This Subdued Fire

Disclaimer: Don't own them, never have, never will. I do own any and all OC's, so yeah, credit given where credit is due. In that vein, credit to Lillith Janvier, KazVL, Cassie Claire, Barb and Anna. You ladies write awesome fics. To Jen, Jen, Paril and Mon. Love my beta-ladies. You guys rock.
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The shrill ring of the phone jolted Hermione out of slumber. She blinked her eyes against the bright sunlight streaming in the windows. Levering upwards to a sitting position, she grabbed up the receiver.

"Where are you? It's half-past eleven!" Lydia's strident voice rent the stillness.

"You woke me up and good morning to you, too," Hermione sneered.

"Get up, get dressed and get over here. There are people who want to see you."

"Lovely."

"Oh. Happy Christmas." Lydia abruptly hung ud Hed Hermione gave the dead line a raspberry and hung up the phone.

Hermione dragged herself from the covers of her bed. It was getting harder and harder to awaken from Dreamless Sleep. Her body still ached mysteriously from last night. The sharp shooting pains in hrm wrm were now dull needles prickling her skin. She trundled downstairs and put the coffee on.

The steaming sharpness that scented the air did much to perk Hermione up. Pouring a goodly measure into a mug which read "Root Canals Effing Suck", she liberally laced it with creme and sugar before sipping carefully.

"Ah. Perfection." Hermione's eyes closed in caffeinated pleasure. She drank down the rest of the creamy tan beverage. A sigh. "Brace yourself, Granger."
ermiermione pushed herself away from the countertop upon which she leaned and went to make herself ready for Christmas.
*****************

There were other cousins from Derbyshire and Wiltshire and even those as far flung as the Cornish Grangers deigned to make an appearance. Lydia's house was crammed with people all chatting away, opening presents and drinking eggnog and being merry. Those who Hermione hadn't seen since her parents had been killed offered up their empty condolences.

She was quickly finding out that not one of their tight smiles or furtive glances had any importance for her.

Yet...something in Hermione was deeply moved by the sights of the families celebrating Christmas. The small pockets of family making a larger family...despite the fact that she couldn't stand most of these people, she was aware that they and she bore filial responsibility towards one another. And if Harry failed to kill Voldemort...if the Dark Lord failed to fa.
.

What did it matter to her? In the grand scheme of things she meant nothing, nothing. Despite having great power, there had been no conference of great responsibility. In the grand scheme of things, she was just another Mudblood. Her mouth quirked derisively at thoughought. (If only they knew what horrors awaited them, should Harry fail...)

She stood in a corner of the dining room, sipping eggnog from an etched crystal cup. Close to the kitchen, Hermione soaked up the sights and smells of a family gathering. She missed her parents terribly, but was determined to put on a brave face. Hermione drained her eggnog and went to the punchbowl for a refill, only to find that the bowl was empty, too.

Picking up the empty bowl, she wended her way through the crush of bodies back to the kitchen door. About to go in, she stopped, hearing her Aunt Pet talking to Daisy, a cousin from Leeds. Curious, Hermione listened intently.

"Well, I don't know what's wrong with the girl. She's not wanted to spend a bit of time with Mother or Walter or mys let let alone her little cousins! She *knows* how much they adore her but she just brushes them off like she's too good for the likes of us." That was Hermione's aunt, being judgmental as ever.

Daisy's musical voice followed. "Come on, Pet. The girl's lost her parents a little over a month ago. Cut her some slack."

"How much slack does she need? She's all but removed herself from this family. Dammit, we're here to love her and support her, not...approbate her self-imposed exclusion. She's been penned up in that house for a week now, doing God-knows-what. That's not normal, Daisy, I don't care what you say."

"Pet...you're being really hard."

"Well, someone's got to be. Her parents spoiled that girl completely rotten. Letting her go to that freak school, taking her on trips to Klosters...ridiculous. If she were mine, she'd have her nose in *normal* books and associating with *normal* people. Did I tyou you how they found my poor brother? Well he was..."

Hermione shut the door, not caring to hear anymore of Pet's gossiping tirade. She hadn't even felt the magic running though her fingers but when she set the punchbowl on a nearby table, she could see soft, moulded handprints marring the hard surface of the etched bowl. The vessel was ruined. Hermione left the dining room and went upstairs to the spare bedroom where the coats were being kept.

