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2007-01-31T19:18:33Z

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"Schadenfreude" chapter three

2007-01-25T02:53:55Z

Title: Schadenfreude - Part One, Chapter Three
Author: Didi (pyrogrl)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst
Word Count: 3675
Warnings: Heavy angst, character death
Summary: Hermione attends the trials of ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy and learns that she has a darker side: a side that takes pleasure in Malfoy's suffering.
Author's Notes: Big thanks to Beth, who helped me choose my beta-reader, and HUGE thanks to my beta-reader, Kristin! I like comments. I'm really proud of how this fic turned out, and I'm sad to be saying goodbye to it after so long.
Link to previous chapters: Chapter One Chapter Two

Schadenfreude
Part One - Chapter Three

“Come to finish me off?” he asked coldly. Hermione frowned and shook her head.

“No,” she said. “I’m not the type to torture someone before killing them. If I wanted to kill you, Malfoy, I would have done so ages ago.”

Malfoy smirked at her. “No, you wouldn’t. You don’t have it in you to kill someone just for the sake of killing them. I know about you, Granger: you’ve only killed four times. One was an accident. The rest were killed because it was necessary.” He leaned forward. “Or do you feel that killing me would be necessary?”

She let his question linger before answering simply, “Yes.” He blinked at her, obviously taken aback by her answer. “I think that you are a danger to the wizarding world, Malfoy, and that many people will sleep at night knowing that you are gone.” Including myself.

“Well,” he said gravely, “at least you’re honest.”

Hermione brushed that comment aside. “What did you mean at the trial when you said ‘you let me catch you’?”

“Granger,” he began, uncrossing his legs and lowering his voice. Hermione had to lean towards him to hear him. “I was at the house for at least ten minutes before you arrived. I was staring at the girl’s body. Even I was shocked at what I’d just done. I’ve killed before and it hasn’t affected me the way she did.”

“Because you killed innocence,” Hermione snapped. “I’ve heard this before, Malfoy. Come up with a new story.”

His nostrils flared in impatience. “Do you want to know why I let you catch me or not?”

She leaned back and folded her arms over her chest. Malfoy took a deep breath before he went on.

“When she died, I felt like I’d been hit over the head with a club.”

“You realized what you were doing was wrong and therefore you wanted to be redeemed,” Hermione interrupted sarcastically.

“Not at all.” He seemed to sense that she had something to say, so he stopped and allowed her to speak.

“You realized you had killed a pureblood?”

“She wasn’t truly pure, so no. Now Granger, shut up and let me tell you. When I saw her lying on the floor, looking up at me with those big, frightened eyes – Potter’s eyes, as I’m sure you noticed – I realized that I couldn’t take it back. And you know what, Granger?” He rose and made his way over to her. He knelt down and grabbed the bars of his cell. “I honestly wanted to take it back. It hit me then that everything I’d done was done; I could never be forgiven and I could never be redeemed. And what did it accomplish? It made your side stronger.”

“Yes,” was all she could say.

“I’ve gone through life as a spoiled brat who’s had everything handed to me on a silver platter. I’ve never looked at the consequences of my actions until I killed the girl. So I gave up. I waited for someone to arrive, then made it look like I was trying to escape.” He peered at her closely, taking in everything: her soaked clothes, her tangled hair, how exhausted she seemed even in disguise. She was a sign of life, the first true life that he’d seen in days. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m opening up like this, to you of all people.”

“Because you have no choice,” said Hermione.

“Granger, I do have the choice. How will it look if, on the day of the trial, I let slip that Hermione Granger paid me a visit in disguise? I thought you were smarter than that.”

“I wanted you to know that it was me.” She sneered at him. “I came here on a personal mission.”

He leaned his forehead against the bars. “I’m opening up because I know it won’t make a difference. You can’t use any of this in court because it will prove that you were here illegally.” He paused, then said, “Having trouble sleeping, Granger?”

She jumped slightly, not expecting the question. She scolded herself after; he didn’t know that she was having nightmares about him. Anyone could tell by her posture, and if they were able to see the rings under her eyes. But she’d given Malfoy exactly the reaction he wanted. A glint came into his eye that she hadn’t seen since their fifth year at Hogwarts.

“Tell me about your dreams, Granger.”

“You’re in them,” she said. “You’re dying. And I’m…” She hesitated. Malfoy could use this against her in court.

“You’re happy,” he said. “I can see it in your fake blue eyes, Granger.” His legs were trembling, his muscles strained after so much misuse. He sat down on the floor. “I do wish you’d drop the disguise. It’s revolting, not to mention cowardly.”

“Tell me about putting on the Death Eater masks,” she said, ignoring his comments. He raised his eyebrows.

“Why? Have you secretly wondered what it would be like to wear one?”

Hermione answered with a glare. “Like I said in the courtroom, it’s liberating. Whenever I put one on, I felt this intense sense of freedom. I felt powerful. I felt like I could do anything I wanted, especially after Potter killed the Dark Lord. There were no restraints.”

“If you want to talk about cowardice,” she spat, “then we could just as easily say that you were hiding behind your mask. Did it, perhaps, cover your eyes when you cast the Killing Curse? So you wouldn’t have to see your victims?”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. There was a long silence between them. At last Hermione nodded, satisfied with his “answer”. “I thought so.”

“You’re shivering,” Malfoy said, and Hermione noticed that he was right. Her warming charm had worn off. She pulled her jacket tightly around her.

“It’s raining in London,” she said simply.

A strange sort of buzz rang throughout Azkaban. Hermione jumped at the sound and stood up, reaching into her sleeve for her wand. Malfoy chuckled.

“It’s dinner time,” he said. Hermione pursed her lips and sat back down. A food dish appeared in the middle of Malfoy’s cell, containing cheese, bread, an apple, a slice of cold meat and water. “It’s not much,” he said, reaching over and dragging it towards him, “but we get the four basic food groups each day.”

Hermione pitied the other residents. But as she watched Malfoy pick the mould off his bread, the sick, happy feeling returned to her. A tiny grin played about her lips. Malfoy caught it out of the corner of his eye.

“They have a word for what you’re feeling, you know,” he said.

…schadenfreude…

Hermione had been living in her flat for three months before she returned to the Burrow. Ginny was on her fourth date with some Quidditch player and the Potters were at home with the baby. Luna had brought Rose home a mere two days ago; she and Harry were left alone to bond with her. Hermione knew that tonight Ron was alone.

Good.

She knocked on the door. It sounded strangely hollow to her. Maybe that was because of her nerves. Or the two glasses of rum and coke she’d had before coming here.

Hermione had never been able to hold her liquor. She knew this from the first celebratory party thrown for Harry; the twins had kept on refilling her champagne glass and she’d been too absorbed in the celebrations to notice. Since then, she only drank when she was at a fancy dinner, and always limited herself to one glass of wine. She had alcohol at her flat in case she had company and they wanted drinks, but she stayed away from it. Tonight, though, she had craved a drink.

Hermione was not one to crave a drink.

Maybe it was the stress of her job. She had attended the trials of seven Death Eaters in the span of nine days, though had never testified for or against any of them. But simply being there, being in a room engulfed in darkness and loathing, was exhausting. Today, one of the Death Eaters on trial had recognized her and began to shout insults and curses and foul words that Hermione dared not utter. He was silenced, but his outburst had taken its toll. Hermione wanted something more than a Cheering Charm. She wanted a drink.

Her rum was a lot stronger than champagne. She reckoned she mixed a bit too much of it in with her diet coke. And look where it got you, she scolded herself bitterly. Tipsy and standing outside Ron Weasley’s house, ready to pounce back into his arms.

Ron opened the door a crack. Hermione smiled and began to walk inside, but he stopped her.

“What’s up?” he asked, sounding rushed. Hermione looked behind him.

“Why’s it so dark in there?” she asked. “Can I come in?”

“I’m…busy…” He shifted his gaze. Hermione saw his ears turn red. “Can it wait?”

A pale hand tussled Ron’s hair. Moments later, a young woman was standing beside Ron, opening the door wider. She was tall, with dark grey eyes, raven-black hair and lips so shiny and red that Hermione’s first thought was that they were bleeding. She wore a black mini-dress and held a wine glass in her hand. Hermione felt her stomach plummet.

“Can we help you?” the woman asked. Hermione blinked at her a few times, wondering who she was and why she was touching Ron’s arm like…like a girlfriend would; her brain, so sharp, seemed quite fuzzy.

It clicked then as she saw Ron carefully avoiding her gaze. “Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, no, I’m sorry. I’m at the wrong address.” She turned and walked away. Ron might have called after her, but she wasn’t entirely sure. There was a buzzing sound in her ears and she absently swatted the air as if there was an insect buzzing around her head.

Ron had a date.

Ron wasn’t home alone.

Ron had a date.

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

She Disapparated as soon as she felt out of sight of the Burrow.

…schadenfreude…

“What?” Hermione asked sharply. Malfoy looked up at her, flicking a bit of mould into the far corner of his cell.

“Look at you, Granger,” he said. “Look at what you’re doing. Look at where you are.” He paused, possibly thinking it would have some sort of dramatic effect on Hermione, but she kept her face blank. “You came to Azkaban fortress to visit me. Why? I know you’re not trying to bail me out. You’re happy to see me this way, aren’t you?”

“You’re sick,” she spat.

“Am I?”

“You may have some pleasure in watching others suffer, Malfoy, but I certainly don’t.”

Malfoy sighed and shook his head. “You are truly daft, Mudblood. You always were. I was the only one to see it, really.”

She wanted to hex him. She hadn’t been called a ‘Mudblood’ in years. When at last there seemed to be some equality between purebloods, half-bloods and Muggle-borns in the world, Malfoy had to come along and prove that there would always be someone to keep hatred and prejudice alive.

“And let it die with you,” she muttered, not able to keep it to herself. Malfoy heard it and smirked triumphantly.

“Do you want to know what it’s called?”

“What?”

“What you’re feeling. You know, pleasure in knowing that I’m going to die. Happiness in knowing that I’m suffering.”

Hermione stood up angrily, knocking the chair over. “It’s called relief, Malfoy,” she snapped, then began to walk past him briskly.

“No,” he whispered. And then he said something in a different language that sounded either Russian or German, but Hermione didn’t stop to ask him to repeat it. She left as quickly as her feet would carry her.

…schadenfreude…

It was forty-five minutes later before Harry and Luna arrived at home. Hermione had magically bound Malfoy before going their fireplace and contacting Ron at his office. She told him that she had caught Malfoy and that she was at Harry’s house. He didn’t ask her any questions until he arrived with three other Aurors. They took Malfoy away. Hermione explained what she thought happened, and what she’d found when she arrived.

Then Harry and Luna walked in. Luna had had a “bad feeling” all night and wanted to be home as quickly as possible. She took one look at the demolished living room, the two blankets that covered the bodies, and the look on Ron and Hermione’s faces and seemed to know what happened.

“Rose?” she asked. Ron slowly pointed towards the smaller blanket. Luna swayed on the spot; Harry had to grasp her shoulders firmly to keep her from fainting, though he too was looking weak.

“I’m so sorry,” Hermione said. “I couldn’t save them. I didn’t get the message in time. I’m so sorry…” She felt a knot in her throat and couldn’t speak anymore. She went to Luna and hugged her, and both women began to cry. Ron took Luna’s arm and led her to the kitchen so she could sit down. Hermione hung back, staring at Harry, wondering if he would become angry or distant. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes shut, his breath shaky. Hermione swallowed, waiting for his reaction.

“Who?” he asked.

“It…it was Draco Malfoy. He escaped Azkaban a few days ago and he…he came here. I think he was looking for you. From what I can tell, Neville fought him off until Malfoy killed him. From the looks of Neville, he was tortured by the Cruciatus Curse before murdered. I don’t know exactly what happened to Rose, but I’ll find out. Malfoy won’t get away with this, Harry. I promise.” She wiped her eyes before laying a hand on his shoulder. He nodded, laying his opposite hand over hers.

