"Where's the biggest damage?"

Neville had a sour expression on his face. "It's happening all over England. Harry and Ron have been dispatched to help in London, so I'd say it might be there."

Hermione made a pause before she asked the next question, afraid of the answer. "Any idea what the damage is?"

Neville looked away. "I know that St. Mungo's is full. There aren't enough Aurors and Healers to stifle the mayhem and chaos. I—don't know about casualties."

"You don't know or you don't want to tell me?"

The silence in response was enough.

"Shit," Hermione muttered under her breath. "I don't understand. How come the curse was taking over so slowly at first, and now it's speed-running through the country?"

It had taken months for the curse to completely soak through the people at Hogwarts, and now, just days after students ran out on the streets, others were joining them at a speed light. Did those people have their hatred ingrained and joined voluntarily? Or had the curse grown so powerful over time and with the amount of bodies it had taken hold of it was easier for it to corrupt more army? She had not been very versed in dark magic, so the possibilities in that regard were foreign to her.

Neville shrugged, not having any answers himself.

"Alright," she said at last. "Let's get to London."

After arriving in London and witnessing the city's devastation and the chaos of people fighting, Hermione had only taken a few steps when a spell hit her, knocking her off her feet.

"The mudblood heroine!" someone yelled out, raising their wand again.

Neville engaged the woman in a battle, and screamed at her to go. She hesitated, wanting to have her friend's back, but she knew she had to find Thoros and end this chaos altogether. She Disillusioned herself, trying to buy herself more time to figure out just where he could be hiding.

Theo had told her (or, at least, the Her from his memories) that his father was a prideful man. He would be enjoying the mayhem he created. He would want to be close to the source, but not close enough to get caught. Not anywhere where he would be at a chance to get in between spells flying around. Somewhere where he wouldn't be noticed, because everyone was too busy paying attention to the problem at hand. Somewhere where he could witness it in whatever capacity he was able to—preying on fear and death and hurt, whether it was visual or auditory.

Somewhere like…in the Ministry?

The Ministry had been chaotic—Aurors had been sent out to deal with the rebellion, rendering the Ministry prone to someone coming in unnoticed; workers had been running around, trying to figure out what exactly was happening, find a way to stop this. Thoros might have been an escaped prisoner, but with the madness underway, he likely wasn't the top priority.

She walked the floors, paying close attention to anyone who seemed off—their demeanor, the expression on their face, the way they observed the whole situation. It was when she felt a hold over her wrist, the alarms went off in her head and then she vanished.

She landed on the floor with an impact, in a dim lit room, with a man hovering over her. The coldness of his eyes, the snarl on his face, the pure flow of rage and hatred in his posture—she had no doubt she found exactly the person she was looking for.

"Filth," Thoros Nott spat out at her. "Stupid, little girl."

Hermione scrambled back up to her feet, gripping her wand tightly, pointing it towards him.

"Just can't stop meddling, can you?" He continued with maliciousness. "First you, that pathetic half-blood and the blood traitor took away my Lord, and then you took away my son."

"What are you talking about?"

Thoros looked absolutely enraged, furious, deadly, taking a small step towards her with each word. She had no clue what he meant—she hated the hole in her memory.

"You don't remember, do you?" He laughed maniacally, sending a shiver down her spine at how deranged the man in front of her seemed. "For taking my son, I have taken what was yours."

"Those people are innocent!" she screamed at him, despite knowing in her heart there was no way of talking any sense into him. He was too corrupted, too evil, too foul.

Thoros jumped at her, knocking a breath out of her when he wrapped his hand around her throat and pinned her to the wall, immobilizing her. She fought for air, staring straight into an empty void behind his blue eyes. She gazed into the same eyes before—only behind his son's eyes there were emotions she could see trying to reach to the surface, and she couldn't believe those two people were of the same blood.

"They deserve far worse than this," Thoros seethed into her ear. "You deserve worse. What I've done is mercy. You have no place in my world. Someone has to teach you people that."