She pulled out her wand. *Accio coat!*

The long camel garment tugged itself from the pile of outerwear and flew into Hermione's outstretched hand. She pulled it on and deciding to avoid all the questions which would inevitably come, she Apparated from the street and into her car. Hermione jammed the key into the ignition and peeled out of there with a wild squeal of rubber on asphalt.

She went straight to the house but then thought better of it. Hermione parked the car in the garage and Apparato Poo Poll's flat. Poll was the mother superior of Simon's little group of dope fiends. She was the one who scored all the good product and passed it along - for a substantial fee, of course. Poll had been dealing since she turned fifteen. Her business was now large, but tidy, organised and reliable. She never sold to anyone she didn't know and managed to keep her nose clean by using lots of decoys. If anyone went to the slammer on her behalf, she made sure they were generousompeompensated. If anyone died while under her protection, her policy was to strike back hard and fast and 'Leave 'em so low, their balls are dragging the pavement, luv.'

When Hermione first met Poll, she'd been struck by how *unlike* a dealer she was. The woman was perhaps twenty-four, tiny and sparrow-like. Poll had stick straight brownr, dr, deep brown eyes and a smattering of wholesome looking freckles across her upturned nose. Poll was inclined to giggles and silliness, yet she ruled her business with an iron fist. Everyone knew not to cross Poll.

Poll was vaguely surprised to see Hermione, but not really. Her business really did pick up around the holiday season. People were ever so willing to forget their problems at that time of the year.

"Hullo, Herm. What can I do you for?"

"Have you seen Simon around?"

"Nah. Prolly doing that Christmas thing with his folks. Whyn't you call 'im?"

"Because he might actually be having a *good* Christmas, if such a thing is possible. I don't want to intrude."

Poll chuckled. "Believe you me, that boy wouldn't mind getting interrupted by the likes o' you. Ring 'im up. You know Belladonna's is having an Anti-Yule bash tonight. He'll more'n likely be there."

Hermione had forgotten about the club having a party tonight. Poll was right. Simon *would* be there. She needed to see him. Bidding Poll farewell, Hermione left the flat, dimly realising that she was using Simon, but not really caring as she'd never see him again once she went back to Hogwarts.

Hogwarts. The name conjured up feelings of both hope and despair, longing and loathing. At Hogwarts she was safe but it was also the lure of Hogwarts that drew her from her parents' side and into the precarious wizarding world. Maybe if she'd not gone there, they'd still be alive.

She drove around aimlessly, thinking about past Christmases and how much she'd taken them for granted. Thoughts of 'if only' rose up to pick at her brain. For the first time in a long time, Hermione was filled with regrnd rnd remorse. The unfamiliar feeling of deep self-loathing assailed her and a sob escaped before she was able to swallow it back down.

(I can't deal with this. Not at all.) Turning onto her street, she spotted an empty park and pulled into it.

The asphalt paved lane was crammed with the cars of visitors to other houses on the street. The lights were burning brightly in the twilight evening. All was quiet, yet Hermione could feel all the noise, the boisterous activity rolling towards her. It chilled her as the icy winter air could never do. She hurried down the street, wishing that she would see a friendly face. As if by magic, a familiar form sat on the front steps.

"Hello, luv." Simon gave Hermione a small smile.

"I thought you were celebrating with your family." Hermione eyed him with a mixture of suspicion and relief.

"Yeah, well, I had to get away. Jonas and his boyfriend were driving me mad. They were trying to make me over and shite. Bloody ridiculous." Simon made a face.

Hermione grinned, forgetting her earlier misgivings. "I had to do the same. Pet was being a bitch...as per usual." They exchanged matching grins and then fell silent.

"Oh my. I've forgotten my manners. Would you like to come in?" Hermione gestured to the door.

Simon looked at the house. Hermione told him that she'd found her parents' bodies there. He gave a small shudder. "No thanks. I mean, no offense butgivegives me the willies. How do you stand it?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't think about it most of the time."

"You've got more testicular fortitude than I will ever possess, Hermione luv. I went to see Poll earlier. She said I'd just missed you. What do you say me and you drown our sorrows?" The curly brown haired young man patted his pocket.

Hermione felt that she should say no, but something inside of her formed the word "yes."

"Good on ya. Shall we adjourn to Belladonna's?" He came down from the steps and offered Hermione his arm.

She smiled and took it. "Yes, let's."
**************

Draco awoke from a surfeit of dark pleasures. He sat up and held his head in his hand, trying to will away the massive headache pounding his cranium with such viciousness. The last rays of watery sunlight streamed in the uncurtained windows. He blinked, and again, eyes widening at the remnants of debauchery around him. There were bodies all around, some alive, some not and some just now making their exit into Death's hinterlands.

