Exiled Years

CHAPTER 1: Plans Within Plans


A/N: So I like, looked at this chapter a few days after I wrote it and found that it was screwed the fuck up. So I’m reposting it with the second chapter.


“We need the prophet, Lucius. Only she will be able to find Dumbledore.”

“She has that bitch, Granger’s, protection, My Lord.”

Sheets of rain beat down on the small circle of Death Eaters. It was cold out, miserable mists biting at the edges of the group. Still, the Dark Lord Voldemort carried his Revels outside. The damp woods spoke of treachery that could only brew more deadly in the circle of tyrants. A sharp wind picked up and the black robe of Voldemort flipped wildly.

“So you are telling me you can’t,” the Dark Lord asked.

“No, my lord,” Malfoy Sr. said, immediately falling on the muddy ground, “I’m saying that maybe it will take a while. We’ve been working on the charms at Delphi since that Weasley girl first got there six years ago. We still suspect that Dumbledore has found a way to protect her even after his…disappearance.”

Lightning cracked wildly in the sky, sending a sense of foreboding over the few Death Eaters present. Voldemort seemed to be considering his options, his spidery hands toying with his wand almost lovingly.

“A job, I think, for your son, Lucius,” Voldemort said slowly. “He is cunning, is he not? Edward tells me that he is a warrior, a great leader of men. I’ve heard stories of his conquests over the rebels and I think it’s time for a promotion.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Malfoy said, a small smile at the corners of his lips. His son was brilliant, a tactician and blood-thirsty warrior, but not so blood-thirsty that it clouded his judgment.

“Young Draco will be initiated into our small circle of loyalists soon, Lucius. I expect you to train him well, teach him well,” Voldemort continued. “When we find Dumbledore again, I want to be able to crush him.”

“What of Potter, my lord?” came the deep, grumbling voice of Lestrange.

“What of Potter, Victorº,” Voldemort said, familiar victory seeping into his bloodshot eyes. That smile he wore when he was the winner climbed onto his face, making him a terrible god of death. “Yes, what of Potter? We’ve not heard from or seen that boy in five long years.”

“The men say he is dead, my lord,” Lestrange answered, sarcasm sinking into his tiger-like voice. “They say he killed himself after his defeat.”

“And you, Victor,” Voldemort said. “What do you think, my dear, loyal Death Eater, my faithful Serpent of Blood?”

“I think he’s alive,” Lestrange growled. “He’s alive and defeated, but not dead. The boy is a Gryffindor, my lord. He fought you with Godric’s own sword. You can’t deny he’s powerful. His hate is building, soon it will flow over. Then he’ll come back to try and finish the job he started, my lord.”

Voldemort let out an amused snort. “Defeated, yes. Alive, maybe. Hating, definitely. But hating me, not as much as he hates himself. He’s hiding, not from me, not from his friends, but from himself. As long as he’s trapped in his own head, there is no way he can launch an attack on me. No, Harry Potter is thoroughly defeated, he will not return ever.”

Lestrange stiffened. “As you say, My Lord.”

Voldemort gave Lestrange a look dripping with superiority. “I do, Victor, I do. But now, my loyal Serpents of Blood, I want another Dementor attack on New York, the American witches and wizards are powerful and defiant, I want them to fear. I want dominance of the Americas within the year along with Egypt, Japan, and Peru. Too many uprisings my trusted Serpents, too many uprisings.”

With that last thought, he vanished, leaving Lestrange, Malfoy, Livingston, and Carnes alone in the near drafty woods. Malfoy waited for a while, before speaking. “What have you heard from Severus, Edward?”

“Little. The rebels let him out of the castle so rarely. I think they suspect something, maybe that he is a spy,” Livingston replied. “The last word from him was at Christmas, when he saiat tat there was a large stock hold of wands and weaponry at Ollivander’s. We got there and the rebels were just leaving.”

Malfoy nodded. “Alderbaran, what of Potter, have you found him yet?”

“No, Lucius,” Carnes replied. “Nothing. He may as well be dead. No tracing, tracking, locating, or directing charm will find him. I think he’s enlisted the help of a magical beast, but I could be wrong. He’s like Lovegood, no one can find him.”

“No luck with the Lovegood girl either?” Malfoy asked.

“None.”

“Could they be together?” Malfoy said thoughtfully.

“Doubtful, Lucius,” Carnes replied. “I think Lovegood may be trying to find him, however.”

“Get Zabini on this one, Alderbaran,” Lucius said. “He’ll be able to find them, Potter or Lovegood, both if we’re lucky.”

“I wish Lovegood would hunt me down once in a while,” Livingston said suggestively, licking his lips, his eyes brightening a bit.

