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Harry was an idiot, plain and simple. He had gone against all sense, and, as a result, they would all die. Of course, Hermione had no idea how Harry holding some dusty piece of glass would kill them all, but she wouldn't be wrong. After all, she was the smart one. She was always right. And it didn't take long for her superiority to be proven once more.

     "Very good, Potter." A voice said. She was right, she was going to die, they were all going to die, one curse and she'd be a corpse adding to the pile. What would her parents think? She'd die a virgin, how pathetic. She really was worthless.

     "Now turn around, nice and slowly," Her future killer continued, "and give that to me." So it was because of the ball. Why was Harry so insistent on grabbing it? She was going to die, soon she'd be another unexplained death and it was all because Harry couldn't stop being a dimwitted, headstrong idiot who can't stop snatching everything interesting-looking.

     The first death eater was shouting now, but his voice wasn't legible. All she could make out was "SMASH IT". So she was an 'it' now, an object to be broken? At least it would be quick. Would she be bashed with the glass ball? Or maybe they'd transfigure an object to whack her with, like a rock or a spellboo-

      -Was that woman who'd just taken off her hood Trixie (Hermione was unsure of when she had made up the nickname for the darkest witch alive, but it seemed fitting) from The Prophet? Her gaunt face was glowing with excitement, childlike but off. Like the picture in the prophet, only a thousand times more radiant. When she'd first seen the picture of Bellatrix, sitting in the great hall, she'd been disgusted with the woman. Now, eyes meeting Bellatrix's excited ones, she had no idea how she'd ever felt anything less than unconditional love for Bellatrix. 

     But why was Trixie bouncing up and down with anticipation? Was it because she saw Hermione and couldn't resist the bushy-haired beauty? Did she want to kiss Hermione? Hermione definitely wanted to kiss her. Her lips were awfully chapped, but Hermione still thought it would be enjoyable.

     Just as Hermione's eyes started to stray rather lower than the woman's face, she realised that she was alive and well, her head unbroken. Just as she began to revel in her unsmashedness, Trixie said, "Torture the little girl, I'll do it." What sort of torture? Hermione's mind immediately turned to ropes.

     "So I'm your little girl? Well, it's torture not having you kiss me on the mouth already, Trixie" Hermione stepped closer to her mate.

     "What? Hermione, are you alright," Ron said, clearly not understanding the bond between Hermione and her beautiful lover.

     But Trixie was clearly aware of how they belonged together, because she grabbed Hermione around the waist, tracing her fingers lower and lower on Hermione's back. "Awww, is the baby's little girlfriend begging for my touch? Well, don't worry, touch I will." She said, hands wrapping themselves around Hermione's bottom.

     "Get your hands off her, you pedo!" Yelled Ginny, as ignorant of Hermione's love as they all were, save for perhaps Harry, whose face was screwed up in contemplation. Ron's nose was crumpled up in disgust, while Neville was writhing on the floor, muttering to himself, nails scraping at his face. Ginny was writhing for completely different reasons, namely hatred. Luna simply seemed as scared as she had been before Hermione had professed her love.

     Hermione's thoughts of her friends' disapproval were wiped away by cold, scratchy lips. She couldn't believe it, Trixie loved her. Trixie wanted her. Trixie was sucking on her tongue. Trixies's saliva was fusing with her's. Hermione sucked in on Trixie's wide-open mouth. Hermione to get more of her love, more of her affection. The taste of spoiled porridge invaded her tongue as they frenched.

     But the yumminess of several day old oatmeal was torn away from her as Bellatrix flew several feet away from her. Hermione needed more, needed her tongue sucked again, but the smart part of her--the part that kept her eyes glued to Professor Binns for an hour every Wednesday--said that what she needed the most was to understand what was happening around her. It was a battle, after all.

     Draco's father, wand still up, was shouting, "Bellatrix! Get a hold of yourself. We're on a mission." Trixie's look annoyed, but still hungry for her mate. "Do you not see what you’ve done? It was a mudblood you were just slobbering all over." Her jaw dropped. Was her face always this green? It would explain how her lips tasted.