There were supine and prone figures sprawled on the black satin sheets where Draco lay. Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Commodus Lestrange were entangled. Limbs were so twisted together that Draco couldn't tell where they began or ended. Just as he managed to fight down the swell of nausea in his throat, the door opened and Blaise came sashaying in.

The black-haired beauty looked vastly different from the girl Draco knew at Hogwarts. There was now a solid brittleness about her, a deadness in her eyes that made Draco fear her and pity her all at once. When she drew alongside of the tangled bed, he could see the small crimson spark in the center of her pupils. Blaise flicked her eyes over him disdainfully.

"My lord requires your presence immediately."

"Why?" Draco asked.

"I do not question, I only obey - as should you." Blaise's mouth tightened with patent disapproval. "Get up and get dressed. Do not keep him waiting."

Draco looked closer at Blaise. He saw the very faint bruises that couldn't be completely erased by magic and the stress lines around her fine eyes. But it was the lack of utter warmth in her gaze that made him become suspicious. He arose from the tangle of bodies, careful not to wake the others from their stupor.

When Blaise saw his unclothed body, she sniffed in superiority and gave him a little smirk. Draco's suspicions deepened. He quickly got dressed and followed her to the Dark Lord's chamber. When Blaise crossed the room to take her place on Voldemort's left side, placing her hand on his shoulder proprietarily, mimicing Bellatrix Lestrange's posture on Voldemort's right side, Draco's suspicions were confirmed.

(The silly bint's gone and let *him* touch her.) He mentally shook his head. (Ah, Blaise, that road leads to madness.) Draco pitied her and mourned her loss, for Blaise was as dead to hi if if she'd been buried.

He gave a small bow before Voldemort and the two women. "How may I serve you my liege?"

"Ah, Draco. I've waited a long time for you to be ready." The Dark Lord's lipless mouth curved into a monstrosity of a smile. "I do believe you know what I want of you."

Draco breathed deeply. "Yes, my lord, I do."

"Good. I've decided that the ceremony will take place on Beltaine." Voldemort chuckled. "Oh, Spring...always was my favorite season. Will you be prepared?"

Draco thought about it briefly. He had no more to lose. Hermione despised him, he had taken the Mark, what else was there? "Yes, my lord. I will be ready."

"Excellent." Voldemort's thin smile widened and Draco shivered. It was like looking into the face of the devil. Voldemort rose from his seat. "Come along ladies. There is much to be done."

The Dark Lord swept from the room, Bella and Blaise trailing in his wake. Draco stood, looking after them. He felt as if he'd just signed his life away. The Mark on his arm burned with cold and he rubbed it absently.
**************

Hermione and Simon whiled away the rest of Christmas and on into the week. The perils of having more than adequate funds and too much time on their hands had ensared them. Monday arrived after a particularly hedonistic weekend. They were walking along the high street and the signal changed for them to cross.

Simon stepped into the crosswalk tugging Hermione behind him playfully. There was a patch of ice on the asphalt and down they went, laughing. As the pair picked themselves up from the street, a car came barrelling around the corner at speed. A screech of wheels and Hermione felt herself being flung back onto the pavement.

She landed with a sickening thud. The few people on the street rushed to help her. She was shaken and bruised but otherwise ok.

When she looked into the street however....

Simon lay face up on the blacktop. His nose was completely smashe and and limbs were stuck out at strange angles. Hermione ran over to him. "Someone call the police!!" She screamed at the stock still pedestrians. The offending vehicle peeled out as soon as its driver realised what had happened.

"Oh, Simon, luv. Not you, too." She knelt in the street, cradling his head in her arms. It flopped oddly because the vertebrae were completely snapped. She closed his eyes and placed two pennies on his eyes, in the old tradition.

An ambulance came tearing down the street along with a couple of policecars. But there was nothing more to do. The paramedics tagged the body and put Simon into a bag. They asked Hermione if she wanted to ride with him. She did, and climbed into the back.

The ride to the hospital seemed interminable. Once there, she sat in the waiting room, rocking back and forth slowly, avoiding the gaze of Simon's parents. Hermione listened absently whilst the attending physician explained that Simon died on impact from massive internal bleeding. He also had several broken vertebrae, so that even if he had survived, he'd have been a vegetable the rest of his life. The physician gave Simon's parents the obligatory shoulder pat and walked away.

