A/N: A Dramione one shot to ease myself into working on darker fics.
TW: torture, death
Hermione slid along the mud and muck that blanked the forest, catapulting herself over the edge of a small hill and straight into the arms of a truly foul man. He reeked of rotting meat, and she wasn't entirely certain if the open and very clearly infected pustules that were sprinkled generously on his face were the source, or if the stench emanated from the dried blood and tissue that were matted in his beard and speckled on his clothing. That he took little care delivering victims to his master in one piece was apparent.
As if on cue, Harry and Ron were brought into view, struggling against their magical bindings in a futile attempt to free themselves. She cast a wordless stinging jinx at her dark-haired best friend with grim satisfaction. At the very least, his identity would be somewhat questionable, buying the girl the time she needed.
Then all she knew was darkness.
She awoke to find herself face down in musty-smelling dirt, ribs aching with the pain of what she assumed had been brought upon her by being tossed unceremoniously down a set of stairs. Without making a sound to indicate the change in her level of consciousness, Hermione reached her senses deep into the earth below her until she felt roots reaching back. The energy surged up, up, up, helping to restore her faculties and reduce the pain throbbing in her arms. She sent her gratitude back into the soil and turned her focus to her surroundings.
The creak of floorboards under pacing feet sounded from above and likely a few rooms to the left. If she strained her ears, she could hear multiple male voices that were arguing with a singular, much deeper, far gruffer voice. From much closer came the clicking of prim kitten heels on what Hermione assumed was marble. Moments later came the rhythmic tap-tap of a cane on stone, followed by a heavy door closing.
Oh, goodie, Lucius is home.
A swift and vicious rustle of fabric, a body slammed against a wall, a feminine choking sputter, and Lucius' rumbling growl. "Where is he?"
Prick.
Narcissa, Hermione assumed, could not answer, however, due to the hand that was most likely wrapped around her windpipe.
The pacing feet hurried to the front of the house. "They're in the basement, father."
Moments of silence passed, in which Hermione could feel the tension rising, even from the basement cellar, until finally, there was a thump against the floor; Narcissa had been released.
Harry chose that moment to breathe a groan of pain, and fumble around on the ground for his glasses.
"Don't."
"Don't what?" Harry asked, his voice rough with thirst.
"Don't put them on; hide them."
"As much as I'd love to not need them, 'Mione, my eyes are actually quite terrible."
"I don't give a shit if you can't see," she snapped back, her irritation getting the better of her, electricity crackling through her hair as she moved to a sit. "If you'd like to avoid the absolute certainty of your identity to buy us even a few blessed minutes of time, you'll do as I say."
After a few moments of silence, she could hear a scraping sound, likely The Boy Who Lived digging into the hard dirt to bury them.
"A wise decision," a raspy voice added to the conversation.
She recognized it immediately and shifted her gaze to observe the wandmaker obscured by the heavy, damp darkness. His usually smooth face was covered with a rough beard, allowing her to deduce the man had been prisoner for at least a few months.
"Ollivander," Hermione greeted levelly.
"Granger," he murmured back with a delicate nod and considered her coolly. "I trust your wand still serves you well."
It would appear I am not forgiven.
"Eager as ever."
She noted that Ron, who had woken while Harry was digging around, listened to the conversation with a sort of detachment- it was clear the boy couldn't quite accept the nature of their predicament.
A shifting movement came from behind Ollivander, and a silver-haired girl approached; face bruised, dress tattered, hair gnarled, arms decorated dried blood — but there was no mistaking her.
"Oh, hello there," Luna breathed dreamily, somehow managing her usual affect despite the cruel slice that trailed from lip to cheek. "I didn't expect to see you three."
Ever again.
Hermione came to a wobbly stand and embraced her friend, happy that she was, at least for the moment, still alive.
"Well, we decided to take a few detours from our field-trip," Hermione answered with a sarcastic smile. "Infiltrated the ministry, visited your father, spent some time in my family's favorite camping spot; what was left to see, if not the splendors of Malfoy Manor?"
