eyes, their quiet murmuring always seeming that single bit more prominent than the bustle of the Common Room, and though the other Gryffindors chatted and laughed as teenagers should, there was always this…uneasy look in their gazes that kept drifting back to the teenagers known as the Prayers. And even though she hated it, she knew the same look was in her own.
Hermione rubbed the black band that encircled the top of her arm, to make her seem just like another student should she be seen. All the Seventh Years and Sixth Years of the Lion wore one, other black bands scattered through the other houses in mourning. She had been surprised to see a few being worn by Slytherins, but she had always known that there were neutrals in the Snake house. Ones that would rather choose their allegiance later.
"I know they mean well, but that's getting disturbing," Neville whispered, determinedly keeping his eyes away from the line of Prayers, instead wistfully watching a trio of Second Years laugh together. Hermione hummed in agreement. "Some of them are Purebloods too. Do they even know the meaning of religion?"
"No," Hermione replied thoughtfully. "But they know that its something powerful and it gives them that little bit of hope, now that Harry and Ron and Dumbledor are gone."
Neville levelled a stern look at his friend, but didn't comment. This Hermione was someone different to the witch he'd grown up with. She was a lot tougher and colder than he remembered, but he knew it hadn't happened gradually, this change. The break up of the 'Golden Trio' hadn't reduced her to this. But still, it had shocked him one day when it just struck him how different she was.
He wondered briefly if he should put a hand on her hand, on her shoulder, maybe hug her to reassure her that it was okay to be scared and upset, but somehow he knew that she wouldn't want it. She was, truly, okay. She was surviving, and what else could he ask of her?
"Yes," Neville said, nodding. "But did they ever think that it was causing more panic than calm?" When the girl shot him a questioning look, he nodded discretely to the group of younger Years who were gathered, unable to tear their eyes away from the Prayers, and actually trembling. "The Prayers almost signify a last resort. We can't do anything concrete, and so we're using abstract forms instead."
Hermione screwed up her nose, sighed again, and turned away from the line.
"I know," she murmured. "But people have different ways of coping. Maybe this is simply their way of making things right in their world."
Neville fiddled with his wand and Hermione took that as agreement from the boy. A soft silence settled over the two behind the wall, spying, and they were content to leave it like that. Hermione had relaxed, knowing that she appeared as normal as could be expected in the circumstances. She was the last of the Golden Trio and the school saw it as lost hope. But then again, she thought wryly, if it had been her and Ron who had disappeared the school would still be as full of hope as before, because they still had Harry. The tortured and twisted little boy who needed to defeat a monster.
She sighed and rid herself of the bitterness. So the school thought Harry was their only link to a bright future. It didn't matter. She knew he was the most important part, and didn't fault her ignorant schoolmates for failing to see others who were working behind the scenes to make sure the show went smoothly. She didn't want attention. She had enough of it with Malfoy.
Hermione shifted uncomfortably, her thigh searing with white heat from a blow she'd taken when retrieving the book from under Voldemort's nose.
"Hermione?" Neville questioned, seeming surprised as she stood. The young witch looked down on her friend and smiled.
"I'll be back later. I'm going to go and see if any of the Practice rooms are open," she replied, and quickly turned to leave before the boy could answer.
Twenty –two, she sighed. She was twenty-two and there was still no hope of the war ending. It had seemed to her that everything would finish by Seventh Year. With the attacks on Harry and the school every year as they grew up, all building up to that one point in Seventh that she had been so sure would be the end…but no. Life didn't work like that, did it?
Screwing up her nose, Hermione tilted her head as the swish of a cloak teased her hearing, and for a moment she thought she'd imagined it. Pausing slightly, she pushed a twinge to the back of her mind and felt her ears lengthening, hearing becoming more acute. In the shadows of the halls, her suddenly black, furry ears would be hidden, and she could use her animagus's skills to her advantage.
SwshshhhThere. The young witch carried on walking, heart speeding up with suspicion. Her mind raced. It couldn't be a student; they never made any effort to find secret passages anymore, not since Voldemort. That left many different possibilities.
Hand tightening on her wand, Hermione let Spells rush forward in her mind, trying to pick the best to use, but the soft sound of delicate cloth was distracting her. Despite her now almost impeccable hearing, she couldn't tell whether it was very close and getting closer, or just very close period.
When the hand clamped over her mouth, she couldn't stifle to instinctive urge to scream and freeze. Her eyes widened as she was dragged backwards, and something settled over her, very soft, and with an almost savage reaction, she bit the hand covering her mouth.
"Ouch, Hermione!" a familiar voice cried in her ear, and she winced, instantly making the furry appendages change back into human skin. Now she could only hear the frantic beat of her heart. Whirling under the Invisibility Cloak, she glared at the two boys.
"That was not wise!" she hissed. "I could have hurt you!" Harry and Ron exchanged glances. They were dirtier and smelt quite bad, eyes a little darker from the constant hiding, but they were still her boys. She drew herself up, tears pricking, and snapped: "You never contacted me. For five months! What have you been doing? Do you have any idea how worried I've been? You horrid, horrid boys." And then she threw herself at them and hugged them and whispered: "I didn't know what to do."
They awkwardly hugged her back, but there was an anxiousness to them, a bitter taste to their eyes. Hermione stared at them, searching, and felt something die within her. "What is it?" she whispered. Again, Harry and Ron exchanged glances, and it was then that Hermione noticed the defeated slump that rounded Harry's shoulders and back, the way he favoured his left leg, the darkness to his eyes that kept slipping away from hers. And Ron, her dear Ron, was standing tall and fierce beside his best friend, his blue eyes duller and focusing somewhat determinedly on her cheek. She wondered distantly what curse had been used on him to make him start to lose his sight.
