Requital by Msscribe
Rating: R- (edited version). Full NC17 version on www.portkey.org.
Ships: H/Hr
Type: Angst\ Romance\ Action Adventure
Summary: A story of Hermione Granger coming to terms with her greatest loss, finding her own voice and strength, and coming of age in a world battered by a never-ending war.
Disclaimer: No profits are being made off the fiction on these pages. Harry Potter, associated characters and the associated Harry Potter universe is © J. K. Rowling and respective publishers. Fanfiction is fiction-it's not meant to be taken seriously in the least.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I'm encouraged by the feedback and I promise to update as frequently as possible.
Chapter 7 - Bloodlines
Ron and Harry cautiously approached the driveway leading up to the small brick house that had somehow found its way onto the Dark Army hit list.
Checking to be sure there were no prying eyes, they both felt for their wands and climbed Lois Mill's freshly swept stairs. Harry pressed the doorbell, and then waited. Ron looked around impatiently.
The wide-eyed, grey-haired resident inside peeked through her floral curtain to find two young men standing at her door.
"We're friends of Hermione Granger, Ms. Mills. Could we please come in?" Harry said.
Lois thought that they looked presentable, but one of them made her nervous with the way his eyes, a stunning shade of green, kept darting around as if expecting someone else.
"Please Ms. Mills, it's important that we speak with you," Ron said, his voice well mannered and calm despite the chills starting to creep up his spine.
Harry released a pent-up sigh and braced himself to have to break into the house by force. He hated to do that, but they weren't sure how much time they had before the arrival of her unwanted guests.
To his relief, she unlocked the door and motioned for them to come in. She was a plainly dressed woman with unremarkable features, but her home was an eclectic collection of tiny statues and candles. The music playing in the kitchen was big band, a stark contrast to the restful feel of the den in which they were standing.
"My niece and her parents were the only decent living relatives I had. But God's cruelty is refining, isn't it?" Lois said, still a bit nervous.
Harry and Ron moved to the couch, catching a whiff of the cinnamon rolls she had baking in the oven.
"Ms. Mills…" Harry started.
"Mrs. Mills. I'm widowed, but I still call myself Mrs.," she corrected him, sounding an awful lot like Hermione.
Harry needed to quicken the pace of this discussion.
"We need to get you somewhere safe. We believe you're in danger. My name is Harry Potter and this is Ron Weasley," he said, hoping that she would hear the urgency in his voice.
Lois Mills knew who they were then. Her niece had spoken of them often, especially the black-haired one. They had attended boarding school with Hermione. Despite the familiarity, she would have sent them away immediately if it hadn't been for the intensity in Harry's voice.
"We think someone is going to try to hurt you, do to you what they did to the Grangers. We'll be happy to explain more, but now you need to leave, " Ron pleaded.
Lois was skeptical.
"I think any explaining can be done right here. How do I know what your intentions are? I know you were Hermione's friends but that doesn't mean I am just going to walk away with you!" Lois argued, slightly irritated.
On the radio, Harry James began playing From the Bottom of My Heart and a young Frank Sinatra began singing.
It was at that moment that the air suddenly got cold, and wind started to whirl throughout the room. Not just a light breeze, but the sort of wind you would feel standing outside on a city street.
The two young wizards looked around curiously; there was nowhere that a cold wind could have gained admission. The windows were all tightly shut.
Mrs. Mills raised her hands to her mouth, frightened and confused. Ron backed her against the wall and stood there, waiting for Harry's command. Harry's hands were rigid and at his side.
A split-second later, something that could have been an innocent knock, but wasn't, rattled Lois Mills' front door.
Click. Tick. Click.
"Run towards the back!" Harry screamed, hoping that they wouldn't be hit with the blast.
They ran. The noise was incredible. Lois thought at first that she had been immediately deafened, but she could still hear the red-haired man issuing commands to her. She followed, best she could, with the two young men pushing her out of the back door.
She was in shock. The one called Harry pushed her to the ground, and the two took out small wooden sticks, pointing them at the strange figures that now surrounded her backyard.
They were stepping all over her petunias.
"STAY DOWN!" Ron cried out to her.
There were screams, and strange mutterings that made Lois think of the sort of darkness her minister preached about every Sunday. Her protectors were dodging rays of light from the other figure's sticks, and they were firing with their own. Lois covered her ears with her hands, mouthing a prayer.
But then, an even stranger thing happened. The firing didn't stop, but it began to fade, as if someone were turning down the volume on a television. A white light illuminated the sky, giving the yard an eerie glow, and the angry voices died down, leaving almost as quickly as they came.
She lay there, afraid to move for what felt like a good long while. She gained the courage to raise her head and saw that there were more people then, with wooden sticks out, wandering about in her yard. She could hear Harry and Ron converse, but couldn't make out what they were saying. Something about a book.
A young red-haired woman ran to assist her, helping Lois to her feet.
Letting out a sigh of relief, the older woman looked up to thank her.
Gasp.
