Screams

serpentclone

Rating: PG13
Genres: Horror
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 21/05/2007
Last Updated: 21/05/2007
Status: completed

After the war ends, Neville is visited by a friend he thought dead. An experiment in a darker style of writing by the author. Feedback appreciated. One shot. DARK FIC! DARK/EVIL HERMIONE! MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS! Standard Disclaimer: Not mine, all characters belong to JKR, I am writing this purely for entertainment, no money is being made. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapters

1. Screams

1. Screams

Screams

by cloneserpents

A WARNING TO ALL READERS:

To the people who have read “Harry Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor” and are expecting something along the same vein should NOT read this story. THIS IS NOT LIKE MY OTHER STORY! DARK FIC! MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS AHEAD!

The final year of the war had not gone well; first Dumbledore was murdered, then Harry, Ron and Hermione disappeared without a trace. Many people died when the most feared dark wizard and his followers sacked Diagon Alley. Dozens were murdered or worst over the next few months. All hope for the light seemed lost.

But then, a few months after Dumbledore was buried, all Death Eater activity ceased completely. The Ministry tried to find out what had happened, but they couldn’t find any Death Eaters. It was as if they had all disappeared off the face of the earth.

For a few months, all seemed peaceful and people were happy. But then, witches and wizards started to disappear mysteriously again. First Dolores Umbridge vanished and a day later, the former Minister, Cornelius Fudge, went missing. Shortly after that, Percy Weasley disappeared and then followed a score of other wizards and witches.

Everyone feared that You Know Who had resurfaced once more and was striking from the shadows. Rumors spread like wildfire and the public was on the verge of mass hysteria.

Neville tried his best to ignore the fear. He realized that if he gave into the fear, then the enemy would win. So Neville bravely carried on with his life, in defiance of that threat. Every once in a while the dread would grip him and his hands would shake, but he forged ahead. Sometimes, his hands shook, but it had nothing to do with fear. This shaking happened every time he had to write a letter or post.

He made a decent living for himself as a herbologist after he finished his seventh year at Hogwarts. He grew exotic magical plants for potions and other uses in his family’s back garden and he earned a good amount of gold doing so.

One night, after a long day of toiling in the garden, Neville retreated to the parlor. He lit a fire and sat on a cushy armchair to read a new book he had gotten. It didn’t take long for his eyelids to become heavy. Too tired and too comfortable to leave his comfy chair, Neville closed his book and let sleep claim him.

The house had become very quiet after his Gran passed away a few months before and Neville never had any callers. So the noise of someone giggling raised him from his slumber like a shot.

It took a few moments before his eyes were able to focus. The dancing light from the dying fire hindered his vision even further. Slowly, his eyes focused on a large lump on the floor in front of the fireplace.

His hand went to grab his wand, but his fingers dug in an empty pocket. He could’ve sworn that he had slid his wand in there after he had locked up his green house.

The form in front of the fire rose up a hand and displayed his wand. Clearly, this person, whoever they were, stole his wand from him as he slept.

“Looking for your wand, Neville?” the lump asked.

His blood ran cold at the familiar voice.

“Y-y-you’re d-dead,” he stammered.

“Nearly,” Hermione said and slowly raised her head so that she could face Neville. Great garish streaks of white marred her brown hair; they looked like skeletal fingers gripping her head. Her face was deathly pale and gaunt. But her eyes, her cold eyes made Neville’s heart skip a beat.

“Nearly dead, but not yet,” she continued. She had a confused and curious look about her face. “Ron did die though, and he didn’t die well either...”

Her voice was airy and her tone light, as if her comment was inconsequential.

“Then again, how does one die well?” she asked rhetorically. “In the end, you’re just dead.”