This was what war did to people. This was what hatred did to you. This was what the Dark did. And yet, Hermione didn't know any other way to fight something so insidious. She thought of the book wrapped beneath spells, and the few pages she had read, absorbing with a sort of morbid fascination and delighted horror the Dark Arts it described and taught inside. The few Spells she'd read had dug themselves a permanent, snug little hole in her mind and burnt, burnt, burnt away, always there, knowledge she couldn't help but wonder more about, despite its awful stench.
Since those first pages, she hadn't touched the book, too disgusted by it, but as Ron told her – quite emotionlessly – that they had lost the final two Horcruxes and it looked like Voldemort was going to win…those Spells came sniffing forward and whispered in her ears and she knew, then, what she had to do, what her instinct had been telling her ever since it first made her steal that little book of Evil.
She needed to learn everything it could teach her. They needed to fight Darkness with Darkness. And she needed to know Evil to understand Voldemort's power. And then, only then, could they win.
He wasn't particularly handsome. He was about her height but lanky, the old Quidditch training muscles having burnt away long ago. Hermione put it down to lack of eating, as the lankiness seemed to be simply that he didn't have enough fat on his bones for his height. His hair was probably his best feature, the white gold glistening and left to flop unceremoniously in front of his stormy eyes, a flat slate of grey, cold and angry. His nose was slightly too large for his angled face, though her mother would probably kindly call it a 'strong' nose, or maybe with a Grecian quality. Hermione, however, called that pussyfooting and decided that it was simply big and left it at that. His mouth was wide with lips neither full nor thin, the mouth of someone who would not be remembered. Neither kissable lips nor grotesque lips. If anything, Hermione thought, Draco Malfoy's looks should make him unmemorable. Just another face in the crowd.
But he had this aura about him. Something that held your attention. He could be feeling mean or angry or bored, and the atmosphere around him reflected that. He had an arrogant air of someone who really shouldn't be arrogant but was, and everyone accepted it as if he had the right to be. Hermione hated to say it, but he had…charisma.
She supposed that was why she was following him in her black leopard form, watching as he disappeared into the Forbidden Forest with a brief but painful pause at the edge. She wondered if he was remembering the last time he had been in there, running from Voldemort and hiding out with beasts not many had ever seen. She also hesitated, pawing the ground agitatedly as she thought over her actions. But then she tossed her head and followed, slipping quickly and quietly through the trees until again she was just to the side of him, a fleeting shadow.
Draco was terrified, that was one thing for sure. He did not look around and he did not stop for anything, only hurried through the Forest with his wand in hand, burning a soft light to just show him the way. Hermione loped just ahead of him, checking the area before he got there. She was his bodyguard, after all, and though she knew he could take care of himself, she was still cautious. And undeniably curious.
What was the little Ferret up to?
"Resero genetrix," he murmured, and there was a brief ripple in the trees. Hermione's leopard-eyes narrowed suspiciously, and again she padded forward, being careful to stay quiet and smooth as the man was now scrutinizing the trees. There was something wrong here. Draco's hold tightened on his wand. "Resero genetrix," he repeated, a little more forcefully, and Hermione saw again the ripple in the trees, and as she moved closer, she realised that it wasn't due to what Draco's was saying. It wasn't a spell. It was a password. Mother, she translated suddenly. Reveal mother.
And the ripples weren't magic, they were bodies. Cloaked bodies. Had Hermione been human again, she would have blanched. Oh no, she thought. No no no no no no no no –
"Resero genetrix!" Draco yelled, angry now, and Hermione whirled. Shut up, fool! She snarled silently, and in a flash had knocked him over, the Curse passing harmless over their heads. Harmlessly to them, that is. There was a moan that vibrated all around them as it hit a tree, charring it, and Hermione crouched, left paw grabbing Draco's shoulder and heaving him up. By the time he was stood, she was human again, naked, but that wasn't her most pressing problem right then.
"Move," she hissed in his ear, and without another word pushed him savagely in front of her until he was running. Her hair was wild with an unseen force, and she turned with wand outstretched, naked and fierce, to face the Death Eaters. She didn't trust herself enough to stay long; just enough to let Draco get away, and then she could run.
Spells, both colourful and silent, sped towards her as the Death Eaters forced their way around her. Hermione cast the strongest Shield Charm she knew, and then let the Dark Spells she had learnt throw themselves forward. She swallowed, aiming carefully as she skipped lightly backwards and away from them, relishing in their shock as two Death Eaters fell from the Dark Curse.
And then she slammed into a tree, whirled, and raced away, leaping over roots that sought to snag her. In her mind she chanted her incantation, feeling the transformation take over her body; not a full animagus change, but the transferral of her other form's speed to her weaker human body. Revitalised, Hermione caught up to Draco and snatched his arm, and so they were soon both flying through the Forest and back towards safety.
Above, two pairs of eyes watched, one grave and the other amazed.
"What type of animal was that…?" Tonks breathed, hair a deep black to keep herself hidden. Remus Lupin smiled slightly.
"She is a black leopard. Strong, intelligent and independent. The Queen of Big Cats," he replied quietly, stepping away from the window and turning to prod the fire with his wand. Tonks licked her lips, eyes still trailing the now transformed Hermione.
"She ran so fast."
"Yes," Remus sighed. "It seems she has found a way to utilise the strengths of her animagus and transfer it to her human body at will." Tonks looked at her partner worriedly, detecting the uneasy tone that always seemed to accompany his voice when Hermione was mentioned. The older man stared sightlessly into the fire. "Clever witch."
In the secret rooms of Hogwarts, known as the Sanctuary, Hermione strode out of her room, now dressed in an old pair of jeans and a jumper. Draco ignored her, instead intent on throwing bits of a letter into the fire. Fuming, she knocked his hand aside, spilling the parchment pieces onto the floor, and pushed him violently.