Before Luna could react to the news of her father, Ron's eyes grew wide with horror, as he cut in. "We're in Malfoy's house?"
"Yes."
"Draco. Draco Malfoy. The Malfoy family. The Malfoy Manor."
"Yes, Ronald, that's what I'm saying."
"Have you bloody lost it?" he exploded angrily, finally coming to a stand. "Do you have any idea what this place is used for? Har—"
Hermione rocketed forward, silencing him wandlessly, with the fury that danced in her eyes. "Why in the ever-loving fuck," she whispered coldly, "if you know what this place is used for, would you alert them not only to our having regained consciousness, but also risk saying his name?" she nodded to the grotesquely disfigured Harry.
The sound of multiple sets of the feet above immediately ceased— a second later, however, grew louder, and Ron winced as the stupidity of his actions sank in.
"We don't have long," Hermione snapped. "An extraction plan is already in place—"
She was interrupted by bickering from directly above the cellar.
"Do not fight what happens next."
The sound of a single pair of advancing footsteps grew louder, and Hermione returned quickly to the spot her body had been dumped.
She felt the shift in the air as wards at the top of the stairs were crossed, likely placed to allow only those with the Dark Mark to open the door. Not a soul in the cellar risked a breath as, step by step, one of their captors approached the group below.
From the stature of the figure, she knew who it was when he pushed his sleeves up— the sweep of his broad shoulders, the deceptively slender muscles that wrapped around his arms, the artfully delicate, deep aqua veins exposed through the porcelain skin at his wrists, beautiful even with the dark mark— how could she not know him?
Draco.
She was flooded with warmth and longing when he reached the bottom of the stairs and assessed the room, ignoring her limp form— she was too beneath his station, after all.
Hermione took the chance presented to her and kicked her leg out to sweep his from under him. A gasp of air was expelled from his lungs as he fell into a pile of black robes on the floor. She climbed atop him, her jeans sliding unsteadily along the fabric that swathed him in her haste to incapacitate him.
She wrapped both hands around his cool neck, nails raking into the tender flesh below his ears, his pulse thundering under her fingers. She took a moment to run a thumb reassuringly along his jaw where the mask had lifted, and oh, so briefly, she gently cupped his face with her palm. In one fluid motion, she withdrew her left hand, raised his mask with her right, and promptly punched him in the face.
Forgive me, love.
The witch allowed herself to be tossed off, allowed herself to be tugged roughly by the arm to a stand, allowed herself to be pulled up the stairs while Harry withdrew into a deeper corner of the room. The echoing wails of Ron screeching her name repeatedly were not even remotely helpful, and Hermione found herself glad to be nearing the door which would at least offer a sound barrier.
Draco turned to face her, and in the precious seconds they had, whispers cascaded between lips that pressed together desperately, the words blurring into one mutual sentiment: "You shouldn't have come," and "I couldn't just leave you."
He sighed deeply into her mouth, knowing it was futile to prolong the inevitable. His face contorted the very instant he pulled away, twisting into the mask of disdain he wore to conceal his emotions from others.
The opening of the door revealed what could only be described as a back-up kitchen storage room. It was certainly at odds with what Hermione had expected of a Death Eater's home. She let him drag her forward, slipping and stumbling, down a hall for good measure.
The wooden floors amplified the sound of his boots, conveying wrath that was not to be ignored.
Hermione was propelled by the fury he felt on her behalf to carry her through the doors with a petulant grin. She was rewarded for her efforts by being deposited none too gently on the floor in the middle of an aqua room, looking very much like verdigris— she was fond of the patina that spread on aged copper and thought it likely to be the inspiration. Every metal fixture, frame, knob, and candlestick holder were copper that had been polished to look darker than it was.
Polished to look aged.
