Whom the Gods Would Destroy...

Title: Whom the Gods Would Destroy…
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Angst, Horror, Mystery
Warnings: Character Death, Graphic Violence, Adult Situations, Dark!fic
Summary: DH-EWE: The end of the world has come. Millions dead, magic waning, Hermione Granger and Charlie Weasley are the last people left in Britain—left to pick up the pieces of their once great civilization. Why were they spared? Who is responsible for the death of a nation? These are the mysteries left as a legacy for two lost and lonely people.
Author's Notes: This is my first attempt at a Charlie/Hermione pairing, so please be gentle. This fic is very much inspired by my morbid obsession with ‘end of the world’ scenarios. There are few OCs in this fic, and I have tried to keep much in ‘canon’ as possible. WGWD is unbeta’d, so pardon the mistakes, please?




Whom the Gods Would Destroy…

Part 15




‘quem deus vult perdere, dementat prius.’ –A Roman proverb






A fragment of a dream caused Hermione to open her eyes with a snap, and it took several moments for her to realize where she was. The room was dark except for fire and starlight. It was still night, and Hermione figured she had only been asleep for a few hours. With a sigh, she rolled onto her back, hand searching for the familiar warmth of a body to her left. There was nothing, not even a warm space of mattress.

Panic swept through her for a moment, and she sat up in the bed.

Her eyes found his shaggy dark red head sitting in one of the high-backed chairs by the fire. Relief came as quickly as panic and Hermione could breathe. Slipping from the bed, Hermione padded across the room to stand by Charlie’s chair, finding that his jade green eyes were open and staring into the fire.

“Charlie?” she asked quietly.

He did not acknowledge her and she thought that perhaps he was asleep with his eyes open, or she had not spoken loud enough. She stepped closer, the arm of the chair against her thighs. Reaching out to touch his handsome face, his blinked and grasped her wrist.

Hermione gasped as her body was twisted and pulled until she was sitting in Charlie’s lap, her hands against his bare chest, face to face. Charlie was grinning.

Hermione slapped his chest, annoyed. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked, in part derision, part exasperation.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he whispered, his breath hot against her face.

She frowned.

Hermione knew that he had been upset by what she had said in her half waking state of washing. Of course, she was upset with both Malfoy and Ron; both treated her like a prized breeding cow. Even though times somehow demand that humanity preserve itself, Hermione was in no position to bear a child.

It was more than that, Hermione supposed, it was not just simply because two men acted as if they were in the running to claim her. It was also the fact that Charlie Weasley held her on his lap in the middle of the night, sharing a bed and a room together.

There were feelings to sort out.

Charlie’s eyes gazed softly into her own as his hands moved over her hips to her waist to hold her on his lap.

“I care for you,” she said as to answer and unspoken question. “I want to stay near you. I worry when you are away from me…”

He blinked slowly. “Do you love me?”

She could feel the rumble of his voice under her palms placed over his defined chest, a soothing sensation that trickled down her arms to her heart. Hermione was not sure how to answer, and stared into his beautiful eyes for several moments.

“I… I love that it was you, Charlie, that it was you who was with me. I love that you saved me, held me, cared for me.”

His hands moved to her face, cupping her cheeks between his rough palms roughly.

“In a world like this, love is even more complicated, isn’t it?”

Hermione tried to smile, her hands moving from his chest to grasp his wrists. “About what I said earlier…”

He shook his head. “You do what you want, Hermione.”

Hermione frowned. “It’s not that…” she trailed. “I didn’t…”

Charlie’s fingers traced her jaw, moving down to her shoulders, down to her ribs to her waist again.

“I have no claim to you, Hermione. No one does… But I…”

Hermione silenced him with a kiss, her arms wrapping about his neck as he leaned toward her. She kissed him thoroughly, soft to passionate, neat to sloppy. There was no one on earth that would ever mean more to her than Charlie Weasley did. It did have to do with what they had been together, but it was also the strength of Charlie’s character. He was strong, he was intelligent, he was caring, he was kind, and he was his own person. Charlie Weasley was powerful, wise, and someone that Hermione was happy to count as a friend and ally.

