A/N: Thank you all so much for your great reviews! There are getting to be so many each chapter that I'm not sure if I can respond to all of you and manage to keep track. However, I'll do my best to keep up with it. Nonetheless, since I'm sometimes scattered brained about it, I thought I'd start to at least thank you all before each chapter.
So special thanks to: CrystalizedHeart, Blueberry Sparkle, bang on the head, Chocolateveela, ombeline, Silent-Serpent, SquishyGirl, Emmsi91, Isabella Heart, xmisundazt00d, silverlovedragoness, mary-pi, StormMasters, moonkazoo, hopelesslydark, TennesseeSweetheart, blackpurpletulip, InLove09, Lady of the Silver Wheel.
Extra special thanks to: Inappropriate-name and Ombeline. Your private messages were wonderful and thank you for my special birthday cookies (lol and M'nMs).
And So It Begins - Chapter 9
Scared?
No, she was not scared.
Petrified?
Eh, closer, but still not right.
Immobilized by complete and utter fear?
Those words did well in describing Hermione who sat on her windowsill, staring at the soon-to-be battlefield; her home.
Nobody comforted her over the course of two days, a time where she no longer thought anything other than despairing ideas. The outcome of her future, her entire life really, would be decided soon, starting in only a few short hours. On top of which, her love, her only reason for truly going on and fighting in the war, had not spoken to her since she told him to leave her a few days prior.
Fighting with him tugged at her heart, a piece of her already cracked and bruised. How could she go out like that? What if something happened and she never saw him again? The possibility had been jerking at her heart, sending her into a whirlwind of deep and distraught anxieties.
Turning away from the window, she spotted the chest which held the treasure her master wanted. The Sword of Gryffindor safely lain, ready to spear, and she had no idea as to what to do with it. Sure, she could take it with her and give it to her master, but why? Why when it felt so wrong? Like somehow giving it to him would lead to his death? It seemed odd for her to think giving him the sword would lead to his death, but it just felt that way.
She knew her body craved for sleep, but her eyes refused to close. Sitting there and staring at the future unknown, Hermione could not bring herself to rest. On some intuitive level, she knew death would come.
But to who?
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Draco, unbeknownst to Hermione, was awake and doing the same thing, only from the lower levels of the dungeons. He paced the common-room for well over an hour, finally subsiding to the couch after protest from his exhausted feet.
He was mad.
He was mad at Hermione.
He was mad at the situation.
He was mad at his Master.
He was mad at his father.
He was just bloody mad!
On top of which, the future of his world would be decided very soon. Even more so, Hermione and him were arguing. What a great way to start everything off.
Draco looked up when he heard heavy footsteps heading toward the Slytherin commons, stopping short outside of the portrait. Suddenly, without much warning noise at all, Blaise walked into the room. The blond boy sighed and leaned back against the soft cushioning of the jade green divan.
"Expecting someone else?" asked Blaise in a cool drawl.
Draco rolled his eyes, muttering, "No. I was hoping to remain in here alone, thank you." Blaise ignored his emphasis on the 'alone' part of the sentence and took a seat next to him, pushing off Draco's feet from the edge of the dark sofa. "There are plenty of other places you can sit, you know?"
"I know," said the dark-haired boy calmly, "but it's so much fun to annoy. Besides, I think you need someone to knock your ass around right now."
"Why is that?" asked Draco boredly.
"Cause we're about to head into something life-altering and you're not ready for it."
Blaise's observation stung Draco, not because he was wrong; on the contrary, he was right on all sides. It was a subtle comment most Slytherins would have missed entirely, given their innate distaste regarding anything which required thinking. However, Draco and Blaise were not the typical, average Slytherins, nor were they typical and average altogether, so easily the former boy picked up the latter's underlining comment. That is not to say, in spite of this, he came out about it.
"What are you talking about?" Draco asked, his guarded eyes flashing angrily at Blaise.
Blaise smirked. "You bloody well know what I'm talking about Draco and do not pretend like you don't. Mate, you need to go talk to Granger. I'm not talking about sucking up your pride and apologizing—" Blaise knew all about their disagreement, as he had been walking by the classroom on his patrol. He did not agree with Hermione in the slightest, not like he ever really did, so of course he sided with his friend. Plus, sucking up pride was not something that appealed to Blaise—"but I am saying you should at least talk to her." Draco's stare did not shift, but his ears perked, meaning Blaise was getting through to him. "Do not go into this war mad at each other. If something happens..."
