ObsidianMind

Chapter 26 is banging - the lengthiest yet being in this fic to 200k words of WAR AU - politically charged fic

A dark romantsy Dramione to tickle your senses..

‘I would consider it,’ she says carefully, ‘if you curbed the slaughter. Repentance need not demand oceans of blood.’

'You misunderstand.' His voice drops to barely above a whisper. 'They die for yours.'

He takes a supplicant step toward her, still confined to his circle. 'Every body. Every decimated neighbourhood. Every act of carnage you witnessed and could not reconcile.' His eyes hold hers. 'It was the only language your conscience would hear, love. The only way to drag you back to me. That incorruptible nature of yours-' his mouth curves, aching and proud and ruined all at once, '-could never be extinguished. I never wanted it extinguished. I simply needed it desperate.'

Anarchy - Ch 25 is out

Opening the new year with a new chapter after a short break ✌🏻

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58877551?view_full_work=true

Without hesitation, she rises from her seat ignoring Ron's call - ‘Mione, don't!’- but she's already moving, the newspaper clutched in her fist. Every eye in the Great Hall tracks her path as she crosses the floor to their table.

The Slytherins watch her approach, showing nothing until Daphne’s eyebrows arch in surprise and Zabini's knuckles pale on his fork. She bends down between him and Nott, close enough that her reproach won't carry beyond their table, and drops the paper in their midst.

‘Funny how your fathers' plans never seem to reach us when they should. Almost as if you're not really trying to meet your end of the deal!,’ she hisses, each word deliberate.

His English Rose

In the winter of 1095, a witch hides herself among crusaders marching to the Holy Land. Disguised as a stable-boy, Helmine Grangier serves under Lord Drogo de Malfoi, a Norman knight whose family had taken the vow.

Amidst blood, prayer, and the promise of salvation, devotion takes another shape; one that defies God, man, and the crown of Jerusalem itself.

'So where is she?' She attempts once more.

‘None of your fucking business.’

Fine, if he wants to be pigheaded about everything, she will change her tactic.

'Is that,’ she points lazily toward his left forearm with her apple, 'still causing you grief?'

She takes a deliberate taunting bite, but his wand is out before she can swallow.

A tunnel of freezing lakewater erupts in an instant and crashes straight down over her head, stealing her breath away in shock. She stares, sputtering, water streaming from her hair and robes.

He plucks the apple from her stunned hand and takes a bite, crunch echoing in the still air, watching her like she’s something pathetic, something beneath his shoe.

Molten fury surges through her veins. ‘How da—’

‘I might’ve signed your stupid little parchment, Granger,’ he cuts her off coolly, ‘but don’t you ever forget who you’re talking to or what I’ve been trained to do. Leave Pansy the fuck alone.’

His gaze then sweeps her sodden form with smug satisfaction and adds, 'Ten points from Gryffindor for looking like a drowned rat.'

He scoops up his robes and saunters off, flinging the bitten core over his shoulder. It rolls with perfect irony to rest against her waterlogged feet.

Check it out hereeee:

Without further ado, I've come to declare the following.' He sways dangerously and begins unfastening the cuff of his left sleeve, rolling it upwards whilst exhaling smoke forcefully through his nostrils.

The edges of the Dark Mark appear: angry, inflamed, and ink-black. Witnessing it so intimately makes Hermione to instinctively recoil from its darkness; from what it signifies. As the sleeve is rolled up further, she notices the surrounding skin scarred with vicious crimson slashes.

They all blanch visibly, their eyes fixed on the monstrous symbol carved into his flesh, the mutilated skin a testament to his desperate attempt to get rid of it.

'You fucking idiot,' Nott mutters furiously. 'What the fuck have you done?'

'We'll see what happens when you get yours, mate.' He folds the sleeve neatly above his elbow with trembling fingers.

Her gaze shifts to the boy behind him, who shakes his head almost imperceptibly. So he hasn't mentioned their presence at the Manor that evening, probably sparing his friend the humiliation of knowing they witnessed his suffering.

'So now, as you can plainly see, I am a Death Eater.' A defeated smile tugs at Malfoy’s lips as he regards them. ‘It’s a beauty, isn't it? Such extraordinary privilege.'

He shakes his head, blowing out more smoke.

'YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO SAVE HIM!' The words tear from Nott’s throat, tendons straining in his neck, eyes reddened and wild, lending him a menacing air.

The transformation in him from just a few days ago is jarring. Gone are the buoyant curls that once lent him an air of flamboyance and veiled his sly eyes. His hair is now shorn to a fine fuzz, making his gaze all the more penetrating and his square jaw sharper. Unlike his dishevelled appearance last time, fine robes hang loosely on his gaunt frame today, and a signet ring resembling Malfoy's rests on his finger. 

‘We tried...’ Hermione says gently, wary of his volatility.

'TRIED? You were full of promises!' He exhales venom, eyes never leaving her.

'I never promised any—'

‘You made me sit down and spill everything. You confirmed your plans. You made me open the fucking windows. But where were you? Where was your precious Order, huh?’ His voice booms, ricocheting off the walls of her empty rooms.

‘Look, either calm down or you can fuck right off!’ Ron growls, half-rising from his seat.

'No, Ron, it's okay. Let him get it off his chest,' she notes that no wands have been drawn yet. There is a semblance of control, causing her jittery nerves to ease a bit.

'Don't think you're doing me any fucking favours! I'm not a charity case, Mudblood!'