Ron Weasley caught Lois Mills before she could hit the ground.
"What happened? Is she hit?" Harry asked.
"No," Arthur Weasley said softly, glancing over at Hermione, "I think she just saw a ghost."
#
Lucius Malfoy was not a happy wizard. When he was inside Lois Mill's disgusting little flat he did manage to take possession of the thing for which he was searching, but the relief he felt from having accomplished this task was clouded by the fact that Potter and Weasley had arrived shortly before him and his circle of Death Eaters.
Restlessly circling the master bedroom, Lucius let his thoughts linger on what had gone wrong.
He plucked a piece of Muggle debris from his robe, wincing at having to touch it.
This sort of work was beneath him, and maintaining composure under these circumstances was not always easy, even when you were a Malfoy.
Lucius looked down at the small brown book secured in his long thin fingers. It looked like a Muggle child's book of fairy tales. Bedtimes Stories was its title, written in a sickening shade of pink. He slipped it inside of his cloak's side pocket. He couldn't feel anything powerful about it.
He would do what was asked, but in the meantime he needed to know how Potter and Weasley had almost thwarted his plans. Only one other person had known far enough in advance to alert the Ministry.
Narcissa.
Lucius now regretted confiding in his wife. It was one of his weaker moments.
She was in their bathtub now. He would have liked to watch her bathe longer, for Narcissa Malfoy was a bewitching sight; however, Lucius was weary and he smelled like commoners.
He and Narcissa had only ever had one argument that resulted in Lucius having to curse her, when she had betrayed him before. Unpleasant and painful, yes, but he thought it was necessary then. That wouldn't be enough now.
Lucius was suddenly filled with a mix of sentimental longing and sullen resentment at having spent his all life providing for her and his son. He thought he'd be with her forever, but he was highly averse to taking risks. Especially if it meant he would end up like Gregory Goyle.
He entered the bathroom now and she smiled mischievously, expecting him to join her.
Pity.
Lucius would have to do this quickly. There was the slim chance that Draco could hear her cry out in despair and the silly boy would probably try to do the honorable thing and protect his mother.
"Lucius?" Narcissa said with an innocent look he nearly succumbed to.
He sat on the edge of the tub and let eyes look onto her exquisite face one more time. She relaxed and fell against him. He moved his hands to her shoulders, then down to her perfect breasts. She laid her head back onto his lap, closing her eyes with pleasure.
So many regrets.
Lucius reached for the razor beside her and quickly slit Narcissa's willowy throat.
He waited, watching the color of the tub grow darker as the blood descended the length of her body and into the water.
He'd be inconvenienced without her, but he'd make do.
#
Neville Longbottom almost thought his cover had been blown when Lucius Malfoy walked into the back room of Club Mistress pulling a small brown book out of his pocket. The shockingly tall man who had headed the charade the night before looked pleased, and escorted Lucius quickly into a small office near the bar.
Neville held his breath until he realized that Lucius hadn't recognized him. He was thankful, for once, that he hadn't been an extrovert while in school. Neville had never played Quidditch like Harry or Ron and had pretty much kept to himself, studying in secret to pursue his private dream of becoming an Auror. When he got a position at the Ministry, everyone was shocked. His Grandmother had almost suffered a stroke that day.
Locust Daviz ate his dinner like a wild animal, licking the plate, and not bothering to wipe from his chin the blood from the rare steak he had just devoured.
Neville couldn't get what he had heard in the tunnel out of his mind. He tried to deny those terrible sounds - and the even more horrible thing lurking behind them - all through the morning.
He kept trying to think of a reason to leave, having been there for nearly twenty-four hours. When he had claimed fatigue, they had shown him to a private room, very cozy but dark, and allowed him to lie down. It seemed as if they simply weren't comfortable with him leaving just yet.
When he had a break from the monotonous chatter of Ivan, apparently Neville's equivalent in rank at Club Mistress, he would cautiously explore the Club's various chambers and passageways. It was during this strange, fraught period that Neville discovered disturbing sounds emanating from the locked room behind the stage area.
He was so repelled by the odor that seeped from underneath the door, however, that he couldn't stand to be within five feet of it.
Neville stood up from the table.
"I have to take care of some things at home. Any reason I need to be here until tonight?" Neville said finally, looking down at the round, beady-eyed man.
Neville had never seen such unbound fury in a pair of human eyes before. He hadn't even known such fury existed. His immediate instinct was to recoil, but he resisted the impulse and stood firm.
"You think trust is so easily gained? It takes time to prove yourself here. You will be paid for your time," Locust said through gritted teeth.
A serpent. This man had the eyes of a serpent.
Neville shrugged, hiding his nervousness and sat down again.
"Look, whatever you want me to do I'll do, so long as I get my money."
Locust calmed down some, the fire leaving his eyes. Neville was trapped there. He knew if he didn't get in touch with them, Harry and Ron would return looking for him.
Neville reluctantly bit into his steak, blood dripping from it down onto his plate.
