The Bottom Of Black
Story: The Bottom Of Black
Storylink: http://hp.adult-fanfiction.org/story.php?no=600006292
Category: Harry Potter
Genre: Het - Male/Female
Author: absumoaevum
Authorlink: http://members.adult-fanfiction.org/profile.php?no=1296797574
Last updated: 01/15/2007
Words: 9371
Rating: Adult++
Status: Unknown
Content: Chapter 1 to 8 of 8 chapters
Source: Adult-FanFiction.org
Summary: Two years later, can they live with the lies that tore them apart? Warning/Ratings subject to change. R&R!! Angst, Lime, BDSM, N/C, Tort, and the ever popular Nec. Some language. WIP!!
*Chapter 1*: The Bottom Of Black
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
PS: /dfdafg/ are thoughts.
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/Two years./
Draco lounged on the thick leather couch before the fire, absently changing the orange flame green then back again, thinking.
/Two years?/
He wasn’t much for anniversaries, but two years was difficult to just take out with the garbage. The fire licked against the granite stones encasing it from three sides. A lazy wave of his wand converted it to a sickly olive color. His eyes adjusted. He flicked his wand. Red and yellow sparks sprang from the depths of the fire as it paled white then sparkled golden-ginger once more.
/Today, of all days, had to be two years. My triumph softened because-/
“Grill!” He shouted to the air. A gnarled house elf appeared suddenly, bowing deeply to his master. “Get her dressed.” Grill opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it and vanished with a pop instead. The fire glinted green yet again. Orange. Green. Orange. Then darkness.
Draco stood, tucked his wand inside his robes, and strode from the room.
/I need to see her./
***
It was cold, the goose bumps pocking her body told her so. It had been such long time since she’d registered the temperature of anything that only her skin acknowledged the chill. And it was dark, dark like a moonless night reflected in the pupil of one’s eye. Open or closed, her eyes saw no difference. She didn’t move. She tried not to breathe, waited until the last second when her lungs were bursting with protest and her heart pounded and her chest was caving in, then she’d gasp in air. It gave her a vague sort of optimism. She felt pain, and it gave her hope. She could still feel, damn them. They couldn’t break her.
Time was a whisper she could barely hear now. Day and night had no meaning without windows, and food was sporadic at best. No one ever saw her (not that she cared to be seen) or spoke to her. There was a flap in the door where grizzly mounds of muck heaped on to a bent pewter plate were slid in. She stopped eating it for a while. Whoever was feeding her didn’t care. She started eating again. Desperation, instinct, whatever you wanted to call it, kicked in.
She spent the hours reciting spells and facts out loud. No one heard her. She screamed sometimes. No one answered. Her hair was matted, her clothes taken from her, her body grimy and soiled. She wreaked, she knew, but she couldn’t have cared less.
Numb. There was nothing. She did not exist. She would die here. No one would notice.
***
The stairs seemed endless. Everywhere around Draco was solid rock hewn roughly into a stairwell that went down, down, down. Pity there was no spell to speed things up. He’d only been this far once, when she was first brought. He hadn’t seen her since, or heard anything spoken of her. Still, his mind bent to her against his will.
Finally, the stairs leveled into a hall, a long hall with few torches. He retrieved his wand. “Lumos.” More echoing steps forward. A room with a squalid house elf. “Nox. Is she ready?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Grill is with her now.”
Draco paced, surveying the room. It was bare except for a table in the corner and the door in front of him. “Does she speak?”
“Constantly, sir. Spells day in and out. Talks about Hogwarts. Potter. You, sir.”
“Me? What does she say about me?”
“Can’t make out nothing but yer name, sir.”
“I see.”
/Two years./
***
There was movement somewhere near her. She couldn’t see, of course, but she could feel the shifting air, hear the shuffled feet. It was terrifying.
“Who… who-”
“Put this on.” Something hit her leg. Something soft. She picked it up, felt it over in her hands. The sensation seemed new to her.
/Something soft./
“I can’t see.” Light, sudden blinding light, filled the room. She blinked hard. Her eyes adjusted. The garment in her hands was a grayish color, a smock. She looked down at herself. “Should I-”
The house elf grimaced- no, wait- it smiled. There was hardly a difference. “I’ll take care of that.” He waved his hand dramatically, and the grime of what felt like forever wiped itself clean of her body. The grungy dreadlocks in her hair untangled themselves and fell once again in gentle brown curls. He glanced around the room. Another histrionic gesture and the walls and floor scrubbed themselves clean, the furniture righted itself, the single torch above a table flared up. “Put it on.” The house elf vanished.
***
Grill appeared outside of the door. Draco watched him bow with cruel eyes. “Is she ready?”
Grill nodded. “Nearly, sir.”
“You may go.” Draco turned to the other elf. “Unlock this door.” It was done instantly.
***
A figure stepped into the threshold and looked her over. She tugged down the edges of the smock. It rode high on her hips, higher than she would have liked. The man looked familiar, like someone from a nightmare. He was a part of her past, she knew, but she couldn’t place him. His facial expression seemed somewhere between piteous and amused. “When I said ‘dressed’ I had hoped for something a bit more appropriate. But, what can you say to a house elf, yes?” She stared dumbly at him. “Well,” he stammered, seeming to lose some of his nerve, “here you are. It’s been years, hasn’t it?”
/His blonde hair, his pale skin, his smile.../
“Draco?” She whispered. It echoed, so unlike his words. “Draco… Malfoy?”
“Did you not remember me?” He took a step forward into the light, his figure sharpening both physically and in her mind. She lurched back against the wall.
