The Secrets of My Heart

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Chapter 5: The Hold on My Emotions

Hermione rolled onto her stomach still trying to get to sleep. She knew it was futile, especially after remembering Ron's death. Every time she 'took a walk down memory lane,' to use a bad cliché, sleep was impossible.

She rolled out of bed and grabbed her wand, heading to the kitchens for a mug of hot cocoa. Along the way she kept her eyes peeled for anyone else up and out of bed. She supposed it was instinct more than anything, left over from when she was a prefect and later Head Girl. She shivered. The dungeons were cold.

There was a muffled noise to her left, and Hermione turned down the corridor. She was shaking, but she pulled out her wand and tiptoed toward the sound. She squinted through the darkness, trying to see and not be seen, not daring to light her wand. She almost gasped at what she saw, and her brown eyes darkened until they were almost black. Anger boiled deep in the pit of her stomach as she pointed her wand and yelled the first thing that came to her mind.

It was lucky for Marcus Flint that he was only petrified, for Hermione knew some horrible hexes and curses. He deserved more, of course, and the only reason Hermione didn't follow up with something dreadful was a whimper to the bastard's right.

Hermione hurried over, whispering, "Lumos," and gasped. It was Laura Madley's little sister, Amanda, a third year Hufflepuff. Her robes were ripped, and she was weeping silently. Pity and hate were warring silently within Hermione and she only just caught herself before she cast the Killing Curse on Flint.

There was blood. Oh, gods, was there blood. It was all over the floor, Amanda's robes, and on Flinthimself. The bastard would pay, Hermione vowed silently. Yes, he would pay...very dearly. And to make sure of that, she would turn him over to her father.

***

Voldemort paced his chambers. Sleep seemed impossible, but he had no idea what to do. He almost laughed. Imagine telling that to anyone from the Ministry--or even one of his own followers. The Dark Lord at a loss for what to do? He shook his head grimly. No one would believe it.

His alert ears heard a hushed voice speak before it was silenced by a loud, feminine, demanding one. The barest hint of a smile graced his lips as he realized it must be his daughter. He walked out to the two, who were so caught up in their argument that they did not notice him.

"--miss, he is sleeping--"

"I will speak to him now Pettigrew, or I will kill you, do you hear me? Trust me, I am in no mood to be trifled with. And don't forget that there is unfinished business between us, Pettigrew. It's been four years, but I haven't forgotten a thing." Hermione's eyes gleamed brightly as Pettigrew cowered under her glare. Voldemort was amazed to see that her eyes were almost coal-black. He'd have to investigate that more closely later.

The older man stepped out of the shadows. Hermione seemed unfazed by his sudden appearance, but Pettigrew jumped at least a foot in the air. Voldemort quickly stopped a bark of laughter and said in a quiet, oily voice, "Pettigrew, I do believe that my daughter commanded you, did she not?" As the rat quailed under his gaze, Voldemort barked, "Leave us!"

And so he did. As soon as Pettigrew was out of hearing range, Hermione dropped her Dark Lady demeanor and grabbed her father's hand. "You must come quickly!" she said urgently, pulling him down the corridor. He was surprised, but followed her nonetheless. They hadn't traveled far before Hermione pulled him down a corridor he hadn't noticed before. Just as he was making a mental note to inspect the dungeons more closely, his daughter stopped walking. She seemed to be waiting for something.

Voldemort glanced around the darkened corridor, almost blanching when he saw the young girl lying on the floor, her robes ripped, blood everywhere. He shifted his gaze to the motionless form to the right, and bit back a curse. Flint. He should have known the brute had been too quiet lately.

The Dark Lord looked up at his daughter, who was glaring at Flintwith what could only be described as pure hatred. He couldn't blame her. She jerked her eyes from the man's still form to look at her father.

"What will we do with them?" she asked in a tightly controlled voice.

"Well, the girl will go to Madam Pomfrey,and the boy..." His eyes darkened. "He will soon wish he was never born."

Hermione seemed satisfied with that and walked over to the girl cautiously. "Amanda?" she asked quietly. The girl whimpered slightly. "It's Hermione," she whispered. "Remember? Do you remember me, Hermione Granger? I was Head Girl." The Hufflepuff nodded almost imperceptibly and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm going to bring you to the infirmary, alright?" She muttered a few spells under her breath before Amanda was floating beside her. They headed towards the infirmary, and so long as they were within hearing range Hermione didn't stop whispering comforting words to the younger girl.

Voldemort turned back to Flintand muttered the counter to "Petrificus Totalus." Flintstood up immediately and grinned. "Women," he sneered. "Eh, my lord?"

The Dark Lord's mouth curved into an evil smile, and, pointing his wand directly at Flint, he whispered, "Crucio." Flintimmediately fell to the floor, whimpering with pain. "Does that feel good?" he whispered menacingly. "Do you think Amanda liked what you did to her?" The Dark Lord was nearly shaking with the force of his rage. "I believe that you need to learn something, Flint. When you want sex, you go to Pansy Parkinson or Millicent Bulstrode. They love getting knocked up. And you will never do that again." He paused, slowing his breathing with great difficulty before continuing in a thoughtful voice, "Of course... you probably won't have much of a chance to do that, will you?"

He laughed menacingly. "You're going to be the new test subject for all the Death Eaters. Hexes and curses will be constantly hurled at you as my new Death Eaters try to move their way up in the ranks... Won't that be fun?"