"What is wrong with you!" she yelled, grappling briefly with the man until she had him pinned against the nearest wall. He glared at her. "Do you have any idea what you've just done? Any!"
"I don't have to explain myself to a Mudblood," he sneered, trying unsuccessfully to extract himself from her hold. Furiously, Hermione slammed him back into the wall, feeling no sympathy as his head cracked back onto the stone and he moaned.
"You could have been killed, or worse, you could have been put under Imperio!" she snapped, eyes ablaze. "You endangered everyone in Sanctuary, you selfish little bastard!"
He shrugged, tense, and Hermione saw the lines of disquiet that marred his usually icy features. She saw how her hands were shaking, streaked with dirt and cuts, her hair caught in twigs and leaves. She stepped away from him, but kept him pinned by her irate glare. Draco stared back, and then began to smirk.
"Learnt some new tricks, have you, Granger?" he asked pleasantly. She shot him a dirty look, and raised her chin.
"I'm an animagus," she said defiantly. "It isn't something strange, Malfoy."
The man chuckled.
"Oh no, no, that's right. An animal form is not so uncommon in the Order, is it?" he leant closer, eyes glinting. "But Dark Arts is, Granger."
A flash of panic struggled to gain control of her body, but Hermione immediately reined it in, until she was staring back calmly. "Your point?" she asked coolly. His smirk grew.
"Now, wouldn't it be a shame if your friends found out about this interest in Dark Arts? Or the Order? My, my, I wonder what they'd say…" Hermione had stiffened. She hated that he was enjoying this so much. "But I'm sure I could keep my mouth shut, just for a little while, if you did some things for me. Favours, as you will."
"That's blackmail - !" Hermione gasped, and Draco nodded, looking very pleased with himself.
"Why, yes. Yes it is."
"– And so cliché."
Draco blinked, and once again he was pinned to the wall, a very angry Hermione pointing a lethal wand just between his eyes, with a knee pressing just where he did not want it. Surprised, he blinked again.
"Haven't you learnt anything about me in the past seven months?" she snarled, eyes flashing dangerously. "I suggest you watch your step, Malfoy. I'm not the same girl you once knew."
There was a pause.
"You'd never cast a Curse on me," he said finally, though he was eyeing the wand apprehensively. Hermione snorted.
"Really?" she asked, quite mildly in contrast to her expression. "Well, you're free to try and see with your own eyes what I'm capable of. But I suggest you don't try very hard. Wouldn't want that pretty face of yours scarred, now would we?"
Draco stared, shocked and unsettled, and when she finally left, only then did he sink to the floor and expel the breath he'd been holding, agreeing wholeheartedly that yes, the Mudblood had changed, and he didn't like it one bit.
Hermione stared at the book, her mind whirling. What she had read…was it really that simple? Could she really…?
Hermione had heard of the Greater Powers. You couldn't read any background on the Dark Spells without first finding out about them. Not exactly Gods, but neither were they myth, the Greater Powers were the base of evil and the base of good. However, the good could not be invoked and taken in as a second power, to enforce all other spells. That was cheating, and Hermione had believed that you couldn't invoke the Dark either. But…this book…and it would make sense. Voldemort was powerful and had too many resources. He had to have invoked the Dark.
And now Hermione was ready. She would invoke the Dark too.
It wasn't that hard. A simple incantation while staring into the fire, a little bit of blood, plus a lot of nerve. You had to have courage to stare into the Darks' eyes and let it in, or simply be too power hungry to care. Hermione was knowledge-hungry, and she'd never called herself courageous. But maybe tonight she could be.
"Ego precor atrum quod quaeso is sumo mihi sub suus pennae facio mihi unus quod universus iuvo mihi lucrum quis volo per diligo quod odium," she chanted, knelt in front of the fire, eyes reflecting the power, wand in hand and tip pressed to her wrist. It was going to hurt, when it was time. But she could live with that, to help them, to help herself. To win. To learn. She could survive. "Ego precor atrum quod quaeso is sumo mihi sub suus pennae facio mihi unus quod universus iuvo mihi lucrum quis volo per diligo quod odium…"
How long she sat there, Hermione could not tell. Her eyes grew heavy but would not shut from the wide, intense stare she had started with. Her knees ached, and her tongue felt thick and bitter, her hands numb but not shaking. She watched somewhat distantly as the fire darkened at the edges and twisted in a vibrant danced, other to the one she had been watching for hours. She repeated the Latin words, stumbling once, twice, and then forcing herself on.
And in the fire, a hand appeared.
It was a perfectly normal hand. A woman's, Hermione thought, long and slender with short nails that seemed impossibly sharp.
Audimus (We hear)The word was whispered by her tongue, but it was not her voice. Hermione struggled to stop herself from tearing her gaze away from the dancing hand and pressed the tip of her wand harder against her wrist.
Nos sitis (We thirst)Hermione continued chanting from where she'd left off, ignoring the Dark's use of her own tongue, eyes in the fire, throat burning with something vile and sour. She took a deep breath and focused, trying not to cough, and whispered: "Diffindo."
The wand tip sliced through her wrist, a thin cut that still bled furiously, and tears pricked at her eyes harshly, but she couldn't blink. Dropping her wand, Hermione pushed her hand and wrist into the fire, and the Dark's hand in the fire grabbed and scraped.
She was meant to be chanting again. She had to. But something was bubbling at the back of her throat, forcing itself up from her chest and – staring at her burning, bleeding wrist in horror – Hermione screamed.
"Oh…Professor," Hermione murmured, hiding her left arm behind her back. The skin was smooth and there had been no sign of her activities with the Dark for a whole week, and yet Hermione could still feel the fingernails digging into her sliced wrist, could still smell the burnt flesh and hear the cackling of the flames as they attacked her arm. It had scarred her mind, if not her arm, and she couldn't help feeling that little bit self conscious that someone could see it on her. The taint.