For whatever reason, that thought amused the girl momentarily. Her mood shifted, however, as she noted that in place of actual windows, the polished-but-tarnished frames held only moving paintings of landscapes. Which was far less amusing.
No way to see in or out, no way to know the time of day, no way to escape the room.
Her ears caught a soft sniffle from Narcissa, who was seated upon a deep black sofa. She was staring blankly ahead at the wall behind Hermione as Lucius' claws dug cruelly into her shoulder, pressing her deeper into the cushion and creating the illusion that the woman was being shoved through a void.
A reflection of their relationship.
The rustling of fabric and an uneven gait could be heard from behind Hermione, indicating they were joined by another, before the doors were pulled shut: Hermione was now trapped in the room with them.
"Draco, what have I told you about bringing filth into the living spaces?" Lucius drawled with a sneer, his cool tone betraying his anger at the intrusion.
A cackle of unhinged laugher echoed through the space. Apparently, the latecomer thought the muggleborn being referred to as filth was amusing.
And here we have Bellatrix Lestrange.
"This wretch- this bitch- thought it was acceptable to place her hands on me! Look what she did to my face," he snapped shrilly, displaying his nose and the trickle of blood that flowed from it. "And worse, bloody sodding Potter isn't even with the slimy little Mudblood!"
Lucius fixed his steely eyes on Hermione who met his gaze defiantly, daring him to press her.
Bellatrix, on the other hand, stomped to the girl and wrenched Hermione's head back by her curls, exposing her neck. A moment later, a flash of silver was brought to her skin, the threat obvious.
"Now, why on Earth would the 'Golden Trio' separate, I wonder," Lucius purred.
Hermione knew he was barbing her and avoided answering him. If she wished to sell this fabrication, she had to play her part.
Hermione Granger: loyal, intelligent, somewhat strong with much stronger bravado— will crack under immense pressure.
Narcissa couldn't keep herself from flinching daintily, catching Hermione's attention. The woman looked quickly away, averting her eyes to the wall behind the girl. Hermione was sure, however, that there was real pity in her eyes, and the glossing of tears.
Hermione had no idea how long she had been laying in a pool of her own blood, but suspected it had been for a while, considering it had cooled to the touch. The raw magic in the liquid, however, boiled furiously, a towering inferno of rage as it seeped back into her.
Hello, my love.
The witch flung out her senses and found the dungeon void of life. The bodies spread throughout the home were few, and didn't include the Dark Lord's.
Even better.
Hermione pushed herself up from the floor, catching Draco's pained gaze. It was clear that watching without intervening had devastated the boy.
Her movement caught the eye Lucius, who watched her progress with a wicked grin.
"I don't recommend standing so soon after the blood loss and cruciatus curse."
"I don't recommend torturing those whose magic you don't fully understand."
Bellatrix's cackle came from behind her, and a split second later, both Death Eaters were prone on the floor and gasping for air. Throughout the home came the sound of bodies falling to the hardwood.
She allowed Lucius and Bellatrix to hear the agonizing screams of their brethren, followed by the gurgling sounds as each choked on their own blood.
Narcissa clutched her son's hand reflexively, clearly worried she would meet the same fate. He rubbed her hand reassuringly, but she did not relax.
Hermione approached the chair where the woman was seated, eyes filling with terror. "Would you like to watch Lucius suffer," Hermione asked her sweetly.
She didn't answer Hermione, though she tried to speak multiple times.
"Mother," Draco whispered. "Squeeze my hand if you'd like to."
Hermione grinned broadly when the woman indicated she did.
"Wonderful."
Hermione summoned the Death Eater's body, using her pull on his blood, and raised him to his knees like a puppeteer.
"Now, would you like to say anything to your wife before you suffocate to death?"
Lucius glared at Hermione furiously and refused to meet Narcissa's eyes.
"I didn't exactly expect you to apologize," Hermione sighed softly. "No matter. Off you go."
