An undocumented witch
Hermione (present)
"You've lost the plot, 'Mione." Ron's voice broke the silence that had settled over the group after Hermione finished explaining her plan. The night before, when she had first shared her secret, they had all been stunned into silence. Exhaustion had eventually won out, and they'd agreed to reconvene the following night at their usual meeting spot.
Now, gathered around a table in the dimly lit basement bar they'd frequented for the past year, Harry, Luna, Ginny, and Neville mirrored Ron's bewildered expressions. The bartender had vanished hours ago, leaving them to their own devices. Each nursed their chosen beverage, their minds grappling with the implications of Hermione's proposal.
"Why not just eliminate Malfoy, as we've always planned?" Ginny asked, her finger tracing the rim of her glass.
"Draco commands unwavering loyalty," Hermione countered. "His followers would rise up, likely replacing him with someone even more sinister. If Arys took his place, I'm certain he'd enact positive change. He genuinely cares about people. I can't think of anyone better suited to lead."
Harry interjected, "And we expect Arys to spend the rest of his life masquerading as Draco? Taking Polyjuice Potion every few hours? Doesn't sound like much of a life to me."
"He wouldn't need Polyjuice Potion, Harry," Hermione clarified. "Arys and Draco are indistinguishable, save for hair and eye color, easily altered with charms. Besides," she continued after a brief pause, "I don't envision it as a permanent arrangement. After a few years, Arys would gradually reintroduce the concept of a democratically elected Ministry."
Luna's soft voice cut through the quiet, "And what of Draco? He's too powerful to remain hidden indefinitely." She likely sensed Hermione's lingering attachment to Draco, despite everything.
"We'll do what we must," she declared, her voice hardening as she downed the last of her whiskey.
A hush fell over the group once more. She could sense a shift in their attitudes. They were beginning to realize that her plan, however improbable, might be their best option.
The past year had transformed Hermione, forging a steely resolve within her. Losing everyone she held dear in a single, devastating night had forced her to adapt, to learn the harsh lessons of survival on her own. Countless hours were spent honing her skills, both physically and mentally, preparing for this very moment.
Initially, revenge for Arys had been her driving force. Yet, as time wore on, a persistent doubt gnawed at her—the belief that he wasn't truly gone. His presence lingered, a phantom echo within her very being.
Those early months away from the manor had been brutal. Waves of overwhelming emotion would crash over her, unleashing her magic in uncontrolled bursts, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. Her current apartment was the third she'd occupied; the first two had succumbed to her volatile power. Fortunately, Harry possessed enough Legilimency skills to help her regain control.
The spell she'd cast upon leaving the manor still shielded her mind, though she could selectively permit access. Occasional lapses occurred under stress, but its protective barrier largely held firm. Interestingly, Dream Draco had vanished since she'd fled, a phenomenon she attributed to her subconscious rejecting any reminder of the real Draco's betrayal.
Hand-to-hand combat training with Neville and Ginny had added another layer to her defenses. Though not as potent as her magic, it offered a viable fallback should the need arise. She was no longer the vulnerable Hermione of the past; this new Hermione was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to get Arys back.
"So, what's next?" Neville inquired, a note of acceptance in his voice.
"We continue our surveillance," Hermione replied, her tone brimming with determination. "We keep a close watch on those closest to Draco, extracting every bit of information we can from them to uncover Arys's location."
"Who does Draco keep close? Who knows of Arys's existence?" Harry asked, his brow furrowed in concentration.
She pondered the question. Lucius Malfoy was the only person she knew for certain was aware of Arys. But she couldn't help but wonder if Draco had confided in his close circle of friends, the ones who now formed his inner circle of soldiers.
"Lucius Malfoy, Theo Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and Astoria Greengrass," she finally replied, her voice tinged with a hint of apprehension.
"Bloody hell," Ron breathed, his eyes widening in surprise.
"I know a bar where the Slytherins sometimes hang out...we could start there," Ginny announced, a spark of determination in her eyes.
"The Basilisk's Den?" Harry asked, a note of caution in his voice.
"We can't set foot in there unnoticed," Neville said, his tone grave.