     "God, it was a mudblood? I would never want to kiss one of those things, I can't believe you tricked me like that!” Hermione recoiled at the cold slicing across her face. Bellatrix would spit on her? Normally, she would’ve loved Bellatrix’s saliva trickling down her face, but like hands on your neck, spit on your face only feels good if it’s put there lovingly. “I only f*** half-bloods at the very least (Loony gasped at the swearing), and as for serious relationships, it's purebloods only!" Hermione's heart sank. Would she never again suck the taste of expired hot cereal from the pale, stale, tasting-like-kale lips of Bellatrix Lestrange?

     She needed to show Trixie that filthy mudbloods like her were okay. That she wasn't disgusting, wasn't impure. After all, how else could she do all of the things she was thinking of (Hermione's fantasies went beyond even frenching) to Bellatrix if Bellatrix thought it was blood-traitor behaviour just to kiss her?

     A voice rang out behind her.

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When she was first thrown into the dark, her ears were ringing. The noise was soon drowned out by crashes, which seemed to echo around the room. But the echoage might’ve just been her Imagination, as imagination seemed so unimagined in this place where the only images were ones within her imagination. A thousand ghostly voices spoke poetic words too conjumbled together to be of any meaning. There couldn’t be a logical explanation for that. There couldn’t be a logical explanation for why she couldn’t breathe. Why smoke was coating her throat. Why Neville screamed and all was dark.

      Maybe it was an incantation that Neville yelled. Maybe Neville had hit her with a Killing Curse for expressing her love. Maybe she’d been hit with a killing curse. Maybe she was dead. Maybe the darkness around her was that darkness philosophers always talk about–the darkness which had seemed so poetic until it was her everything.

     It didn’t feel sweet. It certainly wasn’t a release. She wasn’t in too much pain, but god was it agony. The crashes had died out. The darkness didn’t have a light at the end of the tunnel, but it did seem to be lightening to a stormy grey. But she wasn’t sure what the colors of the world seemed like to her would be anything more than a dying dream.

     A voice called out through the expanse of grey. For a moment, she thought it was an angel. Or maybe Satan, calling out to torture her for her sins. After all, she was thinking some pretty dirty things about Bellatrix. And she was a witch. So yeah, maybe she was going to hell.

     But the point is, a voice called out. And it wasn’t from the heavens. It was, in fact, the not-so heavenly voice of Neville Longbottom, crying out an “I’m so sorry.”

     And then, as if Neville’s shaking voice had shaken her grey everything, something magical happened. Hermione stopped thinking about one of the most evil Death Eaters as if she was an unsavoury-purposed toy. Stopped thinking she was dead. Realised that, when you smelled smoke and the world was black-turning-grey, it was less likely you died and more likely you were just covered in smoke.

     Smoke that, Hermione realised, was quite annoying. In addition, she had no idea if the Death Eaters were as incapacitated as she and her friends (and Loony Lovegood) had been, so it would probably be nice to know what was going on.

     Trying to pull her thoughts towards the scent of lavender and feeling of scrubbing, Hermione swirled her wand as if writing cursive ‘e’s higher and higher in the air. By the time she counted four air-circles, she was overwhelmed by the smell of nice detergent. “Scourgify Totalus.”

     Grey lightened to light grey, and soon enough little bits of distorted light were filtering through blue bubbles, bubbling the scene into Hermione’s vision.

     Malfoy’s father, the now-seemingly-less-hot Bellatrix Lestrange, and eleven masked Death Eaters were collapsed in a pile in the corner, just beyond where the last shards of broken glass fell. Prodding at the unconscious criminals was one Luna Lovegood, who was currently touching Bellatrix where Hermione had wanted to a few moments prior. Hermione got a little bit turned on, but it was still a bit weird. Bellatrix, despite being out cold, was moaning. She didn’t want to know how that was happening.

     Neither did Ron, apparently, as he had taken one look at Loony’s erotic gropings and thrown up in the wreckage around him.

     Ginny hadn’t the chance to look at her, as she was slumped against another shelf, a few broken glass balls lying around her and a few comical bumps protruding from the top of her head.

     Harry clearly didn’t think the bumps were funny, as he was checking on her with genuine concern. Hermione thought that he was looking a bit stupid, showing his care and affection like that. She was glad that she was above such petty things, like dating.