His death was slow, subtle, as Hermione tightened her grip on his blood, stopping it from pumping through his veins. His skin became a gradient of color, changing from white, to pink, to red, to burgundy, until finally, a deep purple as his eyes bulged unattractively from his face.
"I thought it rather fitting," Hermione spoke quietly to Narcissa. "I heard he was fond of depriving others of oxygen."
Narcissa was clearly in shock, and only nodded slowly, her eyes still on her husband, as though he might jump up at any moment and grab her.
Hermione flung the man's body across Bellatrix's line of sight and into a corner. She followed after him slowly, listening to the soft splatter of her blood dripping to the floor.
With a flick of her hand, Lucius Malfoy was incinerated by a quickly growing fire that sought to burn everything in its path.
"Just a moment, my darling," Hermione directed at the flames softly.
Its progression slowed in response, until finally, it halted entirely, offering only a warm glow to brighten the room.
Hermione squatted in from of Bellatrix and spoke with a sweet voice. "I've got to thank you for using a cursed knife." When the Death Eater looked at her, fury in her eyes, Hermione continued lifted some of her hold on the blood in her body.
Bellatrix gasped, panting for breath while her blood surged through her, delivering much-needed oxygen to her tissues. "And why is that, mudblood?"
"Poor Bellatrix. So misguided. The etymology of the word 'Mudblood', is quite fascinating," Hermione informed the Death Eater with a cruel grin, flames reflecting in her eyes. "As far back as the Dark Ages, there have been detailed accounts, from witches and wizards all over the world, describing the use of magic by muggles."
Bellatrix twitched violently and grinned, as though sickened by the very thought, but comforted by the notion that Hermione was confirming her beliefs.
"Not so fast, Trixie- may I call you Trixie?"
The woman grimaced and attempted to speak but was cut off by a sudden lack of air.
"Rhetorical question; I don't really give a fuck, Trix." Hermione clarified as she reached into the witch's robes and withdrew a tobacco cigarette case. "Ooh, how delightful."
Her magic flooded the case quickly, revealing it to be exactly as it appeared. The girl settled back down in her seat and reached in with a smile to withdraw one of the premium, hand-rolled cigarettes. Without another word, she held it delicately between her bloodied lips, leaned her elbows against the sofa cushion behind her, and tipped her head back toward the flames that so desperately wished to ravage the room, the manor, the grounds, the forest, the earth.
Soon.
Her intentions were an unspoken promise of the devastation it would soon wreak, and a finger of fiendfyre reached for the cigarette to light it for the witch.
Hermione took a long drag, savoring the calming effects the drug had. "Hard to come by when you're on the run," she remarked to Narcissa and Draco, ignoring the battered witch on the floor.
A silence built between them in which Narcissa fretted with and smoothed her skirts as though it helped her to feel normal. "I would imagine so. Is there anything else you might like that we could get you?"
Hermione almost laughed at the notion until she realized that Narcissa was genuinely offering her kindness, not attempting to bribe the girl in exchange for safety.
"No, I don't need anything," she responded with a calm smile before turning back to a slowly suffocating Bellatrix. "Now, where was I?"
Hermione finished the cigarette and tossed the end to the waiting flames, joyful to consume anything at this point but hungering, starving: the desperate need for destruction couldn't be held for much longer.
"Ah, yes, etymology," she started back up before lighting another cigarette. "Before you so rudely interrupted, I was speaking of muggles using magic: note that I did not say that muggles were magic. Are you following?"
A lack of response prompted her to continue. "See, muggles don't have magic the way we do-"
Bellatrix managed to snarl through her constricting throat, resulting in Hermione flexing her mental grip on the witch's blood. The Death Eater's body trembled as her organs and tissues received less and less of the oxygen she so desperately needed.
"Muggles can use magic that already exists, so long as there is an energy source; a conduit," Hermione continued, without so much as a wince at the woman's condition. "There are many things that might work; enchanted items, places where magical residue still clings, fresh cadavers, and of course, the elements in all their varied forms, most popularly, plants, harvested from earth, from dirt, from mud.
