So... this story is becoming much more complex and darker than I anticipated. I intended for about 4 chapters but now I realize that I want to keep going. I'm going to bring in more characters and plot twists. If you are confused, thats okay, there are still a lot of unanswered questions with this story, but they will be resolved... eventually. This chapter really drops this into a more serious level. A caution for those with more delicate constitutions, there is rape in this chapter.

A Year

Part 4

Hermione observed the German newspaper on McGonagall's desk.

"I understand your need for answers, Miss Ganger."

Hermione nodded.

"Unfortunately, I am unsure of how many I actually have an answer to," McGonagall stood from her chair, lifted up the newspaper and opened it with a decisive snap.

Hermione Ganger watched this new Head Master cautiously. She trusted her. She trusted McGonagall's intentions, and up until this moment Hermione had trusted McGonagall's ferocious intelligence. Hermione was no fool. She knew that today she would only get half truths. Fragments, at best. Hermione bit down on the frustrated scream that clamored to be released from her throat. Half truths would do them no good.

"Professor... Head Master, please, tell me what is going on," Hermione attempted to put as much conviction into her voice and eyes as possible, straining to reach the knowledge behind McGonagall's curtain.

She was rewarded. McGonagall placed the creased newspaper into her hands, folded open at the fated page. Hermione watched as the photograph scanned over the destruction yesterday's mission had caused. Hermione bit her lip, much to her discomfort, the bewitched photograph showed Brenley clamber over the rubble, pulling Hermione up into sight. Hermione didn't know which had been worse, the actual explosion or the horrible, disquieting fact that no one emerged from the surrounding buildings to investigate. It had been a ghost town, the only person in sight had been the dead man, peering out from underneath splintered wood and metal. She exhaled slowly. They had evidently been wrong. Someone had been watching. The evidence grinned up at her wickedly from the newsprint.

"Do you speak German?" McGonagall asked, seating herself slowly into the spartan comfort of her chair.


"Britain's Hogwarts Quest for Dominance Leads to Destruction of Germany's Greatest Literary Treasures," McGonagall recited. She closed her eyes and let out a tired, weary sigh. It escaped from her in a dry rush, leaving the old woman looking winded. The stuffy air of the office solidified as Hermione stared at the Head Master, seeing and blind simultaneously.


"Yes, Dominance. Do you see it?"

Hermione stood, the sudden action sent her chair scraping back against the stone floor. Realization bludgeoned Hermione with such brutality, that for the second time in 48 hours, hysteria had her in its tight, coiling fingers. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on McGonagall's desk. She counted her breaths and focused on the pale white of her fingers peeking out from the bandages as they grasped at the weary wooden surface.

"Going to Dusseldorf was playing directly into their hands. I knew it, but they had quite eloquently danced me into a corner. Those books are of no great use, but I wanted to force their hand. I wanted to see what they were planning in relation to this school. I couldn't let them have that advantage and in the attempt to remove the element of surprise from their fingers, we gave them an even greater one. I'm sure that you have already figured as much, you were always one of the brightest," McGonagall said all this into her hand, refusing to look up at Hermione's panicked eyes.

"All this time, we were focusing on Voldemort. He was the ultimate evil, the destruction of all we knew and loved, and we feared him. We feared him so completely, that it became our blindfold. We forgot that there was a world outside of our islands. We forgot that others are indeed capable of the cunning Voldemort possessed... and it never occurred to us that there was more. Dumbledore was so wrapped up in the guilt he felt over Tom Riddle that he never saw. I never saw... they played us all as fools. Such fools..."

Hermione swallowed... she tried to swallow but her throat had run as dry as a bleached bone.

"The Germans, what are they planning exa-," Hermione attempted to piece together the fragmented understanding that clattered about in her skull.

"No, child! It is not the Germans," McGonagall barked in a laugh containing such potent bitterness that Hermione fell back into her chair.

She felt herself pale.

"This is bigger than merely two nations. It is bigger than Europe and the UK. I can only guess at how many other nations have been caught up in this vile web. The most frightening thing, more frightening than not knowing how far this has spread, is that despite all my observations, I do not know who they are. They are hidden, pulling strings that I barely have time to see before it is too late."