She loved him.

“I never want to be apart from you, as long as this world lasts…” he said once their lips parted and they gazed from gold to green and back gain.

Hermione shivered. As long as this world lasts…

“No profession of love, the notion of it is meaningless here and now,” he continued. “If it still meant something I would say it.”

Her lips trembled.

“I cannot take you out, cannot give you gifts, cannot take you to places that are special to me… I want to show you something beautiful to act as a counterpoint to everything we’ve seen.”

Hermione shook her head and smiled sadly. “It doesn’t matter…”

Charlie sighed softly, and brushed at her unruly hair, pushing it from her face. He kissed her again, quickly.

“Maybe someday, if the world rights itself,” he whispered, pulling her into an embrace, whispering into her hair, “We can actually sit down to a real meal.”

Hermione chuckled, emotion straining her voice, rubbing her forehead into Charlie’s shoulder.

“In the meantime…stay with me, Hermione.”






They slept until dawn, and upon waking slowly, it was to soft touches and smooth caresses. Exhaustion had limited Hermione’s arousal hours before, as had Charlie’s words. There was a fuzzy softness to everything, after she said yes to Charlie’s request. The softness did not last long, nor did Hermione expect it to. All around them, their world was crumbling bit by bit. The reality of everything did not allow for warm, tender moments, not that Hermione truly cared for them.

She was a realist. Romance was reserved for fiction, true love for fairy tales. The only thing she ever wanted from love was passion, contentment, and a life companion.

Ron had been so much a part of her early adult life. Hermione could not dismiss Ron, as simply a relationship gone badly, the dissolution of their relationship was not just his fault. Ron, despite what many thought, was not her complete opposite. Ron did understand her, how she prized her work over much of her life. He understood that she had her good and bad moments, her ups and down. He understood that she needed her space.

There had been passion, an overabundance of it. Arguments ended in climax on the bed, against the wall, or on the floor, but nothing was ever resolved. Eventually it came down to the fact that they simply did not like each other much although they did love each other. When the time came that Ron began looking elsewhere for nurturing and simplicity, Hermione was trying to make a name for herself outside of being a ‘war hero.’ The Ministry offered her positions, but none interested her. She did not want to be an Auror; she did not want to work for the Wizengamot.

While Ron understood many things about her, there were some things he did not. He could not understand why she wanted to write children’s books. It did not pay well. He did not understand why she did not use her own name for everything she wrote. He did not understand that she did not want to have children. He did not understand that she liked it when he was rough with her in the bedroom.

Ron did not understand many things. In the end, the relationship grew stale, and ended. They were still friends, but at a distance. They still loved each other, but it was not the same as being ‘in love.’

As Hermione lay against Charlie Weasley, the fact that Charlie was Ron’s older brother did not bother her. Charlie was not Ron, not in any way, shape, or form. They were related, but there were few physical similarities. Charlie was stockier than Ron, thicker in muscle, and not as awkward when he moved. Charlie smelled like the earth and forests while Ron smelled like grass and spun sugar. Charlie’s snore was soft and natural while Ron snored as if something were ripping apart in his lungs and throat. Charlie’s kisses curled her toes, while Ron’s were too warm, too wet, and too eager.

Hermione groaned. Enough about Ron, she thought as Charlie began to stir.

“Morning,” he sighed, stretching lithely against her breasts and belly.

“Mmmm,” was all she could manage to utter.

Charlie yawned, his arms stretched toward the headboard of the bed. Lowering them, he gathered her close against him, and then with a grunt, pulled her body over his, staring up into her face.

Hermione kissed him, not caring that their mouths were stale from sleep. And just as she knew it would, her toes curled when he kissed her in return. Under the blankets, her fingers brushed up from his hips to his ribs, causing him to shudder.

“We have things to do today,” Charlie whispered as Hermione slide her knees to either side of his hips. “Don’t we?”