“No… Was it… It couldn’t have been… you?” He moved toward her, his robes sweeping the floor. She pasted herself to the jagged rock behind her. “NO! Get away from me. Traitor! Liar! I hate you!” She turned as if to run, but there was nowhere. She slammed her fists into the wall. She wept, sobbed. “Get away from me…” She slid to the ground, still crying hard and loud. Tears littered her cheeks.
He was close now. And she couldn’t get away. She didn’t care anymore. She was still.
/Liar. Liar. Murderer. Traitor…/
The words marqueed around her mind as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and under her knees. He raised her up and took her from the room.
***
He carried her down the hall, up the stairs, through corridors, an impossible distance, but she was so light and his resolve was great.
Twenty minutes later found him laying her down on black sheets in his own room. She was still, curled up, tears silently wetting the pillow. He pulled up a chair and stared at her back. It moved slightly as she breathed, her backbone like a rope full of knots under the smock. This scene was unfit for her. She was more than this. At least, she had been more than this.
And in the privacy of his own room he would tell her.
/Finally tell her… Two years./
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I could do nothing. I have spent the last two years trying to get to you. I wanted to tell you everything. You wouldn’t have believed me, you wouldn’t have listened.”
Her voice was emotionless and low. “I’m listening now.”
So he told her. He told her about Ron’s betrayal, how Ron had tried to expose Draco as a spy for the light, how Ron had knelt before Voldemort and received the dark mark. He told her how close he had come to getting caught, how he had to pretend not to care when Death Eaters raped her, beat her, locked her in a cell in the darkest dungeon so that he could free her when the time was right. “They would have killed you, killed me. Then what good am I? I did it for us.” He told her how Ron died, how he snuck into Draco’s room and tried to slit his throat, how Draco had been ready with the killing curse, how Harry would never forgive either one of them. “He’s still alive. Harry is, I mean. I don’t know if you care, but he’s still everyone’s hero.” Then Draco told her about Voldemort, how Harry had killed him in one last duel to the death only yesterday, how the Death Eaters had surrendered, how the world was right again but no one was the same.
She shook, wracked with sobs, for what seemed like ages. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands watching her. She was nothing and everything like he had remembered her. “Hermione…”
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R&R!! I know it's not much now, but if you like it I can add more. This is my first and I’ll need some reassurance. Thanks! -TooMuch
*Chapter 2*: Dry Blood
Disclaimer: Nothing. Own nothing. Whabam
PS. /skgjbsg/ = thoughts
PPS. If you want to read more you must R&R!!! I can’t do this without support!
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A week passed, and she did not wake except to cry and eat when he forced her. Draco gave up his room for one of the many others at the manor. He settled in what had been his parents’ room. It was masked in a thin gray coat of dust when he had first entered, but upon telling Grill his wishes he had returned to it at the end of the day fully restored. A sheer black and green canopy fell in wisps over the four dark oak posts. Every inch of wood was carved, every detail painstakingly crafted. Grill had done well. It was just as Draco remembered it.
Up until Voldemort’s demise, Malfoy Manor had been a stronghold for the dark side. People could be found moving about at all hours of the day. Some drank and bedded wealthy pure-bloods and enslaved mud bloods alike, others simply patrolled the grounds. Either way, there was no privacy to be had with an evil web cocooning Draco from all sides, and he the fly with no wings.
He had been cut off from his confidants at the Order. Those who still believed in his goodness thought he was dead. Then Ron had turned, had revealed Draco as a spy. Draco remembered that sneer so like his own. But none of the Death Eaters had believed him. In fact, the only reason Weasel wasn’t killed on sight was the valuable information he brought: numbers, spells, and locations needed to be seen to, and Ron was all but forgotten, another Wormtail lost in the throng of followers. So he made an attempt against Draco, and Draco felt no remorse in sending Weasel to his unceremonious grave. He died even before he could make a difference, even before the Dark Lord could acknowledge him for his trouble. A whiff of smoke in the fire blazing between light and dark.
Ron brought Hermione with him the day he left Potter‘s side forever. She floated like a ghost at his side as he sauntered proudly up Malfoy Manor‘s granite entrance steps. She was the talk of the manor, the factor that sealed the deal for most. He had surely betrayed his friends. Hermione was the light’s greatest attribute next to Potter. What candle could they possibly hold now?
But the light had won, and for the life of him Draco could not understand it. Two years of deadlock then a break and a final victory. It had been too easy. And now he was alone with her, the only prisoner kept alive. Potter had not yet found them, not that Draco was making an effort to be found. He hadn’t lifted the unplottable spells or the anti-apperation spells. He’d left the complicated charms cluttering the grounds intact. He would wait. They would find him. In the mean time, there would be peace.
***
She stirred. Another day wafted past the drawn curtains to her eyes. Squinting, she turned over. He was there, staring at her.
“Good morning.”
Hermione didn’t smile. Her skin was the purest white marble in the morning light, a stoic angel’s face carved into it. She was not really seeing him there, he couldn’t be there.
/None of this is real./
But she held his gaze. She felt that time had passed since Draco removed her from her cell, but she could not tell how much. His eyes were softerr; he looked tired. “Draco…”
/Was I rescued? What happened?/
Then it rushed back to her, clouding his face and any other thought out of her mind. A room lit via spells with no distinguishable source of light. The chains, chains on the walls and ceiling, chains bolted to the floors. People in the chains, bloody people, dead people. A woman with no fingers scrapping the putrid stone floor with the butt of her palms, crying with sightless sockets. A man held up by magic from a Death Eater’s wand was writhing like a mutilated snake against the wall as the cloaked figure laughed maniacally and almost playfully tossed his wand back and forth between his hands.