     It hit her at once that not anymore was she the never tempted, perfect little angel she had been thought to be. She had openly shown sexuality! Hermione never deigned to do anything sexually outside the comfort of her own bed. And her dormitory, when she was alone. Or thought she was alone.

     She would never forget the time she had been embracing life’s simple pleasures–thoughts of Ron and Lavender swirling through her mind–when Lavender popped out from under behind her four-poster bed, fingers sliding in and–Hermione shuddered. Lavender was always so dirty. Hermione was always above her, always the clean one, never pleasure-seeking or disgusting like Lavender was.

     It seemed so hard to accept that, now that she had been stupid enough to display love, she was as dirty and low as sl*ts like Lavender and Luna.

     She shouldn’t think about such things while there was a battle going on. There was plenty of time alone in the prefect’s bathroom to sort out her shame with a teaspoon of Euphoria to take the edge off. In fact, Hermione could use something to take the edge off right now.

     It was only then that she realised her firewhisky vial (ever since the start of exam season, she’d carried one around wherever she went) had shattered in her pocket.

     How could she make it without some sort of potion to take the edge off? Currently, the ‘edge’ felt like the edge of a knife, and she needed something, anything, to stop the pain.

     As always, her superiority at magic came to her aid. She walked over to Neville–his little idiotic brain would be a necessity to her spell–and watched to make sure he wasn’t showing any signs of uncharacteristic thinking. The last thing she needed was more thoughts.

     But Neville, much to her delight, was thinking just the usual amount (that is to say, not much). He kept looking at his hands, at his still-raised wand (he couldn’t even think to put it down! Hermione used to feel bad for thinking about him as an ignorant little idiot, but god was he proving every negative thought she’d ever had about him), and at the mound of Voldemort's followers. He was still shaking. Honestly, that boy could be a bit overdramatic at times. It had been ages.

     But his stupidity was just what she needed. Trying to empathise with him and feel what he’s feeling, she poked herself in the temple with her wand and said a quick, practical “confundo.”

     Pink flashed across her vision, and then, for a moment, Hermione’s head was clear and full of buzzing.

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Pink is a funny feeling. Hermione loved it. She couldn’t really feel what temperature she was, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, everything about pink was comfortable. And, when you’re pink, everything’s a bit pink. Like, the colour, not the feeling. There’s just a little pink in everything.

     Luna Lovegood had a lot of wands. Hermione wondered where she got them, because the strange wand man sold them for a lot of money.

     Luna was so Loony. Her butterbeer cap necklace was ridiculous! She said it was to get there to be no more Nargles. But the Nargle and the Snokrakk weren't true, and Loony Luna was wearing a stupid necklace just to get animals away that weren’t even a real animal. Hermione needed to tell her that she didn’t need to worry, that Nargles and Bludder Humming couldn’t hurt her pretty body and pretty face.

     Pink makes her face so super pretty. If it wasn’t already pretty, which it was so much. Also, the Mystery house they were in was pretty too. There was still the shiny from the hummingbird across the room. But pink made Luna the most pretty.

     Luna’s pretty hands were running along Bellatrix’s face, holding her head higher and massaging her hair. Her nails were all–except two–sharp and pointy, and they were painted a pale yellow.

     Her hair was a little yellow, too, only brown-er. At least at the bottom. At the top of her hair, it was darker, and the dark flowed into the light. Luna was yellow, as a person, but something about her was pink now, too.

     She was too pretty to be wearing stupid things just to make not-reals go away.

     “Lo-oony, you need to not wear the bad things just to take away the Nargles because the Nargles aren’t real. You’re too pretty to wear the dumb stupid things.”

     It felt good to get it out. She was helping her. Helping Luna. Pretty Luna.

     “If you think I’m pretty, come here, please. I need someone like you.” Luna sounded pink.

     “What am I like? What does it mean, someone like me?”

     “Someone pretty like you.” Her voice was like floating. Floating on pale pink clouds, clouds in an almost-yellow sky.

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Hermione, suddenly feeling like her blue had vanished, stumbled over to Luna. She stood there awkwardly for a moment, wondering if Luna really thought she was pretty. Did Luna… love her? She loved Luna.