Hermione raised her upper body up from his chest, the blankets slipping down her back. “We do,” she conceded in a sigh. Fingertips trailing along the trail of hair between Charlie’s well-defined chest, she gently rose from the bed and headed for the lavatory. As she walked away, she heard Charlie grumble.

After dressing and sufficiently waking to a new day, they sat on the rug before the low fire, eating out of tins again. Hermione told Charlie, in detail, what had happened after they returned to the castle. She told him about Kreacher and his cryptic words, Malfoy and his untoward advances, even Ron who had frightened her more than Malfoy.

“Have you seen Teddy Lupin recently?” Hermione asked using a plastic fork to poke a piece of tinned peach.

Charlie was drinking brewed coffee from a metal cup. The habit of eating out of their own supplies had carried on, and Hermione saw no reason to stop.

“Not since…” he started, and then trailed. He frowned as he drank. “He was a toddler when I last saw him…I think Mrs. Tonks had him out in Diagon Alley sometime before Christmas.”

Hermione nodded. “The Order of Merlin ceremony… I had no idea that Andromeda Tonks had died… That poor boy,” Hermione mused, her words fleeting and airy.

Charlie set his coffee on the rug and began eating out of the same tin as Hermione, using his fingers to grasp a slippery piece of peach.

“I’ll have Mum check on him. If I remember correctly, Teddy was about the same age as Vicky…”

Hermione hummed and finally began chewing on her sugary peach slice, her mind far away.

“And Harry? You said something about wanting to see him?”

Hermione swallowed before answering. “I can see to Theo as well. You wanted to speak to the others?”

“Yeah… I have a feeling that they will want to sit down and discuss what we’ve seen out there.”

It made sense, Hermione thought. Most of the group that went out to forage had been removed from the horror that was Britain. Hermione worried most about Dennis. Trying to calm the younger man down after bringing Theo to safety had been exhausting. Hermione was not sure if Dennis had anyone, his family, a girlfriend, anyone. Cho had her family, Seamus had his mother, Theo had his family, as did Oliver and Justin, Marcus had Katie and vice versa, but Dennis… Hermione sighed.

There were so many broken families, so many broken hearts. Hermione could only thank whatever higher power that her parents loved Australia so much and that Ron had survived…and Harry.


By nine o’clock, Hermione was walking toward the Hospital Wing, passing people whose faces were a little brighter than she remembered before. One middle-aged witch Hermione did not know actually stopped her to thank her and the others for being so brave to go out for food. Hermione could only smile and pat the woman’s hand as it grasped her arm tenderly. Hermione then began noticing the warm eyes following her, and the grateful smiles.

In the Hospital Wing, however, the warmth changed to cold seriousness.

“Hermione?” a soft female voice asked from the bed nearest the door.

Padma Patil was wearing an over large white medical coat over an ill-fitting dress. About her neck was a stethoscope and in her hands a clipboard. Padma looked very much like a Muggle doctor.

“Is something wrong?”

Padma stepped toward Hermione, her dark eyes wide with concern. As Hermione studied the woman, she could see how thin she was. In one of the deep pockets of the jacket was Padma’s wand.

“No, no, I just wanted to come in and check on a few people, ask if the medical supplies are working out, try and see Harry…”

Padma tucked her clipboard under her arm and grasped Hermione’s hand, pulling her close.

Whispering, “The supplies came not a moment too soon, Hermione. Come with me…”

Hermione allowed herself to be pulled down the ward, screened off beds on either side, each cot full. At the far end of the ward were Pomfrey’s offices, the stores and dispensary, and several private rooms that Hermione had never been in. It was into Pomfrey’s offices that Padma led Hermione, closing the door, but not completely, leaving it slight a jar.

“Could you cast a Muffliato, Hermione?” Padma asked soberly.