There was cackling; there was screaming. Terror. Blood. So much blood. Blood ran like streams in the cracks of the stones between puddles. The man’s blood, the woman’s, indiscernible other’s, her blood, she realized. She looked down at herself. Sickly gashes covered her chest and legs. Burns and bruises made gory tracks up her arms.
There was a hooded man before her, then. He pulled her up, swept the mask over his face away, and she could taste his vile grin mingling with the blood in her mouth. He was carnal, devouring her with his eyes. It did not matter to him that she was near death, nor did her mangled body seem to distract him. She got the impression he was admiring her gruesome wounds, that it somehow aroused him.
***
Draco searched Hermione’s face. She seemed far away. Her eyes were wide and unblinking. She shook, the bedclothes slumping off to the corners of the mattress or onto the floor. Draco went to her. “Wake up, Hermione. No…Not yet. Don‘t do this yet.”
/Did they drive her insane? Two years… I would go bloody mad as well, wouldn’t I?/
He took her hand, and she snapped back from her waking nightmare just long enough to shout “Don’t touch me, you bastard!” before going blind and deaf to him yet again. His drew his hand back warily, not sure of what had just happened. It was not her shrieking that had alarmed him, it was what he had seen when he touched her.
Fulfilling the role of a high-ranking Death Eater’s son had the occasional benefit, the major one in this case being nightly Legimens lessons from Snape. Though whether or not he considered what he just saw as a benefit was still up for consideration: Flashes of gore. Pangs of nausea and disgust. Goyle’s big bloody hands on her stomach. Green light from the Crucio curse.
Draco watched her shiver though the room was not cold, knowing she was seeing these things and more than he could imagine. He decided not to leave her. Sitting in silent vigil, Draco could sense her pain. He focused harder on her thoughts, not her emotions, but the events playing out in her mind her memories.
***
Goyle dropped her on her face and left the room for a moment, sniggering all the way. “There’s still more fun to be had in one of them, at least!” He returned with two more men and a table. They hoisted her onto the splintering wood stomach-down. She knew then what was to come. It could have been anything, but she knew.
They took turns ravaging her, the first being particularly excited to find she was a virgin. After the second she tuned them out, just went limp and numb like a ruined china-doll as they broke her over and over. She couldn’t breath. The woman was screamed unintelligibly somewhere behind her, and Hermione gasped a wordless warning for her to stop. But it was no use. An instant later the eyeless, screaming face slammed into the wood inches away from Hermione, tossed beside her to share in her fate.
/I was not enough for them. They had to destroy her, too./
The woman did not last. She stopped screeching, but they did not stop devastating her until minutes later when the corpse started to turn cold. Then they were back to Hermione. What happened in the next hours was mercifully blacked from her memory. Whether she passed out or her mind simply wouldn’t comprehend the pain she would never know. She didn’t care.
When she woke, it was to two deep holes where eyes should have been gawking at her; a mouth gaping in one last silent tormented wail. There were teeth missing, and there were scabs of hair and splintered wood and dried blood instead of lips. Hermione was still slung over the table like a piece of raw meat. No doubt they thought she was dead. Feeling as though she was beginning to slide backward off of the table, she moved her arms, probing for something to grab onto. There was nothing. Her toes scrapped the slick floor as they wormed around searching for a foothold, but she couldn‘t reach. She skated helplessly over the side and landed with a thump on the unforgiving floor.
Two Death Eaters appeared around the corner of the door. “What happened?” It was a woman’s voice, though low and raspy.
“I don’t know. It probably just fell off.” Goyle began walking over, but-
“Leave it. What does it matter?” They left, but the woman returned shortly after, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Is that Hermione Granger?”
A gruff voice from around the corner. “The one with that brown hair? Yeah. Weasley brought it.” The woman took off her mask and hood, approaching Hermione as though she were a rapid animal.
“Narcissca,” A man. His calm, hissing voice halted her on the spot. “Go, join the others.” They passed each other as she exited and he advanced. His tone, if possible, lessened below even a whisper, and he knelt to her. “Miss Granger?” It was Snape. Her fingers twitched; her mouth open and shut. “Miss Granger…” He cautiously brushed his hand over her forehead. “Alive? …I did not know…”
***
Draco unfocused. The spell was broken. Snape? It was Snape that kept her alive? He must have fed her enough vertasirum to keep her useful, enough so that the Dark Lord would deem her necessary. After a time, when she had no more to tell, she was locked in the bottom of black, in a cell barely fit for life. A house elf was put in charge of her until she died.
Most were probably sure it would only be a matter of days. But days turned to weeks. And weeks fled into months. Lost in the flurry of the war, people forgot her. Nearly two years came and went between the day she began rotting away in that cell and the time that he was finally able to extract her from it. How much irreparable damage had been caused?
“Grill! Sleeping draught!” Grill appeared immediately holding a silver vile. He bowed as Draco took it, and, when dismissed, evaporated as usual. Draco did not want Hermione thinking anymore on her captivity until her full strength returned. He focused his mind on her, willed her to wake. Her eyes opened abruptly. He offered her the vile. She took it, sniffed it warily, then downed it all in one fluid motion. He got the distinct feeling that she did not really care what it was. Hermione turned from him, leaving the vile, and, after a fashion, took to sleeping again.
