Harry Potter 1. Prologue

Title: Shadowed Lightning  
Relationship: Voldemort/Hermione/Tom  
Genre: Drama/Romance/Horror  
Rating: Adult  
Warning(s): Dark Themes, Torture, Character Death, Sexual Content  
Word Count: 1024  
Summary: When sanity snaps, all one can do is follow the madness and embrace the dark.  
Disclaimer: Everything but the plot line belongs to J.K Rowling.

* * *

Prologue

Loud pounding of the unforgiving rain, the wind shrieking and rattling trembling trees, thunder and then the brilliant flash of lightning; an expression of hatred could be seen - and a small figure curled around herself, frozen and still upon crimson stained grass. A bitter and triumphant laugh, quick whispers of forgiveness, of purity, prayers and pleas - spit lands in blood matted curls, and then the barley audible sound of foot steps walking away. Another roar of thunder, louder and closer than before, but the figure does not move as electricity charges the air, crackling and sparking, a fierce strike of blinding white before darkness.

The howling of the wind continues, leaves whipping to and fro, the sound of an abulance faintly heard but no hope ignites. A groan, deep and agonizing fills the air, and the blackened tree begins to sway; descending slowly, the roots battling against gravity and then - hesitation, it's looming mass hovering in the air, the only stillness in the chaos of its surroundings, shielding the figure from the rain falling above.

_Snap_.

Head turns and her smile is wicked and dark as she watches the oak come closer to her crumpled form, her eyes glowing almost unnaturally in the dim light of the moon escaping through cracks of swirling clouds. Her smile widens, teeth bared, and she throws her head back, her cackles lost in the next bout of thunder, a crazed expression carved into her delicate, petite features. She opens her eyes, crimson and filled with excited glee, the same color as the blood dripping from her face - tongue darts out and licks pouty lips, the metallic taste sharp and sweet, smirk slow and intent. She studies the wood of the trunk, the swaying branches and the uplifted roots, leaves tickling her cheeks and chin, water pelting down on either side of her body, untouched and delighted.

A flick of her healed wrist and the large oak soars through the air, twisting and flinging bullets of rain, crashing with a shriek, briefly drowning the storm's cries. Muscles tensing while hands flex, stretching over mud and blood painted grass, she rises with grace and malicious intent, strength rushing through her veins and skin knitting until smooth. The rain cowers away from her striding figure, clothes and hair drying, the once scarlet blood coating her body now a crusted brown. Her steps are light and silent, bare feet grazing the ground almost as if floating, and not a whisper of her path remained.

Crimson eyes trailed over the back of the shadowed house, windows covered in steel, the door a thick, foot width of metal. Her smile is a parody of gentle and loving, her arms flung open as if asking to be embraced - warmth at her fingertips and a blast of dark, unforgiving power. A screech of metal being torn from its hinges is drowned out by the next crash of thunder, fulmination lighting her twistedly beautiful face, teeth glinting as she laughs, glorious and vicious.

She stalks forward - controlled, elegant, precise. Walking into the welcoming darkness, excitement shines from her eyes, mouth twisted into ruthless madness, the damp air crackling from an energy born from hate. The door slams shut, echoes dancing from corner to corner, the floor shuddering and groaning, the walls aching with despair.

Once to keep out, now to trap within - the house belongs to her now, the playground for her revenge. Breathing deeply, air musky and a lingering scent of mildew stinging her nose, she cocks her head and listens. Creaks and scrambling feet cause a slow smile to spread, a teasing glint in glowing eyes.

"Daddy," her coo fills the room, feet turning slowly and silently moving across the wood, dirty nightgown swirling around blood crusted flesh, "-why are you hiding?"

Silvery light shines from a cracked door into the darkness of the hallway, illuminating and reflecting crimson orbs, a malevolent sheen sparkling eerily. Voice soft and childlike, innocent but edged with darkness, "I had a nightmare, daddy,"

Gliding silently, feet padding across carpeted floor, a door opens, squeaking as it crawls across and into a wall. She stands in the threshold, her gaze meeting eyes so familiar, vindictive to fearful. Slowly, she glides across the room, smile predatory, face mockingly sweet. Her arm rises, fingers trail gently across a scarred cheek; a flinch and the grip tightens, roughly turning the frozen face to hers, nails digging, crimson droplets falling like tears.