Hermione blinked, pulling her wand from her holster on her belt and complying with Padma’s request. The effect of the spell was immediate as they stepped further into the office. Hermione found it cramped, magical and Muggle medical texts lining the walls on shelves. There were several filing cabinets against one wall with more books stacked on top. Under a small circular window was an overflowing desk, and sitting in the chair, slumped over and snoring was Justin Finch-Fletchley.

“Is he alright?” Hermione asked, slipping her wand into her holster again.

Padma leaned back against one of the filing cabinets, sighing. “Exhausted, that’s all. He was up all night helping with Nott and a few others.

No one told me he had medical training…”

“Failed out of school,” Hermione said, then, “Where’s Pomfrey?”

Padma’s dark eyes turned to the floor, her neck bowing so that several strands of smooth dark hair slipped from a sloppy bun about Padma’s pretty face.

“She’s out there, in a bed.”

Hermione frowned, glancing to the cracked door.

“She’s losing…”

Padma shook her head. “Thankfully, no, but she’s older, and for months it has been continuous…healing, trying to ease passings, dealing with families. Poppy’s exhausted and ill. She has pneumonia, and if you and the others had not brought back what you did, I was sure I would lose her by the end of the week.

Potions are few and far between. From the most basic to the obscure, the potions stores are nearly empty. Slughorn had so few ingredients since suppliers are gone. He has to do with what he can find in the Forests or grow in the greenhouses. All he really brews that is of any use are Blood-Replenishing Potions, Calming Draughts, and Pepper-up Potions. We had to start using basic antiseptic tinctures and improvised potions for some things…”

Padma sighed rubbing her eyes. Hermione frowned.

“When was the last time you slept, Padma?”

Padma groaned. “Justin and I have agreed on eight hour shifts apiece, I just started…”

Hermione glanced to Justin again, and with a flick of her wand, Transfigured one of the filing cabinets nearest him into a cot. Moving past Padma, Hermione gently Levitated Justin to lie down. It was the least she could do.

“Thanks, Hermione,” Padma muttered, barely able to stay on her feet.

“Is there no one else in the castle that has the least bit of medical training?” Hermione asked, her tone becoming irritated.

Padma shrugged, and it seemed to take a great effort. “Poppy had started to ask around when she fell ill. Honestly, Hermione, I don’t think some of these people realize how bad off they are…after so long, you would think that they would pitch in to protect the collective well-being of the survivors, but they aren’t. Some people have been helpful, volunteering some time to help the elves with laundry, cleaning out bed pans, what have you, but others think they are on some holiday…”

Hermione could imagine exactly whom Padma was talking about. Then, remembering something Malfoy had said…

“Astoria Malfoy has some training, chemists training, I’ve been told…”

Padma’s dark eyes flicked up to Hermione. “Really?” she asked suspiciously. “Any one else?”

Hermione shrugged. “Molly Weasley might be able to help some…”

“She has, quite a bit actually. And Audrey, Ginny and George. I think there a few medics from the Harpies somewhere in the Great Hall, but that was just a rumour…”

Hermione nodded. “I can try and see. Charlie might know better than I would…”

The office fell silent except of Justin’s soft snores. Hermione was staring at the door and Padma to her shoes.

“Nott is doing fine,” Padma said finally. “Justin did a bang up job with what he had. There’s no infection. A few days, I think, and Nott will be on his feet…

His family has been by, and harassed Justin a bit. But… Nott Sr. seemed proud, how odd is that?”

Smiling, Hermione leaned against the end of the filing cabinets. “Considering the state of things, not too odd, I guess.”

“Yeah, the state of things,” Padma muttered, crossing her arms before her chest. “I lost two young ones yesterday, and Flitwick the day you all left…”

“Flitwick?” Hermione muttered, blinking rapidly.

Padma nodded. “My own Head of House. I couldn’t stop it, I cannot stop any of them from dying eventually from lack of magic. The youngest and the oldest go the fastest…”

Hermione’s lips trembled, thinking of the other professors who were older. Minerva, Horace, Pomona Sprout, Irma Pince, all was much older, but as far as Hermione knew, none were suffering from the magical flux in Britain.