"I guess it's about time we made some new friends," Luna said brightly, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
*****
The following night, five Gryffindors ventured into the heart of Slytherin territory: the Basilisk's Den. One of them remained concealed, a silent observer beneath Harry's Invisibility Cloak.
The bar itself was a dimly lit, cavernous space, its exposed brick walls adorned with a gallery of portraits depicting notable Slytherins throughout history. Their painted eyes seemed to follow the Gryffindors' every move, an eerie sensation that heightened the tension in the already charged air. Conversations faltered, drinks paused mid-air, and the Slytherin patrons turned their attention to the unexpected newcomers.
The group navigated the crowded bar and claimed a plush velvet booth near the perimeter, while Hermione, hidden beneath the cloak, settled into an inconspicuous corner near them.
As the initial shock of their arrival subsided, the noise of the bar slowly returned, but the glares remained, casting a chill over the Gryffindors' attempt at blending in.
Ron, his nerves frayed, muttered under his breath, "Blimey, this is a terrible idea." His eyes darted around the room, anxiety radiating from him.
"Wipe that ridiculous look on your face, Ronald. You are only attracting more attention." Ginny snapped.
Ron's cheeks flushed a deep crimson at his sister's reprimand.
Neville, attempting to ease the tension, offered a timid suggestion, "Shall I go order us some drinks?"
Luna's cheerful voice broke through the awkwardness, "That would be lovely, Neville. Can you see if they have pumpkin juice?"
The group's heads slowly turned towards Luna, their expressions a comical blend of confusion and disbelief. A collective silence descended upon them, broken only by the clinking of glasses and the murmur of conversations from nearby tables.
Surprised by their response, Luna tilted her head quizzically, "What?"
After a prolonged pause, Harry finally responded, "The rest of us will have firewhiskey."
"Does everyone have their two-way mirrors in case we get split up?" Neville asked as he stood.
Hermione, her hand instinctively reaching for the shrunken mirror in her pocket, nodded in affirmation, momentarily forgetting that her gesture was invisible to her friends.
An hour later, three familiar faces entered the bar. They looked just as she remembered them.
Pansy, with her short dark hair and piercing, unforgiving eyes, was dressed in a short black dress and heels. Blaise, as handsome as ever, strolled through the crowds, making eyes at any witch or wizard who crossed his path. And Astoria, dressed in a long-sleeved, flowing green dress. Her eyes still held the same kindness that Hermione recalled.
The trio made their way directly to the bar, their gazes fixed forward, seemingly oblivious to the table of Gryffindors. They ordered drinks and then moved to a table on the opposite side of the bar. Hermione, ensuring her friends were equipped with their tiny earpieces, discreetly approached the Slytherins' table, Extendable Ear in hand.
She positioned herself close enough to ensure the magical device would capture their conversation.
“Is that…Neville Longbottom at the bar?” Astoria's voice, laced with surprise, broke the silence. Her two companions subtly shifted their gazes to follow her line of sight, careful not to draw undue attention. “He’s…quite grown up..”
“What the hell is he doing here?” Pansy spat, her tone venomous. “And was he always..that..fit?”
Hermione watched from beneath the cloak as Pansy's eyes raked over Neville's tall, muscular frame.
The trio continued to observe him as he returned to the Gryffindor table with their drinks.
“How odd..” Astoria mused as Neville rejoined his friends.
“Should we go sit with them?” Blaise suggested, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’ll take the seat next to the red head…”
“Which one?” Pansy retorted sarcastically.
“Honestly….either…” Blaise's eyes lingered on the Gryffindor table, curiosity piqued.
The girls rolled their eyes in unison.
“Is Theo coming?” Pansy inquired, changing the subject.
“No, he’s with Draco tonight,” Blaise responded, his tone flat and disinterested.
The mention of Draco's name sent a shiver down Hermione's spine.
“Did you see how unhinged Draco looked last night?” Pansy's voice dropped to a whisper. “For a moment, I thought the earth might crack and we would all fall to its burning core.”
“I hope he finds her soon..I am worried about him..” Astoria's voice was filled with genuine concern.
Hermione's muscles tensed.
“What he needs…is a good shag…” Blaise interjected crudely.
Astoria looked scandalized, while Pansy simply nodded in agreement, taking a sip of her drink through the straw.