"And just where do you think a muggleborn witch with a voracious appetite for knowledge and powers bursting out of her, wreaking destruction with accidental magic, might turn? Why, books of course; see, I needed to learn. I needed to know everything."
Hermione took a final drag and tossed the remainder of her cigarette to the flames once more before stooping down to Bellatrix's level. She jerked her forward, focusing on the blood in the Death Eater's body, and grasped the woman's chin with her right hand. She allowed the woman a good view of her handiwork where fresh blood was still dripping down the girl's arm.
"You of all people should know, Trixie: the only thing more dangerous than a powerful witch is a powerful witch that has freely given blood."
Hermione dropped the witch's face as she allowed air to fill Bellatrix's lungs once more. She settled back down on the luxurious, black, velvet sofa near her flames and gave her neck a roll while the Death Eater pieced it together.
"You wanted to be caught," Bellatrix gasped angrily, reaching one hand toward her forearm. "You wanted to come here."
Hermione reached out to the elements in the woman's body and gave a sharp yank.
Bellatrix shrieked in agonizing pain then collapsed, unable to fight what she could not see or understand.
"Yes, I wished to be caught."
Narcissa seemed startled by the information and even more so when Draco left his mother's side.
"You see, Trixie— and this is the really good part—" Draco walked slowly toward Hermione, eyes focused reverently on her. "When I found out how poorly Draco and his mother were being treated, I had no choice but to intervene."
He finally reached Hermione and knelt before her. He took her hand in his and tenderly kissed each finger, cleaning them of her blood.
"I mean, what kind of mate would I be if I didn't burn the world down— quite literally—" she gestured around them with a wicked grin, "for the man I love?"
"Gods, I love you too," Draco whispered hoarsely, his complete adoration obvious to behold.
"How dare you," Bellatrix snarled at Draco. "Only pigs wallow in the mud, boy."
Rage filled his eyes, and his body trembled with the effort to not lose control to the wolf inside of him so close to the full moon, and kill his aunt where she sat. A firm shake of Hermione's head had him standing down, and instead, he took a seat at her side, right where he belonged.
Another cruel mental jerk form Hermione left the witch choking, gasping for air that couldn't quite reach her lungs.
Hermione turned her attention to Narcissa for a moment. She looked well beyond shocked at this point: her skin, much more pale than usual, had taken on a sickly green tinge, and she sat so far forward on the edge of her seat that Hermione was surprised she hadn't toppled out of it.
Probably all the book-balancing-while-walking practice.
Narcissa's gaze roamed from the flames with a mixture of fear and respect, over to Bellatrix, where her eyes would harden. It was abundantly clear that Narcissa Malfoy, of House Black, said goodbye to her deranged sister long ago.
"Narcissa?" Hermione addressed her gently amidst the gasping whimpers that were emanating from the pile of robes on the floor.
The woman was startled, nonetheless, and looked up quickly to hold the girl's gaze. "Sorry, I— did I miss something?"
"Not at all," Hermione offered her an encouraging smile. "I would like you to do me a favor, however: there's a bag that was confiscated from me upon my arrival. It has an undetectable extension charm, and inside is another such bag if you call for it. The second, much larger bag is for you and Draco. You have five minutes to pack whatever the two of you need."
Narcissa looked at her uncomprehendingly. "I'm not sure I-"
"Lucius is gone, and you and Draco both will be assumed dead. Whatever you have in your vault at Gringott's will be prepared to transfer to whomever you entrusted it to; as you are not dead, however, the goblins will not be able to withdraw from it. Regardless, you will not be able to take anything from your Gringott's vault until it is safe for you to be alive again" Hermione explained. "Take anything of sentimental or monetary value, and quickly. Use packing spells on all your clothes and toiletries; it's better you take too much than not enough."
Narcissa stood swiftly, clearly comforted by having something to do.
