Chapter Text
May 24, 1999
Lucius Abraxas Malfoy was on the ground, writhing in agony. Screaming and incoherent like an injured child.
Hermione had never heard a grown man scream as he did. Even with his face in the mud, the sound of his cries echoed perfectly off the dark alley walls. He was a mess, to say the least. His expensive cloak was torn, soiled with a mix of mud and whatever else littered the alley ground. His porcelain skin no longer looked white, there was blood streaking his angelic face, dirt covering his fingers and hands. His blond hair was matted with mud, he no longer looked like the great man she had feared while at Hogwarts.
He gasped as Hermione released him of the Cruciatus curse, still twitching and spasming from the pain as he lay like a pig in the mud. She stepped around him, her boots sticking slightly to the wet earth underneath her feet. She knew it was wrong. She knew that she should feel some sort of remorse. Some sort of guilt. She had been brought up to believe that using one of the three Unforgivables was one of the worst things a wizard could do; but right now she wasn’t thinking about her morals.
Hermione pushed her wet hair back out of her face and wiped at the steady trail of blood leaking from the shallow scratch on her cheek. There was a stinging pain that accompanied it, but it all disappeared when she uttered the curse a moment later. All feeling was swept away by the thrill of dark magic rushing through her veins. In that moment, Hermione understood why dark wizards and witches favoured the Unforgivables. To put it simply, it felt good.
She released him.
Lucius managed the strength to prop himself up on his elbows and knees, dry heaving as he tried to gasp for air. It was comedic to see, honestly. A man she had once feared - one of Voldemort's most trusted Death Eaters - reduced to this.
Hermione placed her foot on his side and pushed him over, he made no move to break his fall. “Please-” he wheezed, his back once more in the mud. “Please-”
She hadn’t slept in days, she knew her mind wasn’t working properly. But she must have been more sleep deprived than she originally thought, because as soon as he began to beg, she started to laugh. It was a laugh of disbelief; a laugh of complete and utter perplexity. If Hermione had time to stop and address the state she was in, it would be clear to her: she was in shock.
To an observer, she might seem crazed. Insane. Psychotic, even. She wasn’t, she was sure of that. She had never cast an unforgivable before, she knew it would take a toll on her mind. She also knew she shouldn’t have done it. But emotion got in the way of logic, and all she wanted was for Lucius Malfoy to feel pain. Agonising, unforgiving pain.
Her eyes were red and puffy with tears, all she could taste was blood. Her wand was no more than a featherweight in her hand as she pointed it in Lucius’ direction, he flinched away instantly despite no spell being spoken. She could kill him right here and now, and she wouldn’t feel guilt. No, Hermione was too far down the rabbit hole to feel anything but rage. She wanted him to suffer for what he did; she wanted him to pay for what he had taken from her. She would kill him eventually, but not before he had begged and pleaded for mercy.
The death of Lucius Abraxus Malfoy would be a long and painful process, Hemrione would personally see to that herself.
“Crucio.” The curse was effortless, she didn’t need to force it. Her pain, her anger, it was reason enough. Lucius was convulsing again, screaming. He wouldn’t die from the Cruciatus curse, she knew that. She wanted to torture him until his mind was numb. Only then would she kill him; and once his black, ugly heart stopped beating, Hermione would go on a long, all-inclusive vacation to Azkaban. She had made sure of that the moment the curse “Crucio” left her lips.
Using an Unforgivable was where the ministry drew the line of war; determining the good guys and the bad guys. Hermione had never even thought of using one of them on another human being. Yet… she had done just that. And she didn’t regret it. Not one bit. She made the choice to cast it, knowing damn well what the consequences would be: life in Azkaban.
It was silly, really - the fact that the Ministry had forbidden the use of the three Unforgivable Curses and any hex or spell that was overly gruesome… despite being in the middle of the Second Wizarding War. The Order had control of Azkaban, it was where they put any captured Death Eater or member of the Dark Lord's army they came across. It was also where the Ministry would put their own defecting members or defecting Ministry employees - like Umbridge - and soon, Hermione. It had put the Order at a severe disadvantage, and quite frankly, it was the sole reason they were losing the war. The Dark Lord’s army did not hold back when it came to killing and torturing the Order’s troops. They slaughtered anyone in their path, and their favourite method of murder was the killing curse.
It had been a little over a year since the Battle of Hogwarts, and things had only gotten worse and worse for the Order as the war drew on. They were down on supplies and troops, not to mention that their morale was dangerously low.
They had been growing more and more desperate over the past few months, planning more raids, targeting more of the Dark Lord’s bases. And to their credit, most of their efforts did not disappoint.
But eventually their luck had to run out.
Hermione just wished they had been more prepared for when it did. Because when a dozen of the Order’s soldiers apparated into the town of Haltham, England, with the objective of intercepting a small group of Death Eaters, they had been anything but ready. It had all been a set up, meant to draw Hermione’s group close enough to attack.
There had been too many Death Eaters to count, they were surrounded on all sides. When the fighting slowed, both groups had lost men, but the Order had taken the brunt of it.
Now, all that remained were Hermione and Lucius Malfoy. The rest were either dead or back in the safety of their homes, having apparated away at the first sign of danger.
Hermione pulled her wand away from Lucius Malfoy, ceasing the curse. She was shaking with anger, boiling from the inside out. How dare he. How dare he steal from her. He had taken someone she loved away from her, he had tortured them, beat them, and killed them. And Hermione would like nothing more than to make him watch as she-
She paused and looked down at the man before her; shivering and trembling in the blood-soaked mud. She had done that to him, she had broken him easily - too easily. All it took to render a man helpless was four minutes of the Cruciatus curse. Four minutes.