“I’m sure Neville did the best he could,” he said. “And you, too. You caught Malfoy, then?”

“Yes. He was trying to escape, but I got him.”

Harry walked over to Rose and knelt down beside her, turning the blanket over and gently touching her cheek with the back of his hand. “I picked her up,” Hermione said, “but Ron told me to put her the way I found her so that it would make it easier for us to investigate what happened. But it shouldn’t be a problem; Malfoy’s caught for good now.”

“Thank god,” he said quietly. “I pitied him, you know. When he was supposed to kill Dumbledore and he couldn’t, I pitied him. Will he be…killed?”

“I can’t see any way for him to get out of this alive,” she replied. Something flickered in Harry’s eyes that almost seemed like satisfaction, but then it was gone. Hermione shrugged it off, thinking she’d imagined it. “If they decide to hold a trial, they’ll want me to testify…and they might ask you to testify as well. You’re the only witness to some of his murders, after all.”

“I know. I’ll testify. I don’t see why they’d bother with a trial, though. He’s guilty of…of everything.” His eyes were watering up. Hermione averted her gaze. She didn’t want to see Harry cry. She had seen him cry before, but this was private. She excused herself and went to the kitchen.

schadenfreude…

The rain continued for the next two days. All of Hermione’s belongings were in boxes; she was apartment hunting and wanted to leave as soon as she found a place. She had finally taken her complaints to the landlord, who had nodded along and finally said that he’d received similar complaints from other residents. The city was tearing the place down soon to rebuild it anyway, so there was no use fixing it up.

It didn’t matter how much they fixed it up, Hermione decided, she was never going back there once she left.

The rain poured harder outside. Hermione was watching it absently, resting her chin on her palm as she sat at her kitchen table, her notes on Malfoy laid out before her. Yesterday she’d gone to work early and magically fixed up her appearance to make others believe she’d rested. Ron had managed to write down events in Malfoy’s life up to his first capture and had given them to Hermione at lunch. She’d finished them off, writing what happened in his life up until the trial.

As she looked over them, she felt as though they weren’t complete. They were only describing what happened. Hermione wanted more than that. She wanted to know why they happened. But that, she realized, would only be discovered if she visited him again. She couldn’t do that. So far Malfoy was quiet about their conversation, but if she went again he might let it slip.

Well, she couldn’t very well decide that Malfoy was guilty unless she understood the reason behind the murders. After thinking this, she shook her head. Of course Malfoy was guilty. He deserved to rot behind bars for what he did. He deserved whatever punishment he would receive. He killed so many people that he could never be forgiven or redeemed.

There was a knock at Hermione’s door, jolting her back to reality. She neatened her papers and quickly shoved them in drawer on her way to answer. “Yes?” she said, opening the door a crack.

“It’s me,” came Ron’s voice. Hermione smiled, opening the door all the way. “I came to see if you were alright.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Hermione asked, letting him in. He was holding a damp-looking paper bag.

“You haven’t looked very well lately.” He placed the bag on the table and looked around. Hermione’s flat was still very neat (with the exception of boxes taking up space in the living room), proving to him that she hadn’t lost her mind yet. “I brought you some chicken soup.”

“Did you make it?” Hermione asked teasingly, looking as though she was preparing to defend herself against it.

Ron smiled. “No, Ginny did.” He opened up the bag and pulled out a Styrofoam bowl with a fogged-up lid. Hermione looked at the labels on her boxes; finding the one labeled “Kitchen Supplies”, she opened it up and pulled out two spoons before sitting down at her table across from Ron. “Have you found a place yet?” he asked, hesitantly taking the spoon.

“No.” Hermione opened up the lid, steam gushing out from under it. For a moment, the lovely aroma of the soup covered up the foulness of her carpet. Then it was gone, but Hermione dipped her spoon in anyway.

“You know you’re always welcome at the Burrow,” Ron said, setting his spoon down. “We do have another room.”

Hermione swallowed a mouthful of soup and sighed. “I don’t know about that, Ron. I don’t think it would be a good idea. It might…what if we think about us again?”

“We won’t,” Ron said simply. “We both agreed that it was better to stay friends.” Hermione kept silent. She and Ron had never discussed the night she arrived on his doorstep, wanting to rekindle whatever had been there years ago. She vaguely wondered what happened between he and his date, but didn’t ask him.

“Well, I just think that now isn’t the right time. I’m so busy with the trial, and I don’t want any…distractions. No offense.”

“None taken. I guess that’s fair.” He twirled the spoon in his fingers. “Hermione, have you ever actually been on a date since then?”

Hermione blinked at him, surprised at the question. “I – well, no, I haven’t.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re nearly twenty-five,” he said. Hermione scowled at him as if to say, “So?” Ron sat back, setting the spoon back down on the table. “There’s nothing wrong with that,” he said quickly. “I find it…touching. Anyways, what have you been doing that’s got you so stressed out?”

“Working,” she said. She took another mouthful of soup. It burned her tongue, but it already seemed to warm her up. “This sounds crazy, but I want to know as much about Malfoy as I can. I don’t want to know just the what and the how, Ron. I want to know why, too.”

“It does sound crazy,” he agreed, “but only because it’s Malfoy. Besides, Hermione, we already know the why: he’s an evil git. He always has been. You knew him in school, always calling you a ‘Mudblood’” – he seemed to stumble over the word, having only said it a few times in his life and never directing it at someone – “and trying to get Hagrid sacked, and when he tried to kill Dumbledore; he’s just a prat, Hermione. That’s all there is to it.”

He stayed for a while longer. They switched topics and talked about happier things. They lingered on the topic of Ginny and her boyfriend. Hermione was almost certain he would propose to her soon, while Ron denied it in his typical brotherly fashion. Hermione finished her soup and thanked him for it. It truly did make her feel better, and she wondered if he slipped a pinch of Euphoria Potion in it. Whatever he did, it was working.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said as he left.

“Definitely,” he said, kissing her forehead lightly. He squeezed her shoulder gently, then left. Hermione was alone again. She stood in her doorway for a few moments before sighing and going back inside. She pulled her notes out of her drawer and skimmed over them quickly.

It didn’t make sense. According to Harry, Malfoy could barely hold his wand, let alone kill Dumbledore, when he first became a Death Eater. Hermione had always thought he was all talk and would never be capable of murder, even with his family’s reputation. What had changed?

Well, she decided with a grim smile, if she wanted to know, she would just have to pay him another visit and hope he kept it a secret.

"Schadenfreude" Part I, Chapter II

2007-01-23T21:11:33Z

Title: Schadenfreude - Part One, Chapter Two
Author: Didi (pyrogrl)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst
Word Count: 3509
Warnings: Heavy angst, character death
Summary: Hermione attends the trials of ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy and learns that she has a darker side: a side that takes pleasure in Malfoy's suffering.
Author's Notes: Big thanks to Beth, who helped me choose my beta-reader, and HUGE thanks to my beta-reader, Kristin! I like comments. I'm really proud of how this fic turned out, and I'm sad to be saying goodbye to it after so long.
Link to Chapter One: Chapter One

Schadenfreude
Part One - Chapter Two

Hermione grinned wickedly as she stood outside Draco Malfoy’s new cell in Azkaban. The man was nearly dead. They had stopped feeding him, though he wouldn’t have eaten anyway. He had accepted the fact that he was going to die.

“Good evening, Draco,” Hermione said tauntingly. He hated being called ‘Draco’. He raised his head weakly from his knees and snarled at her. He was barely human anymore. “Did you have a good sleep last night? Did Rosie come to you again?”

He was too weak to fight back. His eyes merely narrowed, then his head went down again. He couldn’t look up for very long anymore.

“Good,” she said. “Luna has been saying that she can sleep easier these days, knowing that you’re about to die. She knows that your death won’t bring back Rose, but at least if she and Harry have any more children you won’t be around to murder them.”

She had no idea that cruelty could feel so good.

Hermione woke with a jolt, drenched in a cold sweat. She’d been having the same dream for five nights now, ever since the trial. Shuddering, she pushed off her duvet cover and walked shakily to her bathroom.

She was currently living in a one-bedroom Muggle flat in London. It was at nearly the perfect distance between the Ministry of Magic and Diagon Alley, though it wasn’t in the greatest shape. The carpet still smelled like feet despite her many attempts to clean it, including magical products. She was saving up to get the peeling wallpaper repaired (she didn’t want to risk using magic in case her landlord became suspicious) and the electricity was always on the fritz. The plumbing was good however and the water was safe enough to drink. Still, she was only there to sleep, as she spent most of her day at work. All she needed was a bed, bathroom, shower and place to store her books.

She flicked on the bathroom light and only one of the three bulbs above the mirror came on. She groaned, but turned on her sink faucet and splashed some water on her face and dried it with a cloth. She could fix the bulbs with magic, she supposed, but as she was living in a primarily Muggle environment she felt that magic was only to be used when it was absolutely necessary.

Like on my carpet, she thought bitterly. She had been living in that apartment for five years and still she wasn’t used to the smell. An Auror, she had soon learned, was not as well-paying of a job as she’d originally thought. Harry had offered her money quite a few times, but she had always refused. Ron was worse off than she was, anyway.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror. She had dark circles under her eyes. Her skin was pale – almost pasty, she realized with a grimace. Her brown eyes were dull, her lips were chapped, her bushy hair now looked as though it had been first electrocuted and then suffered from intense winter static…Merlin, had she gone to work like that?

“You’re a mess,” she said to herself.

It was Malfoy’s fault, she told herself as she flicked off the light and felt her way back to bed. If he had never attacked Neville…if he had never killed Rosie…and the damn trial…

She couldn’t sleep like that. Rolling onto her side, she looked at her alarm clock. It was five-thirty in the morning. She had to get up for work in a half-hour anyway. Sighing, she sat up and stretched. Again, she threw off her blankets and felt her way through the dark to flick on her lights. Her eyes adjusted quickly and she went to her closet, picking out a white blouse and grey skirt to wear on her way to work (she kept her robes in her office). She laid them out on her bed and left them there while she brushed her teeth and washed her face. She attempted to tame her rat’s nest, but it was a lost cause. Sighing, she grabbed the only ponytail she owned off the counter and tied back as much hair as she could with it before surveying herself in the mirror.

Well, she could look worse. She changed into her clothes for the day and went into her kitchen to make breakfast.

She was out of oatmeal. Hermione opened the door to her fridge. The bulb didn’t flick on. The electricity had broken down that night and while it worked for a little while that morning while she’d been getting ready, it was down again. Now everything in her fridge (milk, lettuce and leftover bacon) was rotten.

Enough was enough. She would complain to the superintendent before she went to work. She was sure that the other residents were just as dissatisfied. Why she hadn’t gone to him earlier, she didn’t know.

Why wait for work? Phone him now. Wake him up, said a nasty little voice in her mind. Huh. That didn’t seem like a bad idea – except she couldn’t phone him. Her phone quit ages ago – not like it would work at this time anyway. Well, sooner or later someone would hear about the poor living conditions here and do something about it.

Hermione went to the door and grabbed her plain brown jacket off the hook. She felt inside the pocket; she had five pounds in it. She had enough for tea, and maybe a muffin. She went into her bedroom and pulled her wand out from under her mattress, shoved it in her sleeve, grabbed her old book-bag, and left.

…schadenfreude…

Hermione stood outside the Burrow, staring up at the place she’d loved to visit as a teenager. It was a bit more crooked than usual, with a few more planks of wood rotting, but it still gave off a feeling of comfort and home to an outsider. She sighed, then knocked on the door. She heard the familiar excited hooting of Ron’s owl, Pigwidgeon. Though he was aging, the owl was still brimming with energy.

“Bloody hell, Pig!” she heard Ron holler at his owl as he approached the door. “Calm down!” He opened the door, holding Pig with his right hand. “Hermione! What are you doing here?”

