The Anti-Heroine || A Harry Potter Fanfiction

Chapter LIX

CHAPTER LIX:

Hermione's POV:

Sometimes Hermione hated being right. It was rare but it did happen and this was certainly one of those times.

Being escorted in grim silence by Moody and some younger Auror, a witch with a shock of almost violently purple hair, from King's Cross Station was uncomfortable but not unexpected— and as predicted, despite 'arresting' her Moody failed to take her to the Ministry of Magic to be properly processed then interrogated, instead apparating her to the gates of Hogwarts and making the long trek up to the castle.

"Take a good long look around, because this'll be the last time you set foot on these grounds," Moody grunted with a lopsided, self-satisfied smile on his hideously scarred face as they passed Hagrid's hut. Hermione's fingers twitched for knives she wasn't carrying (and didn't that make her feel so naked?) as the tempting thought to add her own marks to the tableau rose forcefully up within her. She had to work to keep her palms flat against the sides of her dress, shivering slightly at the bite of the wind through the cotton and silk blend of the material.

She'd worn something white and chaste that she hated and then wrapped white ribbons in her twin braids for the occasion. The dress was wildly inappropriate for the weather; a sweet, simple ruffled design with a collar, front pearly button fastenings, long, wide sleeves with button cuffs, a cinched waist and a flared, pleated skirt that reached halfway down her shins. The white-glossed leather sandals with their thin, delicate straps, slight heels and decorative pretty silk flowers were little better and her toes were already numb. She felt stupid and childish in the outfit but seeing as that was the point, she ignored her discomfort. The youthful, innocent look she was portraying was more important then comfort.

She was wearing an emergency portkey too, because Tom was paranoid— something she wholeheartedly approved of— and it was hideously babyish, a diamond 'H' pendant that must have cost a fortune but looked more like it belonged to the prepubescent offspring of a pair of wealthy nobles. She'd chosen not to take off the lace choker, instead hiding it under the dress's collar along with the marks on her neck. Several applications of bruise paste had only succeeded in turning the bruising to a brownish-yellow collar, still far too distinguishable against her pale skin to have in plain view.

Tom had been... particularly possessive, the night before with her and Harry. She understood, though, just how much he hated them been taken away from him and couldn't blame him— she'd left her own share of marks on her lover's skin the night before, him and Harry both, doing her best to leave indents of her teeth in their flesh she wished would never fade— but the bruising was inconvenient to cover up.

"In fact, you better get used to dressing warmer too— surrounded by the North Sea's much colder then a Scottish winter." Moody added, all nastily smug, presumably in response to her icy silence, or maybe her slight shivering.

"If I was actually guilty of whatever it is this is all about then perhaps that would scare me," she drawled, careful to keep the disdain and dismissiveness in place and not reveal the burning rage nor the freezing hatred she felt on her face.

The violet-haired witch had been giving her strange looks that Hermione couldn't quite identify the entire 'march' up to the school, but Hermione didn't miss the flicker of amusement on her face. Moody, however, snarled in response to her words, reaching out to grab her by the forearm and gripping her with hard fingers, unknowingly directly on top of a bruise Tom had left by doing the exact same thing. The sheer difference between her body's reaction to being handled like this by Moody then by Tom was staggering; it felt like she'd been plunged into a lake of ice cold water (she was sure Harry could sympathise) and her stomach twisted up so violently she almost thought she'd start gagging.