Draco took the vile and left her alone, wondering if she knew he was in her thoughts. She hadn’t wanted him to touch her. The one thing he wanted to do more than anything, the only thing that he truly needed, caused her pain. He found his room and sprawled on the bed. He stared at the canopy shifting colors in the afternoon light. Suddenly, he sat bolt upright, one thought and one thought only gripping his mind:
/Find Snape./
*Chapter 3*: Hell Hath No Fury
Disclaimer: You know I’m not smart enough to think up any of the Harry Potter stuff. Only the story is mine… kinda.
PS: /ssadfjmnrivc/ = thoughts
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The dining hall was the coldest room in the house. Its bare gray walls sucked in light and heat, and its high cross-vaulted ceilings whispered when Draco was alone. Spread over the grand table were myriad books and papers, maps and spent quills. He was casting spells over the maps. Location spells. He was winding his way through dusty volumes, desperate for an upper head. The books were mostly on potions, a subject which his both his father and Snape had profoundly appreciated. If Snape was in hiding, he was doing it well. There was nothing on any of the maps, nothing in any of the books.
/He’s close, though. I can feel it./
Snape had vanished after the battle. Draco wasn’t even positive he was still alive, but something told him Snape was not so easily subdued. He had survived all of his life on cunning alone, surely he could talk his way out of the killing curse with even the Dark Lord himself.
/Voldemort. His name was Voldemort./
Draco had never said the name out loud. He figured it was better to take baby steps in his head and work up to vocalization. He joked to himself that he spoke fluent Evil. It would take a while to learn the strange dialect of Good.
/‘Fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself.’/
Harry had told him that. Dumbledore’s words rang even truer in Draco’s heart since his death. He had idolized Dumbledore. He felt remorse for failing his part of the plan. There were those that thought him weak for it, but they had accepted him in the end. And now Dumbledore was locked forever in that stone coffin-
/That’s it! Bloody hell! That’s where he is!/
Draco jumped to his feet. Then, out of the corner of his eye he spotted something in the great doorway of the hall. It was just a flash, just a blur of brown and black and pale. It looked almost human.
/Hermione?/
He made his way to his old room and cracked the door. There she was, sleeping sounding right were he had left her. “I’m finally going stark daft.” He turned, about to shake his head, when it was there again, that humanoid figure, staring at his from down the hall. It was gone before he could even think to look closer. He swung the door open as if to catch Hermione tiptoeing back to bed, but there she was, peacefully slumbering. It couldn’t be her. It wasn’t her. Was it?
/No. Go back to the dining room, you git./
Draco was paranoid the rest of the evening. It took him ages to fall asleep that night. He laid facing the door, his wand grasped tightly in his hand. Finally, he dozed off, taking his nervousness with him. He dreamt of Snape waiting for him in a dungeon. In the dream, when Draco reached Snape, he shook him warmly by the hand then cut him to shreds with a common Muggle blade.
Morning found Draco where midnight had left him, curled up, clutching his wand with white knuckles, breathing fitfully, and twitching with tension. He woke with a start, one particularly realistic cut to the face hacking him back to reality. He sat up in bed, the covers rippling down his bare stomach. One look at the door told him it was still bolted shut. He stretched, last night’s fears melting as he lost himself in that feel-good moment between stretching his shoulders and popping his back. As he twisted to his left, a jolt rushed through him that nearly knocked him backwards off the bed.
Hermione was lying there, facing away from him, fast asleep. Her dark copper hair coiled over the pillow next to his. Her simple black shift rode up a little on her thigh and left her shoulders bare. She was dead to the world, breathing deeply without moving too much. She was not touching him at all, not even with her hair, which was still long and difficult. Gods, she was beautiful.
/But how did she get in?/
She didn’t have a wand that he knew about. There were no extras in his room. The door was bolted, magically sealed, as was the window. He gazed down at her again, longed to touch her, but he dared not wake her. How was she doing these things, and why?
***
Hermione stood in a familiar room, watching a familiar face doze behind a desk.
/This is not real. I am sleeping. I am not really here./
`
She took a step forward. It echoed in the nearly deserted room. Sharp black eyes snapped open, long fingers encircling a wand menacingly. “Show yourself.” A man. His voice was quiet, with all the malice of a hissing snake…
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Sorry, kinda short. But what a gaggle of cliffhangers, right? *crickets* Ok, ok… don’t riot, the next chapter will be up pronto. -TooMuch
*Chapter 4*: The Mindstorm
Disclaimer: Nothing is what I own. And you know it.
PS: /sglohvsrghsgd/ = thoughts
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“Do you know it?” She flickered in and out of his presence. His long finger flipped another page.
“Yes. Here it is.”
“Then start. It will not take long.” His lips pursed in anger. He did not like being ordered around. “I am doing this for you. Trust me, Professor.”
He nodded and stood. “How long do I have?”
“Thirteen minutes.”
“It will be ready.”
***
The clouds thundered and the heavens roared and the rain sunk the very air. The sky was moldy with enormous stalking clouds, bright with shards of lightening crashing across it, gray with the constant flailing downpour. Draco’s platinum hair clung to his forehead, his robes dragged behind him, sopping wet, as he made his way over the muddy grounds before Malfoy Manor. His broom floated at his side, bobbing up and down as bullets of rain pummeled it. In his arms, Draco held a slumbering Hermione. She looked so peaceful in this storm, gathered up next to him, breathing evenly and so light to carry. Draco peered down at her through the rain. Stunned, he realized there was not one drop of water on her; her hair was not drenched like his and her shift was perfectly dry.