Neville gulped and Hermione sat up; her posture perfect and proper as she sat on the floor. She placed Neville’s wand on the ground and then made a fist. She held the fist in front of her face and made a “Thump” sound with her throat as she rapidly opened her hand. Another thump sound emanated from her lips and she quickly clenched her fist closed. She repeated this process several times, opening and closing her fist while she muttered thumps. It took Neville a moment to realize that the witch was imitating a heart and a heartbeat.

Hermione watched her hand curiously as it opened and closed rhythmically as if she was fascinated and surprised by the motion. Then her cold eyes began to grow wide as the thumping slowed. It slowed even further until it stopped completely. Hermione eyed her now open fist, waiting for it to move once more.

After a very long and silent moment, Hermione dropped her hand into her lap and repeated; “In the end, Ron was dead. It didn’t matter if he died well or not. He was just dead.”

Neville wiped the sweat from his brow.

“I guess you’re wondering what happened to us? Ron, Harry, and me?” Hermione asked Neville while staring passed him and off into space. Then, in the same light tone, she added; “Oh, wait you do know what happened; we were tortured.”

She paused and let out a long and shuttering breath. Her confused and curious expression melted into a pathetic mask of sorrow.

“Tortured endlessly; day and night, night and day,” she mumbled. “And they didn’t solely rely on the Cruciatus Curse either. There was hours of raping, cutting, strangling, beatings...

“All I had were screams, Neville,” Hermione said like a frightened and lost child. “First mine, Ron, and Harry’s screams. Then Ron’s stopped, because, you see he had died. It took a while for Harry’s to stop; day after day, night after night he would scream. I thought his throat must’ve been torn and bloody by his screams,” she continued. Her brown eyes were like fathomless pools that stared off into space.

“But once he stopped screaming, all I was left with was my own screams,” Hermione continued. Her voice was full of pain and fear. “I had no other thoughts or feelings besides pain. Every single moment I had was filled with screams. It was all I had, nothing else. No thoughts, no emotions, just screams.

“Then I too stopped screaming; I wasn’t dead, as you can clearly see. But I was left with nothing,” she added and tilted her head as if she found this topic odd and intriguing. “I was empty inside, nothing left, just a shell. Not even thoughts. No pain... no screams... no thoughts... just empty.

“I stopped screaming but the Death Eaters still used the Cruciatus Curse on me. And they continued to rape and beat me but it didn’t effect me anymore... I had nothing left inside of me. Just a shell.”

She suddenly looked at Neville. Her once cold eyes now were on fire and they burned into him, piercing his soul.

“I was so empty and alone... nothing!” she shouted.

Neville watched in stunned wonder as Hermione’s burning eyes softened and slowly grew cold once more.

“That was when Harry gave me something to fill that emptiness; more screams” she said lightly. “More screams.”

She paused and sighed; clearly touched by the memory of what she was describing.

“You see, Neville, Harry didn’t die like Ron had. No, Harry broke free,” she said and her eyes lost focus once again. “I don’t know how he did it, he doesn’t talk much anymore; it’s hard to do so since they cut out his tongue. Not that he was much of a talker before. And kissing him takes a little getting used to, but I like to roll my tongue over the stump; gives me nice shivers. But he did break free! He made those Death Eaters writhe on the ground at my feet. Their screams filled me up; made me whole. But then they stopped screaming and I was empty again...”

Hermione’s petite shoulders slumped and her head fell. She sat there in front of the dying fire like a discarded rag-doll.

“So very empty... nothing at all...”

“I...I’m...” he began to stammer guiltily. With a trembling hand, Neville reached out, ready to give his friend a comforting gesture.

She shot up like a bolt and he recoiled as if she was a poisonous snake. A smile graced her face. “But then Harry brought me more screams,” she said with a bright smile. “He was always so thoughtful, Harry was. He dragged some Death Eater kicking and begging for mercy into my cell. Harry threw him at my feet and made him scream. It made me warm. Then Harry brought me Voldemort; he was fun, his screams were so very shrill; when Harry emasculated the snake, he even got higher,” the brunette touched her bosom lovingly. “So warm and happy...”