Blaise broke off, knowing the connotation came off.
"Nothing will happen to her," murmured Draco easily.
"And you know this how?" asked Blaise irritably. "What? Are you going to shadow her throughout the entire thing? The likelihood you'll even see each other after the initial start is not high nor is seeing her afterward. You need to talk to her and say—"
"What?!" barked Draco, cutting Blaise off and rising to his feet. "Say goodbye? Well, if that is what you think I need to do than I suggest you don't hold your breath for it. I will not say goodbye nor will I say farewell or cheerio or a hasty ta-ta. I will not say goodbye because that would imply something I don't want to happen!"
"You need to start being realistic. The chances of her survival are slim with everyone wanting to hurt her. When it's revealed that she is truly on our side then they're going to be out for her blood! She betrayed them!" hissed Blaise, his face reddening in frustration.
Draco wanted more than anything to hold her in his arms, but not at the expense of his honor. He would not grovel and apologize, he was a Malfoy for Merlin's sake. Who the hell had the audacity to ever even think a Malfoy should apologize?
"To talk, I'd have to say sorry and I'm not going to do that. If and when she's ready, which I'm sure will be after the fighting, she can come to me. I will not go to her; not a chance in hell." Draco held up his chin, speaking with firm resolve.
Shaking his head, Blaise muttered, "Fine. Just know that this may be the only chance you get. If she dies and the last things you said to each other were in harsh tongues...let's just say, you're as good as dead, mate."
Draco did not even get the opportunity to respond for Blaise promptly left the room after the last sentence had been muttered. The blond cursed aloud, pissed off at the world for burdening him with all of the weight which currently felt pressed against his broad shoulders.
It was not just that Blaise's words chaffed him, and yes they certainly did, but it went much deeper; on a scale he did not want to witness. For while the words burned his pride, they jumbled his heart even more. What if it does happen like that? What if one of us ends up dying on that field and our last words were spoken in anger? What if?
The question burned him to the core.
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Meanwhile, some distance away, the man formerly known as Tom Riddle, smiled and rose from his large chair.
It was time.
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Classes ended hours ago and Hermione missed all of them, something completely out of sorts for the 'old Hermione'. She knew they'd be in to check on her soon (either Ginny or one of her insufferable dorm-mates), but she did not really need to worry about it. Everything would be revealed very soon.
She decided her best bet was to just get ready, in appearance at least. Sighing, she pulled out the clothes she'd been planning to wear for a while. Hermione felt pleased with herself in regards to what she'd chosen given it had both dark style and practicability. This fit well for she'd be representing her side, hence dark, as well as being somewhat unnoticeable considering the hour they'd be out. None the less, there would be snow and it would be cold, but she prepared for it as well. Hermione always thought things through, being a meticulous person by nature.
Stripping herself of her dreaded Hogwarts uniform, an abnormally itchy bulk of heavy fabric—something she always hated through all seven years of attending Hogwarts, she met the musky air of her dorm. She gently pulled on a soft yet warm, as it had been charmed earlier, black turtle-neck, long enough to extend a little below her waste. She then dressed her body into black pants, also bewitched for warmth, which were long and surprisingly light. She'd be able to move and keep warm, precisely her intent unlike the others who were more worried about their weapons as opposed to attire.
Finally, after completing the obvious forms of dressing, she covered her feet with deliciously melodramatic boots. Made of leather, the shoes went up to just below the knee which felt extremely comfortable for her. She lifted up the two zippers on the side, making the leather seemingly melt to the fabric of her pants, just above her pale skin. Her thin fingers laced up the front, much like she would a corset, keeping it tight and molding the boot to whatever part not being hugged. She snapped the five onyx buckles making the boot fit–with comedic references to other materials–'like a glove'.
Looking over to her trunk, she bent onto her knees and peered into the contents. In the left corner, she spotted the covered blade. Lifting it up nearly felt like a challenge, like the knife weighed as much as Hagrid's Hut. Peeling the clinging material away, she dropped the silk to the floor and ran her fingers along the sharp edge of the dagger.
"Why do I feel like you'll be the death of me?" she asked to the object as though she expected an answer.
She probably would have stared at the blade for hours on end unless something didn't startle her. An owl pecked at the window and jerked her attention up. She walked over quickly and hastily took the note, opening up the crinkled parchment.
