A/N: Hey all! I know, I know - it's been forever! I'm sorry, but my muse Grady (a quirky leprechaun) is still on vacation. I'm trying to get better about my updating habits, but please bear with me. More midterms and work...blech! Oh and I'll try to update A Dream Worth Keeping ASAP!
Again, I'm so pleased with the response from you guys! You're all so amazing and I'm glad to know so many people are enjoying the story. It makes it seem all worthwhile.
Special thanks to: Blueberry Sparkle, CrystalizedHeart, Chocolateveela, hopelesslydark, BloodSoakedRose, TheSlayerettes, Emmsi91, moonkazoo, zoeyPie21, tigger2025643119, SquishyGirl, mary-pi, Lady of the Silver Wheel, TennesseeSweetheart, Aloralynn, ombeline, .chie.x.sieka., Celeste, and especially StormMasters ('The Kill' definitely works for this chapter), silverlovedragoness (You're reading into it well), InLove09 (not conceited at all - take pride in your hair!), and xoxoBlackOwl (I love your enthusiasm!).
Crestfallen - Chapter 10
After three hours, Hermione felt as though she'd been on a muggle roller-coaster, her insides turned upside down and over. On several occasions she'd been violently ill in the snow, disgusted by the sight of the various bodies littered on the ground, some friends and other foes. She knew the war would be brutal, but never did she think it would be so, what's the word...graphic? Grotesque? Bad?
Well, adjectives aside, Hermione's stomach had been in knots for most of the night and her body felt weak, like she'd been hit in the head several time with a troll's mallet. Her feet felt wooden, almost like two heavy logs dragging behind her. The icy blue material she normally called skin felt chaffed and haggard, wrinkled ironically like a dried apple. Hermione looked thirty years older than she was and felt much older than she looked.
The pink snow, littered with a rosy tint from the large amounts of blood seeped throughout the Hogwart's grounds, sloshed beneath her leather boots which made them squeak with each step. The cool device pressed against the outside of her right leg sent shivers up her spine, something that not even the cold night air could do. The silver object in her possession meant so much to various people fighting, not all of whom were still alive unknown to her, and none of them knew she carried it.
In the distance she could hear a loud voice booming off spells and heading in her direction, forcing her to stop midstride in order to think. Friend or foe? Friend or foe? FRIEND OR FOE?!
Unlike everyone else on that field, Hermione faced a dilemma she had not anticipated and surely couldn't have fathomed a year ago (oh Hell - a week ago!) involving the need to choose who was to be killed and who was to be spared. Since the war commenced, she had yet to actually take a life, per se, but she certainly used her fair share of dark curses and even one unforgivable on an unsuspecting George Weasley, from behind no less! Hermione certainly fit the stereotypical bad witch as she tore through the snow and outer rim of the forest, shouting off curses that would make her mother shriek (well, if the muggle woman actually knew the results of said curses, which by the tone and harsh quality of her hoarse voice would be readily apparent).
While she may have caused more damage than received, she endured her fair share. The spell in particular that took out much of her energy had been from an ireful Mad Eye Moody. The fact Hermione lived at all seemed like a gift, but...damn, if she didn't feel pain coursing throughout every inch of her body. She'd been knocked back into a tree, hard, and her back had slammed squarely into a branch. Moody, assuming she'd been dead based on her unusual body stance and lack of oxygen inhaling, walked away to pounce on another. It had taken her several long minutes before she felt enough strength to push herself up. When she did, her head swam with dizziness. Ever since then, she had yet to venture out in the open again.
But enough dwelling on the past...
A friend or foe approached, but she had yet to determine who it was. Deciding it best to look out for herself for the time being and if need be have the upperhand by attacking from behind, as dodgy as it is, she ran further into the forest, obscuring her body from view. Waiting, she clenched and unclenched her wand by her right leg, a nervous tick she'd never been able to stop. Her heart sank as she saw an admirably fierce yet naive Arthur Weasley running through the snow like his heels were on fire. Hermione's confusion was put to rest when she realized that a snake, long and slimy even in the cold, was chasing after the frightened redhead. Someone obviously had cast a 'serpensortia' curse for the snake did not appear to be backing off until the prey had been caught and disposed of. Only then could the snake dissipate.
Confusion became a thing of the past for the situation entirely when she saw Lucius Malfoy walking along behind the man and looking every bit the insane wizard she always believed him to be growing up. After spending a vast amount of time with the love of her life then she began to alter her opinion on him; but this man looked eccentric and outlandish, as though a mixture of animosity and amusement filled his very being at the sight of another in such obvious distress.
