Disclaimer: Nothing recognizable is mine.
A/N: this will be very dark. It will contain extreme violence and mature themes, please be advised. Some of the events were taken from the Holocaust. The idea for this has been bouncing around in my head for awhile now and I've finally managed to write it down. This is my first time writing a story of this nature- I would greatly appreciate any reviews. And as always thank you for taking the time to read my fic!
Mudblood.
A word once used as an insult to those born from Muggle heritage.
Now it's much, much more than that.
It is a death sentence.
-x-
It was silent in the street, save for the slapping of shoes on the cobblestones and the occasional wailing of a child. No one dared make a sound. High above the throng of moving people, grey clouds wept raindrops. Perhaps the heavens were mourning. Perhaps they knew what was coming. On either side of the street stood ominous figures cloaked in black and wearing silver masks.
Death Eaters.
They watched the Mudbloods carefully, eyes scanning for a reason to inflict pain.
Hermione kept her head down and did not meet their unrelenting gaze. Instead, she watched as the tiny droplets fell and splashed into puddles on the ground. It was better to remain unseen and unheard. From where she had positioned herself, she knew they could not see her. She was safely ensconced deep in the crowd. It was bitterly cold and she shivered, her wet clothes doing nothing to seal in her body heat. She huddled closer into the crowd, hoping to catch some body heat.
All around her were Muggleborns. Men, women and children that walked in a daze, carrying nothing but the filthy clothes on their backs. They had all been stripped of their wands and none dared attempt any wandless magic- the price of such insolence was swift and severe. Only the Purebloods were deemed worthy of practicing magic. Only the Purebloods were worthy of being Wizards.
After the war was lost, Hermione knew it would not be safe for Muggleborns, but she could never, in all her nightmares, have ever imagined this.
As it were, the Mudbloods were being herded like cattle and sent to various camps across wizarding England. There they would be sorted into two groups: healthy and strong, weak and sick. Those not deemed fit for work would be tortured and then killed. Those who survived the sorting would not fair much better. They would be shipped off to service a Pureblood family for the rest of their days. All of this for the blood that pumped in their veins and a lineage beyond their control.
A sudden commotion arose behind her and then a flurry of movement broke through the instilled silence. The screech of a woman followed by several gasps could be heard. Hermione whipped her head around and took in the scene with baited breaths. A young, but sickly looking girl had tripped and was now struggling to push herself up. She was ghastly pale, the nearly translucent skin was pulled taut over her bones. Matted hair stuck to her forehead as her arms shook with the effort of supporting her weight. Sweat poured down her body, knowing that if she did not move soon, she would pay dearly for it. The crowd parted around her, silently begging her to get up, but it was in vain.
The Death Eaters watched calmly from the sidelines, neither helping nor hindering the situation. Hermione was sure that behind those masks their eyes filled with glee.
She's given them a reason.
It made her sick. They were nothing but empty shells due to their own self inflicted darkness. An all consuming darkness that had swallowed any compassion and humanity. What was left over? The need to dominate and to punish. Their happiness was born from the suffering of others and their love of the kill.
One of the senior Death Eaters stepped forward and shouted: "Flagellum!"
Instantly, a long black whip spurted from the tip of his wand. He raised his arm high in the air, poised to strike. None in the crowd dared run to her aid- not wanting to feel the lick of the whip upon their own backs.
In the name of self preservation, she thought. It has made us helpless bystanders.
Hermione was no better and she knew it. There was nothing they could do. They would be long dead before they could even think to 'accio' a wand and fight back. The girl would still be beaten, whether or not someone intervened. It was merely a waste of life. Once resigned to this fact, one lost all hope. All of them had witnessed the atrocities the Purebloods were capable of, no one wished to relive them.
The girl began to shake and let out loud heaving sobs, but she simply did not have the energy or the will to continue.
The whip whistled as it sailed through the air- landing with a resounding crack upon the girls spine. She screamed in agony as blood poured down from the now open gash across her back.
The lash had cut through clothing and then skin. The Death Eater descended his arm again and again, delivering more and more. Eventually, the girl had stopped screaming and now lay still, face down on the cement. No doubt she had passed out from the amount of pain. To Hermione's relief, she noticed the subtle rise and fall of the girl's back, which indicated pumping lungs.
A heavily pregnant woman broke through the mass of solemn onlookers. The girl's sister by the looks of it.
"Please! Stop!" She begged, tears fell from her face, joining the droplets on the ground. She latched onto his wand arm, trying to prevent another lash. A couple of Death Eaters dropped from their positions and began to move towards her, however the man held up his hand and they retreated to stand at the edge of the parted mass.
Oh god. No, please have mercy.
Hermione watched as he turned towards the woman clutching his arm, attention focused solely on her, and slowly removed his mask. She was greeted by long blond hair and a ghostly complexion.
Lucius Malfoy.
Lucius sneered at the woman before wrenching his arm free of her grasp.
"Don't touch me with your filthy hands Mudblood!"
He kicked her to the ground where she landed flat on her swollen stomach with a sickening crunch. Hermione retched and nearly vomited at the sight. A few people rushed to her aid, but were held back by the other Death Eaters with wands raised to their throats.
Tucking his wand away he spat upon her weeping form, "filthy piece of shit," before moving to kick her in the stomach.
The woman wailed and curled in on herself, drawing up her knees as best she could to protect her unborn child.
From her hidden position among the crowd Hermione felt insurmountable hatred flare up in her heart.
Fuck self preservation. I will die, but I will do so honorably and on my own terms. My humanity may be damaged, but it's still intact.
Determined, she inched her way through the stunned crowd until she stood in the circle that had formed. In the center lay both women, one silent, one crying. Lucius stood over both of them- looking every bit the part he played, an Angel of Death.
"Lucius," she spat.
"Well, well. If it isn't the Mudblood Queen. Queen of Filth. Shown yourself at last, have you?"
Ignoring his taunts she shouted: "You're an inbred and a heartless bastard! Release her."
"That's no way to talk to your superior, you little bitch!" He seethed, lifting his hand to strike her. Hermione shut her eyes readied herself for the blow, she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Her only emotion ever shown to him would be absolute loathing.
"Father. Allow me-" A voice spoke up. Hermione opened her eyes.
Draco now stood beside his father, looking down on her like he had all those years ago in school. Blond hair and silver eyes. Draco was every bit the proud and arrogant prick she remembered, but now he had attained new heights of cruelty.
He licked his lips, "-to finish this in a more private setting."
Some unknown emotion flitted across Lucius' face before he turned towards his son. "Break her," he commanded.
"Of course father, it would be my pleasure." The younger Malfoy grinned before roughly grabbing her arm and apparating.
Thank you for reading this first installment. There will be one more to come.