Simon's mother, Florence began weeping loudly while Tom, Simon's dad, had silent tears running down his face. Tom kept saying over and over "he were a good lad, he were."

Hermione could only sit and watch, horrified, as the two openly poured out their grief. She didn't know how to deal with it, so she dealt in the only way that she could. She left.

The girl hailed a taxi and took it back home. She walked into the house woodenly and sat on the sofa with a thud. Hermione closed her eyes and leaned into the cushions, wearily. She felt as if the last rug had been yanked out from underneath her feet. Simon, with his good looks, easygoing personality and yes, even his typical spoiled brat drug habit, was the only thing keeping Hermione anchored. Now...now...she felt that there was no one.

The grisly images of Simon, Peter and Clarice sifted through her consciousness. She ran upstairs to drown her sorrows in Dreamless Sleep.

"Dammit!" She screamed. The decanter was empty. She hadn't brought any ingredients to brew more. Hermione threw the container against the wall where it shattered satisfyingly. But broken glass can only get one so far in the realm of satisfaction.
Hermione dragged back downstairs craving something when she remembered where she and Simon had been coming from...

Hermione nearly dove for her soft brown leather purse and dug around. The slippery sound of cellophane was music to her ears. Usually Simon was the one who prepared the contents of the bags but as he wasn't here, Hermione steeled herself to do it. She carefully laid out the papers, greenery and powder, giving each one just enough of a dusting to make all the bad things ebb away.

Licking the papers closed, she blew across the tip of it and it caught fire. Hermione took a hit and felt the graft zooming to her brain. (Ah...that's more like it.)

The chemicals broke into her body and Hermione floated away on a rose coloured cloud of artificial happiness. She smiled beatifically, never wanting that feeling to end.

************

A day and a night passed, Hermione kept cooking up and cooking up and cooking up and it was all a blur of drug-induced nirvana. She lost all sense of time and space, hovering in that world of brilliant pleasure. She got cl in in the haze. A little too much of the white dragon and the world went dark. It was as if she was looking out at the world through a tunnel. Hermione pitched sideways from her cross-legged position in front of the telly in the study. As she rolled over to her back, she could hear from a distance the shouts of "Steve! Steve! Steve!" as the screaming plebes from "Jerry Springer" called for their bald hero.
*************
"Ron, I haven't seen or heard much from Hermione since the funeral," Molly addressed her son, who was busy sticking his finger in the onion dip and sampling before their New Year's Eve guests arrived. "Whyn't you pop 'round to her house and invite her here for a bit of fun? And get your unwashed fingers out of that bowl!"

Ron looked sheepish. "D'you think she'll come, Mum?"

"It wouldn't hurt to ask, son." Molly gave her offspring a pat and a smile. "Go on now, love."

Ron exited the kitchen and put on his coat, hat and scarf. Molly yelled, "Do NOT forget your gloves, Ronald Weasley!!"

He put on his gloves and Apparated out of the Burrow and onto Hermione's night shrouded street. There were lights burning in the window, giving him the courage to knock on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again. Still no answer. Ron looked around, seeing if there were any nosy neighbors out and about. He surreptitiously pulled out his wand and *Alohomora'd* the lock.

He was thoroughly shocked by what he saw. There were clothes and other items strewn about, and the smell was horrendous. He could feel the cold air coming from somewhere and so he followed the draft. As Ron drew closer he could hear voices. Going inside the room he saw a cleared desk and packed boxes. A Muggle device was on, something he vaguely remembered as being called "Jellyvision" or sommat.

There was a sofa and a coffee table but he couldn't see what lay in the space between. The window was opened. (Aha. That was where it came from,) he thought.

Stepping over to the window, he lowered it and turned around. His eyes widened in shock. Hermione lay in the space between. Her eyes were half shut, she was deathly pale and her liere ere blue. Fearing the worst, Ron knelt beside her. He could see the very faint but discernable rise and fall of her chest. Taking a mental step back he was shocked to see how very tiny she'd become. Her five-foot-eight-or-nine frame looked as if it barely weighed seven stone. This was way beyond him. He needed help. Ron picked the girl up and Apparated to the one place he knew that there were people who knew how to deal with this.

Ron appeared with a loud *pop* outside the gates of Hogwarts. He needed to find someone, *anyone* and fast. Out in the cold, Hermione was fading fast. She was nearly purple and he couldn't even detect breathing.

