A cold winter blizzard chills all of England. Near the Leaky Cauldron, a lone hooded figure braves the harsh weather ad trudges up to the dilapidated pub. The figure troops through the empty bar area and sits down in the far corner. “Can I get you something?” asks Tom the pub’s owner.

“A firewhiskey,” says the cloak, in a harsh whisper.

Tom looks at the cloak and says, “Yes, of course, right away.” He walks through the dark pub, back towards the bar. Behind the bar, he kneels down and writes a quick letter to the Minister.


She is in my pub. I will keep her here for as long as possible, but please hurry.


He ties the note to his owl and lets her out the back door, into the stormy night.

Five years. That is how long it takes to sink so low. One thousand eight hundred and twenty-five days it takes to become a mindless follower. To listen and do. That is her duty. If he tells her to kill, she asks how, if he tells her to torture, she asks how much. The person she has become now seems the exact opposite of what she was five years ago.

She wonders when she became this way. Where had she gone wrong? She had studied so hard, gotten excellent grades, and had such a bright future. But then seventh year came. She was assigned as Head Girl, an honor most girls would be proud to have. And she was proud. The instant popularity and respect she received gave her an ego boost. It had seemed like a fairy tale at first; all the popularity, friends, and privileges seemed unreal. The best part of all was the long standing tradition of Head Girl and Head Boy going out. She smiles to herself as she thinks about all that, but another thought pops into her head, ‘Where is that firewhiskey?’

She raises her head slightly and glances around the pub, which is a bit more crowded now, and continues with her thoughts. She had intended to keep the tradition of dating the Head Boy alive, but after seeing that is was Draco Malfoy, it seemed the tradition was over. It wasn’t. Through the first month, small incidents happened that pushed Draco and her together. Finally, they had spoken their love for each other over Christmas. That Christmas break, she realized, was the key to her dark destiny. Harry and Ron had left for the Burrow, while she chose to be left behind. It seemed the right decision; after all, Draco had told her he LOVED her. But that proved fatal. She started alienating herself from her friends, thinking this would keep Draco saying those three words to her.

‘Where is that bloody firewhiskey’, she thinks. She glances up again and sees that the pub is really crowded; with about fifty figures floating around. She thinks this a little strange, it is after midnight, but thinks nothing more of it and went back to her thoughts.

A death eater. That was his first big order. She had begged and pleaded with him, “They’ll never take me,” she had wept.

“Yes, they will,” he had answered coldly. She had looked into his eyes, but saw nothing.

“Fine,” she answered, hoping that would keep them together. The Weasleys were the first to die at her hands. Ginny and Ron had looked so betrayed when she had pointed her wand at them. They were the hardest to kill, after them, she could kill without feeling. And she did; so many had died because of her. All the murders had contributed to putting her on the Ministries ‘Most Wanted List’, second only to the Dark Lord. All this for Draco. ‘And where is he now,’ she thinks bitterly, ‘with that tramp Pansy!’

“Here you go,” says a figure placing a glass of golden liquid on the wooden table in front of her.

“Thanks,” she sighs in her normal voice and not the harsh whisper. Realizing her slip, she glances up to see if the figure has noticed, but all she sees are sad emerald eyes and a shock of black hair. Too late, she reaches for her wand. Before she can, the fifty figures around the pub all send stunning spells her way; stopping Hermione’s heart in mid-beat.

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