“How’s Jaime and Harry?” Hermione asked finally, moving toward the door.

Padma, again, sighed. “Jaime is slipping gradually away. Poppy had tried everything, but it is the same with all the young ones. He is more resilient than most, but it is as if there an invisible cable running from his body, sucking away all magical essence.

I’ve told Ginny not to hope. The Weasleys have lost so much already. As has every family here.

But with Harry, he seems to be fine, despite being in a coma. We have done scans, tried potions, but nothing will bring him out of it. Ginny’s told me what happened, but Poppy and I both believe there is something else going on in Harry’s body, something magical that we can neither detect or treat with our current ability.

You came to see him, didn’t you, I nearly forgot…” Padma trailed, dazed.

Hermione cancelled the Muffliato when Padma moved past her and to the door. She followed Padma into the ward, toward a small niche away from the other beds and patients. Hermione found the Hospital Wing very quiet, only hushed voices marking the air. She had almost expected something far worse, screaming, groaning, or worse, begging. An antiseptic smell barely masked the familiar scent of death and dying. Hermione then wondered how one did die from a lack of magic. Was it painful? Was it slow?

Padma paused before reaching the niche.

“He and Jaime are in there. Ginny’s been by already and gone, she’ll probably be by noontime.”

Hermione nodded as Padma turned to walk in the other direction.

“Thanks, Padma,” Hermione whispered as Padma passed. The dark eyed woman merely nodded and was gone.

Screens blocked off the niche, and Hermione supposed that Poppy Pomfrey had placed Harry there, secluded, since he was the only survivor of the Ministry ordered executions. By the way Ginny had spoken, none of the family wanted to make it well known that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, had had a part in the nation wide holocaust.

Hermione stepped toward the screen, but paused at the sound of a voice. Surely, Jaime was sedated…

“…cheek to cheek. Oh, I’d like to climb mountain, and reach the highest peak, but it doesn’t…”

Her wand was drawn, her teeth clenching at the sound of a small, singing voice. Reaching for the screen, Hermione steeled herself as she pushed it back roughly.

“…to cheek…”

A little boy was sitting on a stool next to Harry’s bed, sunlight streaming into the niche. Wide dark blue eyes met hers and suddenly the boy was running past Hermione.

“Hey!” she shouted, turning to follow.

The boy wore Hogwarts robes, but she had not managed to see for which House. All she could see was long, messy black hair as the boy pelted down the middle of the ward, faster than Hermione could follow.

The doors banged open, but Hermione was further impeded, running into Padma as she had come to see what the commotion was about.

“Padma! Who is that boy?” Hermione huffed, her heart in her throat, her blood singing the very words the boy had sung.

Padma was bewildered, glancing to the open doors and the distant figure of the boy who immediately disappeared around a corner.

“I don’t know, I didn’t get a good look…”

From the far end of the ward, from the niche, a loud gasp, like someone choking on air, sounded. Hermione and Padma began running.

Hermione skidded on the stone floor as Padma rushed past. Sitting up in bed, wide emerald eyes searching, and trying to catch his breath, Harry Potter was panicking. Padma tried to lay Harry down, but Harry was fighting Padma.

“Hermione?” Padma asked, a growl in her voice, “help me hold him down!”

Hermione blinked and then moved. At the sound of her name, Harry seemed to calm a bit, and by the time Hermione touched him, he was lying on his back, his hands in Hermione’s. Padma stepped back and drew her wand. Hermione paid not attention, staring down into Harry’s face and wide eyes.

“It’s okay,” Hermione whispered. “You’re safe, you’re at Hogwarts.”

“Ginny? The boys? The baby?” Harry wheezed between coughs.

Hermione tried to keep her face passive. “Relax, Harry. We need to make sure you’ll alright…”

Harry calmed further, releasing his bone crushing hold on Hermione’s hands. Padma seemed to be done with her diagnostic spells and tapped Hermione on the shoulder.

“Harry, I’m just going to be right outside the screens, we need to find out what’s happened.”