Once again, sadness descended on her like a heavy blanket. “But they didn’t last long... once they stopped screaming I was left with nothing and I was cold and empty again.”

She shivered for a moment, and then her mood visibly brightened yet again. Her rapid and unpredictable mood swings set Neville even further on edge.

“Harry is such a wonderful friend,” she said with a happy sigh. “He knew what I needed and he made sure I got it. He carried me from place to place like how a child or the way a husband carries his wife over the threshold. First we went to Umbridge’s cottage; she lasted a good long while. I think Harry enjoyed her screams almost as much as I did. Then came Fudge’s screams, then Percy’s, and so on and so on.

“Soon, I was able to walk on my own and I started to think again,” Hermione said and she pointed at her head with both forefingers in an exaggerated fashion. Her fingers then slid into her hair and began to twist and curl around her kinky hair. “Not like before... I used to be filled to the brim with such brilliant thoughts... I could go on without the screams filling me... mind you, screams still make me warm and happy, but we’ll get to that in just a bit.”

She repositioned herself so that she was not longer sitting in front of the fireplace but rather lying on her belly; stretched out like a lazy cat. She absently began drawing random shapes on the floor with the tips of her fingers.

“Like I said, I started to think again,” she repeated. “I began to remember what happened; how Ron, Harry and I were searching for Voldemort’s Horcruxes. And how we were very cautious not to accept posts from anybody that we didn’t trust. You see we were afraid that Voldemort would send us a cursed post or some form of trap.”

“I-I’m s-s-so sorry,” he whimpered.

“Lo and behold we get a post from our dear friend Neville with news from his seventh year at Hogwarts!” she said and rolled onto her back. She continued to speak as if she was repeating what she had said when she and her friends had first received Neville’s letter. “Look a note from Neville! He’s trustworthy. He’d never hurt us.”

“He promised me Bellatrix,” Neville blurted out. Guilty tears streamed down his round cheeks. “He said he would give me that bitch!”

“Boy, were we surprised at what happened when we huddled around Harry to read Neville’s letter,” Hermione said casually, not caring about what Neville had just admitted to. “Pop! Whoosh! Death Eaters all around. Zap! Bang! We all fall down!”

“He gave me Bellatrix, I could have my revenge,” Neville choked out. “I was able to pay her back for all the pain she had given me.”

“Let me tell you about pain,” Hermione said to her friend and she held up one of the stark white strands of hair. “It hurt so much... lots of screams... so many screams...”

Neville could not speak. He had no defense for his actions and he knew he was about to pay for them. You Know Who had offered him a deal he could not pass up; Bellatrix for Harry and his friends. Whether she had outlived her usefulness or He Who Must Not Be Named valued getting his hands on Harry more than Bellatrix’s services did not matter to Neville at that time. He was blinded by the thought of vengeance.

All Neville had to do was write a letter on a piece of parchment with a Tracking Spell on it and the bitch was his. He had felt dirty after doing it, but the pained look in face of the bitch who had tortured his parents made up for his guilt... for a while that is. Shortly after Bellatrix had bled out, Neville realized his error, but it was too late to do anything to correct it. His friends were already in You Know Who’s clutches. So he decided to put it behind him and move on. But the memory of what he had done always resurfaced whenever he had to write a post.

A crunching sound behind Neville alerted him to another person in the room. He didn’t need to turn around to know that Harry was standing behind him, he could feel it.

Hermione rolled over onto her belly and propped her head up on her elbows like an excited child about to hear a fairy tale. Her once cold eyes sparkled with anticipation and Neville felt the tip of a wand press against the back of his head.

“I’m so looking forward to listening to your cries, Neville,” she said excitedly. “Please fill me up and give me a lot of wonderful screams.”

End

Author’s notes: just a one-shot experiment to see if I can do something other than broad farce comedy/parody. Tell me what you think.