Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Unforseen Consequences ❯ Unforseen Consequences ( One-Shot )

Unforeseen Consequences

Summary:

Dark Sides Wins Flash Fiction. When Voldemort wins, the Death Eaters are ecstatic, but what happens when they find out that there are consequences to their actions that they didn't see? Draco's POV, and Hermione is Alive in hiding.

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Unforeseen Consequences

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It had been ten years since the final battle. Draco Malfoy, the one who had been a major part of turning the tidings of the war into the Dark Lord's favor, smirked as he remember the faces of all those who had been surprised when they discovered his lies.

Of course, there had been one who hadn't been surprised at the fact that he had never changed; the Mudblood Granger. A look of fierce anger crossed his face as he thought about that bitch. He still had trouble about the fact that she had escaped after Potter had failed. In fact, she been taken immediately by one of the Weasley twins when it happened, and hadn't been seen since.

His grip on the glass in his hand tightened. He was still unable to believe that she had yet to be found. It wasn't for lack of trying to find her - the Weasley twin had been found, dead, not long after they had disappeared - but it seemed as if she slipped by without any sign that she had even been around.

It was bloody frustrating, especially to him. She was supposed to be his prize. He had so been looking forward to showing her exactly her place in the world - beneath his feet, on the ground, dirty just like her blood.

He took another swallow of the firewhiskey in his glass. He needed to stop thinking about that worthless bitch. Instead, he should be thinking about her wife, Pansy Malfoy.

He took a look at the clock, growing exciting as he realized that she would be home soon. No, he wasn't excited about the fact that she was coming home - he could do without her whining, the stupid slut that she was - but he was excited about hearing the news he knew he would here; there was another pureblood on the way.

For some odd reason, another frown made it's way onto his face. It was a well known fact that, upon the Dark Lord's defeat of Harry Potter, he had allowed his followers to continue there removement of Mudbloods, and had started on half-bloods as well. As all of them knew, purebloods were the only people who had the right to do magic.

The Dark Lord had also begun killing all Muggle children who showed signs of magic, as they were unworthy of it. All of these murders had drove the muggles out of England, leaving it free for the purebloods.

However, something that Draco had noticed was the fact that, upon England being abandoned by the Muggles, the purebloods had faced an unexpected problem; there had hardly been any children born to them, and those that had been conceived had all been squibs, who had been killed immediately; no pureblood wanted it to be known that they had conceived something so shameful as a squib.

Not even mating with the blood traitors, such as the female Weasley and Lovegood - whores of the breeding house - had been able to produce a good result. Of course, Draco hadn't been willing to try such a route; it was a well known fact that only the elder Death Eaters had gone to such a result as to use a breeding whore in an attempt to produce another pureblood.

It was a fact that was rather discerning.

Not that Draco bothered to bring it up; the Dark Lord had more important things to worry about that didn't include such trivial matters; just because England was cured of the filth that had lived there didn't mean that everywhere was. The Dark Lord was working on getting rid of all filth everywhere, not just there.

He set his glass down, rising from the chair he was sitting in. Pansy would be there any minute with news that would turn around his worries. After all, it was preposterous to even think about the fact that purebloods would either always have squibs or no children. They were the superior beings of the world. It made sense that they would continue being so.

After all, Pansy was pregnant with twins. It was obvious to Draco that whatever it was that made other families have trouble wasn't going to be bothering with them. He walked over to the mansion doors, set to meet Pansy immediately when she arrived.

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An angered Draco stormed into his room, slamming the door shut. A sheen of tears could be seen over his eyes, but he refused to allow them to fall. How could this happen?!

Pansy was no longer pregnant. Apparently, at the doctors, it was discovered that both of the twins in her were squibs. She, like any pureblood woman, immediately had them aborted - she wouldn't allow tainted children to grow in her.

Draco narrowed his eyes. Now, he always thought that he would never think about something like this, but the recent events of what had been going on with the next generation - or lack thereof - had him concerned. Was there a reason why this was happening? Was there anyway that he could figure out the answer to this.