Understanding, but still agitated, Harry nodded.

Hermione rose, her eyes studying her old friend’s face. There was a shadow of a beard on his jaw; his black hair was far too long. The old scar was almost unnoticeable as much as it had faded, but overall Harry looked quite fit for being in a coma for months. He was a handsome man, his thirtieth birthday in only a month. Hermione smiled, although her insides were jumping and squirming.

“I cannot find anything physically wrong with him, but I need to do some more tests, Justin…” Padma trailed, swiping hair from her face. “Justin might be able to do it later.

I don’t know what is going on, but that boy…”

“Padma, find Ginny,” Hermione said darkly. “Something isn’t right…”

No more was said, and when Hermione stepped inside the screens it was to find Harry sitting on the edge of his bed, his hands gripping the frame of the cot, staring intently at Jaime not ten feet away. Hermione glanced to the boy, a boy who looked very much like Harry.

“Jaime…he’s?”

Harry seemed to have calmed enough to realize that his son was nearby. As Hermione looked at him, dressed in Hospital Wing issue pale blue pyjamas, she was struck at how well he looked, more so than before. Under the thin fabric was healthy muscle tone, his skin was not pale, and his eyes, as they had always been, were brilliant.

“Not well,” Hermione supplied moving to sit on the stool, still warm from the boy who had been sitting there.

Harry sighed, rubbing his face roughly with his hand. His glasses set on the bedside table, but he made no motion to reach for them.

“What has happened? Why am I at Hogwarts? More importantly, where the hell have you been, Hermione?”

There was no anger in Harry’s voice, just confusion.

“I’ve…” Hermione began, but shook her head. “Harry, it is very long and complicated story. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Harry sat up straighter, his hands resting on his knees. “I think I was at work, at the Ministry…finishing up some paper work in the Aurory. Then… I think I must have been dreaming.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked quietly.

Harry shrugged. “It was like the time I died, just before Voldemort…” he trailed, his eyes becoming distant. “I was at King’s Cross.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Years ago, Harry had told her and Ron everything that led up to Voldemort’s downfall in the Great Hall of the castle. He had told them about seeing his parents, Sirius, Lupin, and then Dumbledore in some place that looked like a waiting room in King’s Cross in London. It was a disturbing mental image, Hermione thought at the time.

“I knew I was not dead this time, but I couldn’t wake up. And there was this music, playing over and over… It made me sick…”

Hermione moved from the stool to sit next to Harry, an arm reaching about his shoulders. “You know the song?”

Harry nodded. “Aunt Petunia, she… It was a movie that was on the telly, maybe she had it on cassette, but she’d play it sometimes. An old movie, black and white, with this bloke who tap danced and sang…”

The inside of her body seemed to burn. Hermione closed her eyes and rested her forehead on Harry’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong, Hermione, are you…?”

“It’s nothing,” she mumbled, pulling away from Harry. “You’re sure it was that song…”

“Cheek to cheek,” Harry added. “Yeah. Sometimes, it was that bloke singing it, sometimes it was another voice. A child’s voice.”

She swallowed thickly, but pressed on. “Does it mean anything to you? Besides your aunt…?”

“No,” Harry said airily, his eyes drifting back to little Jaime who slept soundly. Hermione could see how thin the child was, and still his breathing was, but more than that, she could sense an obvious lack of something. It was not just magic, although Hermione could feel the void in the boy.

“Don’t mention the song to anyone, Harry, anyone, understand?” Hermione said firmly, her hand moving to squeeze Harry’s hand for poignancy.

“Hermione, what’s going on? Why are you so thin? And Jaime?”

Hermione opened to her mouth to begin explaining, but the screens moved back and in flew Ginny Potter.

“Oh thank Merlin!” she wailed.

Hermione withdrew even with Harry’s eye upon her, mouthing ‘later.’ Nodding, Hermione left the niche just as Molly, Audrey, George, and little Lucy flew into the ward. The commotion roused other patients, and heads were popping out from behind screens, only a few of which Hermione knew or recognized.