"The pay is wonderful. Enough to live like a king," Ivan chimed in from the bar.
Live where, Neville thought, Hell?
#
Complete sensory numbness, as well as the sudden desertion of the part of her mind that allowed her to think clearly, were the two major problems Hermione Granger faced as she sat between Harry and her aunt in the back of Arthur Weasley's new Ford Anglia. A large box of books taken from the collection of Lois Mills occupied the front seat.
Recipes for Fresh Zucchini, Fifty Nifty Ways to Cross-Stitch, A Christian Woman's Guide to Boring Television Programs…
They were silent. Their friendship was deep enough to make them comfortable with silence. This silence, however, had an edgy quality. Maybe because Hermione was surreptitiously watching Harry for signs that he was feeling what she was.
Lois Mills was still gasping and puffing like a marathon racehorse.
"I promise I'll explain everything, Mrs. Mills," Arthur Weasley said, looking back at the three.
Harry watched the buildings fly by as they made their way towards the Ministry office. His eyes then stopped wandering and centered on Hermione's.
"I'm sorry," he said in a low voice, which was not quite steady. "I didn't mean to run out like that, but I was already late..."
And you were so peaceful lying there, Harry thought, not daring to say that aloud.
Hermione turned her head suddenly towards her trembling aunt, laughing with gentle contempt.
"No apologies necessary. It's not such a big deal, really," she said, not even believing herself.
Her leg was close to Harry's, and he could feel her desperately trying to keep it from touching him. Harry knew she was lying. It wasn't hard to put together.
"It's a big deal to me," he offered. "And I'll make it up to you."
He let his arm fall around her shoulder, kissing the top of her head. She was voiceless then.
A few minutes passed, and they arrived at a building that seemed to rise endlessly into the clouds. Ministry radio calls blared out as the car now glided up to the curb.
Arthur Weasley turned around.
"Hermione, could you take your aunt to the victim's lounge? Harry and I will be along shortly."
Hermione let her leg fall against Harry's, forgiving him. He breathed out softly, flashing her a temperate smile.
Damn him.
"No problem, Mr. Weasley," Hermione said, helping the elderly woman out of the car and through the glass door.
#
Ron Weasley and Cho Chang were in a Ministry car behind Arthur Weasley's. Ron was driving, and Cho noted to herself that he was actually doing better than Hermione.
Of course, she thought, a monkey with a map could drive better than Hermione.
As they went cruising down the main street, they talked with the ease of two friends out for a Sunday brunch. He hadn't felt this comfortable with a girl, besides Hermione of course, in a long time. He was surprisingly relaxed after the Death Eater ambush.
"We certainly do have a lot in common," Ron quipped, flashing her his most charming smile as they pulled up behind their counterparts parked on the curb.
A very handsome researcher, Terence Higgs, was escorting an equally enticing administrative assistant, Hannah Abbott, into the building. Ron watched as Cho's eyes locked onto the couple, obviously annoyed by their presence.
Ron couldn't help but laugh at her a little. They stepped out of the car, and he let his left hand fall to the small of Cho's back while he opened the door for her. Harry and Arthur Weasley were waiting for them at the elevator. Hermione and her aunt were going towards the other hallway, most likely to the victim's lounge. Ron was still busy reveling in Cho's obvious jealousy.
"Didn't you date him for a while?" Ron teased, watching as Terence planted a small kiss on Hannah's cheek.
"Yes," Cho said, glaring at Ron while tilting her head back girlishly. "Her too."
The image that flashed in his head was one that Ron wanted to recall later, when he could make good use of it.
#
"Lucius did not fail you, even though his wife betrayed his plans. He has disposed of her," the ringmaster said, taking off his shoes to let his long clawed toes spill onto the floor.
A child stepped out of the darkness. Her long hair was flaxen blonde and her eyes were empty, limpid pools of grey. Her tiny fingers reached out to hold the offering of the small brown book. She flipped through its pages and smiled up at the tall creature. Her teeth were yellow and stained with her last meal. An older woman who tasted like she had drank too much wine.
"I have often thought that perhaps I should have chosen Lucius instead of my Tom. My sweet, lovely Tom," she sighed wistfully.
"You have many servants, Maedon. Many are loyal to you."
"None know me but my minions. No others even know my name."
The child-like creature glided across the room, sniffing him.
"The human scent is repulsive," she voiced dryly.
The ringmaster stretched his toes again, anxious to alleviate the pain of his binding shoes. He moaned as they began to sprawl out across the room.
"Have we eliminated all magical descendants of Nora Mills?" Maedon asked.
The ringmaster shook his head, peeling the mortal flesh from his face so he could breath a bit more.
"All but one. Whom should I send?"
Maedon sat on the antique chair near her boarded-up window, her small legs swinging from it playfully. In her death suite, the remains of three ravaged bodies lay still where they had fallen.
"Send no one yet. If she has Mills' blood, she will come to me."
"Whatever pleases you," the ringmaster said, bowing before her.