Leaning forward, cooing in soothing whispers, she shakes her head, wild curls swaying with the motion, "Don't be frightened, daddy," she murmurs, smile gentle, eyes hard, "I won't hurt you,"

Screams tear through the room, inhuman and rough, echoing as her laughter joins, caresses, and dances with the vocalized agony. Her joy is high pitched and cold, mad and wild - face twisted with victorious pleasure as fresh blood splatters across her skin. Bones crumble and splinter, muscles ripped and skin torn; ruby rivers pore from eye sockets, fingers bent and crooked, mouth agape in silent screams as she twists her hand and yanks.

The heart still pounds in her grip, blood dripping and staining wood floors, spraying the once white nightgown a gruesome, muddy red. Squeezing a fist, she cackles as the organ is crushed, her grin wide and free, fingers sticky as the thump sounds in the now silent room. Crouches down and slowly pets wet, matted hair, stares into the forever tormented, anguished wide eyes, studies the mangled artwork of her first piece - her face is satisfied as she straightens, turns and strolls leisurely out of the dark house, the front door slamming firmly shut behind her.

She stands in the front of the her once home, past the yard, gazing back at the shadowed darkness with triumph. Her hand comes to her mouth and takes a long, savoring lick, a moan quietly leaving parted red lips. Darkness and victory, spicy and sweet. A grin twists across her face, turns and walks across the road before she dissappears with a pop, her laughter echoing through the dark street behind her.

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Thank you for reading! I'll be honest, the more reviews I get, the sooner the next chapter will be up - so click the magic button and tell me your thoughts.


	2. Chapter One

**Title: **Shadowed Lightning

**Relationship: **Voldemort/Hermione/Tom

**Genre**: Drama/Romance/Horror  
**Rating**: Adult  
**Warning(s): **Dark Themes, Torture, Character Death, Sexual Content  
**Word Count**: 3721  
**Summary**: When sanity snaps, all one can do is follow the madness and embrace the dark.

**Disclaimer: **Everything but the plot line belongs to J.K Rowling.

* * *

Chapter One

Low murmers and whispers prodded at conciousness, a low moan and then eye lashes fluttering, revealing whiskey colored orbs. Peering through a curtain of wild, curly hair, lids half mast, Hermione Granger stretched languidly, toes curling in warm sheets, mind uncharastically blank. Blinking rapidly, eyes clearing of morning bluriness, her tired gaze fell on raven and orange hair, round spectacles, and collections of freckles.

Snapping into a sitting position, her expression was of confusion, mind muddled and slowly registering soreness and aches, her lips curving downward. Scanning the trio, their expressions of sadness and pity and sympathy, her mind raced - why was she here? _Where_ was here? What had happened to cause such upsetting looks?

"H-Harry?" She croaked, hands rising and fingers dragging through knotted hair, she cleared her throat, "Ginny? Ron? What...?"

Trailing off, eyebrows furrowing when the red haired girl began crying, she froze as the youngest Weasley quickly climbed across the bed and forced her in a hug, body protesting and flinching minuetly.

"Oh, Hermione!" Annoyance flickered through her, ears ringing at the wail, her body stiff as she fought the need to push the younger girl away, "I'm so sorry," she sobbed, oblivious to the lack of mutuality of the embrace, "Dumbledore told us about the attack! And...and your father. Are you alright? Do you-"

"Bloody hell, Ginny," Just as quickly as the assault started, it ended, Ron forcefully dragging his sister away, cursing as a bony elbow jabbed in his side, "Don't suffocate her." Promptly dropping the glaring girl on the ground, he hurriedly scrambled a safe distance, glancing back at Hermione and smiling weakly, "'Ello, Mione,"

Dazed, the curly haired witch stayed silent, hands twitching as her mind started to swirl, whiskey disappearing behind lids, mouth frowning in confusion. There had been an attack? And what about her fath-

Oh.

Head dropping and curls masking her face, her smirk was wicked, eyes opening and flashing crimson before whiskey bled over - oh yes, she remembered now. Images flashed across closing eyes, cackles inward, shoulders allowed to shudder with her glee that was easily passed off as grief: the pounding rain, blood soaked grass, flashes of lightning, face twisted in agony, a pumping, spluttering heart resting in her hand.