     But she hadn’t felt that way a bit ago… she had loved Bellatrix. Bellatrix was laying right next to them, in the death eater pile, but Hermione didn’t love her anymore. Bellatrix was still beautiful (Hermione could think of a few more words to describe her), Hermione still felt like doing things too her (the unsavoury-toy related thoughts hadn’t gone away as easily as she’d thought they had), but she wasn’t heads over heels. She couldn’t envision a future with Bellatrix anymore, she could only envision…

     A hand–a mostly-soft hand, less smooth near the wrist–pulled her to the floor.

     “Sit,” Luna said, more a plea than a command. Hermione didn’t let go of her hand.

     “Hermione. Do you… like girls?” Of course she liked girls. It was common knowledge that, in the wizarding world, everyone–bar Dumbledore, who liked to wear floral flannels–was bisexual. But Hermione knew better than to just answer the questions straight. This was the perfect occasion to pull some of her flirting (she had hastily read a book on the subject, How to Flirt Without Being an Immodest Sl*t , the day before the yule ball) knowledge out.

     “I like one girl in particular more than all the others.” Yeah, she still had it.

     Luna didn’t respond, instead reaching out and wrapping a lock of bushy hair around her finger. Hermione’s hair was so tangled that just separating out a single lock was painful, but she didn’t mind. The pain felt black, and pink and black looked so pretty together.

     But she’d never known pretty colours until she saw Luna’s eyes. Pink, black, yellow, they all could mix seamlessly with the swirling silver. So much of her eyes, however, were taken up with black. Hermione felt… different. Luna’s pupils looked less like they belonged to the girl who saw Nargles and more like they belonged to the girl who saw death. And, to be honest, that was pretty hot.

     “Hey… Hermione… are you okay?” She was so hot. Hermione had to think of something smart to say, something that’d be flirty enough to make someone as amazing as Luna love her back.

     “Your eyes…” Hermione trailed off dramatically. She made a mental note to congratulate herself for being such a flirt. If she kept going like this, maybe she’d be loved someday! She’d really… like… that…

     Luna’s silver eyes took well to red. Her hand reached into Hermione’s hair, taking hold of a strand and pulling, hard. Pain stabbed through her scalp. Hermione bit her lip as to not screech in pain. Luna licked hers, tugging slightly again.

     In Hermione’s mind’s eye, silver flashed red.

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Hermione grabbed a lock of Luna’s hair, and when Luna tugged her closer, she tugged Luna towards her too.

     She absolutely needed to ask what chapstick Luna uses.

* * *

     “Kids?” Professor Lupin’s voice totally ruined their makeout sesh. Like, total turnoff. Hermione pulled away, extricating her hands from Luna’s hair and shirt. Pouting, Luna followed suit.

     Luna’s red eyes were still burning, her swollen lips begging for Hermione’s own, but Hermione couldn’t keep going after Lupin’s tasteless intrusion. As much as she wanted to stare into those eyes forever, to keep trying to figure out what flavour Luna’s chapstick was (it was something between cookies, currents, and river water, Hermione had decided), it seemed the battle had resumed.

     Of course, she was fighting her own battle just to keep her hands off of Luna, so she’d just have to fight two battles at once.

     “Voldemort was here.” Hermione’s hands stopped reaching towards Luna’s chest.

     “What?” Ron asked, jaw dropped.

     “Voldemort was here,” Lupin repeated, “But, by working together, we managed to drive him off.”

     “What are we supposed to do? Do we have to go back to Hogwarts already?” Ginny had woken up and was nursing her injuries.

     “If you felt that would be the best course of action, you could. However, most of the Order, myself included, are staying behind in the Department of Mysteries, as it is an opportunity to see powerful types of magic studied,” Lupin replied, “and Sirius said I couldn’t beat him in a game of table tennis with a living brain as the ball, and I didn’t want to back out of the challenge.”

     “Can I… ummm… play, too, Lupin?” Harry looked at his feet.

     “No Harry, if you’re gonna constantly whine “Danger, danger” whenever Sirius floocalls you, you’re not invited to play with us. Unlike you, we like to have fun. So, no, you can’t have fun hitting brains with tennis rackets. James was never like this .”

     Harry broke into tears. Hermione broke into tears too, but in a laughing sort of way. “Are you seeing this, Ron?”