“Don’t we all…Do you think Neville would consider me?” Pansy asked, her eyes sparkling with a predatory gleam as she stared across the room.
“I would,” Blaise said with a wink.
“Never again. You’re a selfish lover, Blaise. I’ll pass.”
Blaise feigned offense, clutching his chest dramatically.
“Are you all going tomorrow morning? To the gathering?” Pansy asked, her attention still fixated on Neville.
“Since it’s not mandatory, I don’t think I will. The Cathedral gives me the creeps,” Astoria confessed with a shiver.
Hermione knew exactly which cathedral they were referring to. The memory of that horrific night was etched into her mind. She usually avoided that part of London, typically crawling with soldiers, but she had ventured back there a few times since that fateful night. It was near the large square where she had witnessed several gruesome tattooings and captures.
One incident in particular haunted her. A mother clutching her small, screaming child after the Sorting Hat had declared him a Level 3. The once vibrant and jovial hat now barely spoke, its spirit seemingly extinguished by its new, sinister purpose - categorizing witches and wizards based on their power levels. The Sorting ceremony, once a joyous occasion filled with anticipation, had been replaced by an entirely different type of sorting. The hat had become a source of terror. Hermione could almost smell the burning flesh from across the square as the soldiers restrained the child and permanently scarred his palm.
Lost in her thoughts, Hermione almost didn't notice the Slytherins finishing their drinks and rising from their seats.
“Shall we go back to your place?” Astoria's voice, directed at Pansy, pulled Hermione back to the present.
They exited the bar before Hermione could catch Pansy's response.
****
The following morning, resolve hardened Hermione's features as she prepared to venture into the heart of danger.
Ginny's voice, thick with worry, echoed in the small apartment, "Hermione, are you absolutely certain you want to do this? The square will be swarming with soldiers..." Her eyebrows furrowed with concern.
Harry stood silently near the balcony, still frustrated at Hermione's insistence on undertaking this mission alone.
"Hermione is the most powerful among us," Neville reasoned, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of anxiety. "She has the best chance of avoiding capture." His level-headedness, a constant source of comfort, did little to ease the room.
Hermione, her mind made up, moved towards the door, her movements purposeful and silent. She paused, taking one last, lingering look at her gathered friends. Their faces held a shared sense of dread. Yet, they knew her well enough to understand that any attempt to dissuade her would be futile.
With a final glance, she turned and stepped out of the apartment, leaving the relative safety behind.
****
When she arrived at the square, an unsettling silence hung heavy in the air. It was eerily empty, save for a few small children playing listlessly near the fountain. The imposing cathedral loomed in the background, casting a long shadow over the square. Her heart pounded in her chest as she cautiously crossed the vast square, the invisibility cloak her only shield against the dangers that might lurk.
As she neared the children, their struggle became painfully clear. Their clothes were ragged and dirty, their faces smeared with grime. No parents were in sight, a stark reminder of the harsh realities many faced during these hard times. Her heart ached as she noticed the stark outlines of their bones, proof of their hunger and pain.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small sack of Galleons. With a swift motion, she tossed it towards them, hoping the act wouldn't draw unwanted attention. The coins clattered loudly against the cobblestones, scattering in all directions. A small smile tugged at her lips as the children, their faces lighting up with a mixture of surprise and delight, scrambled to collect the unexpected treasures. Their joyous giggles momentarily pierced the somber square.
As she continued her journey towards the cathedral, a vice-like grip clamped down on her shoulder, yanking her back with brutal force. The invisibility cloak was ripped away, exposing her to the harsh light of day.
Three soldiers stood before her, their faces grim and unyielding. All the air seemed to rush out of her lungs, leaving her breathless and vulnerable.
"Well, well, well... what have we here?" the shortest soldier sneered, his stained teeth and beady eyes fixated on her with cruel curiosity.
He seized her wrist, twisting it painfully to expose her palm.
"An undocumented witch," he declared, his voice dripping with contempt.
Before she could even contemplate her next move, a heavy, steel cuff snapped shut around her wrist. The world seemed to tilt on its axis as her magic, her lifeline, was extinguished like a snuffed candle. An icy coldness spread through her veins, threatening to buckle her knees. Desperately, she reached for her magic, but it was gone, leaving her feeling hollow and utterly alone.