“I…” Hermione paused. Was it the right time for her to be going to Ron for comfort? They had, after all, just broken up, if one could call it that. She swallowed. Ron was her friend, and a good friend at that. She could tell him.

“Come in,” Ron said, guiding her inside. He and Ginny were the only ones who lived in the Burrow now; Molly and Arthur had died in the war. Hermione saw boxes strewn everywhere, filled to the brim with items that she couldn’t put a name on. Ron caught her gaze. “It’s stuff that Mum and Dad left. We have to sell some of it. To free up space, you know…” He released Pig and lifted a box off a chair with his wand, setting it down by the stairs. Hermione took the hint and sat down in it while Ron cleared a spot for himself. “What’s up?”

“I went to take money out of my account today,” said Hermione tonelessly. “I’ve had a Muggle bank account ever since I was born, and I wanted to convert it into wizard currency.”

Ron nodded. “Yes, and…”

“And my parents removed it all.”

He was taken aback. “Why would they do that?”

“I never told you this, but I had a row with them last week. They wanted me to come back to the Muggle world, go to university, lead a ‘normal’ life. They thought that the wizarding world was too dangerous for someone like me.”

“By ‘someone like you’ they meant…Muggle-born?”

“Partly. They also meant ‘intellectual’. They saw what I went through with the war and they didn’t want that to happen again. They’re trying to protect me. I told them that there was a reason I was a witch, and that was so I could help Harry fight Voldemort.”

“And they said you’d done your part.”

Hermione nodded. Ron made a motion as if to touch her shoulder gently, but Hermione continued: “I told them that it was my decision. I wanted to stay in the wizarding world, because it was so much of my life and because I believe that I’m meant to stay here. Needless to say, they weren’t very pleased with me. They told me that though they supported me, magic had always made them uncomfortable. They’re too logical and rational to accept it, really. Then my father said that I had a choice to make: be a Granger, or be a witch.”

“He didn’t!”

“He did. It’s so unlike them, Ron. They were always encouraging me in my magic before. I guess that when Voldemort returned to power they panicked.” She sighed and rubbed her temples. “I was going to be a doctor,” she said quietly. “Before I learned that I was a witch, I said that I wanted to be a doctor. I suppose they still wanted that for me.” She looked up at Ron, her eyes starting to sting with tears. “I told them that my life would never be fulfilled if I…if I stayed a Granger. And then I Disapparated. I Disapparated right in front of them.”

“Where’d you go?” Ron asked.

“The Leaky Cauldron. I stayed there for a few days while I went apartment hunting. I figured that you and Ginny would be busy here, and Harry and Luna were on their honeymoon…”

“You should have come straight here,” Ron said, coming over to Hermione and kneeling in front of her. “Ginny and I weren’t doing anything important. Do you…” He hesitated and Hermione could see that his conscience was fighting common sense. “Do you want us to lend you some money?”

“No thank you,” she said, smiling softly at his kindness. “We get paid in three days, remember?”

“Right.”

“I think I just needed to tell someone. Thank you, Ron.” She leaned forward and hugged him tightly. “You’ve always been there for me.”

“That’s what friends are for,” he said. “You’re staying here until you can find your own place. No, don’t argue.” Hermione had pulled back, opening her mouth to refuse. “We’re not that bad off. Besides, you know that you want to.” He grinned at her. She smiled back.

“Thank you.”

…schadenfreude…

“Go home.”

Hermione looked up and saw Tonks leaning in the doorway to her office. During the war, she’d been promoted to Head Auror. Hermione was grateful that she had someone like Tonks as her superior; it certainly made her job easier knowing that her Muggle heritage wasn’t keeping her from advancing.

“What?” she asked.

“You look…well, I don’t know how to say this nicely, you look terrible.” She came into the office and perched on the edge of Hermione’s desk. “Go home and rest, Hermione.”

“I can’t,” she protested. “I’ve got a lot of reading to do, for the trial.”

“Consider them done,” she said. “I’ll get Ron to do them. Go home, Hermione.”

“But…” Tonks’ expression hardened. Hermione sighed. “Very well. Let me go tell Ron first.”

“Fine.” Tonks smiled at her and left. Hermione rubbed her eyes and looked at the pile of notes she’d currently written on Malfoy’s past. She couldn’t remember any of what she’d written. She gathered them up and stuck them into her book-bag. She shrugged off her robe, hung it up and grabbed her jacket before heading to Ron’s office.

“Ron,” she said, knocking on the door. He looked up from the book he was reading. Hermione glanced at the spine; it was one he’d read numerous times already on the Unforgivable Curses. Ron insisted that if he studied them hard enough, he could come up with sure-fire charms to protect someone from them that were more efficient that the Shield Charm…well, except for the Killing Curse. So far, he hadn’t had any luck.

“Hey,” he said. “You look tired.”

“Tonks told me to go home,” she said. “Have you spoken to Harry?”

“Yeah. He said that he’ll be ready by the trial. He also wants to apologize for his outburst.”

“I know. I should go see him tonight.”

“No,” he said, making his way around his desk to her. “You need rest.”

I can’t rest, she wanted to say, but found that she couldn’t tell him the truth. “Thank you. Oh, Tonks said that you’re supposed to finish my research.”

“On Malfoy?”

“Yes.” She pulled out the notes she had and magically copied them with her wand. “These are what I have so far. They go up to September, 1997. I want to know exactly what I’m up against.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Ron said. He gave Hermione a quick squeeze before she left.

Once out of the Ministry, she automatically walked towards her flat (Apparition was something she considered useful only in emergencies or long-distance travel, and walking was good exercise anyway). It was about four blocks away; Hermione quickened her pace, for dark clouds circled overhead.

She’d managed to walk another twenty steps before the first fat raindrop fell on her nose. She saw more drops slowly fall, and then it began to pour. She stopped in the middle of sidewalk, allowing the rain to soak her through and through. She had always liked rain. It seemed to purify things. Like the way it was washing garbage out of the gutters, she hoped it would wash her of her nightmares.

All around her, Muggles were shrieking in surprise and diving into the nearest store for shelter. Hermione ignored them and continued to walk. When she came to the intersection where, if she went left, she would head home, she stopped again. She had no desire to go back to the flat that most likely would be a fish tank when she arrived.

She turned right, not knowing her true destination but allowing her feet to carry her there.

You’ll catch cold, she thought to herself. Ducking into a dark alley, she pulled out her wand and performed a warming jinx on herself. Though she would still be wet, she wouldn’t get sick. She tucked her wand away and continued her walk, her hands shoved into her pockets, her head ducked down slightly.

“Mama!” she heard a little girl say. She lifted her head and saw the child running through the rain to her mother, who stood in the doorway of a store. The child had chestnut hair and bright green eyes. Just like Rosie.

Hermione looked away. She couldn’t explain why she loved Rosie so much. She was Harry and Luna’s daughter through and through, and yet, from the first time Hermione held the infant in her arms, her own maternal instincts kicked into full-gear. She was named godmother to her while Ron was godfather, and they both had spent as much time as possible with her. Rosie would laugh whenever she saw Ron – he had a knack for funny expressions and could stop her from crying almost immediately – and she would smile and hold her arms out to be lifted up whenever she saw Hermione.

“It’s not fair,” she whispered to herself. She wanted to hex something – something she hadn’t wanted to do for years. She wanted to hex Malfoy, to hit him, to make him pay. Hermione hardly ever wanted something so terrible to happen to anybody, but Malfoy – as he said himself – had killed innocence.

She hid in another alley and, without truly knowing why, she Disapparated.

…schadenfreude…

Luna was lying in the hospital bed, holding Rose in her arms and staring into her eyes lovingly. Harry led Hermione and Ron in and they surrounded the bed. Rose’s eyes, so big and such a vibrant green, looked at her visitors. She looked almost curious, if such a feat was possible for a newborn.

“Look,” said Harry to Hermione and Ron, “Luna and I have been discussing this for a while and…well…” He looked at Luna, who smiled at him. “Would you two consider being godparents to Rose?”

“Definitely,” said Ron without hesitation. Words failed Hermione; she merely nodded, smiling.

“Thank you,” said Harry.

“Do you want to hold her?” asked Luna. The war had changed her; she wasn’t as odd or vague as she used to be. She still held her beliefs about such things as Nargles and the Crumple-Horned Snorcack, but she was almost normal—for a witch. Outside, she looked the same: her hair was still long and fair, her skin was still pale, and her eyes were still big and blue.

Hermione smiled. “Of course,” she said. Luna gently placed Rose in Hermione’s arms. She was beautiful. Her hair was already thick and a dark brown colour. She struggled a hand free out of the blanket and reached for Hermione’s hair. She laughed softly and let the baby grab some. She didn’t pull, which was a relief.

I want one, Hermione found herself thinking. It was strange; it was the first time since 1994 that she’d thought about having children. The war had consumed so much of her life that she hadn’t had time to think about settling down. As she handed Rose to Ron, she glanced up into his eyes. She saw that even he had tears threatening to fall from his eyes. She and Ron had called it quits; could they start back up again?

No, she thought. If you broke up, you might never recover.

“She’s perfect,” she said. And she meant it.

…schadenfreude…

She was outside of Azkaban. It was not raining there. She took out her wand and disguised herself to look like a plump woman, a few years older than she truly was, with blue eyes and sandy hair. Then, not giving herself time to think about what she was doing, she stepped inside. Inside the stone prison, there was an old desk, behind which stood a man who was writing something down on parchment. He was middle-aged and Hermione could catch a faint smell of Firewhiskey as she walked up to him. He squinted at her, trying to recognize her, but couldn’t see through her disguise. He handed her a quill and pushed an open book towards her. She wrote down:

Amy Ayres – Draco Malfoy

The man looked at the name of the person she intended to see. She gave him a stony glare that told him not to ask any questions, and he didn’t.

“Cell four, Permanent Residents,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice. She nodded and turned to the bars that guarded the entrance to the wards. They were shimmering slightly, showing off their protective magic. The man sent a non-verbal charm towards them and they began to rise. Only two people knew of the charm, Hermione remembered absently, the Minister for Magic and the prison guard.

She walked through and heard the bars come down again behind her. She turned left and walked all the way down to the end of the long hallway, where a floating sign indicated the Permanent Residents ward. There were no Dementors; there hadn’t been since 1996, yet their presence still seemed to linger. Azkaban was now guarded heavily by new, advanced spells that worked until Malfoy had escaped. Then, new spells were quickly invented to automatically killed anyone who attempted escape. There was a charm that acted like an advanced Shield Charm that protected the prisoner from the spell should they be released or were being taken to court.

It seemed to take Hermione forever to reach cell four. The cells in this ward were spread out, with two cell-widths in between each, and they were only on the one side. Hermione was grateful for this; it would make her purpose a lot easier. In each cell there was a single candle that gave off a dim light. There was a chair to the right-hand side of each, and they seemed to warn visitors to stay away. Hermione sat down in the chair outside of Malfoy’s cell and waited for him to notice her. He was sitting in a chair directly across from her, his skinny legs crossed in a v-shape – like the way kids sat. He looked up at her, not recognizing her. His blonde hair was caked with mud and dirt. He was covered with bits of straw. His clothes were filthy and torn.

Neither of them spoke for what seemed like ages. Finally he narrowed his eyes and said in a raspy voice, “Who are you, and what the bloody hell do you want?”

Hermione took out her wand and allowed her disguise to fade. The only sign that he knew who she was now was the sharp intake of breath through his nostrils and the slight parting of lips. She put her disguise back up should anyone else come this way.

“Granger,” he spat.

“Hello Malfoy,” she said.

"Schadenfreude", chapter one

2007-01-23T07:31:19Z

I. About The Fic

“Schadenfreude” is set in mid-to-late 2004 during the trials of Draco Malfoy. Seen from the point-of-view of Hermione Granger, the story follows her as she suffers through them. Draco, on trial for murder during his time as a Death Eater, is dying; Hermione discovers that she takes an odd, sick pleasure in his pain. In secret visits to Azkaban, Draco learns that she is frightened of her newfound feelings and disgusted with herself for having them. He takes advantage of this knowledge to gain pleasure in hurting and confusing her with only words.