     Ron pulled out his Omnioculars, rewinding back to the action, “Yeah, and so will all my subscribers on Flootube.”

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Throughout all of this, Luna was silent. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair ruffled, and she was still eyeing Hermione hungrily.

     “Would you like to… go somewhere less easily seen?” Luna’s eyes met her own, and then started slowly descending.

     “I’ve heard of a place called the love room, and while I don’t think it would be a good idea to go there, I think we should find a room to go love .” She couldn’t believe herself. She was actually flirting. Granted, she was trying very hard, but she hoped that wouldn’t be too obvious.

     Luna’s nails scratched her a little bit when she grabbed Hermione’s hand. She tried hard not to moan, though to little success.

     Hands linked, they walked back to the circular room.

     “Which room should be our little love room?” Luna overdramatically moaned out the word love, which got Hermione a little… excited.

     “I’d love to go anywhere where you can really love me.”

     “I’d like that.”

     And so they–hands feeling each other–walked through the closest door.

     But it wasn’t their love room. It was, in fact, the Death Chamber, now filled with yelps, cheers, and a small table tennis table on the raised podium. Sirius jumped towards the edge of the table where a brain was flying, and, with a dreadful “ squelch ,” smacked it back towards Lupin, to cheers from Tonks and Harry.

     Lupin barely moved to hit it back, unfazed, and squelched it right on the very edge, right next to the Veil.

     Time slowed as Sirius flew towards the brain, all his mind focused on his target. Lupin didn’t notice how perfectly he sent back the brain. All his attention was focused on where Sirius was going.

     Sirius, beaming at his perfect hit, flew through the Veil so fast it shook when he went through.

     Harry fell to the floor and began openly sobbing.

     “Some people just have to make it all about them,” Hermione said.

     “Drama queen,” said Luna.

     The only people whose eyes weren’t on the Veil Sirius had disappeared through were Ron and Neville.

     Ron and Neville who, apparently, had much less dignity than Luna and Hermione, and were openly snogging and feeling each other up and down near the back of the room.

     “So,” Hermione said in a fake-deep flirtatious voice, “wanna go find a place to love each other?”

     “Somewhere more remote than Ron and Neville, because I’d like to do things to you that aren’t usually done near other people.”

* * *

     “Oh my god Lavender,” Parvati shouted, “You have to see this, Loony and The Swot are actually… y’know, doing it!”

     Hermione got off of Luna, hastily taking her fingers out. “Scourgify,” she shouted, but it did nothing. It was hard to think clean thoughts after what she’d just been doing. How had they been discovered?

     She’d thought this room–a twisty, thin hall full of tanks of animals she’d never seen before, including a worm that sometimes separated into three separate segments and converged upon its prey, a bug that was a colour almost like green, but with a slight tint towards a colour Hermione didn’t know existed–would’ve been completely secret. They were being quite loud, so maybe Parvati heard them?

     “Colin, take a picture,” Lavender said, “Look at that, swot, everyone’s gonna see what your tiny t*ts look like, and they’re gonna see what you did with your little girlfriend. And y’know what I heard? I heard you made out with the evil murderer, Bellatrix Lestrange. Do you know what she did? And you just made out with her? How low are your standards?”

     “I mean, we kinda know how low her standards are, seeing as she’s here having s*x with Loony Lovegood,” Parvati stepped closer to the pair of naked girls.

     “Wow! Rita Skeeter will pay me so much for this!” Colin Creevey was beaming with excitement. “I’m gonna buy a better camera!”

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“Hey Colin, can I have a look at that? I wanna see how disgusting those freaks look.” Lavender said, but Hermione didn’t think she was looking to get grossed out. Her eyes were glowing with passion, and Hermione thought she saw a drip sliding down Lavender’s leg (Lavender was, as usual, wearing a short skirt without any knickers).

     “Hey, Hermione…” Luna trailed off, her voice shaking. It must be hard for her, she was nearly climaxing when they were found.

     “Yes, love?”

     “Don’t call me love, we’re not that close yet. But, anyways, this is a pretty big turn on for me and I’m still so…” Hermione remembered that they were still naked, turned on, and getting photographed. Colin’s camera was clicking so often that there might as well be a clock nearby.

