Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord' quoted directly from OoTP.
Author's Notes: I forgot to say that this is AU after the release HBP. It follows the events of OoTP to an extent though.
Chapter 2
For the next few days after the shower incident, Hermione watched Draco like a hawk, looking to see any sign of why he had given up his shower for her. Why would he do such a nice thing? And yet he betrayed no sign that anything was different. Malfoy took no notice of her, and continued to do as he always did before that day. And so Hermione watched him have dinner alone at the Great Hall, watched him practice spell-casting with the younger students, watched him lead his team in missions away from the Castle, and watched him tending to the wounded after such missions. She also fretted constantly about her own thoughts in the shower. Why would she think of him that way? She didn't like him at all. She was with Ron, remember? Sweet, bumbling, but honest Ron. Still, she could not stop thinking of Draco, and still, she watched him, not exactly knowing what she was hoping to see. But before she could even work up the courage to ask him why he did what he did, it happened. What Molly Weasley had always feared would occur, happened, and it was nothing any of them had expected.
This was to be the Final Battle. This was to be their glorious victory after their toil, after the sweat, the fear, and the losses they had to sustain. The events leading up to this moment had been so hopeful, it made them so optimistic. Their raids were going well, and scores of Death Eaters had been captured and put into Azkaban. This was it, Hermione had thought. This was the end. She had looked at Harry going over the troops with pride. They were going to win.
And then, the unexpected. They were in the Parkinson's Italian mansion, curses flying everywhere that Hermione had to duck as she advanced forward. She shot a spell towards Pansy, incapacitating her as she crept along. Harry and Ron were ahead of her, and they were slowly but surely inching forward towards the theater in the middle of the mansion, where He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named waited them. Finally, they were there, but as they blasted open the double doors, they heard a shriek and then a thud. Whipping around, Hermione gaped in shock as she saw Ginny Weasley lift her wand to shout Avada Kedavra at Dumbledore, who was leading the secondary sweep of the mansion. The great wizard, drained from his energy after the past few months of extremely dangerous operations toppled onto the marble floor and then lay still. She was still trying to process what had happened when a green light, quick as lightning, shot next to her, and Harry Potter flopped over like a dead fish, killed by the evil one, killed by his distraction when his mentor was felled by his lover. Something was shrieking inside of her, and yet something else was telling her to run, run away! Distantly, she heard Ron scream and run forward with the Gryffindor impulsiveness he was known for. A silent sweep of the evil one's wand and he was down. Ron. Her Ron. And then it was Pavarti, then Seamus, then George, then Lupin, and then she stood there, rooted to the floor as he turned his malignant red eyes on her, lecherous and sick smile twisting his purple lips.
He whispered, "Fervefacio." And she instantly fell to the ground, writhing and screaming as her blood boiled within her. The pain…the pain was horrible…oh it was so horrible. She was shrieking and crying and pleading for it to stop, she would do anything, just make it stop! In the haze of her pain she realized, horrified, that she was being cooked from the inside. Then, just as it started, the boiling suddenly stopped. She whimpered, looking up at him, at his sharp yellow teeth as he smiled, as he laughed, almost giggling at her pain. You sick bastard. She seethed. You were playing with me. You killed Harry. You killed my Ron. She vaguely heard someone shouting for everyone to retreat as she slowly stood up, panting on all fours at the exertion needed for the simple action of just standing up. She raised her wand, hand shaking, and screamed, "Crucio!"
He waved her curse away as he would an errant butterfly. "My dear Mudblood Granger," he hissed, "You didn't think it would be that easy, did you? The boy-who-lived is dead. 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord', remember child? I am invincible now. No one could touch me but he, and now he is gone."
Hermione could not believe it. She would not believe it. It could not be true. She shot curse after curse at the bastard. "Crucio! Expelliarmus! Rictusempra! Avada Kedavra! Sectumsempra! Crucio! CRUCIO!" Nothing worked, she realized, horrified, as she backed away, shaking. He merely laughed, cackled, as he waved curse after curse away before any of it got even a metre close.
"Oh, did I upset you? Hmm, what could I have done to do so? Oh, yes, why I remember now. Maybe it was because I've been raping the mind of your Miss Weasley for years now, ever since my younger self gave me access to that sweet, delicious mind of hers. So innocent, I rather enjoyed myself with that one, driving her insane. Or maybe it was because…" he stared at her, boring holes in her mind. She felt an alien force in her mind and recoiled, "Ah yes. So that's what it was. You don't even care about Potter, do you? Ronald, now was it? Young Master Weasley? Oh yes, missy. I know how you feel about him. Rest assured, death is not the end for him. I still have plans for your Ronald. Maybe as a marionette of sorts, hmm? I could animate him for you, you know. An inferi maybe? To do my bidding, give demonstrations on what happens to people who defy me, things like that? Or," and here his disgusting smile grew even wider, "Maybe I'll get him to kill you for me, how about that? Wouldn't that be nice?"
No, Hermione thought, sickened and terrified all at the same time. No no no no no no NO! She shrieked. She did not even know what she planned to do, only that she wanted to give that monster as much pain as she could, as much pain as he had given her. She prepared to hurl herself at Voldemort, imagining herself clawing out his dreadful red eyes, tearing his face off, when, mid-lunge, she felt strong arms grab her from behind. Long pale fingers pointed the wand it was holding to the arch of the doorway, and she heard a once again familiar voice shout "Attero!" before the entire archway collapsed, blocking them from Voldemort, who she could hear faintly screeching in anger. The view swam before her eyes, and she let the darkness overcome her.
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She woke in a dark, dank room. The silky sheets did nothing to alleviate the pain she felt deep in her bones. She was dizzy, nauseous, and could feel the bile in her throat start to come up.
Grey eyes looked into her brown ones anxiously and desperately, "Hermione! Hermione are you ok? Are you there? Hermione!"
"Oh gods," she heard another voice say, "Please let her be there. I don't think I could take it if she were like Miss Weasely as well. What happened when she was alone in that room with You-Know-Who?"
"Draco?" her voice sounded so soft and frail. Her throat was so dry she could hardly speak, "Draco? Did you get...Ron? Did you Draco? Please…"
"I'm sorry Hermione…" he looked away. "I did not have the time for the bodies."
She started to scream.
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Author's notes:
Fervefacio means 'Boil' in Latin, and Attero means 'Destroy', in Latin as well.