/How could I not have noticed?/
He felt eyes on him, somewhere behind him. Swinging around, Draco tried to see through the opaque curtain of water crashing down around him. He knew he was not safe here. No defensive spells could be cast on the grounds. It had been a clever move. If an enemy was approaching, offensive spells could be thrown from the windows or the entrance of the manor, but the opponent could do nothing to protect himself. Other spells had been cast against flying on the grounds. Brilliant. Except now Draco was thrown off his guard, defenseless, hands full, and unable to fly until he got to the tree line 50 yards away.
He sped up, walking quickly, his feet sinking into the mud. 40 yards. The thing was everywhere. He jogged, unable to full-out run with Hermione. His broom raced a little ahead of him. 20 yards. The rain was impermeable. The only reliable landmark was the black line of forest before him; the manor was lost in the gray. Something rushed past him to his left. He thought he saw a woman standing in his path, but then she was gone, the rain taking any discernable features about her into the sodden ground with it.
Finally, the trees enveloped him, and the torrent eased under the thick canopy of leaves. He mounted his broom without slowing down, hurriedly seated Hermione in front of himself, and took off, riding low between the trees. It wouldn’t be long until he could apperate out the storm and directly to his destination. The forest was alive with sound. Draco heard shouts, but they were almost instantly swallowed by echoing rain and thunder. He could still feel that force behind him, driving him forward faster and faster. Whispers in his ear: “Go. Faster, Draco. Find him…” Was he dreaming? Could that be Hermione’s voice, her murmuring in his ear? He spared a glance down at her leaning on his chest, then paid for it by having to swerve suddenly around an oak. She was just as asleep as before. Her facial expression had not changed one bit.
There was a break in the trees ahead. A cliff. This was the barrier for most of the protective spells around Malfoy Manor. Draco guessed this was also the limit for apperation, too. He hoped he was right. Draco held tightly to Hermione and apperated just as the end of the broom passed the edge of the cliff. A moment later, Draco and Hermione appeared outside of what was a huge gate, still speeding a few feet off the ground. Draco struggled to steer the broom through a hole in the bars, then hastened toward a great castle.
/Hogwarts./
***
“We are here.” An unattended cauldron boiled thick and smelled of basil. Black robes swept around the corner. He would meet them. She would wake. Together, they would wait.
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Short and convoluted, I know. Don’t worry, the next chapter will be up very soon. And as always, please R&R. Anything is fine: comments, questions, criticisms, suggestions. I would appreciate anything you can give me. -TooMuch
PS: I MUST be new and don’t hold this against me, but what exactly is a Beta?
*Chapter 5*: The Crimson Mark
Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I wouldn’t bother writing this. Obviously, I don’t.
PS. /sfdglknafgouee/ = thoughts
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As they approached the castle, Draco flew higher. He knew rep caps could snap at their feet or the broom if he was too close to the ground. The last thing he needed was a run-in with a gang of red caps with Hermione out like this.
The tall towers of Hogwarts were showing signs of age. The shingles were peeling off in places, and mildew had begun to infest the crevasses between stones. No doubt bundimuns had infested the rafters by now. A pang of sadness rippled through him. His old school, all of his mates, all of his memories… It had been a haven to him, and now it was nothing more than a ruin.
Dumbledore’s grave was still as milky white as ever in the dull evening light, his memory preserved in gleaming, polished stone. But now the castle was upon him. He raced up the steps a good bit away from the dull overgrown lawn and landed, catching Hermione and laying her gently down on the vestibule. Draco stood and brandished his wand before the great double doors. “Alohomora!” Nothing happened. He heard no chink of locks unbolting, no creak of hinges. He sighed and looked around for something heavy. A collection of large stones from a destroyed column lay about twenty yards away. “Locomotor,” he shouted, and a stone rose from the ground slowly. He swung his wand in the direction of the doors and the rubble collided with them moments later, smashing them into splintered shards of timber and brass. He turned his wand on Hermione. “Mobilicorpus.” Her hair swaying lightly beneath her, she drifted into the air and followed him as he stepped through the debris and into the large entrance hall. In place of the sprawling floor was a murky pool of water. The ceiling must have caved in and flooded parts of the castle. The only entrance to the dungeons lay beyond the water. There was no other way; he’d have to risk going through it.
“I would not do that, were I you,” hissed a voice Draco knew only too well. Leaning on the banister and looking rather smug was Snape. “The water will freeze the meat off of your bones.”
It was a trap.
***
The room was so silent you could have heard a pin drop. Ginny, having been nudged on the shoulder by Tonks, blinked sleepily and rubbed her eyes, staring at the map on the table while waiting for them to focus. “What?” she yawned, and Tonks pointed at the very spot Ginny was gazing at.
“There’s magic at Hogwarts.” Usually this would be an obvious statement, laughable even, but nowadays magic at Hogwarts was a dangerous thing.
Neville leaned over the map with a now wide awake Ginny and Tonks. Over a detailed drawing of Hogwarts and the countryside around it, a deep crimson ink blotch was slowly spreading. “Wand magic, looks like. There’s been some activity there lately what with all the prior incantations still running their course and those potions spilled on the floor and all… We just assumed it was harmless, but this, this is like nothing I‘ve seen there lately.” He peered more closely, but couldn’t tell anything more. “Bloody ink is covering up the names.” Neville was staring directly down at the Marauder’s Map, charmed to show signs of magic at the great ruin that was Hogwarts. Fred and George had made copies of it since the war, but this, the original, was the most effective, the most accurate. “Scorgify!” The syrupy liquid funneled itself into the end of Neville’s wand.
***
“Snape,” Draco growled. He had not been sure how he would react when he saw his former exemplar. Snape had been his house teacher, his Potions master, his Legimens tutor, and his father’s friend. Now that the bone white Death Eater was standing before Draco, he wasn’t sure he trusted him.