“Schadenfreude” contains flashbacks that were inspired by the show “LOST”. Sometimes the flashbacks are out of order and seem to appear at random, but in the end the reader understand why Hermione is in her current state. The fic is very dark and angst-ridden; even without swearing and adult scenes, I wouldn’t recommend it to younger readers. It is not a happy tale; there are few moments of happiness and any humour at all is at the expense of others’ happiness. If you are not into angst fics, please pass this by now.

II. About Didi

I hate filling out this part so if there is something you want to know then just ask. But I will give a list of nicknames you are NOT allowed to call me because other people ~~are much cooler than you are~~ have patented them...ish.

• Diddums
• Didage
• Didster
• Drumsticks
• Tweedle Dum
• Dodo
• Didiface

You can refer to me as "Didi".

III. Stats (the Short Version)

Title: Schadenfreude - Part One, Chapter One
Author: Didi (pyrogrl)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst
Word Count: 3478
Warnings: Heavy angst, character death
Summary: Hermione attends the trials of ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy and learns that she has a darker side: a side that takes pleasure in Malfoy's suffering.
Author's Notes: Big thanks to Beth, who helped me choose my beta-reader, and HUGE thanks to my beta-reader, Kristin! I like comments. I'm really proud of how this fic turned out, and I'm sad to be saying goodbye to it after so long.

Schadenfreude
Part One - Chapter One

The courtroom was crowded and dimly lit by torches suspended on the walls. For Hermione Granger, it was hot—too hot. She poured herself a goblet of water as she prepared herself for what she knew was to come. She looked up at the judge who was glancing over papers at his podium, and then he lifted his head and fixed his steely gaze on her. She gulped before he said in a deep, gruff voice:

“We would now like to call Hermione Jane Granger to question the defendant.”

Hermione inhaled deeply and took a sip of water before rising to her feet. She glanced into the crowd behind her and saw Ron nod at her for support; she smiled back at him appreciatively. She gathered her papers and walked forward, her knees trembling. In the wizarding world, there were no true lawyers. Aurors who knew of law in both the Muggle and wizarding world could apply to act as one in certain cases. The cases had to be high profile, and the Auror had to be connected to it in some way. Hermione secretly viewed the last requirement as biased, but had always held her tongue.

“Draco Lucien Malfoy,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “I have here a list of people who have been tortured and/or killed by your hands.”

The young man in the middle of the courtroom narrowed his cold grey eyes slightly, but other than that, he remained motionless. When he'd first been caught in 2001, he'd confessed to murdering all but the last two. Her heart hammering, Hermione cleared her throat and looked at the list.

“Thomas Montoya,” she read. “A Muggle-born, twenty-two. His wife Amelia, a Muggle, twenty. They are both dead because of your use of the Killing Curse. Correct?”

Malfoy didn’t move. He simply glared at her, hatred seeming to radiate off his body. Hermione continued: “Also present was Thomas’s twin brother, Henry, also a wizard. He caught you off guard, I believe. That’s where you received the nasty scar on your neck, is it not?” Her eyes traveled to the left side of his neck, where a horrible red scar was slashed across it. “You took care of him, and then you quickly healed yourself before Disapparating back to the other Death Eaters.” There was still no reaction from Malfoy. She looked back at the list.

“Eric Stevenson. He was also Muggle-born. He was…” She hesitated for a moment. “He had just graduated from Hogwarts. He was only eighteen. He was the best friend of Colin Creevey, a member of Dumbledore’s Army. You believed he had information on Harry Potter’s whereabouts, so first you tortured him with the Cruciatus Curse. You force-fed him Veritaserum, and when he still did not say anything relevant you killed him.”

She saw him swallow. She could be getting through.

…schadenfreude…

Harry had defeated Voldemort in May of 1998. He had been mentally, physically and emotionally spent after the final battle and had been bedridden for weeks after it. Hermione and Ron, who received jobs at the Ministry as Aurors after Voldemort’s defeat, had convinced them to stop before Harry had a breakdown. Still, he hadn’t had much opportunity to rest. The Death Eaters that were still around began to search for him in hopes to avenge their Master. Even Harry knew that he didn’t have it in him to fight back; Hermione and Ron sent him into hiding on another continent. They were the only people who knew of his whereabouts. She had believed that after Voldemort was killed the Death Eaters would turn themselves in, if only just to save their own lives, but she was gravely mistaken.

Draco Malfoy was the last Death Eater to be caught. That was just over six years ago—four months after Voldemort’s death. After his arrest, Harry had returned safely home. To everyone’s surprise, he married Luna Lovegood, confessing that he’d sent her letters while he had been in hiding and had slowly fallen in love with her. Ginny was hurt, but she was also happy that Luna had been able to find love. (She seemed to be doing fine anyways; she was currently dating the new Quidditch instructor at Hogwarts.) There was a new sense of security in the wizarding world that had not been present since 1991, the first time Voldemort was believed to be dead.

But then, four years later, Malfoy had escaped. With no Dementors guarding Azkaban, escape was made easier. He was caught again very quickly, by Hermione herself, but not before he caused damage and heartbreak in the hearts of her and everyone she was close to.

…schadenfreude…

She had been reading through the list for nearly seven minutes before she reached the last two names. She didn’t know if she could say them. A knot formed in her throat and she felt tears burn her eyes. She looked up and saw Malfoy, still glaring at her. She took a deep breath and read them off, barely audible.

“N-Neville Longbottom. Twenty-five, pureblood. He was at the house of Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood-Potter. He fought you for nearly an hour before you…you tortured him to death. And then you…” She stopped here. It was too painful for her to say this—no, she had to. She couldn’t show weakness in front of Malfoy. “You heard someone scream. You turned around and you killed whoever it was before you even saw her. You killed Harry and Luna’s daughter.”

He opened his mouth at last. At first, no sound came out. He hadn’t spoken in months. He was offered water and he drank it greedily before trying again. His voice was low, deep, and haunted. It had been years since Hermione had heard him talk – frankly, she liked it that way – and he sounded so different from the arrogant swine she remembered.

“She was an accident.”

“I thought that Death Eaters didn’t make mistakes,” she snapped at him.

“Miss Granger,” said the judge in a warning tone.

“I’m sorry,” she said to him. She turned back to Malfoy. “She was just over a year old. She learned to walk the week before and just before Neville arrived to baby-sit she said her first word. Do you know what it was?” Malfoy set his jaw. “It was ‘dada’. She finally recognized her father and had a name for him. Luna was looking forward to her saying, ‘mama’ when they came back from their meeting.” At another glance from the judge, she stopped. The courtroom was not the place to vent.

“You made it back first,” Malfoy growled. Hermione winced inwardly. Yes, she had been the first onto the scene. She remembered it so well.

…schadenfreude…

Harry and Luna were living in a Muggle neighbourhood peacefully for a few years before the town’s Mayor decided that he wanted a park there. One resident organized a society to fight back and Harry and Luna were members of it. They had a meeting that night, so they first asked Hermione to baby-sit Rose. She had to work that night, so they turned to Neville, who happily agreed. He had just put her to bed when Malfoy arrived. He was, as Hermione believed, looking for Harry. He didn’t know that he was married, or that he had a daughter. He only knew where he lived by locating him with magic.

Unbeknownst to him, Neville used the old method of the Order of the Phoenix by sending a Patronus to someone to signal danger. Hermione had been at work, trying to figure out where Malfoy was hiding after his escape, when she saw the Patronus. She recognized it as Neville’s and Disapparated to the Potter house.

It had taken the Patronus too long to reach her. Because Neville couldn’t remember the location of the meeting, he sent it to the first person he could think of – Hermione – but she didn’t get the message in time to save him…or Rose.

The house looked fine from the outside, but Hermione immediately felt a sense of dread as she entered and walked into the living room. A gasp escaped her as she surveyed the scene: the furniture was strewn across the room, the wallpaper was ripped apart, there was…

Oh god there was blood on the carpet.

She held her wand out in front of her and cast a non-verbal charm, preventing anyone from Disapparating. She put up a shield around her and walked forward. She saw a foot protruding from behind the upside-down couch. She walked further and saw Neville lying dead, his face bloody, his clothes torn…Oh god.

“Rose!” she called softly, hoping the child would hear her. “Rosie! It’s auntie Hermione! Ro—OH GOD!”

She came upon the body of Rose, lying on the hallway floor and looking as though she was sleeping. She rushed towards her and lifted her up, tears streaming down her face. “Rosie…oh god Rosie…”

She heard a rustle behind her. Gripping Rose with one arm, she whirled around, her wand arm raised. “IMMOBULUS!” she screamed.

Draco Malfoy was frozen in his tracks as he was trying to escape.

…schadenfreude…

“I’m aware of that, Malfoy,” she said. “I caught you as you were trying to run again.”

“I let you catch me.”

Hermione pursed her lips. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she said, forgetting her formality. She shook her head. “Never mind that. Malfoy, although no one was present at the time of these murders that lived to say that you were indeed the murderer, there is also no evidence to prove your innocence. You have made no claim to being Confunded or threatened in any way to commit these crimes. Do you have anything that you wish to say in your defense?”

He rubbed his nose with his thumb and raised one eyebrow, peering at Hermione thoughtfully. “I do.”

“Then by all means, enlighten us.”

“I wasn’t after Potter. I was after Longbottom.”

There was a low murmur in the seats behind Hermione. The judge silenced them with a look. Malfoy narrowed his eyes and continued, “Longbottom murdered my family, Granger. Bellatrix, Rodolphus…my father.”

“You forget, Malfoy, that the Lestranges were the ones who tortured his parents and eventually killed them.” This was true – about a month after Dumbledore’s death, there had been a raid on St Mungo’s. The Longbottoms had been the first to go. Other long-term victims had also been murdered. Healers had been kidnapped to serve the Death Eaters, and the place had been burned to the ground. As for Lucius—Neville hadn’t truly killed him, but he’d been somewhat responsible for his death. He and the Lestranges attempted to corner Neville while he was alone at home, tending to his greenhouse (he volunteered to grow plants with healing properties). While Neville was fighting off Bellatrix and Rodolphus, Lucius had been trying to steal some plants. A Devil’s Snare had attacked him and suffocated him to death.

“And yet he was found innocent.”

“He was in battle with them. They wanted to finish him off. He only killed them in self-defense!”

“That is an entirely different matter,” interrupted the judge. “We will hear no more of that.”

Hermione nodded and motioned for Malfoy to continue with his defense. “I wanted to kill Longbottom for what he did. But I also knew that I would be traced too easily if I did. I searched him out with a locator charm and found that he was at Potter’s house. I didn’t know at the time that he…he wasn’t there alone.

“I only meant to hurt him. But he began to fight me more viciously than I expected him to. In the end, I made a choice: kill or be killed.”

“And…” Hermione couldn’t bring herself to say her name. “And the girl?”

“An accident.”

There was a shuffle and a murmur behind Hermione. She knew that Ron was trying to restrain Harry, who was present for the trial. Luna was at home; she didn’t want to see Malfoy. She didn’t want to look into his eyes and believe that he did not regret killing her daughter.

“I realize that no matter what I say, I’m condemned to die. Even if I was innocent and had the ability to prove it to you, my past and my associations would outweigh anything I had to say in defense. I don’t expect to live to see 2005.”

For a moment, Hermione pitied him. Malfoy had been born into hate and raised by hate. How could he know anything else? She couldn’t allow that to show. She sighed and looked at her papers.

“What do you have to say about the other people you’ve killed?”

“They were a job.”

“You felt nothing?”

“I pitied having to kill one of them. I believe that her name was Karen Bean. A Mudblood, of course, but –”

“Mr Malfoy, please refrain from using such vulgar language in my courtroom,” the judge interrupted sternly.