With the sound of blood curdling screams echoing through her mind, satisfying and oh so delicious, she forced tears to run down cheeks, a sob tearing from her throat. Head lifting, trembling with false pain, her eyes cut to guilty emeralds, the emotion deepening as he saw her face - she resisted shaking her head in incredulous amusement.

So predictable, she mused gleefully, to blame himself for something out of his control; instead of reassuring as she would have in the past, she used his misplaced guilt to her advantage. Voice shaking and tears unfaltering, she spoke in a plea, "P-pl-please," The word was choked, smirk inward as green eyes softened and grew wet, "I-I wi-wish t-t-to b-be alo-alone,"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ron open his mouth to protest, but her gaze stayed on Harry's, the false pain masking her triumph as he nodded, face understanding. Grabbing a freckled arm and motioning to Ginny, the dark haired boy dragged Ron out of the room, the girl slowly following behind after glancing at Hermione reassuringly and sadly. The door swinging shut and a wave of her hand silenced and warded the walls, her cackles slipping free as she threw her head back, madness swirling in in eyes, cruelty curving her mouth.

Laying back, pillows supporting her head, blanket draped over her legs, she grinned, mind running over the events from the night before. As another bout of cackles threatened to leave her mouth, she froze, eyes widening, a hand shooting to touch her temple. Something wasn't right, she realized, searching through her mind frantically, snarling at the foreign magic she could taste lingering.

Eyes falling closed, she focused on her breathing, quickly slipping in her mind scape - it was of the forbidden forest, her sanctuary at Hogwarts. Trees crowded and thick, bushes and shrubs singing with the wind, the sound of scurrying and stomping creatures just in range - the dark surroundings felt off, an intrusion poisoning the peaceful darkness. Making her way through the dense forest, by passing her internal protection of the imagined magical creatures, her feet easily brought her to her meadow, quickly studying each tree and leaf of memories, running her hand over pulsing bark.

Frustrated at her lack of findings, she walked over to the last group of trees, mouth twisting as she spotted a new addition, curious at what lied inside. Stepping forward, bracing both hands against the trunk, a small sneer curled, her magic shuddering in distaste as a suffocating and oily presense lingered around the vessel. Strands of her darkness leaked from her core, surrounding the tree, her body twitching minuetly as they striked and met the unwelcome magic in a battle of wills. Gasping, her knees weakened as a flash of light filled her vision, her darkness over powering the foreign magic and her presence melding with the vessel of memories. Hands tightening against rough bark, fury rose inside of her, flashes filling her vision as events resurfaced, the intruding magic forcefully vanished with each wave of new rememberence.

Inhaling deeply, mind throbbing from the assault of her blocked memories, she exhaled as she turned, making her way to the middle of her meadow, gracefully sitting in soft grass, legs curling under her. Hands gently stroking the forest floor, eyes closing with focused intent, she went through each memory, scowling deeply at blocks of time she had been forced to forget.

Hours later, her eyes flashed open, furious crimson, jaw set and teeth grinding, body smoothly rising from the soft bed, she began to pace. Dumbledore, the old fool, will pay painfully for playing around with her mind - if he believes that he could really get away with obliviating and using compulsions on her - her! The smartest witch since Rowena Ravenclaw! - then he was in for a surprise. How dare that old man use her! For the 'greater good' he had said, each and every time his disgusting magic was used to force and mold her into an obedient slave.

Months of her life had been blocked, false memories in there place, compulsions overriding her personilty, her loyalty and freewill. Snarling, fists clenching as her magic begged to lash out, she spun towards a door she had noticed earlier, stalking into what she had correctly guessed as a bathroom. Ignoring the tastefully decorated room, she strode straight for the shower, flipping the nozzle to hot, stepping back as water shot out from the shower head.

As steam began to curl and dance through the room, Hermione stalked out, retrieving her wand, spying and gripping a familiar bag that she assumed the Order had gotten, she strode back into the bathroom. Tossing her things on the cabinent, clothes falling to the floor with a flare of her magic, she quickly searched for soap, growling lowly and then snatching her wand from the counter after not finding any.