"Hello, Hermione," Professor Lupin smiled, indicating the seat beside him. They were both sat in what had become the Sanctuary Common Room in the Room of Requirement, where those who wished could come and see if friends had returned, family, or even new arrivals. Anything but the tedious wait for Voldemort to strike. Hermione took the seat beside him with a nod. "You are well, I hope?"
"Yes," she replied. "How is Tonks?"
"Well."
After all they had been through, on missions together and researching protection spells, Hermione still found it odd that she and Remus could only speak so formally. She supposed it had something to do with him being one of her teachers all those years ago, and always calling him Professor probably did nothing to help the fact.
"How is this year treating you?" Remus asked, sipping at his coffee. She sighed.
"Fine, Profes…Remus."
"Nothing strange?" he persisted. Hermione tried to meet his sharp gaze, but found she could not. Her eyes trailed away to settle in a corner. Did he know? And that uncertainty and weariness that lined him…Hermione barely held back a shudder. Was it aimed at her?
"No, Remus," she replied firmly, ignoring the slight break at the end of the words. "I'm handling everything."
The silence afterwards was uncomfortable, and Hermione could feel the Dark shift inside her. He knows, she thought despairingly. He knows I've done something, and am doing something…this is what I have to expect when I tell them what we'll have to do…Merlin, what have I done…?
"Have you heard from Fawks?" the man questioned, shifting that unnerving gaze away from her and back to his cup. She licked her lips and shook her head, thinking of Harry and Ron.
"Not in five and a half months," she said quietly. "I think he is flying north, but anything could have happened since."
Remus nodded, drank, nodded again, and then looked at her.
"He will come back. But we must prepare for the worst. If he cannot find what he wanted in the north…then I think that we must make preparations for an attack." Hermione tried to ignore the eagerness that spilled from the Dark inside of her. "But how we can stand up against him in all his power, I cannot tell you, for I can think of nothing."
Maybe…maybe they might just take to her idea. Maybe this was what they needed. Maybe the Dark needed to be fought with the Dark.
Maybe…it could work.
He was glaring at her, chest heaving, and she was staring at the Book in his hands, the pure little white one with bloodstains and the Dark inside, a dirty contradiction. Her eyes flew to his.
"You went through my trunk?" she demanded incredulously. "You actually went through my things?"
Draco threw the book at her, and she flinched when it hit her shoulder. They hadn't had any fights lately; none that they actually considered fights. Small arguments that never lasted long. Merlin, she'd even thought that they were beginning to be nice to each other. He had followed her to the library at night, sat silently with her as she researched Protection and Finding Spells that could help them in the war. He'd watched her leave on missions without complaint, and when she returned – haggard and upset – he'd always be there with a hot drink and a hot bath. Always.
She supposed it was too good to be true. There was too much electricity between them. They had to argue, or there'd be no outlet for the emotion.
"What have you been doing?" he said furiously. "What have you been messing with, Hermione?"
She stared at him, eyes wide, and then she shook her head. "You really don't understand, do you?" she asked softly. "You…you don't see that we're losing this war."
His slate grey eyes were burning and his fingers were curling, wanting to wring her neck, and yet she just stood there, silently asking him what was wrong, why shouldn't she? He made a strangled sound of anger, before forcing the words through gritted teeth. "You don't know the dangers of the Dark, Hermione!"
"Don't I?" she questioned coolly, eyes gleaming with something strange and wonderful as she glanced at her left arm. She heard Draco choke.
"Merlin, you already invoked it, didn't you?" he breathed, seeing the truth, feeling it tingling on his senses. Something akin to wonder filled him. And fear. And Hermione just looked at him.
"I've had to kill people, Malfoy," she whispered, dropping her arm, eyes again that dull amber. "And torture them and hurt them and do everything I thought the Good Side would never do to survive this war. We all have. I can't tell right from wrong anymore, and I know that if we're going to defeat Voldemort we have to sink to his level." Looking away, she shrugged and picked up the book. The tips of her fingers caressed the cover almost lovingly. "I'm taking the first step."
Draco scoffed, running a hand through his hair. Dear Merlin, the girl had no idea –
"Have you ever had to kill anyone?" she asked suddenly. "Actually kill them, ever since the Dumbledor fiasco?"
He sneered, but couldn't hold her gaze.
"Torture, yes, but I've never killed. Never. The Master did not trust me enough to actually kill purely."
Hermione smiled mockingly, laughing so abruptly and harshly that the man jumped.
"Ironic, isn't it?" she said, voice humourless. "That the evil ferret boy has yet to have blood on his hands, and yet I, the know-it-all moral Mudblood, has so much."
She leant against the wall, hair in her eyes, and couldn't find it in her to care that she couldn't cry about it. That she didn't care anymore that she'd killed. Wasn't that what evil was? The ability not to care when you killed? The witch shuddered. I'm not evil, she thought hollowly. I'm just trying to survive.
The soft touch on her shoulder jerked her from her thoughts, and shaking Draco's hand away she strode towards the table, wand ready. She forced herself to face him and to smile. "Drink, Malfoy?" His dark look wiped the smile from her face. "What now?"
"Why don't you ever call me Draco?" he asked, a peculiar expression in his eyes. Hermione stiffened, eyes narrowing. Oh, so now he was going to start getting personal?
"Because I don't have reason to," she replied primly, and as he stalked towards her she didn't realise her mistake until he had taken her hair and painfully yanked her head back, mouth on hers, and pressing. It was short, hard, and nothing special. But it had taken the breath away from both of them.
"Is that enough reason for you?" he said quietly, and she shot him an annoyed look.
"You're being cliché again," she informed him. He kissed her once more. "Stop doing that!" she snapped, scowling. He matched her glower for glower.