Malfoy snorted; a small smirk in the corner of his mouth. “Don’t we all, Edward, don’t we all. Disband Serpents, I’ll get on the Dementor job.”

The other three men Disapparated, leaving the chill of the forest behind. A shadow moved in the forest, causing Malfoy Sr.’s wand hand to twitch irritably. “Draco, I told you not to do that!”

“Sorry, Father,” the smooth and arrogant voice of Malfoy Jr. said into the near silent wood. He made his way winding through the brush, the elegant, long limbed ses oes of his mother apparent despite his manly disposition. “Habit, you understand.”

Malfoy Sr. rolled his eyes.

“So I am to become a Serpent of Blood, Father?” the younger man asked nonchalantly.

Malfoy snorted. “You must first capture the Weasley oracle, boy.”

The younger Malfoy’s nose flared briefly. “A child’s job, Father.”
erfeerfect for you, then,” his father returned nastily.

There was a silence before Draco’s mouth turned into a smirk. “I will do this thing, Father, this thing Lord Voldemort asks of me. I will be the most useful Serpent of you all. The Weasley will let me find Potter, and I will kill him.”

A chilly wind picked up around the two, cloaks billowing in the wind.

“Perhaps you will, my son,” Malfoy Sr. said after a while. “Perhaps.”

Raising his wand in the air, Malfoy the older Disapparated from the cold and dark forest, leaving Malfoy the younger alone. A small smirk played across his young lips.“Goy“Goyle, Crabbe,” Malfoy said commandingly.

Two giant figures stepped out of the shadow and approached the young man. There was no telling the two brick walls apart; they were practically the same in body, mind, and spirit. “Yes, Draco,” they said almost in unison.

“Prepare for Greece, my friends,” he said evilly, a low chuckle forming on his lips. “Do pack light; I don’t plan on staying long.”


Hermione Granger walked quickly down the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. No, she was not a student, neither was she a teacher, or a disrupt parent going to chew Headmaster Dumbledore’s ear off. Though, upon reflection, that was what was supposed to be happening. Hermione Granger was a hardened rebel leader, the self-made woman-in-charge of hundreds and hundreds of wizards, witches, and Muggles, and the general of the Armed Forces of the Resistance. Once a girl with too big teeth and frizzy brown hair, Hermione was an icy shell of her former self. Still brilliant and inquisitive as ever, Hermione Granger had become a leader, a powerful witch and general. And why?

“Voldemort,” she whispered under her breath.

“Yes,” Madam Pomfrey replied. Moving swiftly between the patients, Pomfrey applied medicine and magic to the infirmary full of people. “Another attack. Viktor got as many back as he could, Hermione. There just wasn’t enough time.”

Hermione’s nose scrunched up in disgust. “They smell like death, Poppy.”

“Dementors,” Pomfrey replied. “Victims of Dementor Mind Rapes often smell like death, reasons unknown.”

Hermione looked around her. She counted twenty-five in all, Americans by the look and dress of them. Some were small children, some were grown adults. A little more than half appeared Muggle. Makes sense, she thought. The American wizards have been enlisting their help. Americans always were more tolerant of witches, Merlin knows why.

“How many dead, Poppy?” Hermione asked finally.

Pomfrey turned a tired face to Hermione. “I can’t save the Mind Rape victims, Hermione. But they will live. The only humane thing to do is kill them. They have their souls, but they can’t function. They’ll…they’re living in hell, Hermione.”

Hermione hung her head and began to massage her temples. So much death, she thought. So much pain. Harry…we need you. DAMNIT! Snap OUT of it, Granger!

“Hermione,” a deep voice said from behind her.

Hermione ignored it. It was Viktor of course.

“Hermione?” he repeated.

“Do it, Poppy,” Hermione said tiredly. “Quickly. Then give them their death rights. It’ll be a long night I’m afraid. Do you want me to send for the mediwitch trainees?”

Pomfrey looked at Hermione with slight horror then nodded. “Please, Hermione.”

“Hermione?” Viktor repeated from the doorway.

Hermione turned slowly to Viktor. His eyes were tired, his body was tired. She could tell by looking at him. She could remember his young face, his strong accent…all gone now. He looked older, much too old. But still handsome in her eyes.

“Yes, Viktor,” Hermione replied, walking out the door swiftly, making for her office. Not Dumbledore’s office anymore, she reminded herself.

“More news from Lovegood,” he said, matching her steps and her businesslike tone.

“And?” she asked.

“No luck,” Viktor replied. “But, and this will make you happy, we’ve found the owl, Hedwig.”

Opening the door of her office, she sat at Dumbledore’s desk, barely taking time to notice that Fawks was gone again. “Is that so? Was there a note, a message of any sort?”

“No,” Viktor said sorrowfully. “There wasn’t. But we think she’s trying to tell us something. Or at least, tell Lovegood something.”

