Welcome to my second Dramione fic! It's been a while since I've dabbled in smut, so bear with me on that bit, but other than that, enjoy!
Warning: This fic contains sex, ritual sex, weird monster sex and did I mention smut? On the other hand, it also has graphic depictions of violence towards animals and humans alike. Crooky's in here too :D!
Disclaimer: I don't own shit aside from the plot and the fanartsđź‘Śđź‘Ś
Hermione remembered the first time she was forced to stand before the tall gates of hell, or what was objectively known as Malfoy Manor. "Was" being a keyword.
Her blood ran cold while her fingers froze thanks to the arrival of a new autumn, and no amount of warming charms seemed to help in the slightest. She's also been struggling to keep herself still. Her anxiety-powered hands never stopped suffocating her wand since she left the ministry, and her grip only seemed to grow tighter as a gust of wind inched her face closer to the barred entrance.
She then shuddered, her feet turning 'round the opposite direction unconsciously as if to abort the mission. Definitely to abort the mission.
Suddenly, the memory of her laying down on hard marble floors flashed before her eyes and she felt bile rise up to her throat. If she were to puke on the sacred grounds of the Malfoy Manor, would that be considered a small act of revenge?
Besides, nobody would know. Not since Narcissa Malfoy died, anyway.
'Why did she have to die?' Hermione wanted to groan.
Since the end of the second Wizarding War, four years ago, The Malfoys were handed what was—in Hermione's opinion—an act of retribution rather than justice. Narcissa had been given full claim to the family estate as a result of her husband's life sentence to Azkaban, while she herself was condemned to nine years of house arrest. And their son Draco, well, it was safe to assume he died just a bit after the hearing—before he could even carry out the same punishment as his mother.
It was strange, really. His magical aura had just vanished one day, with nothing to indicate the 'how's or 'why's.
Some speculate that the Dark Mark had taken a toll on his being, rapidly eating at his soul with its master having been obliterated; others say he'd simply snapped his wand and fled off to a different place, far away from his blood and his county.
Hermione couldn't count exactly how many theories there were, but one thing's for certain: no one has seen or heard of the young Malfoy in years.
As a result, the manor lay empty, and it was Hermione's assignment to make sure of that fact per Shaklebolt's orders.
She didn't want to. Even Harry sympathised with her and had pleaded with their seniors to go in her stead to no avail. He already was halfway into breaking his case, making it concrete for them both that he had no options but to continue.
The rest were either stuck in a similar position, or were not yet qualified for the dumpster fire that had been promptly shoved in her arms. So as she stood in front of the caged building, Hermione couldn't help but rethink her life choices; specifically, her profession.
It wasn't too late to sign up into the healer program, was it?
She shook her head. There had to be a fair few pros to this. Bellatrix was dead, for one. The house was devoid of life, on another hand. Hopefully.
'Come on, Hermione,' she scolded herself. 'You're bound to face your fears some day. It's just a house, for Merlin's sake.'
Blowing a shaky breath, Hemione reached to push the metal bars currently embraced by thin vines and moss. When they eerily opened further automatically, she flinched back, fully expecting something to charge at her and chuckled nervously when she was met with the same whistling silence.
Still, she took one guarded step after the other as she observed the ruined state of the property. It looked as though Narcissa didn't even try fixing anything. The bushes were tall but the trees towered higher with many long, naked branches—their leaves instead decorated the stone path leading to the manor, crunching under Hermione's feet.
Aside from that, it was all so quiet. Otherworldly. Anything outside of what the Malfoy name usually entailed, and dark. Darker than when it hosted Voldemort, she would admit if she took time to observe the decrepit scenery.
The entire place might as well have passed with the matriarch and Hermione felt somewhat sorry for it, more so when she spotted a lone, white chicken begin to approach her from behind one of the thick trees.
She heard it gargle at her intrusion. Although, it appeared sad. It felt sad.
Fear forgotten, the brunette crouched down to meet her new companion and it was only when they were a feet apart that she realised it was an albino peacock. A young male, from the looks of its undeveloped tail feathers.
"Hello," Hermione cooed soothingly, offering her hand.
The peacock shook but hooted, accepting her touch by bumping her fingers with his quivering head.
"Are you cold?" she asked. Considering it was the last week of October, combined with the grey, thundering clouds above, he had to have been.
Hermione pulled off her scarf and wrapped it around the bird before gathering him in her arms. She then thought about how Crookshanks would react to their new roommate or more if the little one had not been alone.
"Why don't you come with me inside for the checkup and then we can go home where it's warm?" She stroked his head with her pointer as he turned back to the direction he came from.
When Hermione followed briefly, she fully expected to see a herd of bright birds, though what greeted her only made her freeze. Her warm smile pulled down at the scene of a deceased peacock hidden behind the thick trunk. However, it wasn't the corpse that had her stomach drop to Merlin-only-knows where, but the state it was in.
The head, in addition with its long neck, had been partly ripped away from the body. Splatters of its own blood dotted around the once-pristine feathers and what remained seeped out like a last-ditch effort of watering the garden.
Hermione hugged the chick tightly—a motherly instinct to shield a babe from something so awful.
It was evidently the work of a predator and she found her nerves return back to the edge.
How did she not see that?
What kind of animal could make those wounds?
How did she not see that?
Did said animal invite itself in since the human occupants were nowhere to be found?
HOW DID SHE NOT SEE THAT?!
Hermione spiralled, as did her head. She couldn't discern noise aside from her now-frantic heartbeats; and they must've been loud enough to agitate the young peacock seeing as he started to wail.
"Shh, shh, it's okay! It's okay." Hermione tried keeping a hold of him when he began to scramble out of his woolly bundle while also looking around for any signs of danger. Her eyes were wide open now. But the more she looked, the worse she saw.
There was a dead fox behind a bush to her left, thin and boney, surrounded by flies like roadkill without its head. The fur matted to the ground as a sign that it had been there for longer than she would have liked to guess, and she resisted the urge to gag. On the other corner lay a second adult peacock with similar lacerations to its counterpart, though it was not spared the mercy of having its stomach intact. Remnants of its bowels hung on the side as if it had exploded from the inside.
Panic etched its way further into her lungs but before Hermione could find yet another unfortunate corpse, she saw a flash of silver right as pain hit the back of her neck and she fell.
I weep for the peacock. Thank you guys for reading and see y'all on the next update!