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Sinners by ciararose

Format: Novella
Chapters: 18
Word Count: 39,570

Rating: Mature
Warnings: Strong Language, Strong Violence, Scenes of a Sexual Nature

Genres: Drama, Romance, Angst
Characters: Draco, Pansy
Pairings: Draco/Pansy

First Published: 11/12/2006
Last Chapter: 01/21/2008
Last Updated: 01/30/2011


Gorgeous banner by silv3r_ic3 @TDA

3 years have passed since Graduation, and the war continues. The line between good and evil has become blurred and wearied. In a battle that has changed each participant in a different way, can there be a beautiful side to evil? No matter how tainted or regretful, can love exist among the cruelest of Dark followers? Through love, grief, joy, fear, and death, this is not the story of the saint. This is the story of the sinners.

Chapter 1: Chapter One - Don't Trust a Killer

Hogwarts School Closed, Declared ‘Prohibited Area’ by Ministry

Yesterday, at a news conference held by the Minister of Magic, it was announced that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the school renowned for teaching some of the greatest Wizarding names, the school that has provided the primary means of education to British witches and wizards for centuries, and a familiar landmark to almost every witch and wizard in the world, is now closed. The reason for this closure was not revealed, however, the Minister declared the entire area a Prohibited Zone for any civilian and advised the public that approaching the school would be extremely dangerous. Rumors as to the reasoning behind the closure range, and it is not clear whether the danger is under Ministry control or not.

The mark on her arm burning impatiently, jet black against ivory skin, she hurried up the corridor toward the meeting room. She rubbed at it in discomfort; she was used to the sensation, but it didn’t make it any more enjoyable, and it tended to tingle for hours after the summons. It was always hard to ignore, although she tried sometimes, playing a dangerous game that never lasted for more than a minute or two. He always lasted longer than she did- but then again, he had had the mark longer too.

She reached the heavy doors and nodded to the masked figures standing on either side of it. They glanced at her arm before pulling the doors aside- as though anyone without the mark would be here.

She hated having to see Him in person. Each time he called her, chills came with the summons. He was evil, dark, a picture you longed to turn away from, but so terrible that you could not stop looking. He sat in the front of the hall, and her memories of the place contrasted distressingly with the shadows that adorned it now, with the gleam of red eyes in torchlight, and the icy cold of pale hands resting against dark wood. Each time she walked up the center of the room, footsteps sounding against the stone, she could feel the thrill of youth, and taste each word she had ever spoken within these walls. And then she would bow, and He would speak, his voice destructive and hypnotic, and each train of thought would shatter with a crash against the floor.


Hogwarts School Overtaken by Death Eaters


The closing of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry caused dismay and outrage among the Wizarding community two weeks ago, as parents of young witches and wizards were forced to find alternative schooling for their children. Until now, the reasons for the closure remained unclear. The Daily Prophet, however, has received exclusive information from a source inside the Ministry that, if true, is truly and deeply alarming. The source, who wishes to remain unnamed, has revealed that Hogwarts School has been commandeered by the Dark Lord and is even now serving as a Headquarters for his followers. How this turn of events was allowed to occur is surely a mystery, but if true, this news is certain to cause panic throughout the Wizarding community, as it is an undeniable indication of the growing strength of You-Know-Who and his followers.

The castle was an ideal strategic location, and had the added benefit of some dark sentimental value to the Dark Lord. It was large, strong, and nearly impossible to enter against the will of anyone inside.


But she hated being back here. She hated how she always turned toward the common room before remembering that she no longer lived there, sometimes not until she had reached the entrance. She hated that the room she occupied had once watched her learn Transfiguration, and that the teacher was long dead now. She hated that screams echoed against the corridors, and that shadows crossed so easily when the torchlight was faint, and that every place she went seemed to hold some memory for her, of when she had been there before, young and vibrant and not aware that she could never get out. The place she had been sorted was now the place she met the Dark Lord each time he called her to receive her instructions. The first place she had ever watched a Hogwarts Quidditch game was now the place she had first learned to kill. The first place she had ever been kissed by a boy was now the first place she had suffered a Crucio at the Dark Lord's hand.

She didn’t do well in the past.