"_Facere capillos vigilantem saponem," _She murmered, wand moving in complicated swirls and strokes, the wash cloth transfiguring into almond scented shampoo and conditioner, "_Fac saponem," _a bar of soap replaced the small dust bunny she picked from a corner. Smile satisfied, hands holding the recently transfigured substance, she walked across tiled floor and stepped into the running shower, feet warming from the magically hot tiles, eyes falling shut as body relaxed slowly.

Setting the hygiene products on the carved shelves blindly, she finally allowed herself to think on what she had learned, warm atmosphere relaxed enough that she would not cause a magical explosion. Hands running through wet, matted curls, a sigh falling from her downward curved mouth, her mind raced with plots of revenge and of how her life would have been if she had been herself.

The compulsions on her personality had been incredibly strong, the intruding magic twisting her mind, forcing her to be a snotty book worm and the perfect Gryffindor princess. That had been the first compulsion, placed at the age of eleven before she had even entered Hogwarts, the second quickly settling on her mind the day she had arrived at the boarding school: _befriend and protect Harry Potter._

Eyes narrowing into slits, she mused on her feelings of her 'friends', quickly realizing every spec of loyalty, of care and protectiveness she had ever felt for those she has known for six years had vanished. Every single one of those 'friends' were reckless and idiotic fools, she sneered, turning to face the tiled wall, head tilting back under the spray of water. Even with the false, annoying personality, she would never had stayed by their side if not for the rest of the compulsions that had been placed on her; loyalty to those of the light, fear and repulsion of anything dark, a romantic bond towards Ronald Weasley, utter devotion to Albus Dumbledore, the persistent need to help her first two 'friends' in their adventures against the dark, and finally the order to inform Dumbledore of any useful information of the light's savior.

But the heavy amount of compulsions was not the only manipulation the old man had done, she growled, hand running over the back of wet hair, an increase of water flowing down her back briefly, the noise in the shower rising and then falling once more in a constant tempo.

Before several compulsions were placed, she had already devoured a handful of books covering Dark Magic, quickly discovering her affinity for the powerful branch. After Dumbledore had subtly searched through her mind after a request was made of her required presence, he had successfully obliviated any knowledge she had over the subject, creating false memories to cover the blank spots of four months of her life.

This was not the last of the altering of her mind - the rest of the obliviates were fairly recent; spanning through her fifth and sixth year, her subconscious had started eating away on the compulsions after an encounter with Blaise Zabini, an Itialian pureblood Slyterin in her year. Becoming study partners in the middle of her fifth year, a friendship was formed astonishingly quick, the pair growing close from their love of knowledge, the compulsion on her personality weakening the longer she spent with the boy.

When she began to withdrawal from the 'Golden Trio', almost making the group a duo unknowingly to the boys, Dumbeldore had requested her presence in his office once more. It had not been as easy for the old man as it had the first time, she remembered, smirking smugly, hand pressing against the wall in front of her. She had felt his intrusion and forced the man out of her mind, but not before he saw of her friendship with the Slytherin boy and her weakening ties to Potter and Weasley. A vicious fight broke out once the man leveled his wand on Hemione; she managed to injure the headmaster, but he had had years of experience and a large repertoire of spells at his disposal. It had not been easy, but in the end, he had managed to block her memories of Blaise, leaving her only impression of her friend as the 'quiet Slytherin'.

The attack had occurred in the middle of her sixth year, and she assumed the man had obliviated Blaise as well, since the boy had not contacted her since.

Lips twisting in a grimace, she tugged sharply at her hair, mind already planning a way to break the obliviate on her very best friend. Fury bubbling under the surface, she took a deep breath, head dropping to press against the warm tiled wall, fiercely willing her magic to be calm, promising she would get her revenge.

Revenge for her friendship, his manipulations, the twisting of her mind and self, and most of all, the block on her magic. Grin feral and murderous, she pondered gleefully on the old man's mistakes; he had not predicted the magnitude of her magical inheritance that had occurred the night before - the powerful increase of her magic broke every single manipulation that had been placed on her, leaving only a lingering sense of the foreign magic.

Oh yes, the old fool would pay, she cackled madly, body straightening as eyes snapped open, crimson orbs glowing earily in the dimly lit room. She would show the man that every action had a price, she vowed viciously, her lips curling into a snarl - and his would be payed with his death.