The soldier, his face a mask of cold determination, wrenched her arm behind her back with a vicious twist, the pain shooting through her shoulder like a bolt of lightning. He leaned in close, pressing his head against the curve of her neck, his hot, putrid breath washing over her skin. The all too familiar sensation of utter helplessness washed over her, and bile rose in her throat.
"You aren't going to fight us, are you, sweetheart?" he whispered, his voice a low, menacing growl, the stench of stale tobacco and unwashed sweat clinging to his words, further churning her already queasy stomach.
She fought fiercely against him, her muscles straining against his grip, but he only tightened his hold. Panic surged within her; she had to escape this situation, and fast. With a desperate surge of adrenaline, she leaned forward as far as his restraint would allow, then snapped her head back with all her might, connecting with his face in a sickening crunch. The sound reverberated through the square, and in an instant, his grip loosened, her arm finally free.
“YOU BITCH! YOU BROKE MY NOSE!” The soldier screamed as he clutched his face, blood poured from his nose.
She bolted, abandoning the cloak in her desperation. Heart pounding, she sprinted across the cobblestones, covering half the distance of the square when an invisible force slammed into her with the crushing impact of a speeding bus. The world spun as she was hurled to the ground, her body contorting in agony. Pain, unlike anything she'd ever experienced, ripped through her, flames seeming to ignite from within, consuming her very soul. She thought she was screaming, her throat raw and burning, but in the chaos, she couldn't be sure. Time stretched and warped, each agonizing second feeling like an eternity, until finally, the grasp of the spell released its fiery hold. Broken and battered, she lay sprawled on the cold stone, her vision blurring as three towering soldiers loomed over her.
The bloodied soldier reared his foot back and kicked her in the ribs with all his might. She felt her ribs crack, and it hurt, but it was nothing compared to the spell she had just endured. He kicked her again and again. His face twisted into a grotesque mask of unrestrained fury. Every muscle seemed to tighten, pulling his features into a snarl. His jaw clenched so tightly it looked as if it might crack, and his eyes blazed with hatred. She watched as the veins pulsed visibly in his temples, raw unbridled rage coursing through him.
The world spun and tilted. A high-pitched ringing filled her ears, drowning out all other sounds as she felt something heavy settle on her head. The hat's voice echoed in her mind, a distant, unintelligible murmur. Bile rose in her throat, and she turned, retching violently onto the cobblestones. The pain in her ribs intensified with each heave, her muscles contracting in agonizing spasms. The world blurred further, tears stinging her eyes as she struggled to breathe through the nausea and pain.
Her head rested in the sticky, foul-smelling pool of her own vomit, her body limp and unresponsive. A wave of nausea washed over her as she tried to sit up, only to collapse back onto the cobblestones. As her vision slowly cleared, she met the gaze of three stunned faces looking down at her. The tallest soldier cautiously approached, his palm clenched so tightly that his knuckles shone white. A phantom sensation of her own palm being sliced open with a knife filled her mind, accompanied by the smell of burning skin. Despite the mounting panic, her body remained frozen, trapped in a state of agonizing paralysis. She returned her swollen face to the cold ground, the taste of blood filling her mouth and she awaited the next blow.
“Go and get the general!” One of the soldiers shouted, his voice sounding distant and muffled.
Hermione waited, but the anticipated blow never landed. Instead, gentle hands turned her onto her back. The sun, a blinding orb in the hazy sky, forced her to squint as she tried to focus on the blurry figure above her. Familiar blue eyes stared down at her.
“Theo?” She wheezed as blood trickled from her mouth, her mind struggling to make sense of the situation.
Theo's gaze lingered, his head tilting slightly in confusion. Then, his entire body stiffened, his eyes widening in a moment of sudden recognition. A flicker of shock, then a surge of something else she couldn't quite decipher crossed his face.