     “Don’t you think we should, like, put our clothes back on? All of Hogwarts will see us naked!” Reality was coming back to her now. The whole world, everyone would know how she looked while having sex.

     “Hmmm… I don’t think so. I think that we should start having sex again.”

     “What, and let everyone see us do it? Let Lavender have more fuel for the fire of rumours she’ll start?”

     “I think Lavender’s already got a fire burning.”

     Lavender had slid a hand down her skirt, and was moaning rather obnoxiously. And to their picture! But… Hermione had to admit, it was hot.

     Apparently Luna thought so too. “Lavender, don’t you want to join us? Parvati, you can too if you’d like…”

     Lavender looked at the ground, swallowed her pride, and strutted over to the naked girls. “Fine, but only to get more stuff to tell people.” Parvati just looked disgusted.

     “Really, Lavender? You get a bit wet and then you just go off to f*ck whatever sl*ts you can find? I never knew you were this low.”

     But Lavender didn’t care, because, at that moment, she, Hermione, and Luna, were getting lower.

* * *

     “Waaaaaahhh. My godfather died in a tennis accident! Woe is me!” Harry ruined the atmosphere by walking in, moaning incessantly. “Now everyone that was even kinda my parent is dead and gone. And (he sprayed black hair dye on in an attempt to make himself look more sad and emo) no-one even wants to comfort me. Ron is too busy with Neville, and Hermione is too busy with… LAVENDER???”

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“Is everyone in a relationship without me? Does everyone have parents except me?” Harry was still whining. Hermione would’ve just continued on doing who she was doing, but the mood was thoroughly killed.

     Untangling herself, Luna got up and stood face to face with Harry. “You’re probably not in a relationship because you don’t have a personality.”

     “But… that doesn’t explain the parents thing,” Harry said, trying to hold on to some semblance of dignity.”

     “Your parents probably just left to get away from you, emo.” Lavender wasn’t wrong, Harry was looking very emo. He had red contacts in, his hair was dyed scarlet in places, and his eyes were encircled in running, black eyeliner. He had even replaced his iconic lightning scar with an encircled star, and his glasses were nowhere to be found.

     “I’m not an emo! I’m a goth! And I’m gonna go kiss Draco Malfoy!”

     Harry ran off, but Hermione didn’t think he was, in fact, going to go kiss Draco Malfoy. She heard him crying right outside of the labyrinth-like room.

     The moment he was gone, Lavender pounced right back onto Hermione. “God, please start f*cking me again.” It was pretty hot, Lavender’s naked body pressed against her’s, but she was not in the mood anymore.

     “I don’t know, shouldn’t we talk first? Like, how did you even get here?”

     “There was, like, this whole thing. This group of people with, like, Sirius Black and the professor from our third year came and looked like they were about to apparate. A lot of people came along for the ride. When we got here, it was just kinda a cool place so we went to explore.”

     “Did you see anything?” Hermione was still stalling for time. She really couldn’t do it right now, it just didn’t feel right.

     “Yeah, actually. There was this room with a tank of brains, and right next to it was a room with these portal-looking things. They were hooked up to the tank nearby. For some reason, this one portal to this muggle world in the future where everybody’s really sad all the time was hooked up to a brain that kept spewing thoughts of Malfoy.”

     “It sounds so depressing in that muggle world. If I had to live in a world like that, I’d probably spend all of my time making up fake scenarios in a better world.”

     “If I lived in a world like that, I’d throw myself off the astronomy tower. Only, they don’t have astronomy towers, so I’d probably just jump off a roof.” Lavender seemed like she needed help. Did she really care so little for her own life?

     “I don’t think I would. I’d live in any condition as long as I had you with me.”

     Luna piped up, “What about me?”

     “F*ck off Luna, we’re not talking about you.” Lavender was being mean, but Hermione appreciated the sentiment. It was their moment.

     “O-okay, I’ll leave…” Luna’s eyes were watery as she ran from them.

     “I love you,” said Lavender.

     “I want to spend forever with you by my side!”

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     “Soo… let’s have sex?” Lavender didn’t take the hint.

     “Sorry Lavender… I’m just… not in the mood.”