He let go of her, a shadow casting over his face. She gasped for air, already feeling the bruise forming on the column of her throat. She tried aiming at the man, unable to focus her wand at him, feeling too dizzy.

"It's not working the way you wanted it to be," she hissed at him. "Not everyone turned to the dark side."

"Ah, yes," Thoros muttered under his breath. "Some hearts are too pure," he said mockingly. "No less, I'm not talking about those mudbloods now, " Thoros continued. "Australia? Thought you were being clever? Thought no one would ever find them?"

Hermione could feel her mind go into overdrive, soaking in the meaning of his words.

"No," she croaked, hugging the wall.

It was impossible. There was no way that her parents—

She watched him laugh at her, as if it was some kind of sick joke and rage boiled in her veins. She hadn't seen her parents since the war. They had no recollection of ever having her, loving her, and now they were dead without ever learning to remember she was their child?

"I gave it to them slow," Thoros was mocking her. "Long, torturous, excruciating death. You should have seen the look on their faces when I told them their daughter is responsible for their death and they didn't even know you exist."

She was seeing red. The room was spinning, her ears were ringing, her mind was whirling and the hatred swelled her heart. He kept talking, sharing the details, laughing, enjoying every word and every memory. Was this real? There was thumping in her chest, the beating inside was growing in pace, because—was this real? The devil in front of her kept spewing disgusting words and it couldn't have been real. She couldn't tell if she was still grounded in reality, but his mouth would continue to speak those horrifying remarks with a sick smile on his lips and she something inside her mind, inside her heart, inside her soul, snapped.

"Avada Kedavra!"

She gasped the second that spell left her mouth and Thoros' body hit the cold stone. She fell at his side, searching for pulse, a heartbeat, a breath, but there was nothing. Lifeless. Dead. By her own hands, with a killing curse no less.

She stared at what she had done, unable to tell if she was feeling anything. It was as if dozens of emotions floated inside her chest, interlacing with each other and turning into nothingness. She stared and stared and stared, having her hand placed on his chest, over where his heart was supposed to beat, but it wasn't. It wouldn't.

What have you done?

She couldn't even tell what she should be feeling right now.

Her forehead creased at the sight of a crumpled paper on the ground. She picked it up and suddenly felt a spark of emotion, the kind that reminds you that you are still alive, come to life inside her at the sight of the words written across the page.

The curse won't be broken until the last of Notts dies. Was his life worth it? If you were to ask me—it was.


"Where is Theo?" she asked hastily, practically throwing herself at Neville.

Neville furrowed his brows, looking at her strangely. "He's still asleep."

She rushed into the room, coming into the view of Theo laying on the bed, unmoving. She dropped to his side, but just as with his father, she couldn't feel his heart or hear his breath.

"He's not breathing!" she yelled out, starting to panic.

Tears started to stream down her face as she desperately whispered to him to wake up. Her heart was swollen with dread and sadness, not knowing what to dowhat she had done.

Neville appeared at her side, alongside Luna, both of them looking worried and confused.

"We need to take him to the hospital," he said calmly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"It's too late. It's my fault," she cried out, shaking her head.

She was burning inside, with anger and with resentment to herself and with so many emotions she couldn't name. Her mind was swirling, overflown with pain that spiked inside of it.

"I think I can feel a pulse," Luna's voice sounded in the distance. "It's very, very weak."

She is sitting in the grass, enjoying the warmth from the sun shining above her head, a book in her hand, when a shadow looms over her.

"If it isn't the Golden Girl," a voice sounds over her and she looks up, meeting blue eyes and a raised brow on a face of a boy—a man she recognizes.

"Good thing that I don't use nicknames, Theodore Nott," she retorts, surprised with his sudden presence. She wouldn't have expected to find a schoolmate—although 'schoolmate' might have been too generous a description—by chance like that.