"GET A HEALER! NOW!" Theo's voice, raw with panic, pierced the hazy afternoon. He crouched beside her, his movements swift and urgent. As he pulled out his wand, she flinched involuntarily, a wave of fear washing over her. His lips moved rapidly, forming a series of incantations. A warmth spread through her body, and she felt the agonizing pain in her ribs subside as her fractured bones began to knit back together. With a gasp, she inhaled deeply, the first full breath she'd taken in what felt like hours.
A surge of determination fueled her to sit up, but her body protested with a sharp stab of pain. She winced, falling back onto the cobblestones with a groan.
"Please, don't move," Theo pleaded, his voice thick with concern. His wand flickered, casting another healing spell, and another wave of warmth washed over her. His brow furrowed in concentration, his blue eyes never leaving her face.
The world gradually sharpened, colors and shapes solidifying as she felt the numbness recede and her limbs tingle back to life. A sudden, loud boom echoed from her right, and she saw the massive cathedral doors swing open with a resounding crash. A dark figure emerged, their features obscured.
She turned to Theo, who was now intently watching the approaching figure. His blue eyes were narrowed with concern, a crease forming between his brows. The air crackled with tension as the unknown figure drew closer.
"I heard we've identified something quite interesting," a voice purred, the words dripping with a languid boredom that sent a shiver down her spine. She knew that drawl intimately, a voice she could pick out from a thousand others. Every syllable was laced with a calculated nonchalance that masked a sharp, predatory intelligence.
There was no hiding now. With a slow, deliberate movement that sent a fresh wave of pain through her battered body, she turned towards the source of the voice. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.
The arrogant smirk on Draco's face vanished, replaced by a mask of unadulterated horror. His jaw slackened, and his skin paled to an almost translucent white. His wide eyes darted frantically over her battered form, taking in every bruise, every cut, every sign of the torment she had endured. The sight seemed to steal his breath, leaving him momentarily speechless.
"She's okay, Draco. She's going to be fine," Theo reassured, his voice gentle but firm. His gaze darted between Draco and Hermione, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes.
Draco remained silent, his body rigid with shock. He continued to stare at her as if she were a ghost.
"Draco, you need to breathe," Theo urged, his own voice tight with a growing sense of alarm.
She watched as Draco’s fear-stricken face began to contort with rage. The shift was so sudden, so complete, that it was as if a different person entirely had taken control of his features.
“Breathe, Draco.” Theo repeated.
The once bright sky above began to darken ominously. Sinister, swirling clouds gathered, casting an eerie gloom over them. The very earth beneath them started to tremble. At first, it was a subtle vibration, a barely perceptible shudder. But with each passing second, the tremors intensified, the cobblestones beneath her shifting and grinding against one another with unsettling force. A low rumble, like the distant growl of a beast, filled the air.
"Who. Did. This?" Draco's voice, amplified by the unnatural silence that had fallen over the newly formed crowd, boomed through the darkening square. Each word was punctuated with a chilling finality. His gaze, however, remained fixed on Hermione, a burning intensity in his eyes that sent shivers down her spine. The fear that had momentarily gripped him had been replaced by a cold, calculating fury.
Draco's eyes, narrowed and sharp, swept across the crowd. His left hand clenched around his wand so tightly that it looked as though it might snap. The veins in his hand and forearm stood out, taut and pulsing.
One by one, he met each of their eyes. Hermione could tell that he was delving into their minds, sifting through their recent memories with ruthless efficiency. A wave of unease washed over her as she realized the extent of his power, the invasive violation of privacy he was casually inflicting on those around him. The crowd remained frozen, their eyes glazed and unfocused, their minds laid bare before him.
Draco gaze paused on a familiar soldier, the blood now dried beneath his nose. With a subtle flick of his wand, the soldier was abruptly yanked from the crowd. His body, seemingly defying gravity, floated towards Draco, his toes scraping against the cobblestones as he struggled against the unseen force that held him captive. His face contorted in a mask of terror, his eyes wide and pleading as he desperately reached out for something, anything, to grab onto. The crowd parted around him, their faces etched with a mixture of shock and morbid fascination as they watched his helpless struggle.
The unseen force abruptly relinquished its grip, and the soldier crumpled to his knees before Draco with a thud. His eyes, once filled with terror, now glazed over with a vacant stare as Draco continued his silent interrogation, delving deeper into the soldier's mind. A cold sweat beaded on the soldier's brow, his body trembling uncontrollably. The crowd watched in hushed anticipation, the only sound the soldier's ragged breathing and the ominous rumble of the approaching storm.
