Hermione rolled her shoulders, straightened the robes she took off from Kira, draped them around herself, and checked the wand hanging from her belt once again. She was in for a kill.
Her eyes scanned the room for any signs of movement as her heart hammered hard in her chest. All she heard in the empty shack were soft whispers of the wind blowing through the trees outside the window. Hermione sighed heavily, knowing she would be facing them soon. Her fingers scratched at the Dark Mark, winding all the way up her upper arm. She remembered their malicious glee when they forced the ugly brand upon her skin. When she writhed on the dirty floor, gasping for air... they knew. They knew what she was capable of doing.
She didn't think about how they used her body to fulfil their desires, she only thought of how they would suffer because of her actions.
They thought the darkness in the Mark would kill her, ruin her soul as they had ruined her flesh, but she was giving them none. In fact, years spent working side by side with Severus and her own forever-curious mind had taught her more about The Dark Arts than even Voldemort himself ever could. If he was still alive, that's it. Hermione hissed through the clenched teeth as she looked at her Mark closer.
A dark red scar covered half of her forearm, running diagonally across the length of her wrist, and ending just below her elbow joint, like two snakes coiled together, intertwining in order to create a single entity. A snake that would always remind everyone of her darkest moments. She could feel the magic pulse beneath the scar, as she run her wand over it. She watched the greenish glow envelop her hand and forearm, tracing the edges of the black serpent etched onto the surface of the Mark and making her wonder exactly what would happen if they discovered what she was planning. They were too stupid to even try to decipher the meaning behind her actions.
As Hermione tapped on the darkness, swirling beneath her skin, she remembered Severus' words, he used to tell her. What was so fascinating about the Dark Arts? Why wizards could not resist their call? Why some succeeded while others fell dead, unable to bear the knowledge that had been given to them? She laughed bitterly to herself, wondering if she really was the exception or the rule and whether that knowledge was truly hers alone. And if so… would she truly destroy everything that she loved to become someone else?
The answer to that question became clear. No matter what happened afterwards, she must do what was necessary. The Dark Arts were so dangerous and so fascinating because they made the caster face their own dark side, accept it and follow it deeper and deeper into the void. To cherish the darkness meant to succeed. What was even more important was that Hermione was going to rely on her darkness to find the way into the Light. If such a word could be applied to her tainted soul anyway...
Her thoughts broke when she sensed something in front of her. Something was coming. The familiar smell of fallen leaves and a thunderstorm filled her senses, along with the faint whiff of smoke.
She stood motionless, her breath heavy and laboured against her lungs and she closed her eyes. Fiendfyre. She always had an affinity for flames. They helped to calm her down whenever she needed. The fire wasn't a creature that she feared or hated, it was simply who she was. She smiled faintly and prepared to cast the spell, opened her eyes and turned towards the door of the shack. Fiendfyre fed on the darkest desires of the caster. As every dark spell, it crept right into the soul of a magician, looking for the nastiest secrets and bringing them onto the surface. Lust was on top of them.
Almost twelve hours later, Hermione still could feel the aftershocks of her orgasm spasming inside her, and it was good enough power to feed both, the Mark and the spell. There were many ways the witch had imagined this day would play out in her head. She was never expecting them to torture her the way they did, and she didn't know if she should thank the universe or curse it to hell and back, but somehow, it had worked.
The Death Eaters were stupid, Hermione concluded as she drew the protective contour on the dirty ground of the shack. It would let them in, but burning with Fiendfyre and pure darkness, it would not let them out. Never. She would make them feel all the pleasures of being linked by the Dark Mark before they burn to the ashes. Their screams of agony would ring through the rocky desert. That was what they deserved. They had caused everyone so much misery that no amount of punishment was going to fix their wrongdoings. She would take the burden of their lives as a gift to herself. She was not weak nor cowardly like the rest of them, and she never was. She would smile as she make them twitch in agony, scratch at their skin, unable to free themselves from lust and pain, but she would add only more...
Hermione's plan was simple and dangerous at the same time. Every Death Eater was linked by the Mark, creating the channel between each of them and binding them by the magic of the spell. That was how Voldemort summoned them once upon a time and that was how he gained his power. Certainly not by his charisma and ambition only, but rather by feeding on the magic of his followers. He knew how to isolate the channel, that's why he didn't feel anything while punishing his merry gang, he reversed the power of the Mark onto himself, only becoming more mighty. Hermione also knew how to isolate the Mark and she was smart enough to do just that. She was going to feed them with her finest Crucio, Ardenti Desiderio and Hellish Fire. After all, not every one of them was a decent Occlumens to keep their mind intact while tearing their skin apart in pain, and certainly not any of them was the brightest wizard of their generation.