We strike at nine, in complete and total darkness. Be prepared, be ready when the clock strikes nine, and, most importantly, bring what I asked you to find.
That was it.
Hermione licked her sore lips (she'd been gnawing on them for hours) and nodded as though somebody else needed her to confirm her decision.
It was time to go.
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In the Great Hall, tension mounted for the older students and the faculty, all of whom had the sharp suspicion something was not right. It was not just because Hermione had not been seen all day nor the absences of various seventh and sixth year Slytherins; it was a common occurrence for the older years to skip meals and study; commonly they would get dinner later, down with the house-elves. No, it went much deeper than that, especially for the likes of a few key Gryffindors.
"Harry, are you alright?" asked a smiling Colin Creevey, seemingly unaware of his fellow classmates' gloom and mounting hysteria.
Green eyes shifted to blue and he looked at the younger boy, pensively. Harry ironically believed in lying only if it meant someone could live in their ignorance, something he never got. It was not the ignorance is bliss part that led to the irony, but the lying to others in order to keep them safe. He often times claimed it was wrong yet subconsciously, as if against his own freewill, always found himself submitting to give the same thing to others. Harry laughed aloud to himself before he nodded and submitted to what he claimed he hated; "Yes, I'm fine."
Harry's eyes moved toward the faculty table, looking up and down the adults. Most just seemed on edge, like the normally low key Professor Flitwick. The poor man's stubby hands refused to obey him as he tried to cut his dinner, narrowly missing the stab of a knife on more than one occasion. Others, normally the more reserved and less open about their feelings, hence Professor McGonagall, looked downright alert. Harry could not recall a time when he'd seen her with such a fierce gaze, including the times when he had seen her duel. Then there was the vicious, conniving Snape, looking just as stern as Harry's own Head of House. However, even though his gaze often times seemed to be a common regard, tonight he looked stricken, almost fearful.
His gaze drifted up toward Dumbledore who held the most unexpected and odd expression of all; one of complete serenity. The Headmaster appeared normal and calm, two traits nobody else (at least anyone who knew something was terribly off) looked to have.
"I don't like this Harry," muttered an anxious Ginny Weasley.
Harry stared at the girl, sighing heavily when he saw just how scared she was. The poor girl must have felt as bad as she looked for her appearance damn near shouted dread. She looked like a lost puppy in an alleyway, and a small pup on top of that.
"I don't either, to be perfectly honest," admitted Harry, adjusting his thick rimmed glasses. "I know something is wrong."
"That wasn't what I wanted to hear," she uttered in obvious acute disappointment.
"You wanted me to lie to you?" he asked with a small smile tugging the corner of his mouth.
Ginny shook her head and said, "This is one of those times when I want to hear I'm wrong. I mean I know I shouldn't say this, but what else could go wrong? Hasn't the worst already happened?"
As soon as the words left her pink lips, Filch ran through the door like a madman. The Headmaster rose to his feet upon the skinny, gawky caretaker running in such distress. Quick words were exchanged before Dumbledore, Harry's mentor, nodded slowly.
"I think it can get worse, Gin," sighed Harry. Ginny felt her heart clinch at his words.
Dumbledore rose to his feet, placed his hands on the table, and looked like he was about to reveal something positively horrifying; he was.
"Everyone, I need the first through sixth years to return to their common rooms immediately. Your Heads shall be there shortly. Seventh years, I ask you to remain behind so we can speak briefly."
Nobody moved initially, but after coaxing from the professors, primarily McGonagall, they scurried out with protests on their breath and confusion in their minds. Ginny eyed Harry, mouthed 'tell me afterward', before she finally left with the rest of her fellow students.
The remaining students moved to the front of the room.
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Hermione heard an abnormal amount of noise in the Gryffindor common room and ventured down, only to check on the situation at hand. Hearing the various whispers and grumbles coming from the confused students, she knew the seventh years would be getting informed and it was her time to make an appearance.
Stealthily, she ran down to the Great Hall, just in time to hear Albus Dumbledore, a man she use to admire (Use to, of course, she reasoned in her mind; no more. Right?), sigh.
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"Seventh years, it is with great sorrow I announce what our caretaker unfortunately just told me. I'm sure the Ministry will frown upon this, as they seem to frown upon most of the things I do, but I refuse to keep the information hidden from all of you. You're clearly old enough to know."