She sees him shrug, a small smile tugging at his lips. "That wouldn't phase me," he says. "I know who I am and who I am not."

It's her turn to raise a brow at him. "And who are you, then?"

He casually sits down beside her in the grass, gazing at her with thoughtfulness. "Would you like to know?"

"What's going on?" Harry's voice reverberated somewhere, nowhere. She was in her head, images and conversations she hadn't had before flashing before her eyes. She didn't know if she was dreaming, or if she had died.

"It's Nott," Neville responded solemnly. "He's dying."

She is looking around a small cottage, earthy and warm tones surrounding her.

"I didn't think you'd have such a warm looking place," she says, a little bit embarrassed at her phrasing.

Theo shrugs at her. "It belonged to my mother. Whenever I'm here, it's like I can feel her presence."

She smiles sadly at his wistful expression.

"Do you ever come here with your father?"

Theo's eyes grow darker, turning into a shade of a stormy sky. "No. My father—he's not someone to be around. He would turn every good feeling and memory I have of this place and my mother into something broken, evil and twisted."

"Is Hermione okay?" Harry's worried voice seeped into her consciousnesses.

"She's in shock," Luna provided.

They are sitting at the table, having breakfast when Malfoy comes into the room.

"This is really fucking weird," he comments, picking up a piece of bread off the tray and then disappearing from their view.

Theo looks at her with a pointed brow and she bursts into a fit of laughter.

"I mean," she says after chewing her toast. "It is pretty weird, given our past."

Theo smiles at her, covering her hand with his. "To me, it feels like the most realest, genuine moment in a very long time."

She can feel her heart swell at his words. She puts down her food, leaning towards him and their lips meet in a chaste kiss.

"I can't feel his heartbeat anymore," Luna said somewhere in the distance.

"We need to get him to the hospital," Neville—or was it Harry?—insisted.

"He's not going to make it," another voice sounded in a vast blanket canvass of her mind.

There's a smell of post-coital bliss in the room, and her body feels warm, exhausted. She is lying on Theo's chest, smiling into his skin.

"I think I love you," Theo says into the quiet of the room.

She laughs heartily. "I think I love you, too."

"I have something that might help."

A voice suddenly reverberates behind her and she jumps at the sound.

"Merlin, Theo," she says breathlessly. "Don't sneak up on me like that."

His lips twitch slightly. "I'm a Slytherin," he replies causally.

"Could have fooled me," she says with a smile on her lips.

Theo walks slowly towards her, his eyes darkening as he looks her up and down. He pushes her against the wall, grabbing her hips, her waist, her legs, her ass, turning her into a mess with hasted kisses and firm touches.

"Where did you get that?"

"I kept it. Just in case."

"Just in case of what?"

"Something like this, of course."

Thoros Nott is standing ahead of her, his face marred with signs of disgust, rage, contempt.

"How dare you, Theodore?" Thoros Nott asks without hiding any of his emotions. His eyes are focused on his son, who is standing right in front of her, shielding her from his father's wrath. "Did you think I would never find out how you dishonored my name?"

Thoros points his wand towards them, shaking with violence.

"It's no honor to wear your name," Theo hisses at his father. "I won't let you ruin the good things in my life. Not anymore."

A look of surprise flashes over Thoros' face, but it's quickly overshadowed with incredulity. "This—" his wand stretches, aiming towards her. "You're talking about this?"

She can feel the muscles in Theo's arm twitch where she is holding onto him, and she squeezes him, trying to tell him to keep his cool. She knows he is not someone to be easily derailed out of control, but his father has one kind of an effect on him. She cares not what he says, even though such words still sting her, no matter who says them.

Thoros' nostrils flare as Theo looks at him defiantly, shifting closer to her.

"Very well then," he says at last. "I will have to rectify your mistakes."

There was a sigh of relief in the room.

"He's better," said feminine voice.

Hermione could feel her mind calm itself down, her heartbeat slow to a steady rhythm and the world turned itself to darkness.