Arthur stopped in his tracks, turned around to bellow the same spell Hermione recalled Snape using in her second year to be rid of the snake, before he stared at the silvery-haired man before him.
"Don't make me take you down, Malfoy!" he croaked, his eyes drooping with fatigue and exhaustion. No wonder, really, given his stocky shape and thick robes weighing him down. It was no wonder he looked to be a borderline sleepwalker.
"Oh Weasley, such a pathetic excuse for a wizard. How is it possible for someone so downright disgusting, vile, and, pardon my taboo, bloody ugly to be revered by the light side?" he asked sarcastically, swiping at a loose strand of his fine hair from his pale face. "Surely they must have found someone better than you? Then again, it's not as though your side has anyone worthy."
"Funny," started the shorter man, a small smile tugging at his freckled face, "I was wondering the same thing about your family. How do you stand the sight of your pug-faced wife?"
Hermione's eyes widened in aghast. Did Mr. Weasley really just say that? Wow, the man has some serious balls for going off like that, especially too—oh bloody hell, this fight is no doubt over now.
Just as she thought, the grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy practically bulged from his head, filled with both mirth and fury at Arthur Weasley's foul comment. Taking only two strides before opening his mouth, Lucius spoke with rancor in his voice; "Any final words, Weasley?"
It was like some odd dream, Hermione thought on, as she witnessed the scene before while another played out from behind her lover's father. Unbeknownst to him, another fellow Weasley walked up from behind him. Shit! What do I do? What in the bloody hell do I do?! He's Draco's father, but...I risk exposing myself to harm if I interfere and I shouldn't be doing that when the odds are unfavorable to me. Even though she and Lucius were greater fighters than their opposed father Weasley and son, Fred in this scenario, Lucius would not have her back like the two family members would. Unlike Fred and Arthur, who would gladly give their life for the safety of the other, Lucius would be out to protect number one, even if it meant betraying his son's love in the process. So she continued to think, what should I do?!
Deciding Draco's love and trust in her meant more than all other things, she determined the best course of action for her love's sake would be to help his father. Without taking a step out of her spot, she pointed her trusty wand toward Fred.
"Stupefy," she muttered softly, barely allowing the words to be voiced but with a strong force behind the gen.
Fred, startled and not expecting such a thing, fell back unconscious without a sound being made. However, his lack of voiced expression did little to stop Arthur Weasley from going berserk.
"What have you done to my son?!" he bellowed at Lucius. His colorless hair flew out in wisps as he turned slightly, wand still trained on Arthur, to view the younger redhead sprawled vulnerably on the ground. A faint smile touched his lips while his prey continued to yell out in panicked rambles; "What have you done?! Fred, get up my boy! Get up!"
Lucius didn't doubt he had a wellwisher around, but he dared not voice it. He had the distinct feeling it was Draco for no other member in his circle surely would risk their lives to save him. If it was indeed his son then he needed to protect him as he meant more to Lucius than most would believe.
"Well now your own flesh doesn't have to witness your demise before his very eyes. Consider it a mercy upon you—"
"DIFFINDO!" screamed Arthur hoarsely, his wand trained directly at the eldest Malfoy's groin, his intent clear. Hermione's eyes widened in aghast as she witnessed the fight, flabbergasted at the man, who had at one time been someone she considered a second father, holding rage in his cornflower blue eyes. Obviously losing one son had been enough to last him a lifetime.
Unlike Hermione, Lucius prepared himself for any curse though he had not expected that one thrown in order to split and mangle the 'family jewels'. Nonetheless, Lucius did not flinch nor stand down. Instead, he flicked his wrist and muttered a simple, "Protego." The spell deflected and vanished in midair, a mere red glow disappearing into the cold night air.
"Tsk, tsk, Weasley. You didn't honestly think you could pull something like that off, did—"
"RELASHIO!"
Unfortunately for Lucius, that spell did manage to catch him off guard. Red sparks flew out of Arthur's wand with the speed of wild thestrals, hurdling toward him with fire. The only auspicious detail lied in Weasley's poor aim for the sparks landed upon his dark robes, setting them ablaze. Lucius immediately fell backwards in shock, his mind flogged by flames burning before his gun-metal eyes. Swapping at the blaze with bare hands and failing to extinguish the scene above his body, Hermione realized some sort of action was needed.
"STUPEFY!" She yelled, smiling when she saw Arthur fall down to the ground with a slushy thud. Without another thought, she ran over to Lucius and muttered 'aguamenti' several times until the fire finally extinguished.
