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She who walks in Darkness	By : SheWalksInDarkness Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 5824 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: All characters and canon script of this Harry Potter fic are owned by J K Rowling and not myself, I make no money or profit off this fic.

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She who walks in Darkness
“She who walks in darkness is emerging from the light, you owe her your fealty. Do not disappoint me.”

The words thundered around their heads as they clutched their burning scars, the white hot pain searing through them, setting their bodies alight. Fear kept them on edge as the pain subsided as they knew, wherever they each were, imprisoned, hiding or out in the light, that they were each thinking the same. Who was ‘she’ and what would she mean for them?

She walked around the house, an empty shell now that they had left, only the odd smattering of rejected belongings remaining. Leaning against the doorframe she attempted to breathe in the familiar scent of her childhood, desperately searching for wisps of her mother’s delicate jasmine perfume or the sandalwood of her father. Even the smoke of the vile cigars he used to puff on whilst reading would have brought comfort but no, it was all dissipating leaving only the musty scent of the stagnant household frozen in time, forgetting her.
She had mourned she told herself. She had sent them away for their protection and she had mourned and she had come out a stronger person, knowing they would have a better life now. She could not be sad that it had ended, only glad that it had happened and built her as a person. This was merely a salvage mission, just a little recon to see if anything had been left before she closed the door, literally, on that part of her life.
Walking through the empty rooms taking in the familiar wall paper, the stains on the carpet where she had spilt nail polish as a child, she thought back on the past year. She had spent what should have been her final year of school travelling around with her two best friends searching for those objects that would ultimately bring down the darkness. Whilst many had been found and destroyed their friendship had been tested, she had wondered before whether or not you were only friends with certain people because you were forced to spend time together, now she knew the answer.
The Dark Lord had disappeared along with many of his Death Eaters. Some said he was weakened beyond repair, that the Light had won. Others said he was simply biding his time, waiting for discourse to stir before he picked the moment of his return, Hermione felt inclined to believe them. Kicking a discarded SPEW badge into a corner she found herself once again questioning her sensibilities. The Dark tortured and killed the innocent without second thought, fuelled by anger and pride, the thirst for purity but was that so different to the Light? Yes they thought themselves as protectors of the innocent but could they be considered such when they were actively seeking out those to kill? Even their own peers whom, without proof of their darkness, could be considered the very innocents the Light were trying to protect? No. She had seen the bloodlust in their eyes, the smirks that played around their lips, at least many of the Dark were forced into it, these killers, her friends, did it for enjoyment.
Shaking her head as if to shake away such thoughts she ventured on through the house. She couldn’t afford to think as such or where did that leave her? A Muggleborn alone in the world, distanced from her friends, still fearing retribution from her enemies, doing her best to lay low until her next steps became obvious.

Sighing, she climbed the wooden steps up into the attic, the only room she had not yet searched. She wasn’t hopeful, so far her old house hadn’t yielded anything of interest and it itself couldn’t be used as a hideaway for her, it was too well known both by the Dark and the Light. Entering the dark, low roofed room she breathed in the musty scent of age; this had been where her parents stored all that he been grown out of or were no longer useful, a few battered boxes still remained looking dog eared and showing signs of damp. Keeping alert for the sound of scratching, a sound that would reaffirm her suspicions there had always been rats up here, she began her search, sifting through old clothes and toys until something caught her eye. Right at the back of the room a soft blue light emitted from behind one of the boxes. The house had been cut off from electricity for months and it was too luminous for natural day light. Venturing forward she pulled boxes out of the way until it was before her, a small ornate chest made of dark cherry wood with pewter hinges, perfectly preserved despite the damp and pouring forth a gentle glow. Reaching her hand out a sudden thought entered her head but it was too late, the tight feeling in her stomach had emerged and she was spinning into darkness repeatedly reprimanding herself of her own stupidity. What self-preserving witch didn’t recognise the light of a portkey?
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She who walks in Darkness