Obliviate

Chapter Twelve | The Alliance

For five days straight, Hermione focused all her energy solely on researching the three books Malfoy had given her from the library.

She'd grown to love spending her days sat at the dining room table, her eyes carefully scanning through the thousands of pages filled with millions of words, taking her back in time as she relived the First Wizarding War through the writers eyes.

She'd lived on toast with butter and continuous coffees for nearly a week. On occasion, Draco would pass by and shoot her semi concerned stare - like an 'are you okay?' look, or a 'you look like shit look'.

She could never tell the difference. Besides, it didn't matter to Hermione. Regardless of what she had in front of her, she knew she was coming out winning.

For the first time in years, she had books. She could jump into a story and act it all out in her mind. The true stories she read gave her the chills.

Hermione had never felt so high. It was euphoric.

She didn't show her true feelings to Draco, of course.

She'd known if he'd even suspected the slightest inkling that Hermione was enjoying herself whilst researching, he would be sure to take the books, lock her in her room just like at Hogwarts, and throw away the key.

He'd probably rather read the thousands of pages himself than ever seen Hermione happy.

Not like it mattered.

For years, she lived to serve. And now, with the Dark Lord winning the war and conquering the large majority of the Wizarding World, Hermione's sole purpose would still be to serve. She'd be a slave to the darkness until the day she died.

The sad fact was, for Hermione - what should be the saddest day of Hermione's life would really be the happiest for her.

When she died, she knew she would feel truly at peace. Nobody to serve. Nobody to tell her where to go and what to do and what to say.

However for Hermione, she was certain she was going to hell.

She would finally be free of Madam Buckshire and her increasingly irritating visits once a month.

But for Hermione, the dark side was better than being on the light.

When in the darkness, the Death Eater's and the other followers would strike with power. The light, would strike with love.

Hermione knew love didn't bring her anything apart from pain. Sadness. Loving the Order lost her freedom.

Loving others only got them killed.

What she was doing to aid Lord Voldemort and his insufferable bitches was basically the equivalent to spitting on the Order members graves.

But from love, turned sorrow. Then from sorrow, transitioned to hate. Grimace. Detest.

Love only ever brought Hermione the complete opposite. Which is why she agreed to help the Dark Lord in the first place.

She loved the Order, but the Order didn't love her.

One sided love killed her from the inside out. Just like watching the person you love, fall in love with somebody else, she knew that's how the Order made her feel.

The Order failed Hermione more than they failed the war.

Hermione carefully flicked through the thousands of pages worth of history books, jotting down each and every piece of information she found appropriate or relatable to the attack on the Ministry.