Through the closed doors of the ward, Hermione stopped to lean back into the wall. There were benches along the walls, but Hermione did not sit. Instead, she stood with her back hard pressed into the stone, lifting her chin to breathe.

It could not be a coincidence that the moment a strange boy stopped singing ‘Cheek to Cheek’ over Harry Potter, the comatose man would wake. The boy, whoever he was, was a danger. Just as Klemper had said, a boy had commanded a resurrected Regulus Black.

Hermione could not understand how a boy would be able to orchestrate such devastation. Children were dying everyday in the castle…

“You look ill, my dear, shall I escort you inside?”

Amber eyes opened and before Hermione, dressed in a pair of black trousers, and white peasant shirt, was Lucius Malfoy, cane in hand. He looked roguish, and it made Hermione frown.

“I’m fine. Are the other two of the ‘Three’ behind you?”

Lucius blinked. “No…”

Hermione pushed off the wall, “Harry is awake. I was sure someone might have come to the ‘Three’ about something so important…”

She began to walk past Lucius, anxious to find Charlie, to tell him what Harry had told her. However, before she could pass Lucius, a swift hand grasped her upper arm. With a graceful fluidity, he steered her to a small corridor, leading to Mr. Filch’s offices. In the dimly lit, windowless corridor, Hermione struggled free. Lucius blocked the corridor, and Hermione’s fingers edged to her wand.

“What do I care about Potter? I’m sure when the survivors get wind of the fact he was one of the many who killed our world, he won’t be so well liked.”

Hermione said nothing, knowing that Harry had somehow saved himself, with the help of Ginny. For weeks, Hermione had mourned Harry, and to find him alive was perhaps the best news she had had for some time.

“Of course, with Potter awake, Ronald Weasley will have to acquiesce…”

She frowned. “Ron is the best strategist…”

“Really? It seems that you and Mr. Charles Weasley have proved yourselves much better.”

Hermione sighed. “Ron is being cautious. He is thinking of the welfare of everyone in this castle…”

“And you are impatient, and have a mind of your own, yes, my dear, that is what I find so endearing,” Lucius drawled, stepping closer.

He did not need the cane, and Hermione knew that his feigned weakness was a ploy to make those who were foolish enough to believe that Malfoy was not a threat, docile to his rule. All the same, Hermione had not seen Malfoy use magic either. She could not accurately determine how strong the man was, however, as the tip of his cane dragged over the stone floor, Hermione kept her fingers on her hip, near the handle of her wand.

“And do tell, my dear, what brought on this miraculous awakening?”

She swallowed, but stood her ground as Lucius took another step closer.

“A mystery,” she said.

In the dark, narrow corridor, Lucius’ silver eyes narrowed. Hermione blinked and looked away, her eyes moving to his hand wrapped about the head of his cane.

“Come now, Hermione, I know evasion when I see it.”

Annoyance coursed through her and Hermione lifted her eyes to Lucius’ grinning face.

“Let me by,” she said sternly.

He chuckled. “Evasion…”

Hermione moved, beginning to pass Lucius when he moved quickly to block her way.

“Tell me, do you have a plan to save our world yet?”

Hermione stepped back, both hands on her hips. “Were you waiting for me to come up with one?”

He chuckled, his voice deep and laced with honest mirth. “Oh, you have such a witty tongue…” Then, darker, “I would like to know how it feels wrapped around my cock.”

Her hand flew with a force and speed that would have rivaled Harry’s Seeker ability to pluck a Snitch from the air. Her palm stung when it made contact with Lucius strong cheek and jaw, the sound that resulted was sharp and terrible.

However, the sight of her palm print on his face lasted for only a second before his cane clattered to the floor and her body was thrown into the wall. Lucius Malfoy kissed her, roughly, passionately, but Hermione did not respond. Shock, disgust, and confusion kept her from moving or closing her eyes.

Lucius pulled away, stumbling back into the opposite wall near Filch’s office door. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then touched the red handprint on his face. His eyes were hard diamonds in his face, his lips curled into a snarl.

