Dark Lady

Chapter 15 ~ Hermione Returns

Draco Malfoy was the last Death Eater to take the Unbreakable Vow. He would be visiting with young wizards in need of positive male influences, sort of like a Big Brother. Hermione stressed the positive aspect.

Draco balked however when it was time to release him from service. He held his Dark Mark away from her as Hermione scowled at him.

"But I want to stay in your service," Draco told her.

"I'm no longer going to be the Dark Lady, Draco. I have my own life to live. I don't want to spend it babysitting a bunch of grown wizards. Now, hold out your arm!"

"But, what about us?"

"Draco, there is no 'us.' There never was any 'us.' Now, stop being a petulant prat and let me remove your Mark," Hermione told him firmly. "Honestly, how did you get so—so whipped?"

Snape thought Hermione only had herself to blame for Draco's infatuation. If her intention had been to break Draco down to his lowest point, she'd succeeded fabulously.

Draco was so stubborn that Hermione finally hit him with a Petrificus Totalus spell which stiffened him in place, and removed the Mark that way. When she released him, she began to push him toward the illusory pit, the hellhounds jumping up at the sides as they got closer. Draco finally Disapparated.

"Whew!" Hermione said, plopping down in her throne, exhausted. "I didn't realize getting rid of Draco would be such a chore."

Snape wore an expression of amusement on his face as he said, "Don't be so sure you're rid of him. Malfoys can be notoriously determined when they want something badly enough."

"Don't say that. All I need is Draco sniffing around me for the rest of my days," Hermione hissed.

"Did you think you could do all you did and have absolutely no repercussions?" Snape asked her, approaching the throne and looking down at her.

"Morally, yes. With a partial soul, sin couldn't stick with me, provided one believes in sin," she replied softly.

"And you don't?" Snape asked her, cocking his head.

"I'm not sure, but better safe than sorry," she muttered. "Now, I have to give the elves clothing."

Hermione summoned the House Elves, who cringed in front of her. She tossed them all little shirts.

"Now, get out of here!" she snarled at them, and they all gladly winked away. They remembered how she had murdered one of them. She looked pained after they left.

"They're scared to death of me," she said quietly.

"Yes. I doubt any House Elf will remember your fight for their rights, now," Snape responded. "And what about the treasure trove? You don't intend to abandon that?"

Hermione shook her head.

"No. It's all been transferred to Gringotts and put in trust to be used in a benevolent manner. Currently, I've assigned Albus Dumbledore to make the decisions. I kept ten percent for myself, however. The spoils of Victory. It's quite a bit of money, but a witch has to live."

A younger, less jaded Hermione would have turned all the money over to charity. But that witch no longer existed.

Snape looked at her.

"So, what are your plans now?" he asked her.

Hermione looked at him soberly.

"I have one more Death Eater to release," she said softly, rising from her throne and approaching Snape. She drew her wand.

"Display your Mark, Severus Snape," she commanded him.

Snape slowly drew back his left sleeve and displayed the hated Mark to Hermione, his eyes glittering. He watched as she murmured the incantation, then touched the white glowing tip to the skull and serpent embedded in his forearm. The Marks on both of them flared up, both gritting their teeth against the pain as the cursed images disappeared forever.

Panting slightly, Hermione looked up at Snape.

"It's over," she said softly.

A rumble sounded and Snape looked around.

"Not quite," he said, grasping Hermione's arm and Disapparating with her as the mountain under which Voldemort's lair was hidden came crashing down. The Mark still had Voldemort's magic attached to it, the magic he'd used to carve out and support his dwelling. When the Mark was destroyed, so was that magic.

No trace of the throne room remained. The mountain had shifted and filled in that cavernous area completely. It was now buried under tons of stone. The reign of the Dark Lord and Lady was truly over.

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A knock sounded on Albus Dumbledore's office door. The wizard, who had been working on the budget, looked up over his glasses. He was glad for a break. Attendance had been down for the past five years at Hogwarts, and there had been quite a few cuts in the curriculum, pay increases and boarding arrangements.

"Come in," Albus said.

The door opened and in walked Snape.

"Ah, Severus. How goes it with Hermione?" Albus asked him.

"Why don't you ask her yourself, Headmaster?" Snape replied, stepping aside. Hermione stood in the doorway, her hands twisting nervously as she looked upon her former Headmaster.

Albus stared at her.

"Hermione?" he said in a choked voice.

"Yes, Headmaster. It's me," she replied in a small voice, not moving.

The old wizard slowly rose, his eyes filling.

"Is it you? Is it—is it completely you?" he asked her, his voice still rather hoarse.

"Yes, sir. Severus completed the task you gave him. I've—I've regained my soul," she said softly.

Albus smiled broadly and quickly walked around his desk to the doorway and embraced the witch tightly. Hermione's arms wrapped around his neck and she began to sob against his shoulder. Tears ran down Albus' cheeks to be lost in his beard.

Snape sat down with an exaggerated eye roll and waited for the blubberfest to end.

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Albus was gobsmacked to find out that Voldemort's treasury was now under his control to use in whatever manner he saw fit to improve the lives of the citizens of wizarding society.

"I considered turning it over to the Ministry, but I was sure a lot of it would be redirected away to line the pockets of politicians and their supporters," Hermione said. "I'm sure you'll distribute it fairly."

"I will. A number of foundations will be created, and I will be able to bring Hogwarts back up to snuff," Albus replied.

"A raise would be nice," Snape interjected.