/Why am I here?/
Draco’s mind flooded. Memories of Hermione filled him, and a warmth washed over him. He smiled to himself, despite the situation.
“I see you’ve obliterated the doors. Very intelligent. Now anyone with the willingness and desire can come waltzing through Hogwarts. Draco, I’ve always liked you, but you’re not the most brilliant of wizards.”
Snape’s words brought Draco back from a sort of trance. “I did bloody alright, I think. Survived the war unscathed. And I’m not hiding away like a bloody rat am I, then?”
“The single reason you are alive today is because I vouched for you to the Dark Lord. I assured him you would be useful, and you have been. Unfortunately for you, your mother is dead and my unbreakable vow is thankfully negated. Now, Draco, say your farewell to Miss Granger. No? Well, then I‘ll get on with it…”
Snape raised his wand, no doubt to bestow the most unforgivable of curses on Draco, but a strict voice growled “Not quite yet, Severus. He may yet have some use.” Draco’s eyes darted to the speaker. It was Hermione, only Hermione was floating somewhere behind the lithe brunette figure addressing Snape. He thought he recognized the thing fluttering in and out of existence, though he couldn’t believe it. Its facial features were like wax left a little too long in the sun, not quite detailed enough to be human. She moved in jerks, her entire figure sputtering like a candle in a sharp wind.
/What in the bloody hell is going on?/
“Master-”
“No.” The specter flickered for a moment, then glanced at Draco, her eyes flashing green. He felt his body flying through the air and the crushing pain of his back slamming against solid rock. Sliding down the stones to the ground some ten feet below, the last thing Draco heard before sound and sight ceased was “That should do for now. Where is the potion?” And then all was black.
***
“It is downstairs, almost ready, my Lord.” Snape bowed low.
Hermione’s hands conjured a high-backed chair. The figure sat. “I will wait here.” Snape whispered an incantation and strode over the inky water to the low door at the other side.
/Soon./
She would wake, pretentious fool that she was, and she would die.
***
Ginny pointed her own wand at the map. “Magnify.” A bubble appeared over the map, amplifying the entrance area.
They each read the names. ‘Snape.’ ‘Draco.’ And ‘Hermione’?! Alive? After years of searching, they had given up hope. But there she was, on a map that could not lie. They all saw the last in unison, as it kept flickering on the yellowed paper. It was by far the most disturbing of the four, and Tonks wretched back in terror. “No! No, not again! How could he…?!”
‘Tom Riddle.’
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Stay tuned and please review! - TooMuch
*Chapter 6*: Ripples
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the nouns portrayed in this fanfic. They are JKR’s. I claim nothing.
PS. /sdlkhssd/ = thoughts
PPS. //sdglker,bdsfser// = flashbacks (it got too complicated not to have some kind of indication)
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In the darkness, Draco’s subconscious searched for something to focus on. The second day he spent at number twelve Grimmauld Place faded into his mind’s eye. His memory was all he had now; it would fight for him. It would keep him alive as it had many a time before this. Nothing ached or bled, there was no fear or anger, no Voldemort for now, just this memory. Draco watched it play out as if in real time:
//Draco did a double-take. It was her, really her, and for the first time he saw her smile sheepishly, saw her eyes gleaming in the candlelight. She was beautiful.
“May I come in?” He nodded and she took a step, her bare feet noiseless on the stone floor.
/Marble. The floor must be cold. Where are the bloody rugs when I-/
“Alright there, Draco?” Another step forward. He put his book down.
“Better now,” he sputtered, and was immediately embarrassed to have done so. “What I mean is: what is it?” He questioned her through a blonde curtain of his unkempt hair.
/Hair cut! I need a hair cut! What have I been doing lately to-/
“Have you found the library, then?” She was looking curiously at the book, ‘A Guide to Muggle Appliances and Modern Conveniences,’ by Slonia Spork. “That’s what I came to ask you about. If you had found the library…?“
“I haven’t.”
“Where did you get that?”
“I brought it with me.”
“You own that?”
“People change, Granger.” It slipped, and she scowled.
“Oh, bloody perfect, Malfoy. ‘People change.’ Brilliant.” She wasn’t trying. She was usually at least twice as vindictive as the present. “Did you learn anything at Hogwarts at all, or did Crabb and Goyle really rub off on you that much?” She turned to leave in a huff.
“Wait. Hermione. I’m sorry. It was a stupid thing to say.”
“You’re bloody right about that.”
“Well, you don’t have to agree with me…”
“Just when we agree on something you have to argue about it!”
She was only joking now. There a smile the size of the horizon on her face. He smiled back, heart beating hard against his chest. Draco held up the book. “Have you read it?”
“Of course. I’m surprised you’re just getting around to it.”
“My only excuse is morbid curiosity.”//
***
Snape bowed. “Here it is, Master.”
“You are a loyal subject. You will be rewarded.” The potion exchanged hands.
“Where is the incantation?” Snape jumped as if struck.
“Forgive me, my Lord. I left it with the caldron.”
“Go and get it.” Snape stole a glance at the unconscious Draco before starting back to the dungeons.
***
//She pulled his shirt over his head, and he let go. He had waited so long, and finally she was there, finally wanting him. The black fabric settled over the forgotten book, and the portrait of Slonia Spork on the back cover sighed in relief.
“You are so beautiful, Hermione-”
She cut him off with a kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, his hand on the nape of her neck, pressing, deepening the kiss. His tongue found her mouth parted and ready. Her eyes were closed. He watched her brow furrow as he massaged her tongue with his, as he nipped her bottom lip. He heard her moan softly. She was so beautiful.