For a moment, she wondered if he was still sane. If he still had functioning motor skills, if he could still process critical thinking. But Hermione didn’t have to think long, because a few seconds later, he spoke.
“Please–” he gasped, staring past Hermione, as if his eyes couldn’t focus. “Please-”
She didn’t move, all she did was stare down at him. His nose was bleeding, so was a cut on his upper lip. “I’m not going to kill you, Mr. Malfoy.” She said to him, her quiet words sounded loud in the small alley. Killing him would not serve a purpose, no, she wanted more from him. She wanted him to cry and beg just as she had. She wanted him to feel the pain of losing a loved one, just as she had.
She would tie him to a fucking chair, and she would make the pain last for days. And then, maybe, she would kill him.
Maybe.
Once again, Hermione raised her wand. “Imperio.” The curse left Hermione’s lips before her brain could catch up with what she was doing. It was fluent, effortless. And it shouldn’t have been. She watched the pain leave his grey eyes, any and all fight left his muscles, he stopped wheezing for air. The alley was dead silent. “Stand.” She ordered, and he did. The air around them seemed to sizzle, the only plausible explanation she could think of was the dark magic she had directed upon Lucius. There was no going back now, she pushed any and all guilt from her conscience as she stared up at the man before her.
She knew she could wordlessly command him, but she didn’t think her mind was calm enough to do so. “Do not move.” The command was incredibly simple, but it worked. He didn’t so much as blink.
Hermione felt a tear drip down her face, warm against her cool skin. Her actions in that moment went against everything the Order stood for. She tore her eyes from the man standing before her and looked at the broken door to her right. It was splintered, hinges shattered from her efforts to kill Lucius Malfoy. The moment she found him, standing over Ron’s body, she couldn’t think of anything but murdering him. And God knows she tried.
She left Lucius Malfoy and stepped through the doorway, instantly noticing the burn mark from when she had cast a ball of fire in his direction. He had countered it, sending the spell straight into the wall. The weight of the situation hit her as she stepped over chunks of wood and drywall, making her way into the large warehouse.
Water dripped rhythmically from the holes in the rusted ceiling, collecting in sporadic puddles around the room. Since the Ministry had fallen at the beginning of the war, most towns had been taken by the Dark Lord. Haltham included. It was a small town with a tiny population to begin with, and that population shrunk when Voldemort claimed it. Its citizens had either been killed, or - if they were lucky - been fast enough to escape. But the buildings were left to rot, most had become overgrown by vines and mosses.
Hermione couldn’t feel her legs as she walked closer to the body, sprawled plain as day in the middle of the warehouse. His eyes were dull as they stared blankly up at the ceiling, his red hair was plastered with dry blood across his forehead. Although Hermione didn’t want to believe it, it was clear that Ron Weasley was dead.
She had only just reached him when her legs gave out, and she fell to the floor. She didn’t sense the pain as it radiated up her knees from the impact, her mind was focused elsewhere. Gingerly, Hermione touched his face with her hand, his skin was not warm; she hadn’t expected it to be. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at his still expression, her vision blurred as she reached down and brushed the hair from his face.
A sob escaped her as she took his hand and kissed his bruised knuckles, pressing her forehead against his skin. Oh, how she wished she could lay down with him, close her eyes, and eventually wake up from this nightmare. She needed him, just as she needed Harry or Ginny. She needed him. There was no way she could function without his presence.
She didn’t know how long she stayed there, tears streaming down her face at the sight of her best friend. Minutes, hours, she didn’t know. The tears slowly stopped coming, her lungs eventually allowed her to take even breaths. Ron was dead. There was no changing that. Lucius killed him. And Hermione was angry.
She stood, staring down at Ron, memories flashing in her mind. Memories of the two of them: the moment they shared their first kiss in the Chamber Of Secrets, the moment he asked her to be his girlfriend. And more recently, their mutual decision to take a break from their relationship.
Hermione turned, tearing her eyes from his peaceless body. And she walked. The Order would come by to collect any casualties once they knew the coast was clear. With a broken heart pounding in her chest, she walked back the way she came. Passing the scorch marks on the wall. The fragments of Lucius’ broken wand.
When Hermione emerged back into the alleyway, she had already decided what she would do to Lucius Malfoy.
“Miss me?” She didn’t think it was possible to feel more rage than what looking at his face instilled upon her. Of course, he didn’t respond. Hermione’s eyes swept the alleyway, searching for any signs of the Dark Lord’s reconnaissance patrol. She knew they were coming, but she didn’t know when.
The Dark Lord’s army was almost an exact replica of the North American military system: the same rank structure, the same terminology, nearly everything. Hermione guessed that the Dark Lord had decided on using it because most of the European wizarding world was unfamiliar with anything American, especially its military. He didn’t want his Death Eater’s to know that he was using muggle ideas, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up.
She stepped around Lucius Malfoy’s rigid body and moved her gaze to the rooftops.
There was no sign of his fellow Death Eaters, Hermione felt slightly relieved. But she still needed to wrap this up. After each small battle between the Order and the Dark Lord’s army, the Dark Lord sent out a few men to collect any straggling Order members and use them for intel. She should take Lucius with her, get information from him somewhere else - without the Order knowing.
Her day had started well. Very well, in fact. Until they landed in this damn town. After that, everything seemed to go downhill rather quickly.
“Expelliarmus!”
Hermione felt the weight of the disarming spell hit her, her wand flew from her grasp. She watched as it landed on the far side of the alley, then she turned slowly to look back towards her attacker. White-blond hair. Tall, thin frame. Death Eater robes.
She instantly recognised the figure of none other than Draco motherfucking Malfoy.
And he looked pissed.