In The Cover of Darkness
Archive: let me know first, yes?
Rated: pg13
Warnings: death!fic. AU like whoa.
Fandom, Pairing: Harry Potter Un. JK Rowling, Gen: Pansy Parkinson
Summary: In the last hours, darkness is the only hope.
Disclaimer: not mine, never was mine, never will be mine. all is jk rowling's.
For: millieweasley's 'Harry Potter History Challenge' – "Poland in the 1940's"
Beta: stereotypevamp who was amazing and gave me warm tinglies (and insects). Enjoy the irish eye-fuck, love.
Word Count: 880
Authors Notes: I seem to like hurting Pansy. And Hermione. My first Luna fic. And I thought my HP muse had died, but apparently she just took a vacation. She came back kicking, screaming and biting.


Pansy Parkinson had never hated anyone like she did now. She'd grown up hating muggles, of course -- her Pureblood father and mother had made sure of it. But before these last few weeks, it had only been their hate, not her own.

Now it was her own hate that she held so close.

In front of her, Luna Lovegood was keeping look out, her blood hair and pale face allowing her to be the most daring. Behind her, Hermione Granger held on to her cloak, in a grip not even death could loosen.

She wanted to hate muggles for this disease that had spread from them. The wizards were infected with it now, with the need to be pure, with the need to be right. But it wasn't muggles she hated though, not in the end. It was them.

She didn't know what to call them. They weren't Nazi's, not really, because she didn't even know if Hitler -- the muggles' leader -- knew that wizards and witches were real. She didn't know if the wizards were playing muggle, getting sent out in the army, getting posted in places, using their muggle cover to hunt and kill those who were impure (both muggleborns and anyone else the army felt was not Aryan enough), or if they were actually being used as witches and wizards by Hitler.

And really, she didn't care. She didn't have the energy to care.

Behind her, she heard Hermione's breath catch. A quick glance over her shoulder told her that someone was coming.

The two girls froze, their cloaks stilling, allowing them the cover of the dark night to maybe keep them alive.

It turned out to only be Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory.

There were only two more people in their small group. They were, as far as they knew, the only people who had escaped the small wizarding school in the outskirts of Warsaw, Poland. It had been destroyed by Nazi troops, who called it an institution of witchcraft that had been financed by the Jewish invaders.

How the Jewish, who hadn't even known about the small school that had been well hidden, had had anything to do with the school's finances, she didn't know. But according to the Germans, they had. And how they were the invaders, she had even less of an idea. Weren't these troops, the ones hunting and killing and ravaging, the invaders?

The fact that the troops had found the school in the first place worried her, saddened her, since it meant they had a witch or a wizard collaborator in the troops who'd destroyed it. That someone had given them up, taken the side of muggles over wizards an witches.

Behind her, she could hear Hermione quietly question the boys. "Where are Blaise and Hannah?"

She could nearly feel Harry's shrug. "They're meeting us in a mile, remember?"

But even then, she could feel Hermione's tension, feel the fear, the dread. She reached back and grabbed the other girl's hand, squeezing it for a moment.

Two years ago, she'd have died before she'd done that.

Two years ago, she'd have laughed if someone told her she and Hermione Granger would be as close as sisters with Luna Lovegood and Hannah Abbot.

She'd have laughed if someone had tried to tell her that Blaize Zabini, Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory would all be as close as brothers too them. But it was how the knife fell.

And after five months of trusting only these few people, she didn't know how she'd ever not thought about them like siblings. Their parentage didn't matter anymore, not now, not after seeing what parentage could do to you. Not after having seen a work party, not after seeing the Jewish Ghettos, not after seeing the people taken from them.

Not after seeing where they ended up.

For two more hours they crept along the road, in the drainage ditch, in the cover of night. One mile. No sign of Blaise and Hannah, thought they were a bit earlier than planned. It took nearly ten minutes for the feeling for dread to slowly seep in.

Luna had come back to join them. All of them had dark cloaks on, their wands drawn. No spells were being used – the energy required was too much, and the magic used drew the Nazi Wizards like blood drew wolves.

And so they lay, waiting, for another hour. The sun was rising. Worry ate at them, tension burned in their stomachs, their throats, their eyes.

And then they heard the scream.

Eyes fell closed and prayers were muttered for the soul that they knew was one of theirs, the soul they knew was Hannah's.

A second scream. Blaise.

And then the footsteps. There was no where for them to go, no where to hide, no where for them to run to.

Pansy's gripped Hermione and Luna's hands. Cedric and Harry placed themselves in front of the girls.

The last thing they would see would be the cruel, grinning faces of Draco Malfoy and his father as the Nazi's leveled their weapons. Dogs lunged from short tethers, foam at their mouths.

The sound of gunfire would not be loud enough to drown the laughter of the two blonde wizards.

8 March, 2006.