She could feel the weight of her coat increase as she stood on the sidewalk alone, drenched in the pouring rain, with nothing but a damp hat to keep her hair dry. Droplets of rain splashed onto her shining muggle shoes as she suppressed a small sigh. Hermione was late for the family reunion. It was no surprise to as why she was. The Hogwarts train arrived late once again and it was driving the lass crazy.
She found herself glaring at her Toms.
Surely if it wasn't for that putrid Slytherin Pansy Parkinson, Hermione Granger would be lounging about her home with her mum and dad, eating chocolate chip her dear mum would make at this exact moment! She would be laughing at her father's lame jokes and do homework! Even reread Hogwarts: A History for the fifteenth time, or add more Beethoven tracks in her playlist.
Unfortunately, life wasn't her ally right now, so the brown-haired female had to suffer the punishment she didn't deserve. Now here she was, standing alone in the pouring rain. An inanimate object called a suitcase to keep her company, whilst thunder roared above the clouds.
"Jesus Christ," swore Hermione when the rain poured on to the earth harder like a drum. The temperature of the atmosphere was ice-cold, making her hair stand. Just the thought of her situation made the girl release a cry of exasperation and annoyance.
She certainly could not wait for the consequences of having to stay under the rain for a bloody hour! How fun would it be to be able to lay on bed every blood day until she gets better! Hopefully her parents have a box full of Kleenex to support her unhealthy situation.
"Bloody hell." Was her phrase. Hermione gripped the handle of her suitcase and her wand on the other. She would have apparated when she arrived at muggle London, but she remembered her father, who promised to pick her up himself when she arrived. But that promise was not to be fulfilled and it produced a bitter taste in Hermione's mouth.
She knew she should be understanding. Should be patiently waiting for her father to come pick her up, but she was too weary to even do anything and waiting was one of them.
A flash of magical light and a destination in mind, Hermione Granger apparated to the building where she spent ten years growing up as a regular muggle child, that was, until one letter changed her life forever and Hermione was introduced to things she's only read in books during her non-magical years.
She knocked.
Nothing but silence.
How odd, she thought, eyes wide and brows creased. She pressed her palm on the wooden door. Fisting her hand, she knocked twice and was again surprised when no one answered.
Taking out her wand, she muttered a charm and the door was unlatched from its lock. It made a creaking noise as Hermione pushed it open, entering the building.
The dull beige walls were still the same, with only a few pictures to fill them. Venturing further, she noticed how tidy the furniture looked; not a trace of improperly positioned pillows sat on the cherry-red sofa and the small, old clock that imitated the famous Big Ben stood alone beside the unplugged telly.
Hermione bent down and lifted the end of the carpet, expecting cookie crumbs hidden underneath. But she did not see crumbs of a biscuit; instead it was a piece of paper, edges ripped and body creased. Hermione slid her finger on the floor, rubbing it against the others. No dust. Her eyes focused on the strip of paper that was crushed inside her hand. She unfolded it, the furrow between her brows deepening and mouth unobstructed as she attempted to comprehend the words that were written in the structure of curves and circles.
"Viva La Nyx," she muttered absently, keeping her eyes focused on the words. She let her mind wonder to the knowledge she stored at the back of her head. She knows that Nyx is the female personification of the night, as said in the Greek Mythology books Hermione had read during her younger years. The daughter of Chaos and one of the first created beings, along with her father, Gaea, Tartarus and Erebus. Hermione frowned.
Peeling her eyes off the paper, Hermione tucked the note inside the pocket of her jeans, hearing the crumpling sound emitted as it was sandwiched between knitted leather.
She still hasn't found her parents and Hermione noticed that she had been rapidly swallowing the accumulating saliva in her mouth. Wand in hand, already positioned for surprise attacks, Hermione made her way up the stairs where she was certain her parents would be lounging about.
She shuddered. She did not just think of her parents creating a sibling for their benefit. Hermione silently prayed that they had used protection.