"Why?" he demanded. "I'm tired of skipping around you, Hermione, because I want you and I'm going to get you, no matter what fight you put up."
She stepped on his foot, pride making her pull away. "You really think that, do you?" she snarled, not appreciating this sudden turn of events. The Dark twitched within her.
"Yes," he said firmly, taking her arms and drawing her closer. "And you want me too."
"Arrogant prick."
"Fight it all you want. I can be patient."
"Sure you can."
"I'm still not used to this sarcastic side of you," he said with a frown. Hermione sneered.
"Well deal with it."
The fight had not started any different. Having been practicing with the Dark Spells, Draco had caught her and started again his tirade about the dangers and how stupid she was. Hermione had fought him as she always did; with tooth and nail and wand and words, not letting him get the upper hand. But somehow, this fight was different. She couldn't see what was wrong, and the churning of the Dark inside of her was another worry, something that made her colder and crueller and kept her attention away from the man more than usual.
Draco was furious.
"I'm not like them!" Hermione screamed, pushing him away from her. He grabbed her arms and pushed his face close to hers, using their equal height to his advantage as he hissed:
"You're using Dark Magic, Hermione – !"
"So?" she snarled, yanking herself away. "I thought you'd be pleased!"
Draco snorted. "Oh, yeah, great excuse."
Hermione glared at him, hair wild, eyes flashing. "Just think, Malfoy, you can hand me over to your fucked up Master now – "
"He's not my master –"
"Bet you blow him at every chance, huh, Malfoy –"
"Oh, like you blow Potter?" he asked innocently, facing her and ignoring the strong urge to run. The girl was past furious now, and Draco had not forgotten the Dark she had invoked. As far as he knew, she hadn't actually used the full Dark power inside of her, but that didn't mean she wouldn't decide to now. And it would not be a pretty sight.
"Leave Harry out of this!" she hissed, and he smirked.
"Why, is that a sore spot? Love him, do you?" he sneered, even though it hurt to say that, to think that, to know that. Hurt blindingly. Hermione spun on him, wand drawn, tip sparking a deep red.
"Shut up!" she screamed. "Shut up!"
"Sorry, but he only loves Weasel, gay arse humping behind the Quidditch pitch, right?" He hated her right then. Hated her so much because he feared her, and that fear was making him move towards her, pressed the tip of her wand against his chest and dare her with his words and eyes. And he knew that she hated him too. So much. So, so much. "Bet you watch, wishing it was you who Golden Boy was shoving his cock up – "
"This all your screwed up fantasy, Malfoy?" she growled. "You harbouring some repressed sexual desires, you bloody ferret – "
"Yeah, about as much as Potter would look at you in any other way than a nuisance."
And she turned, eyes glinting, with an almost delightedly sick smile as she whispered sweetly, "How's Daddy dearest, Malfoy?"
There was a pause, an intake of breath as both glared at each other, some connection pulling them rapidly together.
"I hate you!" Draco spat, feeling juvenile for a twenty-three year old man, and yet finding no other way to express it. Hermione smirked bitterly.
"Yeah?" she said. "Well, I hate you too."
And then they were kissing, hard, bruising, brutal. Hermione could taste salt on his lips and blood in his mouth and he slammed her into the wall. Her back protested but she ignored the pain, too caught up in him, his hands, his skin, his hasty gasps for breath that mingled with her own. They clashed teeth, once, twice, three times, and t it was nothing like the stories. It was painful and ruthless and so very, very bittersweet. There was something in the each other that they wanted and hungered after, had to touch inside. And so they pressed together, hard, harder, trying to melt into each other and be one.
And then their clothes had disappeared and Hermione felt the rough carpet beneath her and she couldn't stop crying, no matter how much she wanted it, and Draco snapped at her, furiously, maliciously – shut up, for Merlin's sake – only that made her cry harder and there was so much blood and hurt and then they were arguing and shouting – I hate you, I hate you – and kissing again and again and again…
It was nothing like the movies. It was awkward and painful but it was theirs, and that was what made it perfect.
When the attack came, no one even realised; no one was prepared. Voldemort thrust his forces into them and suddenly, so suddenly, people were dieing. And there were screams and colours and it was hard to tell who was your enemy and who was your ally in that tangled mess of wands and blood. You just had to aim your wand at anyone who looked threatening and hope wildly that you would survive.
Hermione ran through the halls, mind quickly running through Spells, as she searched for those on the Good side. Coming across a group of Fifth Years trying to protect some First Years, she swiftly cast a Charm that made the black bands on their arms glow deep red, telling them to pass on the message that those with red bands were on the Goof side, so don't Curse them. And then she sent them towards the Room of Requirement with explicit instructions to stay there and wait. And pray.
She could feel the Dark she'd invoked pulsing inside, a hot presence beside her heart that was begging to be embraced and so she could defeat all who threatened her friends and home. But no, she couldn't. She'd promised Draco that if she were going to use Dark Arts, then she'd never use the full Dark power inside of her. Never.
Now she had to find any DeathEaters who had got passed the front and take them down, as well as send any younger students to Sanctuary, where Portkeys were waiting should the Order lose.
And also, she had to find the traitor. The one who'd let Voldemort in.
The hallways reminded her of old muggle Mental Hospitals, eerily quiet and still, but with the faint demented screams of those behind bars. She walked quickly, her shoes making a muffled clip clip clip on cold stone floors. She couldn't understand it. Why now? What had been so different about today that made Voldemort attack? Harry hadn't been back for nearly a year, though Ron was currently sleeping in one of the Sanctuary rooms, having been hurt in an attack and so recovering before he returned to Harry. Most of the Order were resting, too, in the lull that had fallen.
