#4 ~ The \"Up Against the Wall\" Wars

Disclaimer: All characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine.
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Chapter 7 ~ Enter the Villain

The hooded figure stood against the alley wall, considering flinging an Unforgivable at the parting backs of Hermione and Harry, but noticed Elton in the door window of the shop, watching him. He couldn’t let his hatred make him careless. Plus, the ministry aurors were monitoring all instances of dark magic, and could apparate to the location in a matter of seconds. This was why the recent killings were mostly physical in nature, rather than magical. They couldn’t track torture, pain and death. Only clean up the large pools of blood left behind.

Seeing Hermione outside the safe walls of Hogwarts for the first time since the Final Battle caused an angry hitch in his heart. He had always disliked that mudblood know-it-all in school, and made her life as miserable as he could, but she was always under the watchful eye of the Headmaster, being one of the fabulous three. Plus, she was under the protection of the Dark Lord at the time, the current keyword being ‘was’.

He had always hated Hermione, maybe even more than Potter, hated her for her ability to excel at all things magical despite her tainted blood. She was born of muggles. It was a crime against nature that she was so brilliant, so powerful. If only the basilisk had killed her, rather than petrified her in her second year, she would just be a memory…bleached bones lying in some muggle graveyard, weeds overgrowing her forgotten body. He also hated her for laughing in his face, when he attempted to charm her out of her robes one quiet night in the corridors of Hogwarts, while they were both on patrol as Head Boy and Girl. She should have been flattered he lowered himself to even notice her, the filthy mudblood, much less feel inclined to fuck her. He remembered his rage. If not for the Dark Lord’s orders, he would have beaten her within an inch of her life and took what he wanted, oblivating her afterwards. Now, she was working in Hogwarts for that fool Dumbledore, and fucking that traitor, Snape. Gods, he would love to kill him. Her. All three of them. The idea of Snape having any happiness in his life was like a knife twisting in his heart. If not for Snape’s treachery, his father would still be alive, and holding a position of great power in Voldemort’s brave new world. If he couldn’t kill Snape, he wanted to make him suffer, as he suffered. His father was gone…Snape needed to know how that felt, how it really felt to lose someone you loved. Killing Granger would insure that he did.

The hooded figure began to walk towards Diagon Alley proper. He never understood why Voldemort had given orders that the mudblood witch not be touched. He certainly targeted her family for death, but why not her? If the Dark Lord had killed her, the Final Battle might have gone a much different way. The bitch had created several spells that gave the Light a real edge on the field of battle. The muggles would have been easy to dispatch if not for their spelled armor. And the spell that made a stricken wizard feel as if he were being eaten alive had effectively stopped hundreds of deatheaters in their tracks, weakening the ranks and eventually led to Potter breeching the perimeter, reaching the Dark Lord and finally dispatching him.

He himself was not at the Final Battle, forced by his father to stay at the manor in the event that the battle did not bode well. He was the only legal male heir his father had, though there were plenty rumors of bastard children dotting the wizarding world. His father denied himself no pleasure when it came to women, though he treated his wife relatively well, and she made no qualms, having her own stable of willing lovers. As long as she was discreet, his father made no bones about her indiscretions. The young wizard had been livid, but his sire was insistent, and he finally had to obey his father wishes. He felt the death of Voldemort when his mark burned and vanished. He later learned of the death of his father while facing Snape, being attacked and killed by a house-elf of all things. Even his father’s glory in death had been stolen from him. But, since he himself was not involved in the Final Battle, he was left alone by the ministry and allowed to retain his father’s inheritance and lands. He wasted no time utilizing his resources to establish a safe haven for deatheaters that were still rabidly loyal to Voldemort’s ideals.

Draco lowered his hood as he reached Diagon Alley, revealing a sharp but handsome face, slightly marred by months of bitterness. He ran one hand through his fine white-blonde hair to flatten it, as he pushed through the wizards and witches in his path. A few whores called to him as he passed, but he merely sneered at them. He had no time tonight. He needed to call a meeting at the manor. It was time to actively set about enacting a focused revenge. He walked to a clear corner, wrapped his robes closely about him and disapparated.

As far as Draco was concerned, Hermione Granger had just usurped position number one on the targeted-for-death list.

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Draco Malfoy was the farthest thing from Hermione’s mind as she lay in bed, books scattered about her, inhaling the history, ideology and techniques of assassins from the beginning of time. It was fascinating reading, and she absorbed, and applied this knowledge as quickly as she comprehended it, blending it in with her proposed plan of protection in the most logical way possible. She realized that any attackers she might meet would most likely not be as focused as those she were reading about, but it didn’t hurt to be over-prepared…an ounce of prevention was worth ten pounds of flesh in her estimation. Since she was forced into this position, she intended to be the best she could possibly be at defense. And considering this was the formidable Hermione Granger, who did nothing half measure, that was saying something.

As she read, she took in the fact that assassins studied their targets, looking for oddities, such as marked differences in appearance, carriage and dress. She thought about this. She never really wore much jewelry. Earrings were about it. Snape would be sure to notice the amount of new dangly items on her person, and put two and two together. She would have to disguise the weapons. Possibly a disillusionment spell to render most of them unnoticeable. She’d talk to Elton about that when she saw him next.

Hermione yawned and looked at the time. She’d better get to sleep. She had a run with Tonks in the morning. The two women had briefly discussed the focus of her training in regard to Snape’s attacks, and the problem she had with fighting full force with individuals she saw as friends. Tonks gave her a crooked smile, and said, “Aw, that’s easy to take care of…don’t worry about it. We’ll get you kicking arse in no time.” They would get together with Kingsley in the morning to hash out the best techniques in detail.

Hermione pushed the books to one side, and closed her eyes. She saw Snape’s face for a moment, the face she loved, looking rather snarky.

“You’re in for it, old man,” she whispered sleepily, and dropped off…just like that.

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A/N: Hmm. Maybe every attack Hermione wards off won’t be Snapey dear…wonder if they will count toward the five consecutive times…