The floor boards sounded like they were shrieking with every step Hermione took. She casted a Muffliato for the noise hurt her ears and it annoyed her in lengths greater than anyone could imagine. She should be quiet. The location of her parents were still unknown to her and who knows? Perhaps a serial killer was on the loose and turned her house into a hiding place.
Hermione froze. Moans were coming from her bed room.
She groaned internally, a look of disgust plastered on her face. Why did they have to do it in her room of all places?
Hermione bolted to her room, footsteps echoing through the silent house, disturbing the ones who wished not to be disturbed. She twisted the knob open and choked back the urge to vomit. She her knees fall at the sight in front of her.
Blood. All she saw was blood.
"What the fuck—" She stumbled away from the doorframe, clutching the front of her shirt. The hallway listened to the gasp that escaped her lips. She shook from the cold and ignored the thick feeling her drying coat was offering. The atmosphere wreaked of the scent of blood and Hermione sucked in a breath as the smell reached her nose.
"Mum?" she called out. The silence answered her. "Dad?" Nothing.
Peeling her gaze off to what seemed like a god forbidden hallway, Hermione slowly stood. With wobbling legs, she reentered the bloodied room. She noticed how clean her bed appeared. The last time she visited, it looked catastrophic. The stuffed animals that sat on her window stared at her, following her every move. Their eyes were dilated, seeming as if they saw every terrible thing in the world. She found it awfully disturbing.
Her lips tugged down as she eyed the blood cautiously. It continued to stain the floor as it moved toward the door. A frown on her lips, Hermione glanced at the pool of blood descending to the door and walked toward where the source belonged. She followed the trail of red from the floor to the—
The sound of her footsteps came to a halt. The closet. Her closet. She grasped the handle and pulled it open.
Two bodies covered in nothing but their own blood hung inside the young girl's closet. The bones that were supposed to be connected to their torsos were disembodied and lay pathetically on the flat bottom of the furniture. Above them, there were words that were portrayed in red and showed the profound enigma hidden behind the homicide committed upon them.
She need not to know the identity of the murdered victims, for it was already obvious.
She didn't notice the quiver on her lips. She didn't noticed that her wand had taken a swim on the pool of blood. Her parents' blood.
Hermione only paid attention to the speed of her spinning head and the frequency of her voice as she screamed.
Viva La Nyx, the blood said.
The clearing looked similarly like graveyards. Fog filled the empty streets and alleys. Not a single light can be illuminated in the vicious unknown of the dark. There were bodies littered everywhere. No one looked alive, not even him.
Pursed lips and a placid face, Draco Malfoy watched his father from a distance as he approached a masked Death Eater. Something was gnawing within his stomach and the lump on his throat seem to be growing when the anonymous follower of the Dark Lord glanced at him.
He shouldn't be afraid and he knew this. But who wouldn't be if they were a rookie in the Dark Lord's inner circle?
His teeth collided in between the skin inside his mouth. Shut the fuck up, Draco. Act like a Malfoy. He wasn't sure if there was still moisture in his eyes. He just wanted this Death Eater thing to be over.
To be safe.
His name was uttered by the lips of his sire. The young Malfoy headed forward. He bowed his head and the Death Eater nodded at Lucius in approval.
"Tonight," said the Death Eater, voice crisp and mighty like any other pureblood Death Eater should be. "We will feast."
The Death Eater walked away without another word, leaving the Slytherin Prince wondering what he had meant.
"Come now, Draco." The palm of his father's hands made contact with his back. He wanted to cut them off his body. "The Dark Lord awaits."
Lucius Malfoy walked away from his son. His own death eater mask was already in place as he got on his broom and flew away.
The fucktard forgot about him again. Jaw clenched, he summoned his own broom and glared at the direction his father flew off.
Someday. He would kill him.
With angry eyes and a heart that wasn't willing to forgive, he followed.