So why –
There was a sharp intake of breath, and Hermione was propelled forward by a weak push, her skin stinging from a low-level Hex. She dropped immediately into a crouch, the next Hex spinning harmlessly past her, and then spun, fist outstretched as she straightened to catch the invisible attacker on his or hers nose. She missed, but with a soft sound an invisibility cloak puddled at the man's feet. Hermione was halfway through another Curse when she stopped abruptly, eyes wide as she recognised him.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, chest heaving. Her wand was still levelled at his chest and her heart was thumping wildly, an erratic rhythm that screamed put it down put it down its Ron why are you scared of him he'd never hurt you Hermione its just Ron put it down – but her hand stayed steady and her wand pulsed a quiet red light at the tip. And his eyes…oh Merlin, his eyes were so sad. Even as he, too, levelled his wand at her chest, hand shaking, she couldn't tear her foreboding away from his sorrow.
"Ron?" she said softly, though she knew. She saw the muted grey tingeing the corners of those baby blues, taking him into its dull and powerful grasp. And in the senses she'd acquired through the Dark she'd invoked, she could feel it lying there like a puppy, reluctantly coming forward with its tail between its legs in acknowledgment to the higher Dark she possessed. Something inside her died, quietly, but her wand stayed steady. "Oh, Ron," she sighed, and he smiled at her even as he cast a Curse under Imperio.
They duelled silently, and so many practices together helped them know the other's technique, and what was going to come next, grim eyes never leaving the other. All that time she'd been worried that Draco would be put under the Imperio, or that he was a traitor, and she never thought of all the times Ron had been under attack with Harry. She didn't even know half of the events that had to endure. She'd never thought…
"Is this what we've come to?" she asked, rolling her shoulder backwards to miss a clumsy Blasting Curse. "Fighting each other in the middle of a war, because of a man who should be dead?" Ron did not answer, but she saw the conflict in his eyes as he tried to struggle with the Curse placed on him. Hermione paused when he did, risking a step closer as his wand swerved to shoot the wall instead of her. "Ron, I will kill you if you don't fight it, understand? I will not hesitate, and I've learnt quite a few things in the past year that will make it hurt you so much more."
His eyes flashed – in horror or in amusement, Hermione could not tell – and his hand steadied until she was staring down the line of he wand, his lips soundlessly forming the death Curse and his eyes begging her to understand and to forgive him. And then she was staring at Ron's lifeless body, and Draco was behind him, wand levelled, eyes panicked as he stared at her.
"Hermione –!" he began desperately, but it was too late. Pain exploded in her shoulder and the Dark inside her roared and she was thrown away from him, skidding painfully across the stone floor as another spell hit immediately. She moaned, body aching, and a boot crunched down on her wrist. Her wand fell uselessly from her fingers.
"Hello, Mudblood," Anthony said, quite casually, as if this was one of their quaint little discussions in the library, his pale eyes glinting with amusement. Hermione glowered at the six DeathEaters. Anthony had always been the leader of the group. A Ravenclaw pureblood, Hermione had once thought him a friend until he revealed himself as a DeathEater sometimes during her beatings while at school. She had never thought a Ravenclaw capable of such cruelty, but he was proof. He never did killing or torturing himself, but he hungered for knowledge and somehow he equated Voldemort with it.
Hermione thought he was insane.
But, he had once been her friend and was always known as Anthony in her mind. She couldn't make herself see him as anything else. She didn't think she even knew his surname to distance herself from him.
Anthony's second in command, Nox, pulled her to her feet and slammed her into the wall, ignoring her as she choked. "Long time no see, Granger," he breathed into her face. She shut her eyes, trying to ignore Draco's yelps of pain.
"Shit," she cursed quietly, struggling briefly in his hold before sinking against the wall. Hermione eyed her captors warily. They grinned back.
"You put up quite a chase this time," Nox continued. "But I'm afraid you didn't run far enough."
"We have Eyes everywhere." Ambrose whispered from behind him, right eye glazed with a film of white and voice rasping. It sent a shiver down her spine and she tossed her head defiantly.
"Really? How nice for you," she sneered, dark brown eyes dangerous. Hermione had grown too used to their presence in her life to be scared anymore. She had been, once, a long time ago. She'd screamed and cried and begged when they'd tortured her, but she'd said all the wrong things and refused, even then, to be their lapdog. After a while, she'd hardened herself to it and grew more defiant, and that fear disappeared. If anything, they simply exhausted.
"What have we told you about your mouth?" a pale haired boy hissed, his fist brushing passed her neck to bang the wall behind. Hermione relished in his wince and showed it in the taunting twist of her lips.
"Bite me," she snarled, ignoring the sick hunger in his black eyes as he bent closer.
"Gladly," he replied, aiming for her neck, a true little bloodsucker like his ancestors. Hermione prepared to slam her head into his and perhaps cause a little confusion to gain an escape, but Nox's eyes rested on her calmly as he dragged the vampire-boy back to his side.
"All right, Montose, back off a little," he ordered, keeping a firm grasp on the smaller boy's shoulder. Blonde-haired Montose hissed through his teeth but kept back, incensed black orbs straining to reach hers and make her shrivel to stone. Hermione ignored him, twitching in the twins' hold and switching her attention to Anthony.
"Why don't you go and torture some little people?" she suggested, though the darkness in her eyes showed that she'd rather die than let them do that. "Its what you do best."
"Oh, but you're so much more fun!" he replied sadistically.
"I do love it when she screams," Montose agreed, eagerness lining his whole body. "Let's punish her." Anthony glanced at the younger boy in amusement, before gesturing at Nox to step away. Hermione tensed, eyes immediately seeking her wand, before she was slammed back again by two weights. The breath rushed from her lungs. The twins.
"Yeah, little witch, punishment," Wade murmured in her ear, the first troll of a twin who was pinning her left side to the wall. Hermione blinked uncomfortably.