He nudged the gate open and began the walk to the castle. It was nearly deserted this time of year. He, Harry and Ginny were at the Burrow. Most of the upperclassmen had gone home for the holiday. Ron had no idea which of the professors stayed over at the castle during the hols.

Reaching the doors, they parted for him, the castle recognizing that he was a student. Ron stepped inside, looking about for any stray people wandering the halls. The portraits that lined the walls began whispering madly and wanting to know what was going on.

"I found her like this and I really *really* need a bit of help...she's nearly done for," Ron explained in a rush. He climbed the first set of steps, the staircases being very obliging and deigning not to move as the boy carried his cargo.

The portraits were still talking and figures were moving from frame to frame, searching for someone, anyone, to aid Ron. Just as Ron reached the first floor, Snape came barrelling out of the dungeons at top speed.

"Weasley. What the devil is going on here? Several of the portraits have invaded my room demanding that I come out." Snape pulled up short at the sight of Ron struggling to hold the unconscious Head Girl.

"I don't know, sir. I went to her house to invite her home with me and I found her like this. Please, I don't know what to do!" Ron's voice was pitched high, on the verge of hysteria.

"Calm yourself. We're going to the hospital wing." Snape pivoted on his heel, moving swiftly down the corridor. The Potions Master's mind was clicking away at a hundred kilometres an hour.

He'd seen symptoms of overdose like that before with Dreamless Sleep, but never had he seen the effects play themselves out so severely. There was only one course of treatment. His lips thinned to a line. Severus could hear Ron scurrying and panting behind him. The corridor to the infirmary was a long one and so Severus decided to be kind.

"Stop, Weasley. Hand her over." Snape reached out to take Hermione from Ron's arms.

To Snape's vague surprise, Ron clutched her tighter. "I'm fine. But I don't think she's going to last. She's nearly purple."

Snape merely grunted and the two men continued on their way. Once in the hospital, Ron put Hermione on the nearest bed. Snape went off to raid Madam Pomfrey's stores. There was a small supply of ephedra kept on hand for those students who found themselves either suffering from an overdose of something (usually Dreamless Sleep or Insomnulus Potion taken in desperation during finals week) or from an allergic reaction and needed a dose of adrenaline to rush through their systems.

Severus found the tincture, still in its sealed vial, and a hypodermic needle ("How primitive," he thought. "Primitive, but effee.")e.")

Snape crossed the room to the bed. "Now, Mr. Weasley, we must inject this into her heart. I need you to unbutton her shirt." When Ron hesitated, Snape snapped, "This is no time for your missishness and false prudery! Do you wish your friend here to die?"

Ron opened the buttons, revealing the lacy bra which lay underneath. Snape prepared the injection. He tapped the air from the chamber and prepared to administer it. "Now, on the count of three I'm going to give it to her. You might want to stand back." Snape raised an eyebrow at Ron, who took a step back.

"All sorted?" Snape asked. Ron gave a terse nod. "Alright then. One....two...three." Snape brought the needle down and into Hermione's chest.

The effect was immediate.

Hermione drew in an excruciatingly deep breath and bolted upright into a sitting position. Instead of her magic returning in slow waves (it had been oozing out as her spirit waxed and waned in Ron's arms) as her body reacted, it came back *all at once*.

There were crackles of lighting flashes flying around the room. Some of the linens caught fire, which Ron and Snape hurried to put out. Glass was broken, the two men Repaired it. Hermione continued to breathe in those deep gasping breaths. As the wild magic subsided, Snape was the first to recover.

"If you're all right, say something."

"Something."

Ron chuckled. "Sounds like you'll be alright, then Herm."

"Merlin's balls...what in the bloody hell happened?" Hermione's eyes were wide and dark.

Snape answered. "You were suffering from an overmedication of something. Care to tell me what that something was?"

Hermione's wits were coming back quickly. "Does it really matter what it was? I wish you'd have let me die."

Ron, fed up with Hermione, came back over to the bed. His eyes were burning with anger. "You ungrateful, miserable little bint. You'd rather kill yourself than deal with reality. You're not the first person have shit happen to them, nor will you be the last." Ron stopped himself before he said something that he'd have regretted. "I can't even look at you. Call me when you're ready to rejoin the rest of us. Ciao Bella." Ronald Arthur Weasley left the infirmary, slamming the door behind him.

Hermione looked at Snape. He merely smirked that infuriating smirk. "No sympathy from me, Miss Granger. For once, Mr. Weasley is entirely correct." Snape left the infirmary too, albeit a great deal quieter than Ron's exit had been.