Hermione sighed and tugged at her hair thoughtfully. News was news. Hermione stood abruptly and turned from Viktor. It had been Easter last year when they’d thought they’d caught a scent off his trail. Lovegood had volunteered to go after him, arguing her avian abilities. She was a smart girl. In her seventh year of Hogwarts she’s managed to become an Animagus, a blue-tipped hawk Animagus no less. And this was the best news she’d reported in Harry’s respect in a long time.

“Hermione,” Viktor said in a low voice. “This is good news.”

Hermione shot around and slammed her hand on the desk, causing Viktor to jump. “Damn it, Viktor! This isn’t supposed to BE good news! Good news is when someone gets married or a baby is born! Finding what may be a hint to where Harry may be hiding is NOT SUPPOSE TO BE NEWS AT ALL! It shouldn’t be happening!”

“But it is, Hermione,” Viktor said softly. “It is. We have to fight still.”

“We have to fix this, Viktor,” Hermione said in a dangerous voice. “Once and for all. Where’s Ron? I need Ron. And Severus. I need Lupin too. Bring them here, we need a meeting.”

“Yes, Hermione,” Viktor said, closing the door behind him.

Hermione walked over to the far cabinet, pulling out her vodka and downing a couple of swallows (a habit she’d picked up from Viktor) before slamming it down on the table and leaning over it as the liquor made contact with her stomach.

“Damn!” she said, whipping her head as she swore.

“In a word,” said a silky quiet voice said from behind her. He always managed to sneak up on her like that. She never even heard the door open.

“Care for some?” she asked, holding out the bottle. At his disdainful frown, she shrugged and downed another few drinks. “Whatever,” she muttered darkly, crossing him before she flopped down at her desk. He sat across from her, next te fie fire, like he always did. Back straight and eyes attentive, he gave her one of those glares that she’d shuttered at only five years ago. Now she just snorted and took another drink.

“Going to ‘spirit’ yourself away, Miss Granger?” Snape asked in his smooth and dangerous voice.

“Good Merlin,” Hermione grumbled. The old bat still didn’t call her Hermione. FIVE YEARS and he didn’t call her that. “And you’re welcome to rape my corpse afterwards, you bastard,” she spat nastily. “Call me Hermione for Merlin’s sake. Even Viktor can say it and it only took him three years.”

Snape raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing. Either he’d learned to weather her temper or grown accustom to her insults. She was the rebel leader; she could say anything she wanted.

“Hermione,” Ron said, opening the door and walking in. Hermione regarded him as warmly as she could. His bright blue eyes still hadn’t extinguished after all the years. Broad-shouldered and slim-waisted, he’d grown into a god among men. Add that redhead charm and you’ve got yourself a regular Adonis, she thought to herself.

Lupin followed, looking tired, with Viktor in tote. Viktor closed the door quietly and sat in the remaining seat next to Snape. Lupin looked at her with his moony eyes and sighed deeply. He looked as tired and drawn as she felt.

Hermione licked her lips before beginning. “I’m sure you wonder why I called this meeting, as it was rather short notice. Viktor informed me that we’ve found Hedwig.” Ron and Lupin locked eyes and smiled. “That’s Harry’s owl. Lovegood’s following that up. We’re close, I can feel it.”

“Herms,” Ron said excitedly. “You know what this means right? Harry can help. I know he can.”

Hermione gritted her teeth, but still looked straight faced at Ron. Looking at him, you would never guess he was anything more than a natural born leader. He had that special spark when commanding his men…and women. His appearance screamed Rebel Leader with capitol R’s an L’s. But Hermione knew better. A man of fierce loyalty and strong opinions, Ron was a softy and a pushover. But only with her and Harry. He would do anything she asked. She said, “Jump,” he said, “How high?”

“I hope so,” she said at last.

“Hermione,” Lupin said in his usual quiet voice. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there’s been another attack.”

Hermione’s eyes shot open, as did Ron’s. Snape remained impassive, as always. “Again? There was just one this morning! Viktor was there! He was fighting! Where? When?”

Lupin sighed and looked at her with his sad eyes. “At seven, a few hours ago. It was in Japan, a storage base of wand cores and magical dragon hide. Seven hundred Muggles dead, twelve wizards. We…we don’t have all the bodies accounted for, but…but, Ron, I’m so sorry, Bill is gone. He was killed defending a Muggle family with a witch for a daughter.”