"And it's our turn this time," his other half, Mathew, added. Hermione paled. Oh god, no. She wasn't capable of coherent thought for that moment. All she felt was the twins' grasp becoming tighter, more painful, and all the blood rushed to her head. Ambrose disturbed her, certainly, but the twins were ruthless. Brought up around their rapist father, you can only see in nightmares what they were capable of. Never had they raped her, but little violations, things that twisted her up inside and made her so ashamed when she shouldn't be…
She had said before that she didn't fear them anymore. I think you should know that she lied.
"Tch, tch, Hermione," Anthony said mildly. "If you'd just cooperate, we wouldn't have to do this."
Hermione stared back, thought of the phrase steel yourself and – with everything she had – imagined herself coated in steel. Tried to make herself invulnerable. Then, maybe, it wouldn't hurt anymore.
"Bastards," she hissed. Montose laughed, high and inhuman, delight in his eyes as he watched her being dragged away.
"Now, now," he giggled with pleasure. "No need for such harsh language."
Hermione threw herself forward but didn't even cause a hesitation in the twins' stride. Her shoulder ached from the torment of being held so high for so long and forced to hold her weight. She clenched her jaw. I am steel, she thought. Steel myself. Coat myself in metal. Armour. Ward away the blows. Make it not hurt anymore. Her inner voice had been reduced to desperation. Why did this happen every time she came upon them on missions? Ever since Fourth Year she'd tolerated it, she'd fought back, she hadn't told, thinking it would make her stronger for the war…why did she let it happen?
"I won't do it!" Hermione shrieked, hoping against hope that someone would hear her, even though she knew they wouldn't. It's Sod's Law, you see. No one ever hears. Only in fairy tales. And then she remembered one time, so long ago, when she was shrieking the same words, the exact words, and Malfoy had been there. Malfoy had stopped them, had heard, had saved her. She searched for him wildly, heart sinking when she found him unconscious to her left. No… "I won't give in! I won't break until you do!"
But by that time the twins had thrown her onto the floor. She pressed herself into the concrete and wished that she could fold in on herself and sink away into oblivion, become nothing. But the harsh stone was unyielding, only causing pain as it clawed harshly at her skin. Hermione choked and tried to burn Wade with her gaze as he pressed his face up close.
Amazingly, it didn't work.
Wade leered.
"Scream for me."
The time after was filled with Spells and hurt. Draco groaned and she reached out an arm, trembling, with all her last strength straining against the pain to touch him. His eyes were cold, like his hands, but as their fingertips brushed she felt his understanding, his anguish, his love. It had never been said, but neither of them was brave enough to admit it. They simply expected the other to comprehend.
Struck by another Spell, pinning her to the floor, Hermione cried out, her hand falling away from his. Draco's blank expression coloured with surprised, and then anger, before he too was slammed back into the floor. Hermione gasped for breath, curled in on herself, but pain has a way of gripping you and forcing you awake, no matter how tired you are.
"Tut, tut, tut, Hermione," Anthony sighed, crouching by her head. She spat at him hatefully. He ignored it, instead stroking her blood plastered hair. "What a fire, such passion to survive!"She wriggled, attempting to dislodge the offending hand, aware of Draco's burning gaze and curses. But still, they were ignored. Anthony bent closer, "I would have made you mine, once upon a time, my dear Hermione. But your fire burns me." His hand retreated, in favour of fingertips on her cheek. Hermione lunged, much like a wolf head, and tried to bite him.He reared back, then chuckled. "You're so funny. But now you've been tainted by traitor's blood, I'm afraid no offer can stand."
With careful steps, Anthony left her, and in one powerful kick, sent Draco spinning into a wall. Hermione winced for him, but he would survive. He was still a Malfoy, even if he was a traitor, and so they would waste time on his 'trial'. With her, she would be dead in seconds. They'd had their fun. It was time for her to die.
"Her…Hermione," Draco groaned, coughing blood, crumpled so far away from her. Hermione swallowed and looked away, knowing she would cry if she spared him any more of her attention. And she couldn't cry; she had to concentrate.
"Mmmm," Ambrose smiled, licking his lips. "I can taste Dark Magic in the air. And its orbiting our dear Mudblood."
"Really, now?" Anthony said, looking at her. She glared back, on her hands and knees. "But then, we always knew she was meddling in things she couldn't handle. It was you who stole our Master's book, correct?"
Hermione wondered how the fight was going outside, if anyone wondered where she and Ron and Draco were. No. They wouldn't. When your life was in danger, instinct forces you to only think of yourself.
Wade threw her wand at her.
"Go on then, Granger," Nox taunted with amusement. "I could use a little practice."
Well, Hermione thought. It seems playtime isn't over yet. I may just get out of this.
Closing her eyes, she pushed past the Spell keeping her on the floor, standing straight and firm. She ignored the fact that her legs were shaking.
"Don't you dare –" Draco began furiously, icy grey eyes boring into her, only to be immediately silenced by another Hex. He moaned and fell quiet.
"Ignore him, Hermione," Anthony said mildly. "Please, start when you're ready."
She blinked slowly and drew in a deep breath, raising her wand. Spells rose to the surface of her mind, eager creatures of the Underworld who wanted – not to help, but to cause destruction. It looked like this was her only option.
Their duel lasted all of ten minutes, trading all knowledge of both magics that they knew, the others helping when to wear her down when it became clear that – even as badly hurt as she was – Hermione was the more powerful.
Gasping, she lay on the cold concrete and cursed under her breath, forcing herself to recover from a particularly strong curse sent by both Wade and Mathew. Draco seemed to have regained consciousness, as again he was threatening the group in that icy, certain way of his. Despite this, they ignored him. Almost too well. He grew angry and began to shout, yells increasing with every curse they shot at Hermione, face down on the ground.