Ministry Suffers in Polls, Public Outcry Growing in Volume


The Ministry of Magic is the victim of increasingly common attacks on wartime policy. A frightened and desperate public has turned upon its government seeking assurances and protection. The Ministry of Magic insists that it is taking every possible action to combat the violence and destruction wreaked by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and that the Ministry is ‘not to blame’ for its failures. Members of the public, however, who are used to relying on help from their elected officials in these troubled times, are becoming more vocal in their disapproval and impatience. Yesterday marked the death of the two-hundredth wizard to loose his life at the hands of a Death Eater or as a direct cause of the war. This figure does not account for the almost five hundred Muggles who have died.


She let herself into her room with a key, and went to the closet to remove her coat. She slipped off her shoes and shook hair from her eyes, then turned toward the window. She wasn't surprised to see an old classmate seated on the bed with a book.

"You weren't due back until later," she said, stepping in to the closet to change into robes. She emerged in simple black ones and walked toward the bed, watching her guest sit up against the pillows. She put a pillow against the wall next to him and sat down, leaning on it and tangling her legs perpendicular to his own, her heartbeat, as always, responsive to his lightest touch. She couldn’t remember when first he had tempted her, knew only that he owned her pulse.

"It wasn't as difficult to get in as we thought it might be," he replied, quietly. "No wards."

The dim, grey light coming from the window seemed to call for quiet, for monotone and simplicity. Pansy could feel fatigue radiating from him, both magical and physical. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. It was a dark sort of day, grey with fog and uncertain and quietly threatening. Pansy, who had not been on assignment that day, felt fatigue creeping into her too, like fog running through her veins.

"Who was it?" she asked, and he opened his eyes to gaze at a far wall.


No matter how cruel, how hardened they became, Avada Kedavra never became any easier than the first time. And the first time had been a taste of death- dazzling, almost beautiful, persuasive and coaxing in the darkest way.

Murder in Diagon Alley

In an alarmingly bold move on Tuesday, three Death Eaters were seen, masked and hooded, leaving the Wicked Wands pub in Diagon Alley at approximately three in the afternoon, and promptly Disapparating. Frightened and concerned, neighbors alerted the Ministry before entering the building, only to find the bartender, a Timothy Neeling, dead on the floor, along with two patrons whose names have no been released. The obvious and reckless manner in which this crime was committed suggests that the Death Eaters, supporters of You-Know-Who, are no longer adverse to operating in public and in broad daylight, an idea that has prompted several nearby homeowners to pack their bags for the country. The targeting of Mr. Neeling does not appear random, but no connections between his life and his murder have yet been found.

"Was he alone?"

"No. Abbot and a kid where there, too," he told her, and she could see him watching the scene play out against the stones of the wall. Unlocking the door. Entering quietly, coming in to the kitchen, maybe. Macmillan would have yelled, Hannah would have whimpered. She could almost hear his voice, demanding allegiance and knowledge. The standard speech, which was rarely effective. Macmillan would have been dramatic as always. The flash of green light when the words were spoken, a scream from Abbot. A second flash, and then get rid of the witness.

It was always the same. Only a few ever cooperated, usually the ones who weren't particularly useful anyway. They were the cowardly ones. Their betrayal didn't save them.


“We of the Ministry deeply regret the necessity for this news conference. But it is our duty to inform the public of the ultimate triumph of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. We hope the people of this good nation will forgive us our mistakes, so that we may all bind together in this time of dire need. The Ministry of Magic is no longer the most powerful force in this country, and at this time, we feel that although the best possible efforts to prevent this situation have been taken, there is simply nothing we can do but wait. We of the Ministry urge you to take every possible precaution against the danger that lurks outside your homes. Do not speak to, or contact in any way, any person that you feel may be under the influence or employment of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. If you do make contact with such a person, take every possible measure not to provoke them. Although we know that our people are brave and will fight for their freedoms, the truth is undeniable. The war, for now, is over. We have lost.”

He folded his hands across his stomach. Pansy stayed where she was, looking out the window across from her seat. After a few minutes, she glanced at Draco, noting the even rise and fall of his breathing. He was asleep, but she knew any sound would wake him, as it always did. They were both light sleepers, companions of the night, where darkness greeted them with familiarity. Pansy had never liked the sunlight anyway.

She moved sideways until she lay parallel to him and rested her head on a pillow. The soft rustling of her motion woke him and he slid one arm aside, tiredly pulling her closer and gripping her waist. She heard his breathing slow, then become steady, and eventually, she fell asleep herself.