     “By ‘not in the mood’ do you mean ‘I don’t love you’? Do you mean ‘I hate your guts and wish I never saw you again’? God, Hermione, I can’t believe you’re doing this to me! We’re breaking up.”

     “Were we in a relationship?”

     “Yes! But now we’re not, all because you had to be a fugly prude.”

     Lavender dashed away, crying.

     “Umm, Colin, did you get all that?” Oh right, Parvati was still there. And she’d seen that all three members of the golden trio had succumbed to lust or sloth. God, this evening really ruined everything. Well, at least they’d gotten the death eaters.

     A voice boomed from across the department. “Heyhey, it’s your headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, speaking. So, like, there are death eaters, and they were mostly tied up in bondage gear–bondage gear that sources have told me belong to one Luna Lovegood–but they escaped and now they’re attacking us. One Seamus Finnigan has already been hit with an especially potent curse and has been transfigured into a hyena. He bit Professor Snape, who’s currently crying in the hospital wing.”

     “Now, I want the following to meet me in the death chamber: Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and the other two that came with them. Everyone else should go to the place with all the glass things. Alby out.”

     “Well? Run along to the Hall of Prophecy with the rest of the commoners, I’m gonna go see Professor Dumbledore with all the special people.” Hermione didn’t feel bad being rude to people, after all, they were basically sexually harassing her. But there were no rules against sexual harassment in the wizarding world. Professor Umbridge had made sure of it.

     And she ran (she really shouldn’t have taken the time to annoy Parvati, she didn’t want to be late) to the Death Chamber, where Dumbledore was waiting to address them.

     “Okay so, now that everybody who’s important is here, I’m gonna tell you what’s up. So, like, everybody’s been doing it, and you’d all be super expelled if it was a less-cool headmaster’s reign, but I personally made it completely allowed to have sex in Hogwarts”

     “And why, Headmaster, did you allow sex?” Mcgonagall asked.

     “See, I always had this idea that this prince charming guy I met when I was a kid would come back and sweep me off me feet, and I kinda wanted to be able to, y’know, have him f*ck me when he did. But he never did come back… it’s like he doesn’t love me…”

     “You locked him in a cage, that’s why he never came back! I know you two, and I know that if you hadn’t put him in a box the whole castle would have to hear the sound of you getting f*cked by a literal nazi!”

     “Whoa… you f*cked a nazi, Dumbledore?” Ron Weasley looked up at him, admiring the old man. “That’s so cool… hey Neville, why don’t you become a nazi so I can say I f*cked one too?”

     “Umm… no.” Neville losered.

     “He doesn’t deserve you, Ron!” Hermione had to put her two cents in.

     “You’re totally right! Neville, we’re breaking up.”

     “So… if you couldn’t tell, everyone’s acting a little bit erratic right now,” Dumbledore started. “And that… may or may not have been because I liquifiedthedumbhorny,” He took a breath, put his hands together, and continued, “energyofjoeyfrommilfmanoraanduseditassexpollen.”

     “I… couldn’t quite hear what you said, Headmaster…” God, what made Luna think she had the right to speak?

     “Well… I… liquified the pure dumb, horny energy of a muggle named Joey from a show called MILF Manor and gave it to the ministry of magic a few years ago…”

     “Why are you telling us this?” Hermione asked.

     “I was just getting to that! So, basically, the ministry uses the energy as a sort of pollen that infects everyone in it after closing hours, just to debilitate any intruders.”

     “And why don’t they just use security cameras?”

     “We’re wizards, things don’t have to make sense. And isn’t that lovely? There doesn’t have to be efficiency, doesn’t have to be any point, you just have to have fun and do things and feel good. And y’know what makes me feel good? Getting eaten out by Gellart Grindleward, famed wizard nazi. So I’m gonna go make a trip to the prison I stuck him in.”

     “Albus… are you sure the Joey pollen isn’t messing you up, as well.”

     But he was off.

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“I’m confused.” Colin said.

     “Wait, Colin, why are you here?” Harry asked, and not without good reason. The meeting was only for important people who were worth something, and that didn’t include nothings like Colin.

     “God, get out Colin! You’re a dumb, stupid freak!” Hermione didn’t feel sorry at all. Colin shouldn’t’ve been in the same room as important people like her. After all, she wasn’t a virgin anymore, she was someone who had sex and was valuable to society. Maybe someone would even love her.