“Apologies.” He didn’t mean it. Everyone knew it, but they let him continue. “She was very bright and very strong. She was ambitious. She would have been in Slytherin, I expect, if she’d had other magic in her blood. She was power-hungry. I admit that she may have made a fine Death Eater. It’s a shame she was Muggle-born.” His brow furrowed as his mind wandered over the other murders. “Other than that, I felt nothing towards them. My mind was in a state of…I don’t know what, exactly. I was acting under my own free will, and yet I wasn’t. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You weren’t under the Imperius Curse. You’ve already admitted that and magical testing has proven that.”

“I know that, Granger,” he spat. “It was like I was in a trance. You have no idea what happens when you put on one of those masks. It’s…liberating. I suppose that’s the only way to describe it.” He looked sincerely flustered. And Hermione didn’t believe a word of it. Six years at Hogwarts with him taught her that everything that came out of his mouth was filth.

Malfoy continued: “When I killed those Muggle-borns, I felt like I was killing everything horrible I’d experienced in my life.”

“How ironic,” Hermione muttered.

“Except when I killed the girl.”

Hermione inhaled sharply. She barely got through reading Rosie’s name off the list; she couldn’t bear to hear him talk about how he killed her.

“I had never killed someone so young. She was…innocent. I killed innocence, Granger, and I didn’t know what I’d done until it was over. I felt true regret over her death.”

Good, Hermione thought, narrowing her eyes. “Do you still?” she asked icily.

“Sometimes. I don’t regret that she was Potter’s offspring –”

“Swine,” Hermione heard Ron mutter. She glanced behind her and saw him physically restraining Harry again. Malfoy saw them and for a moment he looked – oh god, he looked almost happy. She ground her teeth together and clenched her fists, but held herself in check.

“Like I said, I only regret that I killed someone who defined innocence.”

“Does she scream in your sleep, Malfoy?” hollered Harry. “Does she haunt your nightmares? Is her face the last thing you see at night and the first you see in the morning?” Ron stood up and led Harry out. Hermione saw that he was trembling fiercely.

“I apologize on Harry’s behalf,” she said quietly to the judge. “He didn’t expect this from Malfoy. None of us did.”

The judge nodded and motioned for them to proceed.

“Do you have anything left to say?” Hermione asked. Malfoy said nothing. Hermione turned to the judge and let out a sigh. “I have no more questions, your honour.”

She sat down and propped her elbows on the table, leaning her face into her hands. She hadn’t expected the trial to be this hard on her. She had no idea that Malfoy would talk about Rosie’s murder. And what he said about the masks and about innocence was intriguing, if confusing. She poured herself a glass of water and drank it deeply.

No one else was called to question Malfoy. Harry was supposed to, but he had not returned. Hermione didn’t think he could ever look at Malfoy again without sending a curse his way. She couldn’t blame him. Malfoy had killed his daughter.

…schadenfreude…

Hermione had been present for the birth of Rose.

Harry and Luna had been told by both a Muggle doctor and by a Healer that their chances of conception were slim-to-none. Despite this, they kept trying, and eventually they succeeded when Luna discovered that she was going to have Rose. Hermione hadn’t seen Harry happier in his life than on the day Luna had Rose. Hermione and Ron had sat in the waiting room for two hours before Harry approached them, looking exhausted (he’d been at the hospital with Luna all night and neither had slept a wink) but more proud than Hermione had ever seen him.

“Well?” Ron asked as he and Hermione stood.

“Her name is Rose,” Harry said, and Hermione rushed forward to hug him as tightly as she could. Ron clapped him on the back and hid his own tears of joy.

“Congratulations, Harry,” Hermione said, kissing his cheek. “We’re so happy for you.”

“How’s Luna?” asked Ron.

“To say that she’s exhausted is an understatement. After they took Rose away to the nursery she fell asleep.” He looked as though he couldn’t have been more proud of her. Hermione stood back and surveyed the man she’d known as a boy: young, innocent, just discovering magic.

Look at you now, she thought. You’ve been through so much already and you’re not even twenty-five yet. You’ve defeated a Dark Lord twice. You’ve fallen in love more than once. You’ve been in hiding from Death Eaters. You’re the most famous wizard in history. And here you are, at a Muggle hospital, soon to be taking a baby home with you.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked her. Hermione realized that she was crying.

“Nothing,” she smiled. “Oh, Harry, I love you!” She threw her arms around his neck again. He hugged her back, awkwardly at first, but then relaxed the longer she held onto him. “You’re brilliant,” she said, finally releasing her grip.

“By love,” said Ron, “you mean…”

“I mean he’s like family,” Hermione said reassuringly. Although she and Ron agreed years ago that it was best they didn’t date, he still became jealous if any other male became close to Hermione. Ron nodded in understanding and grinned at Harry.

“Congratulations mate,” he said. Hermione looked from one to the other. She loved both of them deeply. For a while she had been in love with Ron, but that had changed. She couldn’t explain exactly what happened between them: a few quick kisses, a loving glance, and then it was gone. It was better, she decided. She didn’t feel torn between them. They were her boys again. The thought made her smile.

…schadenfreude…

The judge decided that he wanted to wait for more hard evidence to prove Malfoy’s guilt (or innocence, depending on what side the viewer was on), so he announced that the next trial would occur a month from July 2nd, 2004. Hermione calculated in her head: it was 35 days away. In her opinion, a future trial – Merlin, this trial – was redundant. Malfoy was guilty through and through, even if he regretted killing Rose. Hermione’s name was announced as someone expected to be at the trial, along with Ron’s and Harry’s. Hermione was too tired emotionally to argue. She took her time to leave, waiting until the other witnesses began to file out the door, before gathering her papers and rising to her feet.

Merlin, her head ached. She couldn’t shut her eyes now without seeing Rosie’s corpse on the floor. She looked at Malfoy, who was silent and motionless in his “cage” in the middle of the room.

It’s your fault, she thought angrily. She stood still, staring at him for a moment.

As the last few witnesses exited the courtroom, she saw his shoulders sag and he dropped his cold appearance. She saw the real Draco Malfoy: the defeated Death Eater, haunted most likely by the screams of a little girl, who had nothing left but his fading dignity. And she found that she didn’t pity him, as she thought she would. No, she pitied the fake-Malfoy, the one everyone had seen in the courtroom. Her emotions towards the true Malfoy were different. They were so unexpected that it took her a moment to realize that she was…she was…happy to see him this way. And she wasn’t at all sorry for feeling that way.

With that thought in mind, she strode past him and out the door.

Art post

2007-01-05T00:47:10Z

Yay for Harry Potter art.

The following two images are spoilers for my WIP Draco/Hermione, "Schadenfreude". Set in 2004, it follows Hermione as she suffers through Draco Malfoy's trials. She finds that she enjoys knowing that he will meet his death, and she takes a sick pleasure in his suffering - hence, "schadenfreude". But Draco knows this, and he enjoys torturing her with a few words behind his bars in Azkaban. He takes pleasure in her pain as well.

Title: "Oof!"
Artist: Didi
Medium: Photoshop CS and Wacom Graphire Tablet
Rating: G/K+
Notes: While packing up to move into her new flat, Hermione goofs around with Ron and Harry. While this scene has never been written, I imagine her doing this clearly.

didn't colour the box or the background. I duplicated the template and filtered it with cutout, then smudge a bit here and there.

I'm really proud of this piece. The colouring didn't take me as long as the lineart did; this was the first time I actually did the lineart without the pen tool (except on the legs, head shape and box) and I'm so proud of how THAT turned out. I couldn't have done it without twisted666's lineart tutorial.

I love the shading on her leg most of all. I really don't know why, but I do, and that's all that matters.

Again many details were lost in the resizing, especially in the hair. Maybe I'll take a leaf out of verauko's book and make a detail-shot.

Credit: http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/34820444/

Picture:

Title: Waking
Artist: Didi
Medium: Photoshop CS/Tablet
Rating: T to M
Notes: I rushed this one a bit, but I'm fairly happy with it.
Credits: LisaJen-stock
Picture:

Comments appreciated.

Amelioration

2006-09-30T17:09:10Z

pyrogrl @ 2006-08-29T00:35:00

2006-08-29T06:37:51Z

WOW. That last post was FREAKIN HUGE.

So it's official: my muse is dead. I JUST. CAN'T. WRITE.

God. It really pisses me off, because I want to write "Schadenfreude" so badly and I can't.

Lack of readers pisses me off too. Why is it that only the horrible cliched fics get lots of readers? I'm so proud of "Schadenfreude" but...no one reads it. I've worked harder on it than on any other fic, so that angers me as well. It's like...you dare to be different and what's your reward? Nothing.

So I finally stopped procrastinating and fixed up "Guarding Draco Malfoy". Added everything that had to be there, fixed up errors, etc. And then...BOOM.

Power outage.

I lost it ALL.

And I'm procrastinating again. Ergh.

So now a real update.

We're considering going to the BMO. We probably won't though. My parents hate show jumping. They think it's boring and way too dangerous (I honestly don't know how those two can go together, but whatever...). The International is one you WANT TO SEE, but DAMN PHANTOM OF THE OPERA. DAMN IT. Fortunately, it IS being broadcasted on CBC, so I just have to memorize the date and time and make sure I'm not doing anything that day.

Right. I need to write a one-shot. I'm supposed to be writing a R/Hr *gags* for a contest - Court's contest, as a matter of fact, for you HP board savvy people, and...yeah...I don't WANT TO. As per usual, I'm procrastinating on that.

Hey, I have a poll function! ZOMG! Time to experiment.

View Poll: One-shot Poll

ONE MORE THING: Give me a prompt. A location, an object, a spell, etc. Anything but a word or sentence that must be used.

Haha biatch. Will leave the poll up for a week.

And a meme:

You scored as Draco Malfoy. If you went to Hogwarts Draco Malfoy would be doing you...not the other way around. He's mean, rich, and dark. But those aren't the only parts parts of him you love. He had you on your back the second he threw you down and had his way with you. And you loved every minute of it. The two of you have fucked just about on every surface of Hogwarts...including that rediculus Harry Potter's bed.
Go head girl go head get down.

</td>

Draco Malfoy

95%

Cedric Diggory

70%

Harry Potter

60%

Fred and George Weasley

55%

Victor Krum

45%

Ron Weasley

35%

Percy Weasley

30%

No one, your a prude

10%

WHO ARE YOU SCREWING AT HOGWARTS??
created with QuizFarm.com

EDIT: Right, I realized the poll may be confusing because of the many options. I'll just combine the ones that get the most votes, even if they weren't all the ones you voted for.

Fanfiction: "Nights Like This"

2006-08-22T06:33:25Z

So this is me being slightly silly. Actually this started out as a contest entry for the HP Lexicon, but I decided that it was too...er...well, not appropriate for that forum. Haha. It's a song-fic...don't read if you don't like them.

Title: Nights Like This
Author: Didi (pyrogrl)
Rating: PG for subject matter
Genre: Humour(ish)/General
Warnings: Er...cross-dressing. Ish.
Song: "Wig In A Box" from Hedwig And The Angry Inch
Characters: Severus Snape
Summary: An angsty teenage Severus Snape finds relief in becoming someone else.
Anything else: Constructive criticism is welcome. As I said, it's me being slightly silly with a character so straight-backed that this could never possibly happen. I had fun with this fic, actually. Un-beta-read. If you're interested, let me know. :)

I get down, I feel had
Feel on the verge of going mad

One of these days, Severus would get back at Potter, Black, Lupin and Pettigrew. One of these days he’d show them that he was a force to be reckoned with. He’d challenge them to a duel and pick them off one by one. One day they would shudder to say his name. One day they would fear him. They would regret every time they called him “Snivellus”. They would regret using his own spells to pick on him.

But not today. It could be years before he finally got his revenge. But now, tonight…tonight he would let go of all of his anger and frustration and enjoy an evening the only way he knew how. Tonight he would become someone else, if only for a few minutes. Tonight, he would not be Severus Snape.