Hermione pulled back suddenly. “Wait… I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry-” Now it was his turn to silence her. He lunged forward, knocking her backwards off of his lap and onto the plain blue bedspread. His lips found hers again, and he kissed her hard. She struggled for a moment, then her legs encircled his waist, and her fingers found his strong arms and chiseled chest. She dug her nails into him, dragging them down his stomach and over his upper arm. Shock gripped him, sent ripples through his taut body. His teeth sunk into her neck. She moaned again, louder this time, and he could feel her nipples harden through her robe. Her hand wandered down his stomach, past his belly button and the edge of his pants, and felt the bulge of his erection though the fabric.
He looked at her, waiting until her eyes were open to speak. “Are you sure you want this?” She nodded, and kissed him softly.
“I want it, Draco. Don’t stop.”//
Sharp pain consumed Draco, and he was yanked from his memories to reality. His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light of the entrance hall. Everything hurt. Everything. He searched for Snape and the apparition. There Hermione was, drifting above the ground like a corpse bobbing in the ocean. Flickering, her likeness was sitting in a seat that was not previously there, taking no notice of him but instead drawing ripples from the black lake. How she was doing it, he did not know. She had no wand. Snape was nowhere to be seen.
/Fuck. Fuck, what is going on? How long was I out?/
His wand was at his fingertips. If she saw him, he would have to defend himself. He shuttered to think of her power. She didn’t even need a wand to do potent magic. For now she seemed bored and inpatient. The ripples were getting substantially bigger the longer he watched.
***
The group apparated outside of the gates.
“Red caps,” Tonks said, pointing at the burrows in the grounds before Hogwarts. A road cut through the grass, but there were burrows there, too.
“What did you expect?” said Neville, brushing past her and ducking through a twisted hole in the wrought iron. Ginny followed him, wand brandished defensively, and Tonks brought up the rear. “Stay close.” Red caps weren’t so bad one-on-one, but a whole army of them could be dangerous.
“Immobulus!” Ginny shouted , and a small dwarf-like creature stopped in its tracks and fell over on its side. They hurried on, Neville bellowing “Impedimenta!” or “Immobulus!” So many were attacking during daylight. It could only mean they were agitated by a missed chance. They ran the last couple of yards to the stone steps. There was a broom lying on the landing before the smashed doors.
“What happened here?” Tonks whispered. “It wasn’t like this-”
Neville stopped her, putting a finger to his lips. He pointed inside. Draco was propped up against the wall, plainly visible. There was a chair facing away from the doors. Neville couldn’t see anyone in it. A big black pool of water covered most of the foyer, lapping lazily against the first step of the grand staircase as it rippled. Draco didn’t seem conscious. Then Neville saw Hermione floating in the air behind a piece of the bashed door.
/Christ. She is here./
He motioned to Ginny and Tonks to get closer to him, then murmured the imperturbable charm. “Listen, Hermione’s in there. And Draco. They don’t seem cognizant. Any ideas?”
“Yeah, Snape’s in there somewhere.”
“And Voldemort,” muttered Tonks.
“How can he be alive?”
“That doesn’t matter now,” Neville said through gritted teeth, “What matters is that he won’t be much longer. We need a plan.”
“We should wait until we see Snape and Voldemort to give ourselves away. Right now it doesn’t seem like they know we’re here, or we’d have more than just red caps to deal with.”
“Ginny’s right. I say we wait.” Tonks was looking frightened.
Neville nodded. “Then we wait.”
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Yay! Finally, another chapter. Hope you liked it, I know it took forever. Well, as always, R&R, and thank you for reading! -TooMuch
*Chapter 7*: Drain the Dregs
You know the deal
/fsakfgjhart/ = thoughts
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Long black robes loomed over a large polished desk. Greasy black hair, curtained around a sharp nose and sunken cheeks, hid the cold, calculating black eyes of Severus Snape. He snatched up the scrap of paper on which he had scribbled the words with a leaky ink quill:
“Si ego sum non trunco, ego sum nusquam.”
The spell was so simple, so short and without such filigree as other convoluted spells. There was no rhyming chant nor any funny dance or waving of wands. If one wished to come back from a human horcrux, one must only recite this tiny phrase, have the surrogate drink the potion, and be whole again. Somehow it seemed too easy, and indeed it was.
***
The candles were all out, but a simple “Lumos” cured the dark for Harry as he picked his way through the mess of books and maps and papers littering the table and floor.
/Where did they go?/
Harry instinctively looked for some sign, some reason for their sudden departure. His friends had said they would be there all evening, cleaning up the mess and making dinner. Ginny was still looking for any sign of trouble, but she was paranoid. The war was over. Harry had won; the light had won. It was too easy, all too easy.
A noise, like dripping, came to him from the semi-darkness at the end of the table.
/What is that?/ He made his way to the other side of the room, to a bit of rough parchment. It was soaked. Harry looked more closely, and almost reached out to grab the end of the paper, but then realized what it was. Someone had spilled red ink on the Marauder’s map. The ink was trickling over the corners of the faded parchment, over the table, and onto the floor. “Scorgify!” His wand slurped the ink away, but it would not be cleaned. Bleeding as if several tiny cuts had been dug into it, the map began to hemorrhage again with crimson ink. There were names there, under the liquid. “Scorgify.” Draco. Severus. Neville, Nimphadora, Ginerva. “Scorgify!” Hermione. Then he thought he saw it, but he couldn’t have. “Scorgify!!” Tom Riddle. Voldemort.