Hermione licked her lips, glancing over to see Harry nodding, knowing what was to come without being told. Harry knew on instinct and for some reason, Hermione felt sorry for him. Only because I know he'll die soon. Right? RIGHT! Merlin, my own thoughts are bloody battling like a bunch of moronic second years!
"I'll be blunt. Voldemort, sometimes known as the Dark Lord—" he only added the latter name, it appeared, after seeing several students tremble in the wake of his name being pronounced—"has come to Hogwarts."
Just as he, along with Harry and Hermione, expected, nearly everyone, aside from the three just named accompanied by Snape (Fucking figures, snorted Harry), collectively gasped. Dumbledore waited for the murmuring to die down before continuing; "I understand this must come as a shock, but he is here and has brought with him a powerful, strong army. I am not going to lie; they're going to be difficult to battle."
Hermione glanced toward the Slytherin table, looking for any sign of Draco. She wanted to at least see him, give him a loving nod, but he wasn't there. So much for comfort, she thought in annoyance.
"I am only telling you all of this because I am going to offer you an opportunity. Now, understand choosing to decline this offer will not be seen as cowardly nor some sort of betrayal. What I'm going to ask of you is something I want you to think carefully about. Unfortunately, time is of the essence here so we'll have to make you decide quickly. Doesn't make sense, I know," said Dumbledore. Though he spoke with a calm tone, the ones who knew him on a more personal level, like Harry and Hermione, could tell there was an anxiousness about the man. "I am offering you a chance to fight along side of us."
Again, another collective gasp. Harry stood tall, obviously no doubt in his mind what he'd be doing. Most of the students were glancing at one another, hinting as to which direction they were going or wanted to go. Nobody wanted to say 'no' if nobody else was; same with agreeing to such a thing.
Is he bloody crazy?! thought most of the seventh years.
"I am only asking you this because nearly all of you are of age, save for one Slytherin student, who I cannot offer this to. Though, oddly enough, she is not in the room right now." The twinkle in his astute eye alerted Hermione that he damn well knew the particular Slytherin, commonly known as Millicent Bullstrode, a girl just shy of seventeen by a mere four days, was already on the battle field.
"I know this is short notice and you'll have no time to speak with your parents, but know this is essentially your choice. You all know all there is to know about magic and I am confident in each and every one of you."
Noise could be heard outside of the castle, the sounds of death eaters approaching. Like ice, a chill wrapped around everyone in the room.
"You have to decide fast. Those of you who accept, feel free to venture on up and grab whatever means you need in order to fight. Those of you who decline, feel free to venture on up and join the rest of your classmates. I ask you all to act as the guardians over the younger years. We cannot move you, but understand help is on the way and you shall be protected." Dumbledore nodded silently, giving them one last gesture before—"now I ask you to make your choice."
"I will fight," said Harry calmly, striding toward Dumbledore. Though nobody was surprised by this, the next one did surprise everyone...
"I shall fight as well." The shy, meek voice came from none other than Susan Bones, a short Hufflepuff who looked younger than the average fourth year. A Hufflepuff was the last one they expected to hear from, given Hufflepuff is not known for their bravery, like the lions and lionesses of Gryffindor or their near arousal for war, like that of the Slytherins. A Hufflepuff was just...there. The house one gets assigned to when they have nothing extraordinary to offer. Yet, there stood one Hufflepuff, daring to be brave.
After her being open about her courageousness, every Gryffindor stood up along with some Ravenclaws and a handful of Hufflepuffs. Most of the Slytherins were gone already, and the ones who weren't remained in their seats.
"Thank you to all of you, standing or not. Now, move in great haste!"
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Hermione should not have been surprised to see Ginny on the battlefield, but slightly felt a tinge of shock. The girl had a defiant look on her face, chin lifted up and Order badge glittering in the darkness. The redhead trembled, but Hermione could tell the tremors came from coldness, not fear.
The others representing the Order and light side seemed just as fierce and brave. McGonagall, surprisingly, did not have her pointy witch hat, something as common as a cloak when it came to her. Though she wore all black, her red-hair, much like Ginny's, made her stand out like a moving target. Actually, every redhead on the field stood out. The clan of the Weasleys did little to hide their flamboyant appearances, all seven (Mrs. Weasley was left behind, far too distraught to fight; the youngest son, dead) stood tall, side by side. Hermione remembered hearing angered grunts and disapproving reprimands made toward Ginny, all the men in her life demanding she leave, but she refused to move (this war is just as much a part of me as it is any of you, she had bellowed, cheeks pink from both anger and the heavy cold).