"What do they want?"

McGonagall rose and went to the window. Silence. Hermione ignored the nausea that bubbled up inside, threatening to retch forth onto the office floor. She wanted it to be over. It was supposed to be over and Hermione felt herself balk at the idea that Voldemort was just the tip of it all. After the horrors he had brought down upon them, imagining that there was worse yet to come... No. She simply couldn't fathom it.

"Enough of this charade, Hermione Granger. Bringing you here for the sake of the Library is a ruse. I need you. You specifically. Thanks to Voldemort, you are well known enough to merit their attention. You are brilliant. Most importantly, you are a tool, a tool they plan on using... Heaven knows they've already used me."

"Harry! What about Harry? He has become a symbol for the wizarding Britain. They will certainly use him," Hermione surmised, her voice sounded pathetically faint against the heavy atmosphere of the room. She wanted to turn this away from her. Let them focus on Harry. Please.

"Hermione," McGonagall turned. Hermione felt sweat prickle at her brow. She gave her a square look. "Hermione. I think they plan on assassinating Harry Potter."

Hermione blinked..

"That is why I have him here. I thought, perhaps erroneously, that bringing Harry to Hogwarts once again can save his life."

She shuddered, humbled.

"Oh, Professor... I-I don't understand!" Hermione cradled her head in her hands.

"He is our nation's pride. They will break us through his death. They will humiliate us."

McGonagall was standing by her now. Hermione heard the words, desperately wishing that they wouldn't make sense. She didn't want the answers anymore. She wanted to deny it all, ignore it all, and go back to attempting to carve out a normal life. Hermione looked at the floor through blurring eyes, watching the tears hit her shoes, discoloring the leather. She heard McGonagall's words. It was impossible not too. It was impossible to not grasp the fundamental fact McGonagall was trying to tell her.

"They want to bring the world to war," Hermione said at last. The admission felt like a betrayal to all that she wanted. It betrayed everything she had striven for in the past year.

"Yes. They want it all to crumble and through the chaos they plan on taking control."

"How have you figured all of this out? " Hermione looked at McGonagall, feeling desperation so deep it ached.

The Head Master merely gave her a sad, tortured look.

"So I am your tool, as well?" Hermione hated the tears that wetted her shirt. She hated the goose-flesh that ran along the back of her neck and down to her arms.

"Yes, Miss Granger. Yes, you are."


Ronald Weasley ran his fingers along the soft, embroidered edge of the cushion. Life had betrayed him. It had never been immensely kind to Ron, but now he had lost all hope in it. The air was thick with incense, Lord how he hated the stuff now. It filled his nostrils, leaving him dizzy and helpless. Ron gripped the cushion, foolishly seeking solace in the feeble fabric as he felt his touch. The rough pads of his fingertips traveled up young Weasley's thigh, lingering on the jut of his hip bone. Ron wanted to ignore how utterly and devastatingly naked he was. He cursed himself. There was no measuring the regret he felt for leaving Britain, for leaving his friends. He had made things so much worse by leaving.

"Ronald... Ronald, I want you to look at me when I touch you," he laughed, kneading Ron's chest with long, thick fingers.

His voice rumbled deep into Ron's body, making him quiver. How had this even come to be? The arms that turned him towards his captor were strong. Ron had always been tall, built with a proper solidity, but this man made him feel so small. So, so small. He was large man, in every unfortunate sense of the word. Ron couldn't bare to look into the pale eyes that mocked him. The feel of the man's black, choppy beard against his throat repulsed him almost as much as his lips, wet and sloppy against his throat.

"What fortune, Ronald, that I have permission to break you this way," he whispered, his breath rushing against Ron's ear in sickening want.

He rolled a finger through the sparse hair on Ron's chest. His body twitched against the man's arms as he tweaked a nipple. Ron would not scream, despite what this beast did to his body. Ron was completely at another's mercy, but he could resist in small ways. Over time they might add up. He closed his eyes. He didn't want to look as filthy fingers worked their way into his hair.

