T R A I N E D T O S I N | dramione

Sixteen

Hermione spent the day in bed. She had been studying the parchment of spells since she woke and was certain almost every one was engraved throroughly in her head. It was a convinient distraction.

She couldn't help but wonder what each spell did , something morbid she was sure. She tried to imagine herself casting them, face to face with a Death Eater as she told herself repeatedly that they deserved it.

She had tried so desperately to convince the Order that using dark magic was necessary if they wanted an equal chance against the Death Eaters, told them repeatedly that without it, it would be a miracle if they won. But now that her choice was being stripped from her, did she still believe that?

The Order would be completely oblivious as to the new spells being developed which meant they couldn't know the countercurses. Hermione wasn't sure how long ago the spells were made or if they were already being used against the Order.

Perhaps if they were, Harry would change his mind; realise that hope itself wasn't enough to win. Dark magic came with a cost, it was said to corrupt the mind, turn people into monsters and she didn't doubt that. Voldemort had proved such stories to be true.

Perhaps Harry was so reluctant because he had seen what it had done to Tom. Seen the boy before, during his years at Hogwarts and the child at the orphanage. But Tom had always been troubled, somewhat dark.

Maybe if they just refused to let it consume them, fight agaisnt the darkness unlike Tom Riddle all those years ago. But Hermione wasnt stupid, she knew the power of dark magic and the cost.

The question was, were the Order willing to pay the price of it? Corrupt their own bodies, their own minds for the future of the wizarding world?

Hermione knew she was.

That evening Topsy had been the one to bring Hermione dinner and when she questioned the elf on Draco's absence she replied with, "Master Draco is being busy," just as she always did.

Perhaps he was getting tired of her. Maybe seeing Hermione twice in a day was too much for him but either way, Hermione sat in her usual spot by the window, tapping the clock face absentmindedly as she waited.

Each time the longest hand passed twelve, she would bring her finger lazily towards the glass, reciting the list of spells until she hardly had to think on it. Sorting the similar sounding spells into catorgories, carefully organizing them into seperate corners of her mind.

She had been taught small parts of latin throughout her years in Hogwarts but not enough to piece together words and their meanings. She wasnt sure if she even wanted to know what they did, that way perhaps she could cast them and turn away before the gruesome reaction took effect. She would never know the pain she was causing.

But some part of her wanted to watch. Wanted to see them suffer. Remove their masks and watch them crumple to the floor at her hand. They deserved it.

She didn't judge that part of herself.

As she recited the last spell from the list, she gazed down to the clock. Draco wasn't late, though in two minutes he would be.

She tapped her feet against the wall on the other side of the window. They lay flat against the surface, each collision sending a light "clip" sound through the room.

Her mind wondered idly to the large room that she was clearly forbidden to see. Hermione thought of who would be allowed in, what was carried out inside. It was such an odd space, so out of place in a house like Malfoy Manor. She had decided that it hadn't always been there, a new addition to the house.