Hermione watched as Ron’s face steeled over. He did this when in battle, when he didn’t want the pain to get to him. He did it when he was so angry he could kill. He’d already lost his father, Charlie and Percy. His father had died on a last ditch effort kamikaze move, killing thirty new Death Eaters in England. Charlie had been in Peru when the Black Masks, a division of the Death Eaters, moved in to the area, killing thousands of the natives and a few Peruvian wizards and witches. Percy had the most valiant death of all however, saving thousands of Muggles and hundreds of witches and wizards when the first attack on Diagon Alley happened back in 1998. He had died early for the cause. Then, if you counted Ginny in Greece, he’d lost five family members. He’d probably never get to see Ginny again for her own protection.

“Ron,” Hermione said quietly.

“No,” Ron said in a hard voice. “I’ve got to get out of here, I’ve…I’ve got to tell Mother. You understand, don’t you Hermione?”

“Yes,” she said, getting up and walking him to the door. He paused before opening it. Hermione drew him into a hug. “You go off and try to find yourself trouble, I’ll kill you, Ronald Weasley.”

He nodded solemnly and walked out the door.

With Ron out the door Hermione frowned. “Damn it!” she said loud enough for everyone hear. “What the hell do they want will wand cores? I can’t figure it out!”

“No one knows, Hermione,” Lupin said soothingly. “Just like the dragon hide –”

“Oh, I know what those bastards what with dragon hide. The damn stuff repels ninety-five out of one hundred spells, charms, and curses. But wand cores…” she drifted off.

“A potion,” Viktor suggested. “A powerful one. He may be making a power enhancer for his fighters; or himself really.”

Hermione thought this over, but ultimately rejected it. “No,” she said. “That wouldn’t explain the disappearance of the magical creatures. They are hording dragons, live ones. I haven’t heard of a manticore problem in ages. And those spiders in the forest, non-existent.”

There was silence in the headmaster’s office for a while.

“At any rate,” Hermione said, “let’s get Japan picked up. I want everything on that island even resembling a magic or non-magic person in America, our last strong hold. Peru is falling, friends, but we can’t evacuate yet. How is the Dali Llama, Remus?”

Lupin nodded. “His health is strong. Voldemort can’t breech his power, it’s too ancient. We can send some of the Japanese there, if we need to. Their spiritual leader, their Shinto priest, Hirohama, is prepared to leave, I mean. The same with the African Shaman Triad; they left for America earlier in the week.”

“Don’t you think that grouping all the powerful people together will only bring Voldemort’s hand closer to America?” Snape asked coldly from the fire. He rarely said things at meetings, merely listened. But Hermione found when he did say something, you’d better listen.

“Yes, it will,” Hermione said. “But where else can I put them. Angkor Watt has fallen, Severus. Macchu Picchu is too close to the Black Masks. Hell, Salem is the only place strong enough to hold them semi-safely.”

“You could send them to Antarctica,” Lupin said in a small voice.

Hermione frowned. “I could…but…no, actually, that is a great idea! They can colonize the Inner Circle. The Aurora Australis will protect them. Remus, I could kiss you!”

Lupin blushed lightly and Snape frowned in her direction. Hermione just rolled her eyes at him.

“If we’re all done,” Viktor said, “I’ve got duty with the refugees. Those youngsters don’t know enough curses and hexes. When I was young, I knew five times as many as they did…”

“Go ahead,” she said, pulling out a large textbook called –

“Advanced Arithromatical Theories for Those Who Understand Really Smart and Almost Useless Stuff,” the soft drawl of Snape said across from her. “An interesting choice for a spot of nice reading.”

Hermione looked over the book at him, an eye raised. He sneered down at her, something, yet again, that made her want to run to her mother now now was just annoying. “Well, Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration got a little boring.”

“Indeed,” he said casually. “I wanted to know what you proposed to do with young Miss Weasley. I’ve heard rumors that she is to be captured.”

“We can’t move her from Delphi,” Hermione said, walking over to sit across from Snape, the other seat next to the fire. “She can’t be moved right now. Delphi is too powerful of a channeling station.”

“Send her to Antarctica with Shaman and the Shinto priest,” Snape encouraged. “Hell, send her to the Dali Llama. She isn’t safe at Delphi anymore.”

Hermione looked into the fire. “You know this?”

“Yes,” he answered. Hermione looked at him. His serious face was only over shadowed by his too big nose and sharp looking eyes. Looking into his black pools, Hermione saw sincerity…and something else. She didn’t know what it was. Apprehension? Confusion? Fear?

Hermione licked her lips. “So be it, I’ll send for Seamus and Dean, I trust them enough for this task.”

After a moment, Snape nodded. Then he stood abruptly and left the room.

What a fascinating man, Hermione thought idly. She’d been working with him for five years, not counting the time they’d been student and teacher, and still couldn’t figure him out. Convinced she never would, Hermione turned back to her book.

Victor Lestrangeº - Okay, so I don’t know his real name, so I gave him one. You remember him, the husband of Bellatrix Lestranger…the creepy one.