Seconds later, it seemed, Harry’s broom was carrying him up into the clouds. With a crack he apparated, the wind whispering in his ears, and he appeared again just outside of Hogwarts.
***
Neville stole another glace around the corner. His eyes moved quickly from Hermione, still hovering ominously, to the chair without an obvious occupant, to Draco. And on Draco he stopped. His fingers were twitching. With smooth, slight movement, Draco’s hand was grasping slowly around his wand.
/So he is alive. What is he doing mixed up in all of-/
But his thoughts were interrupted by the sudden return of Snape. The former potions master was looking worn and sickly, but was wearing his most devious smile nonetheless. He was holding something, squeezing it tightly into his sweaty palm.
/What is that?/
Ginny pulled Neville around the corner again. “What’s going on in there?” Neville told her. “So Draco’s- Draco’s what?”
“I’m holding off judgment until he makes a move.” Neville risked another look. “Snape is back. He’s got something.”
“Well I say we do something. We can’t just stand here all day.” Ginny looked at Tonks for approval. Tonks nodded.
“Alright. Ginny, you go in with Tonks to the left. Get Hermione. I’ll take the right. I want to see what’s in that chair.” Once agreed, they made to go through the crushed entranceway when a rush of cold air whizzed past them. It was a broom. It was Harry.
Before anyone could do anything, Harry had dismounted and pointed his wand at Draco, who had gotten to his feet an instant after Harry had arrived. Snape stopped dead at the sight of Harry. He was not two steps from the high-backed chair. The figure in the chair was laughing then. It was a cold laugh. It was Hermione, but not Hermione’s voice. Her cruel smile flickered with the rest of her body, but thhe laugh did not dissapate until she spoke at last.
“Severus, give me the potion.”
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Ok, short, but at least I added. I figured I'd left it too long. It needs an end, and it'll have one. Thank you for your patience. Please R&R.
-TooMuch
*Chapter 8*: Spiral into Chaos
/asgfokhnat./ = thoughts.
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Draco’s hand shook as he brandished his wand at Harry, words he had longed to say for so long scoring his throat to get out. The world seemed to be at a standstill, and so many thoughts streamed through Draco’s brain all at once he felt as though he were not thinking at all.
Then it all cleared and, before anyone could even move, before anyone had even conceived of a response to Harry’s abrupt arrival, lucidity washed over him. A voice slid into his mind like syrup, like a calming draft, and he could not help but listen.
“Draco, do not kill Harry. He will try his best to harm you, but you must listen to me. He does not realize what he is doing. Turn your wand on Voldemort with me, and we will rid the world of him forever. There is no time. Trust me Draco. When I give you the sign, turn your wand on Voldemort.” All of this seemed to rush into Draco’s thoughts like one word as much as many sentences. Draco’s eyes darted to Snape, and gave him the slightest of nods. He might have been pompous, but he was not stupid.
***
Tonks pulled Ginny by the arm, but she couldn’t really feel it. Her feet moved cautiously, and her wand hand was gripping something very tightly, but she was numb, in shock.
/Voldemort is alive. Hermione is alive./
They stopped moving. Hermione was hovering, trembling a little, above the shard-ridden stone floor an arm’s length away. /How is this happening?/ Ginny’s heart was thumping against her chest, pumping the blood through her body so fast she felt she might faint. She considered lying down, then dismissed it; that would be ridiculous. Everything was so hard, so hard and now everyone she loved, everyone she had left, was in danger. /How did everything get so complicated?/ Images of her childhood came back to her, but she pushed them away and focused on the scene before her.
Draco and Harry were seizing that moment to kill each other, it seemed. /No. No, that’s not right. They can’t hate each other right now. What about Voldemort? Harry, bloody hell, forget about Draco and kill Voldemort./ But no one seemed to be moving.
***
He couldn’t let them hurt Harry. He couldn’t allow this evil to go unchecked anymore. He was ready. He could do this.
/I can’t do this./
Yet he was steady despite his nerves. He shut one eye and bit his tongue to concentrate; his aim was never something to inspire optimism. Trying to summon up the words he could barely even think, let alone say, Neville edged forward and braced himself. He would never be the same again.
***
Harry’s mouth opened. He was going to speak the words, the words that would mean Draco’s death. Somewhere to his left, Draco heard Ginny’s voice cry out “Harry, don’t!” but it was hollow to him. /Not even Potter cares what you have to say, you prat. Nothing will make any difference now./ What could she possibly say that would mean anything at this moment, these last seconds at the end of the reality? And then it struck him.
Draco focused his mind on Harry, and their eyes locked. Emerald eyes blazing in hate and anger, Harry shouted “Avada Kadavera!”
“NOW!” came a terrible roar inside Draco’s mind, and Draco, Snape, and Neville yelled the killing curse in the same instant. The world erupted into chaos. Green flashes of light shot out of their wands, and it was as if a great whirlwind had been conjured in the entrance hall. Debris and dust collected themselves up into great coiling circles, flying wildly about the room, hitting the walls and bursting from the fractured front doors. The cursed lake was swept into the cyclone, and the mad gray mixed with the silky black and bolts of fiery green, and a kind of night fell violently amongst screams of horror and pain.
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I was planning on one more chapter after this. We'll see how it goes. It may be that there is more story to tell, and I am sure there is, but I may not be the one to tell it.
I am, as I have said before, looking for a beta. Email me at absumoaevum@gmail.com if you are interested, or just for whatever. But seriously, though, i need a beta.
R&R, please!!
-TooMuch