Lucius rose to meet her eyes and smirked in amusement.
"I should have known," he drawled in a thick, haughty voice. "Only a Gryffindor would be stupid enough to help others in a time of war."
"I saved my love's father. Trust me, I didn't do this for you," she snarled, turning her back on him to walk in the direction Fred had traveled. "Let me guess, you'll kill him now?"
Lucius smirked, staring down at the unconscious man he detested with every fiber of his being. "No," he breathed with delight; "I think I'll leave him like this. Let him freeze to death."
Hermione scoffed, something about his words chaffing her, but she could not exactly realize what.
"You better think before you do something like that again. Sometimes saving another will lead to your own demise," he warned, walking opposite from her.
His words sent shivers down her spine. She felt the first trickle of an omen in his warning, foreboding her to perhaps listen to the significantly older man. Deep in her heart, she just knew his words were right.
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"FURNUNCULUS!"
A startled and terrified Neville Longbottom dropped to his knees while wretched, ugly boils broke out over his gangly body, causing a ferocious wave of nausea to overtake him. Draco made a face while the poor boy became violently ill, disposing his stomach's contents into the red snow, the pus-filled sores growing with each passing moment. Once he finished, he rolled over and laid in pain, closing his eyes in hopes of the night turning out to be a vivid and incredibly horrid dream.
Draco, feeling no remorse, stomped backwards and away from the frightened boy at his feet. He could have posed more of a threat by mixing the charm with a jelly-legs jinx (which would have made various tentacles spark out from his body, something he did frequently when his father had been training him for this very day), but thought against it. Let him suffer in ugly turmoil, alone in the snow, he thought wickedly.
Trudging through the snow, he thought about Hermione and wondered where the hell she had gone off to. He remembered seeing her last about forty minutes prior, venturing off into the distant shade of the night. Wanting to follow her if just to keep tabs of her location, he started walking in her direction only to be swept up by Potter, both jinxing each other until Longbottom had shown up to ruin it. As if the stupid bloke could have really taken me on, he thought on as he rolled his eyes; that's just ridiculous. Potter should have known better than to think he would have been alright when handling me. I can't wait to see him again just to inform him that he left his friend to rot and die, cold and alone. Oh yes, Potter will surely get a kick out of that one.
Now though, the fight was over and his mind raced to find Hermione again. Where could she be? A sick thought crossed his mind, wondering if perhaps she hadn't made it—No. She's alive. I just know it. Hermione is the strongest, brightest witch out here and nothing has happened to her. Right?
"I have to find her," he mumbled aloud, unaware of doing so. He didn't know it, but in the distance, she said the same thing about him.
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"I have to find him," sighed Hermione, her legs feeling heavy and wooden.
"Find who?"
Hermione stiffened out of instinct upon hearing the cheeky, firm voice behind her. She knew the voice well.
"Ginny—"
"Don't even think about moving, you traitor." An almost hate-like quality she'd never heard spoken from the girl; to anyone. "You even think about moving then I will surely end you right here and now."
"You don't understand," said Hermione, biding her time before Ginny lost her cool.
"I think I understand everything perfectly. I damn well knew something was wrong with you even if Harry didn't want to believe me. The only one who actually seemed to think you were not who you claimed to be was Professor Dumbledore. He, like me, knew you were a changed witch."
Ginny moved around in order to face her, blue eyes blazing with a fiery heat. Hermione checked her up and down to take in her appearance. The girl certainly looked like she'd been through hell and back. Like her, she wore black clothes, the only light material being an Order sash she let dangle from the side of her pants. Her baggy, too-long sleeves had been rolled up and bunched around her elbows, her pale skin shining next to the black like a light fixture in a dark room. One of her shoelaces was untied and dragging behind her like a silent snake. Upon her face she held a single deep gash, the only hindrance mangling her normally beautiful, freckled-face. Then, of course, her most flamboyant feature and certainly her defining characteristic; her flaming red-hair fell lazily out of her messy ponytail as though she'd slept on it. Bedhead aside, her hair, though lurid, made her appear unruly and savage.
"So...how has your night been?" asked Ginny in the most patronizing voice.
Hermione decided to beat her at her own game and responded in kind, "I'm fine. I'm bloody perfect really considering I, unlike you, have had little trouble in keeping my face unblemished."
Ginny smirked, a sly half-smile pulling at the corner on the right side of her face. After a moment, she asked, "Why? Just tell me why?"
"Why what?" asked Hermione back, hoping to distract her long enough until she could figure out a way out of this mess. She could hardly think at all, overwhelmed with a feeling of heavy fatigue.