On nights like this
When the world’s a bit amiss
And the lights go down

He was alone in the Slytherin common room, sitting on a chair with his feet crossed on the coffee table in front of him. Everyone else was at dinner. He had only an hour, maybe less. He really should hurry, but he decided to take his time. It was better that way. He ran his hands through his hair, which was always greasy no matter how much he washed it. His father – his filthy Muggle father – had been cursed with greasy hair and passed the trait down to his son. He twirled a strand through his fingers, feeling it retain its curl. Pulling out his wand, he muttered a spell to darken the common room. It was barely lit by a few candles suspended four feet above his head.

Perfect. He smiled to himself. He lifted his feet off the table and placed them on the floor. Slowly he reached for the box that sat on the table, seeming to beckon him towards it. He had stolen the box from his mother years ago and it had a horrible picture of an antique teapot on it (she collecting teapots) and Severus detested it. The teapot was ugly, but the item inside its box was beyond beautiful. He lifted it out and held it up from underneath, scared to mess up its perfection.

And the strangest things seem suddenly routine
I look up from my Vermouth on the rocks
The gift-wrapped wig's still in the box
Of towering velveteen

It was a wig. It was black and sleek and the same length as his own, but it wasn’t greasy. It was clean, scattered with ringlets that added volume and texture. If anyone who had never laid eyes on it before were to look at it, they would think it was brand-new and had never been worn. The truth was, Severus simply looked after it exceptionally well. He placed it back on its stand in the box, then pulled a hairnet out from the inside corner and covered his hair with it. He resisted the urge to put it on right away. He had to savour each moment.

I put on some make-up
Turn on the tape deck
And put the wig back on my head
Suddenly I'm Miss Midwest Midnight Checkout Queen
Until I head home
And I put myself to bed

Severus felt his skin and didn’t shudder from the touch. The years would turn his flesh oily and clogged, but for now it was soft, clear, and was the only thing that showed his youth. His cheekbones were well-defined and had his face filled out a bit more, they could almost have been attractive. His nose was crooked and abnormally large, as his father’s had been, and his lips were thin and cracked, and a shade so red they could either be feminine or bleeding. The only feature Severus liked was his eyes: they were large, so dark they could almost be called black, and he had long, feminine eyelashes.

He pinched his cheeks, bringing a bit of colour into them. He picked out anything underneath his long fingernails and stared at them for a few moments, thinking that they could have been filed nicer. Oh well, there was no time for that tonight.

Severus flicked his wand, hoping to conjure himself a pair of black evening gloves to cover his hideous, vein-y hands. He was new to conjuring items, so all that appeared was a pair of fuzzy black mittens. He sighed to himself and made-do, placing them on his hands and imaging they were evening gloves. He licked his lips, giving them a shiny appearance, and with his fingers he brushed his eyebrows into place and separated his lashes to the best of his ability. He sat forward in his chair and pulled his robes tighter around his chest and waist, tying the excess into a knot in his back.

And now.

Now, at last, it was time for the wig. He reached for it delicately, holding it above eye-level and examining it from every angle.

Some girls, they got natural ease
They wear it any way they please
With their French flip curls
From perfumed magazines
Wear it up, let it down
This is the best way that I've found
To be the best you've ever seen

He placed it on his head, shutting his eyes and simply feeling his way. He adjusted it slowly, placing almost every strand where he wanted it. When he was done, he sat very still, eyes still closed, barely breathing. As soon as the wig was placed on his head, he felt a change. He was no longer Snivellus, a seventh-year Slytherin who fancied the Dark Arts and was in constant battles with the Gryffindors. He was someone entirely new, someone so far from Severus Snape that as he opened his eyes he thought he saw the Slytherin common room change into another room entirely. He could almost hear some sort of rock music playing in the background. The room brightened and the music’s volume increased, and he began to sway to it. He was in some sort of nightclub, and he didn’t care if it was a Muggle one or magical one. He felt, for the first time in his life, content and happy with himself. He had no worries. He had nothing and no one to fear.

I put on some make-up
Turn on the eight track
I'm pulling the wig down from the shelf
Suddenly I'm Miss Punk Rock Star
Of stage and screen
And I ain't ever
I'm never turning back

Oh…bliss.

FINIS

Your thoughts?

Big Huge Icon Post

2006-07-22T05:27:41Z

I've decided to post all of my icons in one big huge post so that people don't have to search through them. I will be updating to this post and this post only. I will be putting everything into their own little categories so that they're organized. Yes, I know that this will take FOREVER. And will probably be freaking huge. They're in order: newest to oldest (well...sort of...).

When taking, please comment and tell me what ones. Example:

Snagging POTC10, POTC08, HP02, HP01, etc.

Pirates of the Caribbean (Curse of the Black Pearl and Dead Man's Chest) - POTC

01. 02. 03.

04. 05. 06.

07. 08. 09.

10. 11. 12.

13. 14. 15.

16. 17. 18.

19. 20. 21.

22. 23.

Harry Potter (All Movies) - HP

01. 02. 03.

04. 05. 06.

07. 08. 09.

10. 11. 12.

13. 14. 15.

16. 17. 18.

19. 20. 21.

22. 23. 24.

25.

Garden State - GS

01. 02. 03.

04. 05. 05.

06. 07. 08.

09. 10. 11.

Thirteen - TT

01. 02. 03.

04.

Lost - TVL

01. 02. 03.

04. 05. 06.

07. 08. 09.

10.

CSI - CSI

01. 02. 03.

04.

Natalie Portman - ANP

01. 02. 03.

04. 05.

Hayden Christensen - AHC

01. 02. 03.

04. 05.

Johnny Depp - AJD

01. 02. 03.

Dax Shepard - ADS

01. 02. 03.

04. 05.

Wicked - MW

01. 02. 03.

04. 05. 06.

Les Miserables - MLM

01. 02. 03.

04.

TOTAL: 103 (July 22, 2006)

All of my credits are on my bio.

I TAKE REQUESTS. Tell me in a comment what you would like to see.

Luna Lovegood

2006-07-19T21:05:24Z

Because I felt like it. I rushed her a bit...it was already two in the morning and I knew that if I didn't finish that night I never would. I drew her without the wand, necklace and earrings because I chose to. I just wanted...Luna.

Title: Character Design - Luna Lovegood/Dreaming of Harry
Artist: Didi
Rating: G
Ship: Implied!Harry/Luna
Feedback: Encouraged.
Credits: LisaJen-Stock (pose); Ireth-Stock (background)

It's kinda small...I have a larger version at my DeviantArt.

Two (2) More Pieces

2006-07-18T22:53:36Z

I know that someone requested a Snape, and I actually have a rough sketch of him done. I just don't think I'll ever colour it. Maybe someday ~~when my hatred for him subsides~~ ~~when I'm not so lazy~~ when I finish my other character designs I'll colour him. Until then...I give you...Ron and Ginny Weasley!

Title: Character Design - Ron Weasley
Artist: Didi (pyrogrl)
Medium: Photoshop CS
Rating: G
My thoughts: Erm...the background is blech. But Ron's pretty cool.

Title: Character Design - Ginny Weasley (aka Waiting For Neville)
Artist: Didi (pyrogrl)
Medium: Photoshop CS
Rating: G
My thoughts: Because everyone wears wedding dresses outside. Credits are here.

Six Different Pieces

2006-07-13T22:30:01Z

Title: Character Design - Draco Malfoy
Rating: G
Medium: pencil sketch, Photoshop CS
My thoughts: I don't mind the colouring...I'm still learning. But I do enjoy this picture...I love Draco. *cuddles*

Title: Character Design - Blaise Zabini
Rating: G
Medium: Photoshop CS
My thoughts: Is he wearing a shirt? Or is he naked and you simply can't tell? It's up to you...haha. Colouring is slight better. I like his eyes.

Title: Character Design - Tom Riddle
Rating: G
Medium: pencil sketch, Photoshop CS
My Thoughts: His eyes...oooooo...um, yeah.

Title: Character Design - Hermione Granger
Rating: G
Medium: Photoshop CS
My thoughts: Her anatomy's off. Her hair is not as bushy as I normally draw it either. Her hand is inexplicable.

Title: Character Design - Harry Potter
Rating: G
Medium: pencil sketch, Photoshop CS
My thoughts: I drew it at an angle, so it's messed up. And I accidentally put his house as Slytherin. Don't kill me.

Title: Young Draco
Rating: G
Medium: Photoshop CS
My thoughts: AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.................!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111!!!!!!!!!!one!!!!11!

Constructive criticism appreciated.

I must be high.

2006-06-25T05:14:22Z

Then again, I wouldn't know, having never been high. Anyways, I...wrote slash.

Well. Implied slash, I suppose. The intent of slash.

Those who know me know that I'm not against slash, but I generally stay away from it in HP-fandom. So those who know me will probably agree and think that I'm high. But then again, you KNOW it's me, because of the lame-core title.

Title: A Glance In the Library
Author: Didi
Rating: K
Ship: Harry Potter/Blaise Zabini
Author's Notes: Like I said...never written slash in my life. And have you ever tried something that had to have so much plot in exactly 100 words? I don't know if I pulled it off or not...

Harry closely surveyed the boy sitting at the table across from his. He’d never really noticed him until the Slug Club was formed. Handsome wasn’t the right word to describe him. His features were too delicate to be called handsome. He was…well, to be blunt, he was pretty. His jet-black hair grew in soft, shiny curls. His cheekbones were high and well-defined, and his slanted, thickly-lashed, amber eyes always seemed to taunt, “I know something you don’t know.”

Blaise Zabini looked up from his book. “Checking me out?” he smirked.

Harry blushed, quickly averting his gaze. “No, of course not.”

Oh yeah, it's a drabble. In case you wondered.

"The Love Letter" ::: Implied!D/Hr

2006-06-22T07:52:37Z

For a writing contest.

9. And finally, a topic with a potentially lighter bent: Person A sends an anonymous owl to person B. Person B thinks a third person (C) sent the letter. What follows? The letter writers/recipients can be students, teachers, others or a combination.
NOTES: This is kind-of in an alternate universe…as in it’s during HBP, but it’s not all ZOMG-DRAMA!!!-ish. It’s Christmas holidays and HRH are staying for the holidays, along with Ginny, Luna, Neville, some random Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs that shall remain nameless, and some Slytherins.

Title: The Love Letter
Author: pyrogrl
Rating: PG for suggestive comments

Draco Malfoy threw himself down on the couch in the Slytherin common room and tucked his hands behind his head. Closing his eyes, he allowed his mind to go blank, forgetting all the events of the day.

It was Christmas holidays at Hogwarts. There were few students left in the school, seeing as most wanted to spend all the time they could with their families. It seemed as though the only ones staying were Wonder Boy and his admirers, some seventh-years from other houses, Daphne Greengrass, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini and himself. Draco stayed because he had a job to do; Pansy wanted to be near him; Daphne had been kicked out of her home for being a menace and Blaise simply hated his family.

Today hadn’t been a very good day. Pansy and Zabini had gotten caught under mistletoe and while he simply kissed her without thinking much of it, she had thought the world was ending and had apologized to Draco ever since it happened – which was stupid, really, since they weren’t even dating. Daphne, who had a huge crush on both Blaise and Draco, had tried desperately to trap them both under mistletoe and almost caught Draco. Zabini had kindly warned him two steps before he met what he was sure would be his doom.

Zabini came in through the entrance and sat in the chair across from Draco, sipping a bottle of Firewhiskey he’d obviously nicked from Hogsmeade. He handed it to Draco, who took a long gulp and handed it back. “I needed that,” he said.

“Tell me about it,” Zabini agreed. He and Draco had been friends as boys, but Lucius had forced them to sever ties after Mrs Zabini married a Muggle. They hadn’t spoken to each other much, even in Hogwarts, until the end of fifth year when they were preparing for their Potions OWL. Although there was still an awkward feeling between them, and though Zabini didn’t say much, Draco was relieved that he hadn’t taken it personally. He enjoyed having someone with a brain to talk to.