"This look suits you better. Long, rugged... my, you even have a bit of scruff on your chin. That short, trimmed look never suited you when we were in school," he teased, nipping at Ron's jaw line.

He took his mouth in a violent kiss. Ron gagged against the assault of his tongue. He struggled against his binds, unable to escape the cruel softness of an enemies mouth.

"Look at me... look at me."

Ron wouldn't. He expected to be struck, to have his body beaten, but he would not look. Ron, in his innocence, could not have expected the intruding finger, sliding up and into his most intimate place. Despite his resolve, Ron looked, eyes wide and body trembling at the intrusion. He looked up at his wide set eyes, his dark hair, the high cheekbones that led down to tangled facial hair and malicious, intimidating lips. He barely recognized him. Ron's eyes fell over the man's large shoulders and every curve the muscle made. His barrel of a chest boasted more hair than Ron could ever hope to grow. Ron wished he didn't know, that he hadn't recognized the man for who he was. He followed the muscled arm down to where his hand disappeared behind his genitals, to where his fingers had entered his body. He whimpered, thoroughly shaken.

"I am going to hurt you. Every sweet little inch of you, my friend," his voice came out as a purr.

A predatory grin. He pumped his finger deeper inside and bent to suck on a nipple, pulling the tender flesh roughly into his mouth. Ron was gasping for air, each desperate breath shakier, more ragged than the last.

"Please!" Ron begged, his resolve cracking.

"Oho! So soon? We've barely started!" he laughed, retrieving his hand and flipping Ron onto his stomach. "I need to take your virginity, little Ronald."

"I'm not a virgin!" Ron screamed against the cushions, rage temporarily choking out his fear.

He laughed.

"I'm not talking about your willie," he said, reaching around his body to tug lightly at his length. Ron bristled at the contact, furious at the rush of blood that had his shaft hardening. His captor took a moment to palm and stroke with a skilled hand, working Ron into a state of miserable bliss.

"Stop! STOP!" Ron bellowed, reaching climax. Self-loathing poured into Ron's soul as he split his seed out onto the sheets.

Ron quaked in horror as the man reach out, touching Ron's essence on the bed.

"Good boy," he purred. Ron heard a wet, sticky sound and realized that he was covering his own cock with Ron's seed.

"Now," he said, giving Ron's rump a hard smack. Ron choked back a terrified sob, hating himself for his weakness, for allowing this monster to bring him to orgasm. He felt hard pressure against the tight pucker of his ass. He panicked, knowing that his violation was about to reach a new level. Weight encompassed him as his tormentor laid down on top of him, stretching his opening with the tip, plunging in slowly, barely. He kissed the back of his neck, grinding his hips against the tight resistance of Ron's body. He did not sheath himself completely, toying with Ron's fear.

"W-why?" Ron choked against the fabric of the bed. Tears began to hinder his vision as he watched the man twine his fingers around Ron's bound wrists.

"Because you are going to do what we want, but," he grunted, forcing himself deeper, halfway in. "Like any good workhorse, I have to break you. Humiliation always works best with your kind."

With a moan of satisfaction, he slammed in, slick with Ron's bodily betrayal. He laughed maniacally, thrusting in wild, merciless abandon.

"Your self-righteousness makes me sick! You, Potter, and that fucking MudBlood! How does it feel Gryffindor? How does it feel to be fucked by a Slytherin, eh?" he shouted over the agonized screams. "Say my name!"


"Come on now, you know it," he teased, never breaking from the ripping speed of his attack.

"," Ron attempted to hold on to some last shred of dignity, sobbing the word for all he was worth.

"Hearing my name will help me finish quickly, darling," he moaned, enjoying the sound of slapping skin. His thrusts became all the more brutal. Blood was the evidence of his cruelty. "Say it!"

He broke.

" Goyle! GOYLE!"

As he screamed, Ron wished he would just die.

Okay.... deep breath. What did you think? I take all advice. If you like it, let me know. If you hate it, let me know as well.