"Why change sides? I mean...I could understand if it was to change over to our side and—"
"And I once thought like you," interjected Hermione sharply, her throat suddenly constricted. Ginny was managing to get to her with very little speaking conducted. "I once thought that everything was about sides; right and wrong; light and dark; good and bad."
"It's not?" asked the redhead, her wand lowering marginally.
"Well, at least not for me." Hermione looked down pensively, choosing her words very carefully. Temporarily there were no more thoughts about the war, about death, about the wand currently pointed at her; only thoughts about why she chose what she did. "For the longest time, I just thought I fought next to Harry because it was the right thing to do. I knew I'd fight to the death because it was the only thing that mattered. Now? Now I know what's worth living and dying for and it has nothing to do with followers, but merely one person."
"You fell in love?" asked Ginny flummoxed, her wand dropping down another inch. "You switched sides because you fell in love?"
"Yes," the dark-haired girl confirmed, nodding as to accentuate her words. Things took a drastic turn for them both. Two minutes before they were ready to kill each other, Ginny surprisingly more than her. However, their words appeared to fight against one another, like for a moment they were in a protective bubble and free to speak as they pleased. "I fell very much in love and it's really...the only reason I'm here. I only fight because I want the chance to live a life with him. I don't care anymore about what happens to the light or dark side. I only care about him. Just him."
Hermione licked her blue lips once finished, her face flushed from fighting a fever. Her body ached for rest and healing spells, but couldn't move from her spot. While her wand hand remained engaged in the hostility still lingering between the two girls, tucked safely in her pocket and unclenching at various times, her other hand came up to swipe at her brow. She felt so sick, so weak...her head felt so heavy...
Ginny noticed Hermione's sway in stance, but she did not lower her wand. Hermione Granger—the girl she once considered a best friend, a teammate, a sister—had fallen in love with someone dark (Hermione may not believe in sides anymore, but Ginny sure as hell did).
"What's wrong?" asked Ginny suspiciously.
"I don't know," admitted Hermione, feeling weaker with every passing breath. What is wrong with me? I can't...I can barely stand up straight...
Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong and she knew it. She felt around her body in an attempt to find the source of the problem. Ginny watched with fascination as the girl touched her legs, her arms, her stomach, her—oh shit. Ow, she thought grimly, ow...
When her hand pulled back from beneath the fabric of her lower back, she found her blue fingers covered in cold blood. She peered over her shoulder to see the wound herself and saw a deep, long gash pulsating red liquid and glowing a faint yellow.
The branch. That damn branch nicked me harder than I thought. I can't...I can't see very well...
Those were her last thoughts before she lost consciousness...
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Ginny had left Hermione there feeling little remorse or sympathy for the girl (Her words about love and why she changed had stuck with her, but not enough to feel anything more than empathy - she understood, but did not agree) who laid sprawled in the snow. Her arms were twisted in an odd state and various other limbs looked to have been hanging on by a slim thread. That had been how Draco found her.
"HERMIONE!"
Draco streaked through the snow like a silvery blur and virtually threw himself next to his love. His breaths came out in frantic puffs as he surveyed the blue ice he ravished so often in the past year.
"No," he breathed, "No, no, no, nononononononNONONONONO!"
He could see her faintly breathing and knew by the looks of her skin, face, and slowing breath that something was ultimately killing her. But what?! What is it?
Draco heard a scream in the distance and battle cries beyond, but he had to keep his attention focused on Hermione. He could not worry about anything or anyone else.
"Don't you leave me. Damn it, hold on, love. Tell me how to help you!" he screamed, gripping her by the frozen shoulders and beckoning her to open those beautiful eyes of her. "Wake up!"
Draco didn't think to look over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. Draco didn't think to pull her to safety in the confines of the dark and sheltered forest. Draco didn't think to be quieter in the middle of the battlefield. Draco didn't think. He was in such a panic and rush to have her alive that he didn't worry about anyone approaching the couple as he pressed his wand to her chest in order to revive her.
It would cost a life.
Damn it, why didn't he just turn around?
A/N: Dun, dun, DUN! Who is going to die? Who is behind him? Don't you just hate me for leaving you with a cliffhanger? --smiles evilly--
Please, all of you do me a favor and read two fabulous stories. One - Everything to Lose by Heptagon. It's freakin' amazing so just go and read it!! Two - The Mask of Allure by silverlovedragoness. The chick put some major Dramione drama into it and it is an excellent read. Please give them both a chance. I'd appreciate it :)
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.