“Unworthy Mudblood…” he spat, but continued to stare at her. “Go save the world then, with your handsome Weasley offspring.”

Hermione blinked slowly, her mouth tingling unpleasantly.

“Let him fill your womb with another red headed brat. I suppose it is karma…that me and my line die while blood traitors like Weasleys…”

“Shut up.”

She had growled it, and as if obeying, Lucius’ said no more. Hermione was not sure if there was some sort of magic in her voice, but Lucius could only blink at her.

“You disgust me, Malfoy.”

His face crumpled slightly, as if wounded by her words.

“I would not be responsible in bringing another one of your sort into the world. You know nothing about love…”

He opened his mouth to retort, but said nothing.

“Charlie Weasley is the man you wish you could be, Lucius, and for that I would bear his children to spite you.”

The ice in her voice made the small corridor darker, colder, although it was supposedly a summer day outside.

“Never touch me again, never look at me, never speak to me…”

He looked to the floor, to his fallen cane, and almost immediately, Hermione thought he looked far older than his years. Before her was a broken and bitter man who had no joy in life even before the world had gone to hell. Hermione almost pitied him. Her anger compelled her to be cruel, when she wished she were not.

“And you would consign me to mere rubbish, Miss Granger, simply because I had offered you my protection?”

She scoffed. “If I did need protection, I would not take it from you.”

“Information then?”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed to mere slits. “At what price?”

Lucius straightened, his face recomposing itself, the pride returning. “A single kiss.”

Her laughter filled the corridor, but Lucius stood firm, peering down his long patrician nose at her.

“Nothing is worth that,” she laughed.

“Very well. We all shall die here…”

He bent down to retrieve his cane, and when it was firmly in his hand, he turned his back. Hermione said nothing, fully intending to let Lucius Malfoy walk out of her life. He, however, was desperate, she knew. His motives seemed clear, but still Hermione doubted.

“A kiss means nothing,” he said over his shoulder, his long hair falling about his face. “Nothing worthy of gossip…”

Hermione sighed.

“Information is what you need, and only I can give it to you. I was closer to the Dark Lord than any of the others huddling in the castle. I will even throw in a few flattering words…”

Shifting, Hermione leaned a shoulder into the wall, looking at the side of Lucius’ face. “You’ve already stolen one,” she said, crossing her arms before her chest.

“A mistake, a clumsy reaction. I may be old enough to be your father, my dear, but even I have my desires.”

She coughed, “You mean to say that you’ve been smitten with me since…?”

Lucius turned, “No need to be disgusting, Miss Granger. I am not a paedophile…”

“Just a disgustingly sick old man, yes, I know.”

He smirked. “One kiss, and the answers will be closer than you’d think…” he whispered.

“And why tell only me? Why not tell your colleagues, or someone who could move to do something?”

“So they could do what? They wouldn’t believe me if I told them what I know and have noticed.”

Hermione was growing tired. “And what makes you think I would?”

He stepped close again, and Hermione touched her wand handle.

“You have been out there, Miss Granger. You have seen and heard things that would frighten most into a paralytic shock. Besides, you seem to be handling yourself well enough…”

Hermione bit her lower lip. Lucius’ eyes followed the movement.

“You want to kiss me…why? It will mean nothing, feel like nothing…”

He leaned closer. “Did you honestly think that all these years of trying to belittle and hedge you at every turn that I was doing it because I hated you?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. It was like the little boy who pushed little girls in mud because they liked them.

“I loved my wife, don’t mistake me on that point. But it was so much fun watching you struggle and overcome. It made you beautiful.”

She looked to the floor. She just wanted to be free of him, for good.

“Then kiss me. Tell me what you have, and then disappear,” Hermione said in a rush, rolling her shoulders against the wall, her body relaxing.

Lucius grinned, stepping closer. “I’ll tell you just what you need to know, my dear,” he whispered, reaching out to grasp her chin.