“Got another one of those?” Draco asked, indicating the Firewhiskey with a nod of his head.

“This is my last,” Zabini said, raising the bottle to his lips and drinking. Draco glared at him and rolled his eyes. “Are you bored?”

“Dreadfully. I hate holidays. Torturing Mudbloods gets old after a while.” He glanced over at Zabini, who had his eyebrows raised in surprise. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop. And they don’t have to know that.”

“Alright.” He threw back his head and downed the rest of his drink, then took out his wand and levitated the bottle. Draco took out his wand and sent a spell non-verbally at the bottle that blasted it into tiny pieces that fell onto Zabini’s lap.

“Whoa!” Zabini said, standing up, the glass falling onto the floor. “Where did you learn that spell?”

Draco’s eyes widened and he tucked away his wand. “My father’s…friend. Forget about it.” He repaired the bottle and transfigured it into a tissue box. “God, I want to do something.”

“Like what?” He sat back down.

“Normally I’d say torture Mudbloods, but like I said, it gets old.” He ran his hands through his hair and sighed.

“We could make it interesting,” said Zabini. Draco sat up slowly and stared at him.

“I’m intrigued,” he said. “Go on.”

“We could…send an anonymous love letter to a Mudblood.”

Draco crinkled his nose in disgust. “Why on earth would we do that?”

“For fun…I thought that was the point.” He raised his eyebrows questioningly. Draco frowned. Zabini continued, “What if you were to receive an anonymous love letter? Wouldn’t you obsess over it?”

“No.”

“Fine. What if you received several love letters, and you didn’t know who sent them? Even cold, heartless you would be curious.”

“Touché.” Draco sat back and pondered over Zabini’s idea. “We should send it to Granger,” he said.

“Granger?” Zabini blinked. “Why her?”

“Because she’s Granger. Plus, that Weasley twit is head-over-heels for her. If she got a love letter and began to obsess over it, do you know what that would do to him? It would tear him apart.” He smiled, almost gleefully, and rubbed his hands together. “I must hand it to you, Zabini. I’m impressed with your scheme.”

Zabini grinned and summoned a parchment, quill and ink from his bag beside the chair. Draco summoned the coffee table closer to them.

“Your writing is more feminine than mine is,” said Draco, reaching for the quill.

“She might recognize your writing. Granger only knows me from Slughorn’s meetings.”

“Very well. Let’s see…‘Granger’ – no, ‘Hermione’—”

“How do you spell that?”

“H-E-R-M…erm…let’s just leave it at that.”

Zabini looked up. “ ‘Herm’? Really?”

Draco shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

Zabini stared at him questioningly (did he not have another expression?), but kept his mouth shut and simply wrote ‘Herm’. “Now what?”

“Uh… ‘My beautiful bushy-haired beaver—’”

“Malfoy, this is a love letter.”

“Right. ‘From the moment I saw you, I knew that I loved you. I loved all your imperfections: your bushy hair that I think has character, your large teeth which flashed with every smile, your…’ Uh…this is difficult. I hate her; how can I come up with a bloody love letter for her?”

“I think you’re doing well,” Zabini said. “Keep going.”

“No. You try something.”

“Fine. ‘The way you watch over Harry Potter and Ron Weasley is adorable. You are like a mother to them, and I only hope that someday I can be like a father…’ That ought to drive Weasley insane.”

“Brilliant. ‘You are a very strong young woman to stand up to Draco Malfoy—’”

“Leave yourself out of this. She might get suspicious. ‘You are a very strong young woman and very brave.’”

“ ‘I only wish that I had your courage. If I did, maybe I could express my love for you to your face instead of this letter which I am too frightened to sign. Perhaps if you’re interested in me, you could leave a letter for me…’”

“Letter?”

“Zabini, you have to get inside my head,” said Draco. Zabini looked ready to say something sarcastic back, but Draco didn’t give him time. “What if we convince her that some guy is in love with her, and then try to get them to meet? What if she goes to meet this guy who never shows up?”

“I like that, but would she fall for it? She may be a Mudblood, but she’s not stupid. Even Snape admits it.”

“She’s been hanging around two guys for six years and hasn’t had any romantic interaction. Even Mudbloods have needs. Now, write: ‘Leave a letter for me underneath the foot of the statue of the knight to the right of the Great Hall.’”

“Nice sentence,” muttered Zabini sarcastically, but he wrote it down anyway.

“I think that’s good enough for tonight.” Draco stood up and stretched. “Well, I’m less bored than I was before. Thank you, Zabini.” He nodded at him, then headed towards the boys’ dormitory. When he was gone, Zabini looked over the letter, then wrote something else down on it before rolling it up and heading up to the Owlery. He was smirking slightly as he went.

***

“Morning,” said Harry, sitting down at the Gryffindor table beside Hermione. She gave a curt nod and continued to read. “Hermione, it’s Christmas holidays. Can’t you just put the books down?”

“Maybe I’m not reading a schoolbook,” snapped Hermione, not looking up at him.

“Yes, because you’re the type of girl to read Archie comics behind a textbook.” He leaned over her shoulder and glanced at the book. She shut it quickly. She really was reading a textbook, but it bothered her that Harry and Ron found her so…unpredictable. “Hermione, what are you reading?”

“Erotic novellas,” she answered shortly. “The main couple in this one just went skinny-dipping in a tropical pond.”

Harry looked at the spine and raised his eyebrows. “What chapter of Confronting the Faceless was that in? I missed it.”

Hermione sighed and put the book down. “Very well, I was studying.” She reached for the pumpkin juice and poured herself a glass before pouring some for Harry. “Where’s Ron?”

“Saying good morning to Lavender.”

“…Oh.” She grabbed French toast with her fork and began to mutilate it with her knife. “Well, I’m glad they’re up there instead of down here then. Honestly, all they do is snog. I doubt Ron even knows when her birthday is.”

Harry remained silent. He always did nowadays whenever Hermione talked about Ron. She knew that she liked him, but he could be such a mindless prat sometimes that she refused to admit it.

“Margarine?” asked Harry, and Hermione took a pinch. It didn’t take long for the Great Hall to fill up. Ron and Lavender entered, holding hands, and sat down together across from Hermione and Harry. She watched as Lavender cut a sausage into pieces and playfully fed them to Ron. Harry kicked her under the table and she averted her gaze.

“Watch it,” said Harry a moment later, grabbing his goblet as owls began to swoop into the hall. Hermione picked hers up right before a tawny owl landed in front of her with a letter attached to its leg. “That’s a school owl,” Harry observed. Hermione untied the letter, which was rolled up and tied with a white ribbon. Curiously she untied the ribbon and unfurled the letter. Her eyes roamed over the words, widening with each, and when she reached the end she let out a tiny squeak and leaned against Harry in case she fainted. She certainly felt dizzy enough. Ron and Harry looked at her in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked. Wordlessly, Hermione handed him the letter, her fingers shaking. He read it over, frowning, then handed it to Ron. “Well?” he asked when Ron finished. “I don’t get the joke.”

“Neither do I.” Ron looked over at the Slytherin table. “Malfoy’s looking this way,” he said.

“What about Malfoy?” Lavender asked, reaching for the letter. Hermione came to her senses and snatched it out of Ron’s hands before Lavender could read it. She reread the letter, then turned to put it in her bag. She glanced at the Slytherin table as she did, and sure enough Malfoy was staring at her. He caught her gaze and looked away. She felt herself go pale.

“Oh God,” she muttered. “I feel ill.” She stood up, grabbed her bag and rushed out of the Great Hall. She automatically headed for the library, and once there she pulled out the letter again.

My dearest Herm,

From the moment I saw you, I knew that I was in love with you. People may say that you are the least-perfect girl in Hogwarts, but I beg to differ. Your bushy hair gives you character, and I admit that I miss your old teeth. Your smiles don’t flash as much as they used to, but that doesn’t change my feelings towards you. I love how caring you are. The way you watch over your friends like a mother is adorable, and I hope one day that I can be like a father to them. You are a very strong young woman and very brave – I realized this in third year when you became the first person in school to truly stand up to me. I wish that I had your courage. Maybe instead of being a horrible prat to you all these years I could have told you how I truly felt. I’m doing that now, though I know in my heart that it’s too late. However, if you have it in your good, warm heart to forgive me, please leave a letter under the foot of the statue on the right of the entrance to the Great Hall with the date, time and place of where we could have a discussion.

All my love,
Draco Malfoy

PS. I’m sorry that I do not know how to spell your name, though I feel that ‘Herm’ is better than ‘Granger’.

Hermione couldn’t believe what she’d read in the letter. What was she supposed to think about it? She didn’t believe that Malfoy was sincerely in love with her. It must have been some sort of sick joke. Yet, looking back, there were subtle hints at his liking her…he was the one to cast the charm that fixed her teeth after all…That sick prat! She would send him a letter alright! She made her way to a table and sat down, reached into her bag for a parchment, quill and ink, and began to write:

Malfoy,

I never have and never will understand your sick, twisted humour. That you find it funny to send a love letter to a Muggle-born that you’ve hated since day one and expect me to take it seriously is not only appalling, but it’s also insulting to your intelligence as well as mine. I may have a low opinion of you, Malfoy, but as you were intelligent I had some respect for you. That is now gone. Congratulations.

Hermione Granger

PS. Harry and Ron have both read the letter and due to your immaturity I will not stop them from telling others about your new-found affection for me.

Satisfied and relieved, she let the ink dry and folded up the parchment. She allowed herself to calm down before grabbing her bag and heading out of the library.

***

Blaise watched quietly as Granger stormed out of the Great Hall. He glanced at Malfoy, who was smirking as he stared at her departing back. He looked over at Blaise and winked.

“We’re brilliant,” he said. Blaise didn’t bother pointing out that it had been his plan. Anyway, he anticipated this from Malfoy. He was a selfish, rich and spoiled brat who only cared about blood. He’d been like that when they were children as well, and Blaise had been hit hard when they couldn’t be friends anymore because his mother married a Muggle. Malfoy had continued to ignore him in school until last year around the OWLs. His mother had married another wizard, and Blaise was back in the “good books”. He had vowed to himself to get revenge for Malfoy’s superficiality, and he found his opportunity yesterday. True, it was at Granger’s expense, but she would never trace the letter back to him. And even if Malfoy told her that Blaise had written the letter, she wouldn’t believe him. Blaise smiled as he poured syrup on his pancakes. He was brilliant.

Granger didn’t return to the Great Hall. Blaise left before Malfoy did, but he hung back and hid in the shadows under a set of stairs. Malfoy left last and looked under the statue. Sure enough, there was a letter there. Malfoy’s back was to him; Blaise crept up and read it over his shoulder.

“Wow,” he said as Malfoy folded the letter back up. Malfoy jumped and whirled around. “She’s quite the clever little Mudblood, isn’t she?”

Malfoy was nearly trembling with rage. “Zabini, did you write exactly what I told you to write?”

Blaise smirked. “Define ‘exactly’.”

A group of girls that had been talking to Potter and Weasley on their way out passed by and giggled when they saw Malfoy. Malfoy paled – his version of blushing – but some pinks spots appeared on his cheeks. Blaise sighed happily and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I suppose Potter and Weasley let your…how does she put it?” Blaise took the letter and found what he was looking for. “…New-found affection for Granger slip.”

“Why?”

“Because they hate you, Malfoy. I thought you were smarter than that.”

“No, not that, you prat! Why did you do this to me?”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Ah, Malfoy. Look at the irony. A pureblood chauvinist in love with a Mudblood! It’s perfect.”

“What do you mean?”

“I suppose that I mean it’s not always about blood.” Blaise winked, clapped him on the back, and headed towards the dungeons. Yes, he decided, he was satisfied. After nearly ten years, he finally had his revenge. And it felt good.