* * *

An hour of meditation after her shower helped push back the brute of her anger, mind organizing and clearing, her Occulumus shields stabilizing and protecting her thoughts. A wave of her hand and a murmered _tempus_ showed it to be a little past six in the afternoon, eyebrow rising in shock at her complete lack of interruption, figuring Potter or Mrs. Weasley waved off those who may have tried entering.

Rising from her position on the floor, she strode towards the door, mask of grief settling easily over her features, magic caressing her face for the perfect picture of paleness and red rimmed eyes. Door opening with a twist of her hand, she made her way through a familiar route established the summer before her fifth year, the room she shared with the youngest Weasley beside hers, steps purposeful yet with a forced shakiness. Passing quickly down the creaking stairs, not bothering to avoid the weak areas of the wood, she came upon the entrance of the kitchen, subdued conversations drifting through the door.

Once inside, ignoring the sudden silence and stares, she quickly walked to her designed place at the table, plate of food predictably piled and in place. Swiftly taking her seat, eyes focused on the table, hands crossed in lap, she withheld from sating her hunger, knowing if she had really been upset, she would not have touched the food. Hair rising on neck from worried stares, the conversation started once more, of Hogwarts and Quidditch, the Ministry and Mrs. Weasley's prompts for seconds.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Potter asked from her left, voice concerned, a hand settling on her arm. Head lifting to meet emerald eyes, she would have been touched by the genuine worry written on his face if it had not been for the years of being used - instead, she inwardly sneered, the taste of something foul rising on her tongue.

"As much as I can be," She said quietly, a touch of shakiness in her voice for the added effect, eyes flickering down in preserved grief, glancing back up with a look of forced determination as the Gryffindor Princess would have done.

Smile sad, eyes sympathetic, Potter leaned towards her, voice lowering so as to not bring attention their way, "I...I'm sorry about your father, Hermione," A flicker of guilt, "If you had not been friends with-"

"Don't," she interrupted, a look of real annoyance and fake stubbornness painting her face, green eyes looking away with regret and self loathing, "It's not your fault, Harry," She said truthfully, inwardly gleeful and triumphant, screams of her father echoing pleasurably in rememberence of who's fault it _really _was, "I am a muggleborn, considered the smartest witch since Rowena Ravenclaw. Do you really think Voldemort-" Wrongness filled her as the name passed her lips, the disrespect of its use slamming into her for speaking of the Dark Lord so casually, her face unchanging through her inner turmoil, never skipping a beat, "-would not have targeted me even if we had not been friends? The world does not revolve around you, Harry," As she spoke the last sentence, her face softened with false gentleness, intimate knowledge of the person she had been spelled to be easily helping form her reactions.

"You're right, Hermione," the way he spoke showed this admittance was half truthful and half a lie, self-loathing born from his relative's abuse not allowing the boy to fully acknowledge the truth in what she had said, "I'm sorry,"

Hand waving away the apology, Hermione murmered, "It's fine, Harry. I just don't..." She paused, swallowing, eyes moving to rest on her plate of untouched food, "-don't want to talk about it. Alright?"

Nodding in agreement, hand leaving her arm, he said, "Alright," quickly gesturing to her plate, "You need to eat something," As she stared with false stubbornness, his mouth pulled in a small frown, pleading, "Please, Hermione,"

Pausing, she eventually nodded, reluctantly and with hidden relief turning her attention to her plate, fork held loosely in hand, she started to slowly eat her roast beef, humming unnoticeably in pleasure as her taste buds rejoiced.

By the time she had finished with her dinner, the others had vacated the room, Mrs. Weasley the last to leave after fussing briefly over Hermione, forcing another swallop of roasted potatoes and beets on her plate, glass being filled again with pumpkin juice. Indulging in a considerable amount of bread pudding, mask of grief still in place, not risking the chance of someone wondering back in, she mused over what she would do the next day.

She needed to take a trip to Diagon Alley - and possibly Knockturn Alley, too. Being the last living Granger, the hefty amount of money her father had denied Hermione access to was automatically transferred in her name, she knew, smug satisfaction briefly flashing across her face, disappearing immediately after. She would need to withdrawal the whole amount and convert the muggle pounds into Galleons, possibly gaining a different vault if the amount was high enough.