Flint could only shudder in response before drifting into blissful unconsciousness, a loud, raucous, evil laughter filling his ears.

***

Hermione sank down against the wall, finally allowing the sobs to rack her body. Gods, why me? she cried silently. It was getting to be too much... But she knew that she'd have to just square her shoulders and take it. It still wasn't as bad as it had been in third year, with the time turner and all of her classes and Buckbeak, and not being able to speak to Harry and Ron first because of the Firebolt and then about Scabbers...

She shook her head, getting rid of the memories. There were good ones mixed in, true, but overall that had been a very stressful year. She didn't need to remember that right now.

Hermione took a deep shuddering breath, trying to get her sobs under control. She didn't want anyone to see her. No one had ever seen her lose her control like that besides Harry and Ron. Well, not quite this much at least. She'd always held onto at least a bit of it to be released in private.

Amanda would be okay, Madam Pomfrey had said. Or at least as okay as you can be after being raped by Marcus Flint. The man--if he deserved such a civilized title--was as brutal as one could be without being... Well, he was as brutal as a man could be. Hermione had stayed only long enough to get Madam Pomfrey's report. She'd watched the Medi-witch, unable to tear her eyes from the third year's broken body.

Amanda had a broken leg and a few ribs, a fractured wrist, and her psychological state was nearly shattered. Madam Pomfrey would need a miracle to get the girl back to her old self. Hermione had a feeling it wouldn't happen.

She bit her lip and buried her face against her knees, trying ineffectually to stop another onslaught of tears. Her body shook violently with the force of her sobs, and she remembered her mother--well, who she'd accepted for sixteen years as her mother, Eloise Granger--telling her when she was younger that it was okay to cry. She missed her. It didn't matter that Eloise hadn't been her real mother; she'd taken care of her since whenever it was that her real mother--Rhianna Marie Dumbledore Riddle--had left her with the Grangers. Eloise had loved her as if Hermione had been her own flesh-and-blood daughter, and Hermione respected that. She admired it.

She supposed it was one of those things that all parents tell their children. "It's okay to cry." And it was true, it really was. She had a feeling that if she didn't let these sobs out, and let them stay bottled up inside of her, they'd eventually explode in a way she really did not want to know about. She gave a choked laugh. She really was avoiding the issue, wasn't she?

She was afraid that she would do something she would regret. Specifically, kill someone. Her father--her biological father, that is--wasn't as bad as she had thought at first, no, but he was still Voldemort. She had a feeling he'd been worse in his youth, more power-hungry and ... evil. She also guessed that Rhianna had helped pull him out of that. But she was afraid that she might become evil if she let enough rage become bottled up inside of her. Sure, she had Harry, but how long would it last? He was the one in the prophesy, there was no doubt about it. It would only be a matter of time before Voldemort decided the time was right to kill him.

Hermione was reluctant to tell Harry about the prophesy. She didn't think that he should know, for whatever reason. The prophesy... There was something about it that wasn't quite right, and she was afraid that they might interpret it wrong and do the wrong thing. She thought back to the words...

When the Daughter of the Dark

And the Son of the Light unite

In body, heart, mind and soul,

The Dark Lord shall be no more.

And yet, there really wasn't that much room for interpretation, now was there? The Daughter of the Dark and the Son of the Light fall in love and then they have sex, surrendering everything to the other. It really was not that difficult. But she couldn't tell Harry about it. She had no idea why not. He was her best friend, and he was almost her lover. Almost. They had the horrible luck of being interrupted at the most inopportune moments. She actually cracked a smile at the thought.

Hermione heard soft footsteps echoing down the hall, and she quickly stood up, trying to wipe her eyes. She'd stopped sobbing, thank the Gods.

Hmm. But the Gods didn't seem willing to stretch her luck... It was Draco Malfoy. He looked at her, noticing the tear stains on her cheeks and the puffiness of her eyes. However, he didn't say anything about it. He just walked over and pulled her into his arms. She immediately stiffened, but being held in such a ... comforting embrace really did nothing to help her keep her composure. She burst into tears again, giving no thought to the fact that this was Draco Malfoy, the spawn of the Dark Lord--oops, wait, she thought with a very strange giggle (well, it was strange considering she was sobbing), I'm the spawn of the Dark Lord, not Draco...

Well, she gave no thought to the fact that this was Draco Malfoy, the normally, calm, collected, and decidedly cold bastard.

Yes, that seemed a good way to describe him.

Well, the him she knew at least. This whole thing was so confusing Hermione was surprised she didn't just keel over and die. She didn't think anyone would blame her if she did, especially the Gryffindors. Then again, they would probably rejoice at the thought of the traitor's death. This thought brought on another round of tears. Honestly, she'd fought against the Dark Lord for six blasted years, been Harry's friend for all of it, and befriended half the school through it all.

I suppose it really shows you who your true friends are... she thought grimly. The thought made her jolt inwardly. Does this mean that that Draco is my friend? She frowned. It really didn't seem possible. Implausible, really. Draco, friend?She snorted silently, all the while melting further into his embrace. She barely registered it when he dropped to the floor, cradling her in his arms. It was almost as though he ... cared for her or something.

But that was impossible. He was a Malfoy. Malfoys didn't care about anything or anyone. There was no question about that.