I know, I know. The title is nothing great or original. And I’m not proud of nor fond of the ending. So anyways, Person A is Blaise Zabini, Person B is Hermione Granger, and Person C is Draco Malfoy. Yay for Slytherin-Gryffindor-Slytherin love triangles!

pyrogrl @ 2006-06-09T16:45:00

2006-06-09T22:52:15Z

It's been ages. And guess what? I'm back with a rant.

I'll say this right now: I'm not a popular person. I'm not one of the crowd. I don't get drunk and fuck some random guy on the weekend. I don't not study because I'm prettier and therefore holier than thou, and because my looks can get me anywhere. I don't discuss my favourite flavour of condom at lunch loud enough for the principal to hear. I'm not one of those people who strut around with my chest sticking out so much you'd think my nipples were tied to a herd of rampaging elephants - and yes, that is a line from Blackadder, but it's appropriate here.

I'm not a confident person. I'm shy. I'm a try-hard. I work hard at everything I do. I'm NOT a teacher's pet - in fact, most teachers hate me because I have my own opinions. I'm not a very attractive person either, I'm the first to admit it. I don't have a lot of talent when it comes to writing, drawing, acting or singing - basically, the things that matter most to me I suck at. I'm scared to get a crush on a guy because of a) my parents would probably murder him and b) he wouldn't like me back (which sucks, because I've accidentally fallen head-over-heels for a jack ass). I'm not being negative, I'm being realistic.

So today, after being voted out of the group I was part of for the FINAL EXAM part A project in Musical Theatre because I "don't fit in" (aka I don't think the entire dance should be made up of box steps and jazz hands) I go up to my locker and find my third "go kill yourself you fat whore" note this month. Wow, June has just started. I get home and go on the computer to try and research some Macbeth stuff for homework, check my e-mail, and find two more hate-mails by people who said by reading my stories they feel they've wasted their lives away and I should kill myself in order to give them back THEIR lives. I admit, I'm not the greatest writer. I'm fairly new at it, I don't have a lot of life experience to base stories on, and I don't have a lot of writing experience either. But there is NO REASON for a person to be so horribly rude to a person they don't even know. And this was all today. Then I got to thinking: What's the point?

Every day is always the same: we either starve ourselves, binge and purge, or say "Fuck it, I'm obese and that's not gonna change" and stuff our faces. We put on clothes to either say "Boys! Look at my boobs! Check out my sweet ass! Can you tell my nipples are pierced through this tight shirt?" or to conceal ourselves and hide away. And why do we hide away? Because we're ashamed of ourselves for not being 100% perfect in every way, shape and form. If a girl is fat, she's immediately ridiculed and jabbed at by many people around her. Why do people do this? Why should they need to make fun of someone else to feel better about themselves when they already know that they're perfect? A fat girl will either hide herself away in baggy clothes that hide her body, or she'll pretend like she's an extra-small, try to fit in by wearing the nice clothes that don't fit her and that will bring on more torture. They already know their flaws and perhaps they are unable to change, no matter how hard they try or what they do, or maybe they like that they have flaws because it proves that they are human. But why do people have to be nice to someone then turn around and say "Loser" when they think you can't hear?

The internet is a horrible, horrible place. I can't count the number of times I've seen a person express their opinion in a mature way and then seen a reply to it that basically told them they're stupid and wrong and should die. I've even seen a conversation like this:

Person X: Why is it that people who look different are immediately outcasts? Should they not have the same priviledges as everyone else?
Person Y: Look different as in fat? fat people should be killed, they ruin our world. no wonder there's so much world hunger fat people eat all the food

Which, of course, was one of the causes of me writing this rant. The thing about the internet is that no one knows really who you are unless you post your personal information up, so it's easier to simply ignore the comments that are immature and rude. Nevertheless, when you see comments like that to others, and then some are directed to you for no reason that you can see, pressure piles up and you can only ignore them to an extent. Anger builds up and the thing that would be most satisfying would be to snap and scream at the person...but of course, that would be immature and stooping to their level.

But really, what is the point? What does all of this accomplish? If a person bullies another, what is a positive side effect? The feeling of superiority? The sick satisfaction? The knowledge that you can make a person want to fall in a hole and die? Yes, those all seem wonderful, and I think that tomorrow I will walk up to one of the "popular" people and tell them that clear skin and bitchiness is so last season, just like their hairstyle and those flip-flops that look like a second-hand throw-out. Ah, to watch them cry...yes, I can definately see the advantages of bullying.

I realize that many people will think I'm being hypocritical. Am I? Oh, maybe. Probably. I'm venting anger by typing it since I can't very well say it without being called a whiner. Am I treating the ones who fit in like they treat me? Well, not exactly. If anyone at all reads this they probably won't be affected by it - no, not because I'm not popular and therefore it's not worth reading, but because they just won't care. They'll brush it off like it's a piece of fuzz stuck on their shirt.

But honestly, what is the point? Does it really matter in the end that we were popular in high school? Does it matter that we always had the latest shoes or that we were into the hottest bands? In the end, you die...and there's no real proof of afterlife. What if it all just ends? Then it wouldn't matter, would it. No.

I'm drifting. In fact I believe I lost it ages ago. So I'll end it here.

It's quite long, I'm warning you.

Icons

2006-02-18T08:06:20Z

Icons
{6} Wicked!
{4} Les Miserables
{4} Harry Potter
{2} Eric Szmanda
{2} Zach Braff/Chicken Little

Teaser:

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18.

Enjoy, credit, and tell me what you're using.

Icon Tutorial - Natalie Portman

2006-02-09T23:13:45Z

It's been a long time since I've made an icon tutorial. So, here's one...my fourth icon tutorial, and fifth tutorial over-all. We'll be going from this: to this: in Photoshop CS.

PHASE ONE - THE FACE

Step One

Take this picture and paste into a new 100x100 document in Photoshop.

Step Two

Duplicate the layer (CTRL+J) and go to Filter--> Sharpen --> Unsharp Mask... and use these settings (opens in a new window). Should turn out like this:

Step Three

Duplicate the layer again, and follow steps in "LAYER 2" and "LAYER 3" in this lovely tutorial (opens in a new window) by unmasked_icons. Play around with the settings until you see something like this:

When you're at that phase, you should have something close to "Layer 1 copy 5" in your layers window.

Note: Don't forget that when blurring, blur ALL of her skin, including her arms. This is optional, but I also blurred the background.

Another Note: If the lips aren't looking right, feel free to lightly erase (meaning low opacity) some layers in the lip-al region. I had to, but that may be because I went a bit overboard with the sharpening ;P.

PHASE TWO - EFFECTS

Step Four

Create a new layer ABOVE everything, and press Alt+Ctrl+Shift+E. This combines all visible layers on top of everything. Press Ctrl+J, which will duplicate that layer. Now in that layer (Layer 2 copy), go to Filter-->Blur-->Motion Blur and use these settings (opens in a new window). Should look like this:

Step Five

Still in the blurred layer, create a layer mask. This is done by clicking the layer mask button (opens in a new window). You should know how to do masks, but if you don't, here's a brief summary:

Painting in black "erases" the area.
Painting in white can bring it back. This way, if you make a mistake and take off too much in black, paint over it in white and it'll reappear.

In your layer mask, paint her face in black and go over her arms and a bit of her hair in grey...that is, using a translucent brush. Try to get something like this when all bottom layers are invisible:

and this when bottom are visible:

Step Six

Create a new layer and use the Alt+Ctrl+Shit+E trick to merge all the layers into one above the rest. Press Ctrl+J to duplicate the layer. Now, look over at your colours and set them to default (black on top, white below). It's important that white is below. On the duplicated layer, go to Filter-->Distort-->Diffuse Glow and use these settings (opens in the same window. PSYCHE!!! Wanted to check if you were listening ;p ). It looks a tad bright, eh? Does it look like this?

If you wanted, you COULD leave it like that, but it may look different later. Change the Blend Mode to Luminosity and the Opacity to 81%. I got this, which I think is much better:

PHASE THREE - TEXT

Step Seven

Time for text. Get a new layer and using Century Gothic, Regular, 8pt, and Sharp type the word "c a u g h t". Yes, those ARE spaces between the letters. Place the text near her shoulder and set the Blend Mode to "Soft Light". Should look like this:

PHASE FOUR - BRUSHES AND COLOURS

Step Eight

Here you need colorfilter's dotted line brushes. Download them if you don't have them and use "colorfilter_dotted28". Place the brush under "c a u g h t" and set the Blend Mode to "Soft Light". Duplicate the layer (Ctrl+J) to intesify the brush a bit. You should get this:

Step Nine

You're almost done!!! Create a new layer and Flood Fill it with #E1976C, a kind of salmony colour. Set the Blend Mode to Hue and the Opacity to 57%. Result:

Step Ten

Thank me for the tutorial and give hugs to the resources :).

Well, I think that's about it. If there's anything unclear or confusing please tell me so I can fix it. Love you all, happy iconing!!

Resources:

colorfilter
Scifidesktop.org.uk

pyrogrl @ 2005-12-07T16:55:00

2005-12-07T23:56:03Z

Making my journal Friends Only. Post in a comment to this if you'd like to be added. People already on are safe.

Edit February 11, 2006
Oh, looky!!

pyrogrl @ 2005-11-15T18:12:00

2005-11-16T01:13:12Z

Icons

2005-11-12T20:37:11Z

I'm trying to make as many icons as possible using one picture. Easy to do. Unfortunately, this is the only good picture of Dax Shepard (*OMFG YUMMMMM*) out there. *le sigh* Teaser:

1. 2. 3. 4.

He's yuuuuummy. I will name my first-born son Dax, because that is an awesome name.

To Whom It May Concern

2005-11-09T01:22:49Z

If you're going to bitch at someone, do it so that they don't know.

Also, if something annoys you, say so.

ALSO, stop acting like you own my life and control everything I say and do. I hate that. But guess what? You don't want me to be your friend, or be friends with them, FINE! Thanks again for ditching me for no reason at all except that you found cooler friends. Feel free to sink low and spread lies and rumours about me and tell the guy I like that I like him. Of course, that IS low. Plus, he probably WON'T believe you anyway.

Not only that, but my life doesn't revolve around you. You want to call me and talk about yourself for half an hour while you completely ignore me everywhere else? Do it. But don't expect me to be listening very closely. You want to talk on and on about your life and if I even start talking about mine you change the subject or try to tell me what to do, FINE. I don't care anymore. Thanks for THAT, by the way.

Fuck you forever,

Brittany

pyrogrl @ 2005-10-26T17:13:00

2005-10-26T23:14:12Z

Made this for a friend of mine:

And these for...ah...no one.

pyrogrl @ 2005-10-22T19:15:00

2005-10-23T01:16:20Z

Looked through the "interests" on here using "icontest", "icon contest", and "icon stillness", as well as "Garden State", to find that the only icon contest for Garden State hasn't been updated since April.

...

APRIL.

Maybe someday I'll start up a Garden State Icontest.

Still, joined a Zach Braff icontest. Will join Natalie Portman and probably Johnny Depp soon too.

Well, happy days. Made an icon. My first icon on my new computer.

Brush credits to cosmo_mouse

Also, I tried a very crude animation...attempted to "tween" it but didn't work. I don't have one of those movie-icons things so ImageReady is the best I can do. If I had GS on DVD and knew how to screencap, it would have turned out much better. In the future when I have that ability I'll redo this icon, because I love it.

EDIT: Another icon.

Brushes

2005-10-21T00:30:55Z

I'm switching computers. So I'm posting my downloadables for PS CS here. Brushes that I made. You can use them too, but just be sure to credit me.

Hearts brushes
Abstract brushes
Swirly, Tiny Text, Lines, and Borders

Icons

2005-10-20T00:11:03Z

Harhar.

Resources are as always on my bio.

Credit me and candyrain and alaskanicons.

Pictures from dracohermione.org

EDIT: Two new "Thirteen" icons. Border credits on the song one go to patientalien, who is on my bio.