This Subdued Fire

I don\'t own them, making no money off of this, no infringement is intended.
That said...Thanks for all your fabulous reviews. They make me smile. *smile*
********************************************************************************
It was Christmas Eve. The snow fell lightly, casting a lacy veil over the house. Hermione was packing up the study/office when the doorbell chimed. She got up from her place on the floor and went to answer the summons. It was Tobias standing on the other side. She ushered him in.

\"Happy Christmas, Hermione. I\'ve got the last of your parents\' estate sorted.\"

\"Ah. I thought that because of the ongoing investigation...\"

\"No. Remember when I told you Probate likes to have everything all tied up before the holiday? It\'s their present to you.\"

\"Oh.\"

\"Here. These are for you. Documents officially transferring all the property, both liquid and real, to you. A copy of your parents\' will. They thought you were responsible, so nothing is placed in trust.\" He placed the manila envelope in Hermione\'s hand.

\"Well. I suppose I\'ll wait until after school\'s out to sell the house and their practice. I can\'t conduct that sort ofng wng while I\'m away.\" She looked slightly downcast at the thick yellow envelope.

\"Well, you could, it\'s just a matter of finding a place to live when you leave school. I could facilitate both sales and finding you an apartment. Do you want to rent or own?\"

\"Own. I can\'t see not being able to do what I want with where I live.\"

\"Alright then. I\'ll get started as soon as the holiday is over. Is there an address where I can reach you?\"

\"Just give all my correspondence to my grandmother and she\'ll forward it to me.\"

If Tobias thought it a bit odd that she wouldn\'t give him her direct school address he said nothing about it. \"Right. Well. The wife has me putting up the tree tonight. Can\'t leave it too late. Cheerio, Hermione. Happy Christmas.\" Tobias let himself out.

Hermione thought that the first order of business would be to go to the bank and withdraw funds and take them to Gringott\'s. But as it was the day before Christmas the banks would be closing early. Sighing heavily, she went back into the study and switched on the telly. Nothing on this time of day but cooking shows and talk shows. That American import, Jerry Springer was on. Hermione left the programme running for background noise and ended up being thoroughly amused by it instead.

It was a show about cheating hermaphrodite trailer trash. There was a man (sort of) who was bewigged with cascading blonde curls. Next to him was his/her lover Earl. And on Earl\'s other side was Earl\'s wife, Jolene. The blonde wigged man, Bobby Ray, professed his love for Earl, despite all the screaming that ensued. Soon Bobby Ray and Jolene came to blows over the beer-bellied, flannel shirted Earl, who sat there idly scratching his stubble and his crotch while waiting to see who the victor was.

When Earl let out the loudest belch Hermione had ever heard, she collapsed in laughter. The phone rang.

\"Hello?\"

\"Hermione? This is Gram.\"

\"Hi, Gram.\"

\"Are you nearly done with what you\'re doing?\"

\"Nearly. Why?\"

\"Because, I\'m coming to pick you up so that we can spend Christmas Eve together.\"

Hermione made a face at Lydia\'s words. \"I can drive over tomorrow, Gram but I really don\'t wish to spend tonight celebrating something that I don\'t have any feeling for.\"

\"Ridiculous. I insist.\" Lydia\'s voice held a hint of steel.

\"And *I* must decline. I will be over tomorrow and that is it.\" Hermione\'s tone closed the subject.

\"It\'s because of Patricia, isn\'t it?\"

\"Partly.\"

\"I know you and she haven\'t gotten along but I think now\'s the perfect time to try to patch things up.\" Lydia paused. \"For me, Hermione, do this for me.\"

Hermione felt a little guilty. Sometimes she forgot that Lydia had lost Peter as well. However, she didn\'t feel guilty enough to want to spend twenty-four hours under the same roof as Pet and Walter and their two snivelling brats. \"Gram. I\'ll be over nice and early tomorrow morning but I cannot and I *will not* sit there and look at Pet\'s sneering face all day today.\"

\"Fine.\" Lydia snapped. \hallhall expect you on my doorstep at nine am tomorrow morning. Don\'t be late.\" Lydia hung up, thoroughly hacked off at her eldest granddaughter.

