Greetings! Welcome to my very first Harry Potter fanfic! *bows to the obligatory applause*
This has been in the works now for a while, only I got distracted by other ideas. Speaking of one such distraction, I do intend to return to Mutt Hunt. I just don't have any inspiration right now :( I do however, have this!
So...On with the show!
Help! Alien robots are attacking! What are your demands scary scions of Planet L?
*scary robot voice* enter disclaimer
Bugger. Fine. I don't own it. Happy now?
The battle had raged for two days, both sides exhausted magically and physically. The fury of the spells may had abated some as their energies drained, but the danger was still great and people still fell as curses engulfed them. In the midst of it all, Hermione Granger fought. The bodies of her opponents surrounded her, some stunned most dead, but even her vast power was waning.
A lull in the battle allowed her a rare glimpse of the chosen one and the Dark Lord as they duelled. Masks of fury covered their faces, wands were raised to continue their battle, and then the lull was over. Hermione forced herself to move as Dolohov barrelled towards her. Having failed at overpowering her magically, he now resorted to the tactics of muggles – the people he so despised.
His attack, however, halted as the deranged laugh of the Dark Lord echoed over the battle field, freezing incantations in their caster's throats. Movement ceased. Wands were lowered. A stunned hush descended. Had he done it? Had the Dark Lord finally defeated The-Boy-Who-Just-Wouldn't-Die?
It was Neville who moved first. Brave, foolish, brilliant Neville who threw himself headlong back into the fight. The rest of the Light followed his lead. The battle started again in earnest, the last stand of the Light. They had nothing to lose now that Harry's body was cooling in the mud. Some ran, like the coward Mundungus Fletecher, but others like Molly Weasley were striking death eaters even as their blood was boiling in their veins.
But Hermione ignored all this. A feral scream was torn from her throat and Death Eaters cowered before her rage. But that same rage that made her so powerful was also her downfall. In amidst the flurry of spells cast she failed to notice the heavy form of Fenrir Greyback hurtling towards her. He tackled her to the ground,using his immense strength to pin her completely. Had she been thinking she would have been able to cast effectively, but her magic was out of control. It lashed out without purpose, like small fists beating against his much larger frame. That didn't stop her though. She clawed against him, bucking away from his body, even as her wand was snapped. All around her, Order members were surrendering and dying, but the spectacle of an enraged Hermione still drew a jeering crowd.
The weight on her back vanished as the first spell hit her. Then the next, and the next one, and the next one. Her blood boiled, her skin stretched, her limbs swelled, her lungs constricted. Through it all she screamed, from rage, from agony. But mostly from grief.
The curses ceased and darkness loomed. Hermione fought it, just as she had always done, but this time the darkness won and the battle was over.
When Hermione awake she wished she hadn't. During her sojourn into unconsciousness someone had put her into a tomblike room. There was no light, no sound, not even a smell carried on a small draft of air. She could not even rely on touch, as magic kept her suspended in the air.
She could feel the vibration in her throat, but no sound reached her ears. The dark suddenly seemed to close in around her, smothering her in despair. She started to scream against it. She screamed until her throat was raw but still no sound was heard. But the pain of her vocal chords let her know she was still alive.
There was no way to tell how long she was in there, except the nagging from her stomach, but even that faded as her body adapted to starvation. Intellectually she knew the limits of her body that she needed water and food to survive, but time was impossible to tell in the never ending dark, so the limits became meaningless. So Hermione lived on in the blackness, unaware of anything, but consumed with memories of the dead.
She remembered warm hands turning frighteningly cold.
She saw bright laughing eyes fade.
She felt their blood on her hands.
She welcomed the blissful peace of sleep so she could forget their accusing faces. How dare she survive where others died. She heard their accusations, she failed them, she let them die. Why should her dirty blood still tarnish the earth?
Her loudest accusers. Her greatest failure.
The darkness swallowed it all.
After a while Hermione began to forget. The endless litany of names became easier to bear as name after name drifted away. It was simpler to live in the dark, there was no one to know and no one to leave. It felt better than that crushing grief and guilt that had once held her. The gnawing in her stomach was gone, her punishingly dry throat non-existent. The dark that had once terrified her now held her safely where there was only numb comfort.
That was when the voice started.
It held a strange sibilance, but who was she to judge? Was that how people spoke now? A way to imitate their great lord?
"Are you hungry?" it asked.
Hermione shrugged. None of the others had asked her that, merely taunted her with her own insignificance. This voice, whoever it was, would soon do so and then leave as had all the rest of the people she once held in her head. There was, therefore, very little point in responding.
"Are you thirsty?" it continued.
Hermione frowned but remained unresponsive. Why was this voice, still unfamiliar to her, breaking the pattern?
"Will you not answer me, little witch?"
She shook her head.
"Why ever not?"
Hermione paused. The voice was…new. She was sure she'd never heard of it before. Was this a delusion? Had the darkness finally pervaded her mind fully? She decided to remain silent. Her Granny always told her that only the crazy people answered the voices in their heads. The conversation gave them uppity ideas about a continued existence.
"I could take that discomfort away you know."
Hermione briefly imagined what it would be like to have water again, to have her throat cooled by the sweet liquid. She opened her mouth to answer, to cry yes, yes give me water!
Overwhelming fear overcame her.
Suppose that this voice was in her head, and not real as she had started to fancy. Then her hopes would be dashed when no water was forthcoming, sending her further into the numb embrace of the dark.
But perhaps more terrifying – what if the voice was real? What if, by some remarkable twist, the voice was telling the truth, and could bring her that oh-so-desired water? Hermione froze. The question of how the water would get to her rose in her mind. Someone would invade her sanctuary, or she would be forced to leave. Hermione shrank in herself and resolved to never answer, even as the voice called out promising water.
The surrounding dark was her sanctuary, and soon it would be her tomb.
So originally this was going to be a OneShot and then I thought - nah! Lets make it a ThreeShot! I've never done a ThreeShot before. Let's go for it!
So let me know what you think!
Also, anyone know a good robot repellent?
I need sleep.