All the Gryffindors had stood up straight, determined to not look afraid. Their shaking hands and fidgety stances gave away their distress. Dean and Seamus looked like wide-eyed animals while Neville seemed extremely scared, grimacing like he had already been wounded. The girls, though just as petrified, did more to hide their fear. Hermione had the distinct impression Lavender had swallowed a minute-long daydream pill, bought at Fred and George's joke shop, given her musing look appeared a little off for someone about to face battle.
Dumbledore stood next to Harry, both men hiding their feelings; faces guarded and eyes glazed over like a gate. No matter, Hermione knew what they felt. It was not fear nor anxiety, but were just still. A look that says, 'well it had to happen eventually'. She knew Harry wasn't scared and Merlin-help him, he should have been. Nonetheless, Harry knew the end had been coming since he learned of the ways of the wizarding world. This moment, this battle, was bound to occur; might as well get it over with, he thought dully.
The death eaters were harder to read, just as guarded as Harry, the Headmaster, and herself. Unlike the light side, none of them were prone to wearing their hearts on their sleeves. They were lined up against one another, wands to the side, and eyes battling for dominance.
Like the light side, they were draped in dark colors, mostly black. Nearly every seventh year Slytherin, certainly those of the most esteemed pureblood heritage, was there, all prepared to fight.
Bullstrode, just as Hermione expected, stood by her mother, the two looking like dead rats in the snow. Zabini stood by his father, eyeing everyone up and down, even Hermione herself. Hermione hoped this would be her chance to prove to him just what side she was truly on.
Finally, her eyes descended on the only one she cared about in the world. Draco stood next to his father, eyes cast on Hermione from the moment of arrival. Both could see fear for the other dancing in their eyes like drunken fairies.
Please, I'll do anything to keep him safe. PLEASE keep him safe. Merlin, I'm only doing this for him. I just love him...so, SO much.
Hermione looked down, away from his stare, and thought about everything leading up to this point. Amazed couldn't even describe her reaction upon finding the Order members there so fast (I knew Dumbledore knew. I just knew, she thought bitterly). Their arrival marked the beginning of the-soon-to-be biggest war the wizarding world would ever see. Several members stayed in the castle, prepared to throw themselves at anyone who attempted to try to hurt the children (and were currently trying to figure out how to break the charms on the floo network. Ancient magic kept people from just flooing into the castle. Nonetheless, they wanted the children out of there, to move them to a safe location like the Burrow), but most remained on the field.
Hermione looked up, pulled out of her own thoughts, when she saw her master approach. In a long, black cloak, red eyes piercing toward Harry, he looked like evil in the flesh.
"Well, well, well..." His voice caused Hermione to gulp thickly and most of the seventh years to damn near pass out.
"Let's end this Voldemort," hissed Harry, calm but fierce.
The Dark Lord smirked and nodded at the young Gryffindor. After a pause, he drawled, "As you wish. Young one, do the honors. Now."
Silence...
Silence...
Silence...
"MORSMORDRE!"
Every mouth on the light side dropped, save for Dumbledore and Ginny (even Harry's mouth fell upon the realization his BEST friend betrayed him; at that point, there was still hope in Hermione. He still thought of her as good), stunned to hear Hermione's voice scream the words.
The dark mark twisted into the slithering shape in the sky as Hermione walked over and poised herself next to the Dark Lord.
"And," said Ginny near inaudibly, her voice cracking, "so it begins."
The war had finally started...
A/N: FINALLY!! I've been trying to upload this damn story for five days!! My goodness, I was starting to get really pissed. I casually attempted it this last time, and fortunately for me, it worked. So here is the chapter! It has been written for a while and I've honestly just been trying to get it uploaded. Sorry for the wait and thanks for your patience.
Oh and the whole thing about the redheads - I AM a proud redhead and I feel like we often times get the short end of the stick. I was teased about it growing up and now people can't seem to get enough of my hair (and yes, it's natural). Lol, so the very short excerpt about the Weasleys and McGonagall was fun to write - I don't think they should ever hide their hair!! Hehe :)
READ AND REVIEW!! If you can read it, then you can review it.
Evil's Mistress is the work of fanfiction. The characters belong to J.K. Rowling, but the featured story is mine.