Hermione listened to the dial tone buzzing sharply in her ear before replacing the receiver in the cradle. She\'d never imagined Lydia becoming so cross with her over a simple matter like Christmas eve. Hermione shook her head at herself.

(When did I become so...standoffish? So selfish? I could\'ve said yes and made an old woman, *my grandmother* happy. But I hate Pet. I hate Walter. I hate Luke and I hate Catherine. And I don\'t feel very merry right now. There\'s no reason to pretend merriness when I\'m quite content here where I am.)

(Well,) she reasoned. (If not content...something better than I would\'ve been around Pet and Walter.)

Hermione sighed and switched off the telly. Dealing with family was depressing. She heard the post come sliding through the mail slot and onto the floor in the entryway. Hermione heaved herself from the floor of the study and went to sort through it. The utility bills were duherehere was enough money in her personal account at the bank to cover them. But as no one would be picking up mail tomorrow, she\'d wait until later to write cheques covering the amount owed. She also needed to see about switching the accounts over to her name but again, that could wait.

After sorting the post, she lit a cig andt out outside to smoke it. Strangely, Hermione thought it was disrespectful to smoke in her parents\' house, even though they were dead. It was completely frigid outside so she pulled out her wand and cast a Heating charm on herself. *\"Calderio.*\"

That was better. She was surrounded by a transparent veil of warmth. The sweet smell of clove scented smoke soothed her and she debated whether or not to meet Simon at their spot tonight. (No. If anything, I should at least try to stay away from him until after Christmas. Then again, he\'s probably with his folks doing the bloody Christmas bit.)

In one of their more lucid moments, Simon and Hermione has discussed the Christmas thing. Both had feelings very similar to the other\'s. Both felt that it was a stupid ruddy waste of time and energies. Having to spend the entire day, or heaven forbid, a *week* with people you couldn\'t tolerate was just not to be borne. If either one had their way in things, they\'d spend the night dancing themselves into oblivion.

Hermione used to like Christmas. But then it began to sink in that she\'d never see her parents on Christmas morning ever again. Never open another present from them again. Never trim another tree or haul in a Yule log with them again. Never again. Seeing your parents\' bloody corpses lying in their bed was enough to turn a person off of being merry ever again.

That line of thought gave rise to nauseating images of the bare bedchamber upstairs. She swallowed them back down and finished her cig in a hurry, not wanting to wallow in those ruminations. *\"Finite Incantatem\"*

The Heating Charm was off and the cold air rushed in to whip at her nose. Hermione went back inside hurriedly, sighing pleasurably at the convenience of modern heating. She stood at the curtained window, watching the last rays of the sun sink into the horizon. The house was quiet and dark. The timer set lamps sprang to life and the living room was bathed in a soft yellow glow.

Nights were always the worst for Hermione. Being alone in the house gave her infinite opportunities to dwell on her parents\' murder. Her thoughts invariably turned to Draco, feeling the banked hatred for him swirl into low life. She also was filled with recriminations. The niggling sense of mea culpas kept worming its way into her psyche. Sometimes it was almost too much to bear. If only she\'d said something, *anything* to the Headmaster when she\'d had the chance...Still, she did not give vent to the multiple emotions roiling inside her heart and mind.

If anger can make the earth liquid and sadness results in a formidable blizzard, what would the combination of both do? Hermione shuddered at the thought. Aurors and Ministry officials would be tossing off the *Oblivates* at light speed. (Well that will not be happening.) She thought firmly.

But still feeling a bit on edge she dragged herself upstairs to her narrow single bed. Hermione changed into pajamas and got under the covers, thinking in the soft light from the bedside lamp.

The phone rang. Hermione picked it up. It was Simon. He was calling to wish her a Happy Christmas, followed by a derisive snort. The pair chuckled darkly over the telephone wires.

\"So. What have you got planned for the hols, Hermione?\"

\"Nothing except sitting about watching my fat, pregnant Aunt swan around the house being a complete and utter bint.\"

Simon laughed. \"Sounds like my holiday. Just swap out your Aunt for my uncle Jonas and the scene is complete.\"

\"Your uncle is pregnant?\" Hermione giggled slightly.