"Five minutes," Hermione called out as the head of blonde and black hair disappeared through the door in which Hermione had been so unceremoniously dragged. She turned her attention back to Bellatrix and sighed.
"See, Trixie, I was already a practicing elemental witch, long before I ever heard of Hogwarts. You know that feeling, the one that's keeping you down? Funny story, that," Hermione chuckled darkly to herself. "The body, whether you're a muggle or a witch or wizard, is comprised of many elements. Sure, you breathe oxygen, but also, roughly sixty percent of you is comprised of water. Then you've got phosphorous, potassium, sodium, and all sorts of other substances from the earth.
"So, when I asked nicely just now, your blood stopped sending oxygen where it needed to go. Very similar to a heart attack, I'd expect, just drawn out, comparatively speaking."
"And what," Bellatrix managed to gasp against the crushing weight of her own body before she could speak no longer.
"What do I plan on doing with you?" Hermione considered, sinking further back into her seat, and eyed Draco briefly, wondering just how far she could push him to witness. "Well, as much as I would absolutely love to dismantle you, stripping the calcium from your bones and tearing it through your flesh to make neat, little piles on the floor I promised my friend she would feast tonight, and considering she has developed a taste for evil, far be it from me to stop her."
"Who the—" Bellatrix coughed and drew a ragged breath.
Curious, Hermione loosened her grip, wondering just what the woman might say next.
"Who the bloody hell are you talking about?" The witch glanced up to meet her steely glare and flinched. "Who?"
Hermione grinned once more, and from the corner of her eye, caught the look of pride that filled Draco's face. Exhilarated to be putting on such a splendid show, she stood and walked toward her flames. She extended an arm in the fire and was rewarded with waves of heat that were nothing more than a caress, a loving embrace.
"My sweet darling, here," Hermione explained. "I've tended to her since she was nothing more than the embers that remained from a rather complex ritual to invoke the radiant energy of Helios, god of the sun. It turns out fiendfyre isn't very aptly named, for she is no fiend to me."
The flames danced against the girl's fingertips, excited to be so loved, so cared for.
"Your lot seem to be of a mind that absolute control by any force necessary is the only way to get what you desire. And so, you never learn that true power lies in flexibility, in what you can do for magic in turn, and how you can nurture and create something new."
Bellatrix began to laugh, lips parting cruelly, her putrid, jagged teeth on full display. "You truly have no idea what you're talking about," she cackled madly, winded from the effort. "What absolute rubbish!"
Hermione stared at the hag, one eyebrow arching slowly in response.
"I mean— really, you expect me to believe that light show is fiendfyre? It can only be put out by the talented! No one can control fiendfyre!"
The flames battered ferociously against Hermione's boundaries, gaining ground in a desperate attempt to raze the woman to ash.
Bellatrix stumbled back, eyes widening in fear as the fire neared her, inch by inch.
"You really should have been more kind to her; I would have at least given you a much swifter death than she will."
Hermione straightened out the bloodied shreds that remained of her clothing before rejoining Draco where he extended an arm to her.
She accepted the offer he pulled her tightly to him. He reach to hold her face in both his hands, thumbs sweeping along the freckles that speckled the tops of her cheekbones soothingly. Their lips crashed together suddenly, meeting each other with a blend of desperation, satisfaction, and resolution.
The flames held off long enough to allow Bellatrix to bear witness, before engulfing her entirely.
Hermione broke the kiss, long after the woman's shrieking had faded, and nothing more than ashes remained where the Death Eater had been sprawled out on the floor. Taking Draco's hand in her own, Hermione pulled him through the main doors to meet Narcissa on the lawn.
In the end, Malfoy Manor took less than a minute to burn to its foundation. And oh, what a sight it was to behold.
*Please don't forget to fav and review on your way out!
Especially if you enjoyed the read and want more like it!*
*cough* I might even be persuaded to add more, and not leave it at a one shot *cough*