So she stood there quietly in the middle of a room, the thunder roaring madly at the distance. For some unknown reason, the sound comforted her and calmed her down. Like her mother used to say, "If there is any comfort to be found in this world, it lies within the sound of thunder." It was in another life when she was not the monster she had turned herself into, and one day she would let those memories unwind...
When the old door opened with a deafening creak, she met them, her robes falling open at her sides as the gust of the wind flew into the shack, her ritual dress shining in the predawn darkness. The wizards in front of her raised their wands at the same time.
Dolokhov, with his face twisted in fury and malice, and Yacksley, with an expression of utter hatred that mirrored Hermione's own feelings. Their cronies fingered their wands with mad glee, ready to have her one last time.
She raised her wand higher as her lips curled upwards. It would finally end.
"Tenebris Intus!" She shouted as the tip of the wand touched her Mark and the contours of her trap flared to life.
All around her, the wizards froze in place. Their faces showed shock and disbelief written upon their faces. They looked at each other, bewildered and lost. Then all of a sudden, shadows enveloped them as Fiendfyre started licking at the floor, crawling closer and closer. Hermione smirked as she saw Dolokhov raise his wand and start muttering an incantation underneath his breath. The spell seemed to be stuck though, his wand shaking with frustration. Hermione nodded her head in satisfaction as she watched the wizard struggle to get his spell released.
Then, slowly and without warning, she cast the lust spell at them. They had always liked to watch, but tonight she was on the other side of the stands. They were mere shadows in her sight, and yet, as her magic poured out in waves and engulfed them, she felt the warmth of their bodies as their souls burned from within. Her blood boiled with pleasure, feeling them writhing and screaming under her command. She would not allow them to escape; they belonged to her now. As they tried to group each other, trying to free from her spell amplified five times, her power grew. The heat increased, growing into a raging inferno with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. Her hair blew wildly around her, dancing in the air as if it were possessed by its own will. Her teeth bared, her eyes wide. And her shields snapped firmly back into place as hell broke loose...
And then, suddenly, the spell stopped. The flames died down, leaving nothing but a pile of ash and charred bones. Hermione stared at the remains of her victims, her eyes glowing with triumph. She walked around her impromptu battlefield, observing the madness she was responsible for, and then she left the shack and stepped outside. For the first time in six months. She threw her head back, licking the raindrops from her lips. The rain came down hard, soaking her clothes through and causing her hair to flop limply around her face and ears, droplets flying off of it. With a small laugh to herself, Hermione wiped a stray droplet from her cheek with her sleeve. There was not a thought in her head as she slowly trailed all the way to the front steps with her weary feet and sat down heavily. Hermione put her fingers into the pocket of Kira's robes and fished a cigarette out of it. The blue flame burst into life on her palm as she lit the drug and brought it to her lips with satisfaction. The nicotine hit her nostrils almost instantly, giving her a sense of calmness and tranquillity. The smoke filled her senses and the sweet taste lingered in her mouth as she inhaled deeply. She felt the rain falling on her shoulders almost peacefully, she let herself lean back against the wooden staircase and sighed deeply. She looked down at her bare feet almost curiously. There was no cold, pain, or agony. Just her, her scars and the dawn. The sky was clear and a star could be seen twinkling away, as the clouds moved silently above her, leaving nothing behind except the lightest hint of orange hue on the horizon. It was beautiful. She hadn't realized it before as she watched the word undo in front of her. The nasty weather raged right above her head. The lightning flashed through the sky, illuminating the darkness.
All these things that made the world, a real world, a wonderful world, were nothing compared to the emptiness in her thoughts and the peace she felt in the morning.
As she smoked quietly and waited for dawn, the first rays of light began to illuminate the sky. Her eyes widened slightly and she tilted her head to the side, a single tear rolling down her cheek without her even realising it. She felt free in her torn ritual dress, the wind sweeping over her almost nakedness. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she rested her head back on the stairs, taking in the beauty of the early morning sun slowly peeking up from grey rainy clouds.
Hermione did not hear the steps approaching, nor a loud, almost unbelievable gasp that followed, nor the sounds of females' crying, only the deep voice that flared her runes back to life once again. Only the smell of wet earth. Only the sound of the rain. Only the feeling of the water hitting her flesh and the smoke filling her nostrils, almost dazing her. Only her name repeated over and over again...
"Granger?"