“You enjoyed that didn’t you? You sick fuck.” Draco whispered.
Draco's eyes cleared, replaced by a spark of something like excitement. A cruel smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and his posture straightened. The soldier, still kneeling before him, remained oblivious to the shift in Draco's demeanor, his mind still trapped somewhere far away.
The soldier's muscles twitched involuntarily as a subtle tremor rippled through his frame. Hermione's eyes narrowed as she observed his odd behavior. He began to scratch at his skin, a fleeting touch at first, then growing more frantic, his fingers digging into his flesh, leaving angry red welts in their wake. He stood, terror filling his eyes, as a loud scream ripped from his throat.
His skin was…moving…it looked as though it was bubbling….
The soldier began ripping his clothes off frantically. He looked like a wild animal caught in a trap as blistering boils covered every inch of his exposed body. Steam began to seep from his pores as he ran hysterically toward the fountain. The bubbles began to break through his skin, releasing sprays of steaming blood onto the cobblestones, taking large chunks of his flesh with them.
Draco's piercing gray eyes remained fixed on the unfolding scene, a glint of amusement dancing within them. A slow, self-satisfied smile crept across his face, his lips curling upwards as he observed the spectacle before him.
Just as the soldier had nearly reached the cool, inviting waters of the fountain, his muscles tensed and he froze. In a sudden gesture, he flung his arms wide. It was a moment of pure abandon, a desperate surrender to an unseen force. One last scream ripped from his throat just as his entire body exploded into bloodied ribbons, the boiled remnants of his insides splattering against the ground with a sickening squelch.
Hermione let out a piercing scream, her voice raw with terror. She buried her face into Theo's chest as he knelt beside her. Her body trembled uncontrollably, and a cold sweat clung to her skin. The urge to vomit again was overwhelming, threatening to spill from her at any moment.
The sound of deliberate, unhurried footsteps echoed through the square, each one sending a fresh wave of dread through her already quaking heart. She couldn't bring herself to turn and face the monster responsible for the unspeakable horror that had just unfolded.
“Theo, take her to the manor.” Draco ordered coldly.
Panic clawed at her, as she registered his words, its icy fingers constricting her throat. Adrenaline flooded her system, igniting a primal urge to flee. She struggled against Theo's grip, his arms now a vice around her, but her fear-fueled strength proved overwhelming. With a sudden burst of energy, she broke free, springing to her feet in a single, fluid motion. Her eyes, wide with terror, darted frantically in every direction, searching desperately for an escape route.
Theo's strong hands closed around her waist, anchoring her in place. He whispered an unfamiliar incantation, its syllables weaving a chilling spell around her. The world began to tilt and blur, her senses reeling. In a final, desperate attempt to cling to consciousness, she focused on Draco, his gaze fixed upon her with a cold, unreadable intensity. Then, as if a curtain had fallen, darkness enveloped her, swallowing her whole.
****
She awoke with a violent jolt, her body jerking upright. The room around her snapped into focus, and a wave of horror washed over her as she recognized her surroundings. She was in her bedroom at Malfoy Manor, dressed in an unfamiliar white gown and tucked beneath an absurdly thick pile of covers. Bandages covered her body, yet she felt no pain.
Her eyes darted around the familiar room, landing on a tiny lump of red fur curled near her feet.
"Ruby!" she cried, scrambling to sit up and scoop the sleeping fox into her arms.
"I'm so glad you're okay," she sobbed, squeezing the fox tightly as tears streamed down her face.
The fox nuzzled into her, and she felt the tension slowly fade away.
"Oh Ruby, what am I going to do now?" she whispered, her joyous tears turning into ones of dread.
She continued to stroke the fox, her mind racing, until she noticed the thick iron band encircling her wrist. Fear gripped her as she tentatively reached for her magic. The band pulsed with a faint glow, and she felt her magic strain against it before fading completely.
Shock turned to horror as she slowly turned her hand over. A dark, angry black tattoo marred the center of her palm. She stared at the number in disbelief, her mouth falling open.
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