     “Since our Headmaster has departed to go do gay stuff, from now on I will be taking over as Headmistress. I would like to state that sex is banned at Hogwarts now, because I don’t have any hope of love at this point.”

     “And, you know what, I’m also banning Butterbeer. And love. And I’m going to kill Madam Puttifoot. Hope you understand.” Mcgonagall waited for an ovation, but everyone–everyone except Ginny, Harry, and Colin–was standing dumbfounded. Butterbeer was central to partying at Hogwarts, so it was hard to imagine the castle without the stuff. Hermione supposed that for parties, they’d just have to turn to firewhiskey.

     Of course, Hermione already turned to firewhiskey whenever she wanted to cry or stop studying, so she was more worried about the sex ban. And the love ban. Now she would never be loved unless she broke a rule. And she couldn’t break rules. So she’d have to be lonely forever. Also, she wanted to have more sex.

     But… who would she have sex with? She’d lost Luna and Lavender, who would love her now? She missed Luna so much now that she was away… away somewhere… maybe here… wherever here was….Luna was so lovely… she remembered a feeling she’d felt… a feeling… or a color… it was… yel….

     Maybe, figures moved. Bright colours….emotions that were almost real….people that seemed almost real….it all just made so much sense….maybe….

     Green. green lights jittered across the dark, false bricks like remains–earthly remains of an angel–on strings. Almost as if it could still move. It was almost pretty. Almost.

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An armchair–an ancient, ebony black armchair–sat next to the green torch. The flickers reached only as far as the nightstand to the side of the chair. It was black to match the chair–the chair that, in turn, matched the darkness–and it was inscribed:

Blood brings forth non degenerated–nor associated–blood.

     Hermione had read enough to know what degenerated blood they didn’t want. It was the “associated” part that really caught her off guard. Did whoever she was taken by (and taken was the right word. She couldn’t move her arms or legs–when she tried, all she did was rattle a chain.) want to kill muggleborns and blood traitors in equal measure?

     It was weird, not being the only one hunted like vermin. Now blood traitors are too. Her friends were blood traitors, would they be taken into a dungeon like she was? Strapped to the ground by a chain?

     A chain that she couldn’t feel. She couldn’t feel her arms or legs at all. Maybe she should’ve been thankful she wasn’t in pain. But it only made her more worried that maybe, somehow, they’d already ripped her apart. She wished she could see her limbs, but the last green ember couldn’t reach her from some ten feet away from the feeble flame.

     Not all of her senses were dull, however. She could hear other chains rattling. And she could feel a cold, metal ball be shoved into her mouth.

     “Another one’s up. Mudblood, I think.”

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“Well, we don’t need to keep mudbloods alive. Kill it.”

     “Of course, Lucius.” The man was practically whimpering. “Avada Kedavra.”

     Black flashed green, and blue turned grey. She could feel her limbs again, although they felt the way she’d imagined Harry’s arm felt when Lockheart tried to heal it.

     And she was going somewhere. Was being carried, being swept. She floated through the wall of the room, into a lighter bedroom where a white-haired, dead-eyed boy sat staring into space. He was just a memory now. Dead to her.

     And out she floated into a carefully-kept landscape, peacocks tied to poles around the Victorian house she’d been taken into and out of.

     For a second, she worried her hair would matt, but, when she reached up to it, she found that it was still as if she wasn’t flying across the town the house was in, above the farms and the patches of forest. As if she wasn’t already where she knew her destination would be.

     In the heart of London, she was pulled through the ground and into a chamber. A chamber with an abandoned ping pong table on a raised podium.

     Her hair’s still was disturbed as her body brushed the curtain aside.

     A hand grabbed hers. Her hand, her real hand.

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Hey, this isn't really a chapter. I'm super hecking tired and I don't know where this story is going, so I don't think i'll keep writing.
If you want me to keep writing, just tell me. I'm not sure if anyone's even reading this at this point so, if you are, and you want it to keep going, just say so and ill do it. I'll do whatever. you can also say I should do other femslash things and I prolly will. luv you all
fanx (get it, because that's what tara said), C.