There was a distant kind-of buzzing in her ears, and despite herself she found it more distracting than thepain. It grew, and something clamoured to the forefronts of her mind. It was a large and sticky black mess that clung to her and demanded to be used.
Hermione could see no other way.
"Oh, no," Draco whispered when her eyes met his. He understood in that moment, she thought, but that didn't mean he wanted to understand. He was the dark one in their relationship. Hermione didn't think he liked toknow that she could be darker than him. But, as Anthony had proven, thirst for knowledge could corrupt. And so, lying still, Hermione embraced the Dark inside of her and let it flow over her skin, a cool and soothing aura that had a biting edge. She relished in it.
The group did not seem to notice that change in her, though Ambrose sniffed the air and frowned. Even when she stood smoothly from the floor, they didn't realise, though their Curses increased. Hermione let them carry on for a moment, breathing in the Dark Magic they were firing at her, let it strengthen her. Gradually, she began to glow with darkness.
The Spells stopped.
Ambrose whined, voice strangled, as he sank to his knees, a low keening enfolding from his lips. The others looked at each other, startled.
"Should we…carry on?" Mathew asked, uncertain. Before anyone could answer, Hermione had turned to face them. Draco scowled, hurt tucked into the contours of his face, and the men all took a step back.
"Oh, please do," she replied, a sharp smirk tilting at her lips as she froze them with solid black orbs. "I am so very hungry."
In the silence of after, only Ambrose's keening could be heard.
Draco stared at her, curled up in the corner, her amber eyes streaked with black and bloody tears leaking from the corners. She was shivering violently, clothes torn and body bruised, battered in such a way that something deep inside of him twisted and then plummeted. He turned to check the pulse of the men on the ground, blank as he felt the small beats of life. He kicked the one called Anthony, not knowing why, still slightly bewildered and…absent from his body. He felt not empty, but as if he was spread too thinly and there wasn't enough of him actually in his own body to cope with her.
He dimly realised that he was in shock.
He'd been brought up around Dark Magic; he knew the temptations of it and had himself tasted some of the darker spells on his own lips. But never in his life had he seen such…power. But even power couldn't describe it. It had been darkness of the most tangible form; thick and sticky and like tar, suffocating you as you breathed it in. And yet it didn't make you fear. It made you feel so alive, and Draco was willing to bet that, even as she was bearing down upon the DeathEaters, they had been feeling so very alive too.
Finally, finally, he returned his cold eyes to her, still trying to sink into herself and away from the world, so terrified and broken. She looked like the word shatter and all the meanings that went with it. Exhaustion, sadness, damaged.
Yes…she looked damaged.
Her eyes could not lose that haunted look, the black veins across the brown prominent, but gradually growing slighter, dimmer, less enclosing as she struggled to fight back the knowledge she had released inside herself. She didn't even have to strength to cry.
And in two steps she was in his arms, and it was all he could do to help her, knowing that anything else could either break her or save her, and he didn't want to take that risk.
Not with her.
Trying to tear herself away from the Dark, desperately trying to keep herself from killing anyone else, Hermione heard Draco shout – "Hermione!" – and she crumpled to the ground, pain streaking through her then settling in her blood, like tar. She opened her mouth, wondered whether she was making any sound because she couldn't hear anything, only a distant laughing, and a sudden tilting of the world as red eyes found her and stared, surprised.
Hermione froze.
"I see you, little girl," Voldemort hissed, and Hermione cursed wildly, terrified, demanding how she could have forgotten that He had invoked the Dark too, that that made a tie between them, that he could find her… "You are mine."
Horrified, Hermione wrenched herself away and to reality, shuddering in Draco's arms, eyes shredded but no longer solid black. Just simple, perfect brown.
"Hermione, you better stay with me, do you understand? Or I will have to kill you. There can't be another Dark Being in this world, do you hear? I will kill you myself," the man was murmuring, and Hermione knew he meant it. He was ruthless when need be, and had she let the Dark take her over, he would have killed her with no regrets.
She refrained from telling him that she could still feel the Dark within her. A power lying dormant, a power that she knew she'd have to resist for the rest of her life. People had always said what a clever witch she was. She guessed she understood now why there had been such trepidation in their eyes whenever they said it.
Outside, the battle had finished. But death was a overwhelming stench and Hogwarts itself was burning. They looked upon the destruction with the airs of people who could not fully comprehend what had happened, and then together, with Draco supporting Hermione, they all picked their way across the battlefield to search for survivors.
No one cried for the unfairness of it all. Because Voldemort had made the first move and this was the way it was going to be. Because this was war and they would never back down.
And nothing was ever going to change that.
Holding Draco's eyes tightly, Hermione slowly bowed her head as the couple passed, happily clutching hands where the ribbon had tied them together and trading sweet kisses. They were just another pair who had fallen in love in the middle of the War, and were tying the knot in an attempt to gain some happiness from all the death and fighting. Around them, others were laughing and dancing and kissing, gushing to each other about how beautiful the other was and how much they loved them. Even the singletons were striding over to another, demanding dances and arms and hands and lips.
And then there was Draco and Hermione, who stared at each other from across the room. They'd never be an openly romantic couple, full of sickly smiles and kisses and embraces that just made the world want to vomit. Repeatedly. They wouldn't even say it in private. But it was in their glances and their verbal battles, in the way they held each other after a battle or a mission, how they always knew what the other needed and wanted and provided it without a word. And their sex life would always be fantastic. Love or hate, there was simply too much passion between them to just let it simmer. They had to stir it and boil it and let it out in fumes and steam and impossible heat. It was simply the way they were.
And raising their flutes of champagne to each other, they drank to their love and their future and smiled quietly, letting the world move on around them and so they could stand in moments of time, together.