Afterwards, she would need to gather her school things, quickly deciding to get fitted for new robes, both for Hogwarts and outside, the materials being something a bit more high class than simple cotton. A new trunk was very much needed, possibly a new familiar to replace Crookshanks, an owl most likely unless something else caught her eye. She briefly thought of acquiring a snake, if only to see the faces of the Order, but quickly discarded the mischievous plan for it would arouse suspicions from Dumbldore, something that was to be avoided. Pushing another piece of bread pudding in her mouth, scowl hidden from the thought of the old man, she weighed the pros and cons of visiting Knockturn Alley.

The risk of being spotted was easily fixed with a glamour, and Hermione was confident enough in her abilities to protect herself if attacked. Not that she thought she would be; Knockturn Alley, while certainly shady, was neutral territory for those who traveled in it, mostly dark witches and wizards. While a possibity, it was highly unlikely she would be engaged in a duel with a disguise on - though she would be vigilant and cautious anyways, aware that anything could happen. Perhaps-

Identical bodies dropped on either side of her, fork being set on the table after calmly pushing the bite of bread pudding in her mouth, she turned her attention to the red haired pranksters on either side of her. She quickly realized that her feeling's toward the twins had changed as well - while before, the Gryffindor Princess had merely tolerated Fred and George, annoyance resolutely set on the pair when in her presence, she now felt a sense of amusement as she spotted the mischief glinting in their eyes.

"Hello there, Granger," one began smiling flirtatiously, leaning forward, frowning briefly in confusion when she didn't lean away as she would have before.

"Beautiful as always," the other winked, and then they proceeded to speak in a disjointed, one word conversation, Hermione easily keeping up, smile small but amused.

"Didn't-"

"-know-"

"-you-"

"-were-"

"-staying-"

"-with-"

"-the-"

"-flaming-"

"-chickens,"

Frowns marred their faces when she didn't immiediatly start scolding their name for the Order, eyes flickering over Hermione concernedly, faces falling serious as they spied her pale complection and red rimmed eyes.

Of course, she hadn't began argueing with them heatedly as that had been what the Gryffindor Princess had done, not really her - she found the name amusing - but the excuse of her father's death was what she used when they questioned her lack of response. Gasping, spewing hurried condolences and inquiring over her health, they then began the process of trying to cheer her up, cracking jokes, complimenting her looks and brains. Small, indulging smile curving her lips, she humored the two as she had never done before, teasing back after an appropriate amount of time pretending to be grief ridden, laughing at their jokes, lame or otherwise.

Curls swaying as she shook her head, smirk mockingly disappointed, she drawled, "That was a horrible joke, Fred,"

Eyes widening, both twins stared at her in disbelief, sharing a long glance and then adopted a look of insistence, "How-"

"-did-"

"-you-"

"-know-"

"-I-"

"-was-"

"-Fred?" Said person ended, both studying her suspciously, as if she had performed a spell to figure out their identity.

Shrugging, smirk widening, her look was of teasing mystery, "That's for me to know, and for you to find out,"

"Hermione!" George whined, arms crossing, pout firmly in place.

"Even mum can't-"

"Tell us apart!"

"Please!" Fred finished in a beg, eyes round, hands pressed together in a plea.

Laughing, mock reluctance in her eyes, she said, "Fine," their faces lit up, both moving closer as if what she had to say was an incredible secret, "George's eyes are a shade darker than Fred's, and Fred has a collection of freckles on his left cheek that looks like the constellation Ophiuchus,"

Jaws dropped, the twins simply stared at her in disbelief, Fred's eyes rolling in exasperation, muttering, "Only you, Granger,"

Smile innocent, shrugging one shoulder, she stayed silent as the twins studied her curiously, both eyes narrowing slightly, identical amusement and respect on their faces.

"You've changed-"

"-over the summer."

"We like it," both finished in unison, nodding firmly, smiling as Hermione chuckled.

"I'm glad the change pleases you," She teased, winking mischievously as she drawled, "That was my intention, after all,"

Jaws floundering once more, they laughed loudly, quickly realizing she was just joking, both tossing an arm around her shoulder, declaring cheerfully together:

"We think we'll keep you,"

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Thank you for reading and I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! I'm not too sure if I nailed Fred and George, or if it was a bit of an over kill, but that's how the conversation ended up. Reviews are appreciated, and I thank those who left one behind for the prologue and all of the follows.


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