\"No. But his belly\'s big enough to hold triplets. All the pints you know.\" Hermione could hear the smile in Simon\'s voice.

\"Yes. One of the reasons my father never drank beer.\"

\"Herm, may I ask a question?\" For the first time since she\'d met the gorgeous brown-haired man, Hermine detected a hesitant note in Simon\'s voice.

\"Sure. What is it?\"

\"Do you miss your parents?\" She\'d told him about her parents having been murdered. She just didn\'t tell him why and Simon had been lucid enough not to ask.

\"Everyday.\"

There was a silence on the phone.

\"Well, if you ever need to get away or something...don\'t hesitate,\" Simon offered up shyly.
ermiermione was rather floored. She hadn\'t been expecting that from him. She had put him firmly in the role of \'mini-break shag.\' Now here he was offering to be her shoulder to cry on. It fairly ruined the fantasy. Hermione made a face to the receiver and managed to keep the sneer out of her voice. \"That\'s a really nice thought, Simon. I\'ll keep it in mind.\"

\"Good.\" He had the sense not to press the issue. Hermione could hear voices in the background. \"Herm. My Mum\'s calling me to go get the goose from the deep-freezer in the basement. Call me later?\"

Hermione felt ambivalent but offered up a non-commital, \"If I can. I\'ll be pretty busy this last week.\"

\"Oh.\" The young man sounded crestfallen. \"Well. If you ever get in the doldrums and need a little pick me up,\" Hermione heard the double entendre. \"Please. Don\'t *ever* hesitate.\"

She grinned naughtily. \"I won\'t. You may depend upon that.\"
hey hey hung up and Hermione went to sleep, a foolish grin on her face.

That wasn\'t to last long.

She woke up screaming in the middle of the night. Hermione bolted upright in her bed, tangled in sheets. The cotton percale was damp with sweat. She looked over at the clock. It read midnight. It was now Christmas. She felt shooting pains in her arms and a bruising weariness all over her body. The last thing she remembered before waking up was the feeling of excruciating pain and terror. Hermione got up from the bed gingerly and wandered into the bathroom to pray to the porcelain god. But there was nothing there. It was only dry heaves. She arose from the cold tile breathing hard.

She snapped on the light and was astonished to look in the mirror and see tears snaking down her cheeks. Hermione looked at her arm in the bright flourescent light. There was a blurred red mark on her left arm but it began to fade before her very eyes. Along with the fading there came an unexpected jolt of euphoria mixed in with the pain and horror. The shakiness receded from her legs and she went back into the bedroom and crawled into bed limply.

The strange sense of euphoria was keeping Hermione from going to sleep. She waved on the lights, not thinking about having used wandless magic. A snap of the fingers and the decanter with the nearly finished Dreamless Sleep wafted over. Hermione took a large swallow and immediately felt the effect run through. She got the opened decanter onto the nightstand and with a lethargic wave, the lights went out and she slept.
***************

The hooded figures stood shivering in the dark cloudless night. Many were masked and others were not. The initiates stood at the front of the group. The sponsoring members of the Circle stood behtheitheir charges. The Dark Lord stood tall and straight. His burning red eyes shone malevolently from his chalk white face.

\"Let them come forth!\" Tom Riddle\'s high pitched voice was strangely commanding. The hooded figures lined up in single file to be presented to Vmortmort.

The first to be Marked was the son of Bella Lestrange, Commodus. The boy bore the proud features of the Black clan and he stood in awe of Voldemort.

\"Kneel,\" Voldemort commanded. Commodus knelt. \"Raise the sleeve of your robe.\"

Commodus raised the sleeve of his robe and held out his left arm. The Dark Lord touched Commodus\' flesh with the burning cold palm of his hand. A chilling scream rent the night air. The smell of sizzling flesh attacked the noses of all who were present. When Voldemort raised his hand from the soft inside of Commodus\' arm, there was a red, raised Dark Mark marring the flesh there. The boy knelt on the ground, nearly passed out, writhing in pain. His mother rushed forward to help him up. Voldemort and Bella exchanged smiles before leading her agonied son away.

Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and Avery all received their marks. Pansy did, too, under the watchful eye of her father, Francis. Pansy swooned under the burning cold of Voldemort\'s touch. When her branding was done, Francis picked her prone form up and carried her away. The Dark Lord merely smirked. Blaise walked up to Voldemort and knelt, holding her arm out proudly to him. There was a calculating look in his eye as he gazed on the beautiful raven-haired girl. He ran a finger down the side of her face. Blaise neither flinched nor turned away from his scrutiny. When the Dark Lord placed his hand on Blaise\'s silken unmarked skin, Draco could see her face tighten in torturous pain. But her eyes never wavered under Voldemort\'s touch. Silent tears ran down Blaise\'s face but she didn\'t cry out and she didn\'t faint like Pansy did. Voldemort gave her a pleased nod and let her arm go. When she saw the livid weal of the mark on her flesh, she kissed it reverently. Draco was taken aback.

(Hm. Blaise had hidden depths. Very hidden.) He watched at the girl got up, her head held high as she joined the circle of initiates once more.

More neophytes followed. Draco was surprised to see a few Ravenclaws and Gryffindors get initiated. And then, as Lucius Malfoy\'s son, he was the last to receive the mark and Voldemort called his name with a loving inflection.

\"Hello, Draco.\" Voldemort\'s high voice was sibilant with affection.

\"My Lord.\" Draco inclined his head politely.

\"Ah. I\'ve been waiting for this for seventeen years.\"

Draco remembered all the right responses. \"As have I.\"

\"Have you?\"

\"Yes.\"

\"Kneel.\"

Draco knelt and held out his bare arm. Voldemort clasped his arm and Draco felt the most searing, mind-numbing cold he\'d ever experienced reach down into his soul. A flashback of everything Draco had ever seen, done, tasted, touched, smelled, heard and known came tumbling through his mind.

He remembered the time he\'d dangled house elves over the balustrade of his bedroom balcony just because he was bored. He remembered the time when he\'d gone to visit the polyjuice brothel his father owned at the age of thirteen. He remembered the first time he\'d looked at Hermione and not felt anything that was remotely akin to revulsion or annoyance...the Yule Ball, when she\'d looked so beyond anything he\'d ever imagined. He remembered catching her creating butterflies in the Great Hall and their subsequent fight. He remembered the first time Hermione had come to him in the Astronomy Tower. The memories, good and bad, flowed through his brain and through his heart, down and out of his arm and into the Dark Lord. He remembered telling Lucius about Hermione\'s powers and with the remembering came the knowledge that he\'d hurt her terribly. It was this last that broke Draco.

He began screaming and screaming. Voldemort yanked the last memory from Draco and into himself. Draco fought so hard to not let Voldemort know how he felt when he realized that he\'d hurt Hermione. It was his most painful moment and it left an open wound across his heart. The Dark Lord tossed Draco\'s arm from his grasp. Draco saw the bright crimson burn of the mark rising against the paleness of his skin. The serpent entwined with the skull. Lucius rushed forward to assist his shaken, terrorized son from his kneeling posture in front of the Dark Lord.

Lucius pressed a potion to Draco\'s lips. \"Drink this. It will take some of the pain away.\"

Draco didn\'t question, he drank deeply and felt the most astonishing feeling of euphoria come over him. The pain was still there, to be sure but he didn\'t care quite so much. He saw the same fever bright expressions on everyone else\'s face that he knew that he himself wore. Voldemort clapped his hand once.

\"My children...my new ones. Tonight is a night of celebration! Tonight, on the night when the world celebrates joy and peace we shall raise death and hell! What is the engine?!\"

\"Fear!\" The hooded figures shouted.

\"What is the fuel?!\"

\"Discipline!\"

\"What is the destination?!\"

\"Order!\"

\"How do we achieve it?!\"

\"Death to Harry Potter!\"

The Death Eaters, old and new, began a revel so terrible that it left a blight upon the very earth where they stood.