Albus smiled at him.

"It's in the works, Severus," he assured him. "Now, how did you manage to regenerate Hermione's soul so quickly?"

Hermione turned bright red as Snape looked at Albus rather blankly.

"I think it best not to divulge my—secret of success, Albus. I may have to patent it one day," the Potions master said, cutting his eyes at Hermione for a moment, the corner of his mouth lifting.

He should have been glad Hermione lost her powers. The look she gave him would have definitely killed.

"Very well, but I knew you could do it, Severus."

"One part application, ninety-nine parts perspiration," the wizard added, Hermione turning an even deeper crimson.

"The Minister needs to be informed that the Death Eaters have been disbanded and I am no longer the Dark Lady," Hermione said quickly, anxious to change the subject. Now, that she had her soul restored, she also had a sense of propriety again.

Snape thought of something.

"Ah, Hermione, what about—you know—"

He waved his fingers under his large nose as if waving away an unpleasant smell.

"Oh my goodness! I forgot about the Minister," Hermione gasped. "He still stinks."

Albus blinked.

"I admit Minister Titwilder has some tendencies that aren't appreciated, but—stinks?" he said to Hermione.

"No, he literally stinks. I put a curse on him when he was—er—less than cooperative," she informed Albus, who chuckled.

"More than likely it dissipated when your powers did. Don't worry."

"I hope so. The last thing I want is him angry at me and I'm a normal witch again."

"No one has to know that," Snape said softly. "Those in the know will simply believe you are restraining yourself. I think it best if you continue the deception."

"I agree, Hermione. And I think it best that you don't reveal the origins of your power. Witches and wizards might not be particularly religious, but they are wary of those who strike up bargains with demons. Since only I and Severus know about Liath Greyman, I believe it's best that little detail is left out of your story. We will have to concoct another. You could have spent your last five years in intense study, honing your power and skill and then returned to face Voldemort, besting him. That's all anyone needs to know."

"But the Death Eaters. There may be a public outcry that they weren't brought to justice," Hermione stated tremulously.

"I'm sure careful wording will take care of that. There are no more Death Eaters after all. None retain the Mark. Technically, the Death Eaters no longer exist. The public can interpret that any way they wish," Albus assured her. "I highly doubt any will step forward to reveal themselves out of fear of repercussions from the masses. I will take care of getting your story out myself, Hermione," Albus said reassuringly

"Thank you, Headmaster," she said, then yawned. She felt exhausted.

Albus then began talking with Snape, and their voices became fainter and fainter as Hermione fell asleep in the armchair, curling up like a child. She let out a little snore and Snape and Albus looked at her in surprise.

"Take her into my guestroom, Severus," Albus said softly. "She's exhausted."

"Yes, Albus," Snape replied, rising and walking over to Hermione. He carefully lifted her out of the chair and she wrapped her arms around his neck, snuggling her cheek into his thin shoulder and not waking as he carried her down the hall and into a spare bedroom. He gently put her into the bed and looked down at her.

"Rest, my Lady," he said softly, then exited, closing the door behind him.

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Optun Mooreshead sat on the edge of a small bed, sharpening and blessing his short sword. The old wizard, whose name was Darwin Pickens, had proven to be quite a kind fellow, inviting the monk to stay with him in his small home on the outskirts of Hogsmeade while he visited the wizarding world. Optun told him he had a message to deliver to Hermione from someone very close to her.

Despite Darwin's kindness, Optun could only see evil in the old man. He was only being helpful because he thought the monk was an abomination like he was. He would simply bide his time here, then, when he left, he'd leave the world with two less Hellspawn in it.

So, the demoness was rumored to have overthrown another wizard and was considered a hero if the story were true. Optun thought it was just one evil replacing another. Cursed beings could do no good. If there were any divine justice, this entire society would be wiped out in a manner similar to Sodom and Gomorrah. But, these were different times. Holy men had to fight the evil of this world. Optun was counting on a shot at sainthood if he managed to pull this off. St. Optun.

He liked the sound of that.

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Brother Liath had his shoulder to the cheese press when he suddenly couldn't feel Hermione any longer. He stopped the pressure, the whey dripping into the trough as he straightened. Usually it took ten monks to press the salted curd, but Liath had superhuman strength that came in quite handy.

His soul's growth had been expedited because of the kind treatment of the monks as well as the torture he underwent. By not destroying Optun, he had gained mercy, patience and long-suffering. His own soul was nearly complete. Cryptus excused him from the prayers and oblations required of the other monks, but assigned him duties of service within and without the monastery. He distributed cheese to the orphans, looked in on the sick and infirm and helped fatherless families with their chores and farming. He was a favorite among the townspeople, and although he was a monk, he turned the eye of many a pretty young thing. He had to remember he was in a holy order. Demons were very big on lust. It was one of the last things to go. Despite the occasional bout of carnality, his progress was excellent. He had also developed a conscience.

That was why he had stopped the press. Hermione was completely human now, and Optun was searching for her. The staff would find her even faster now.

Hermione was an innocent again, but more than likely, Optun wouldn't care. She was tainted, unholy and had to die. The sword Optun carried was centuries old. It had been fired and forged with the help of holy water, then blessed. It had already tasted the blood of demons and had a thirsty blade. And that staff that held Hermione's signature and soul fragment could possibly protect the monk from her magic. She'd be defenseless against him.

Liath sighed as he left the cheese room

Damn this thing called conscience.


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A/N: Thanks for reading. ***