He was sinking down onto his bed to sit, but almost immediately straightened as he thought of something. He did have a way to figure out his questions. He remembered, about three years ago, he had found a spell that would help give him an answer, any answer he wanted. He had been looking for a way to find Granger, and had been tempted to use it, but hadn't when he read the consequence of using it; it could only be used once, and - no matter what he did to remember or try to use it once again - he wouldn't be able too.

He, in all honesty, didn't know why he didn't use it then; after all, finding the Mudblood Granger was an important thing, especially to him, but something seemed to tell him that it wasn't that important.

At this moment, he was extremely glad that he hadn't done so. He had indeed found something that was more important to use the spell. He had to know why his children had to be killed, why they hadn't held the magic that they should of. He didn't understand: they were pureblood. By all right, they should've held the magic that they deserved, the magic that had been wrongly stolen by the filthy Mudbloods.

He had to get his answers.

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It was two hours later that he had started brewing the potion needed. It was almost finished. He checked the spell again, making sure that he was ready to perform it.

Grabbing a cup, he poured the potion into it. Taking a deep breath, he said the spell, so ancient, that not even he could decipher what he was speaking. The light yet powerful words, oppressing and heavy in the air, swirled around him. The air grew heavy as he spoke, squeezing him, choking him.

He was barely able to get the last words of the spell out, and he quickly yelled out his question, speaking as clearly as he could while trying hard not to allow his gasp to mess up what he was saying.

“Why isn't magic being passed on to any of the children?”

He was out of breath now, but he could tell that what he said had an affect. The air was no longer stifling, and he could breath. A bright light was filling the room, brighter than any light he had ever seen. Forced to shut his eyes, the light continued to penetrate his eyelids, continued to grow brighter until he forcefully covered his eyes with both of his arms.

Finally, the bright light flashed to it's brightest once more before disappearing suddenly. Draco slowly moved his hands down, looking shocked. That's not right! he thought, for there were two beings in front of him, something that wasn't mentioned in the book; only one was supposed to appear.

However, it wasn't so much the fact that there were two beings instead of one that had him surprised, but the fact who one of said beings were.

Unfortunately, before he could do or say anything, his lungs reminded him that they weren't getting enough oxygen in them, and he felt blackness claim him. His last thoughts were, What the hell is going on?

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He knew that he was no longer in the middle of his stuffy almost immediately, though he hadn't opened his eyes. The air was different, fresher, with a hint of rain. The ground he laid on felt softer, like moss and grass mixed together. He could feel blades of grass tickling the back of his neck.

He slowly opened his eyes, finding himself staring at a leafy canopy. It took about two seconds for his mind to catch up. Quickly sitting up, he was quick in catching sight of the two…messengers that had been sent to him. It all rushed back to him then, the ritual, the strange bright light.

He focused on the first person in front of him. It was a woman, a beautiful one. She was wearing all blue, from just under her neckline down to her feet. The dress had an empire waist, and flowed the rest of the way down. The sleeves had fallen off of her shoulders, though a thin strap still rested on them.

Her hair was a reminiscent of his own, though slightly paler. It went down to her waist, unbound. Bluish-grey eyes looked down upon him from an aristocratic face. A single teardrop shaped jewel hung from the choker from her throat. It was the only piece of jewelry she wore.

He opened his mouth to speak, only to quickly close it as the woman spoke.

“I already know your question, and you already know the answer to it,” she spoke, and her voice, the soft and quiet, made him feel as if she had shouted out with a command.

“I am here to answer your question,” she said. Kneeling beside him, he couldn't help but notice that, while she seemed to remain expressionless, her eyes were colder, colder than ice, like she seemed to know and held a personal grudge against him. Yet, there was also something else hiding behind her gaze, something he could barely see.

“You asked the question, `Why isn't magic being passed on to any of the children?'

“Magic isn't being passed down because there is no more in your blood. By your desire to, supposedly, keep your blood `pure', your abilities to pass on magic has dwindled down until there isn't anything left. It is also why some of your `pureblooded' families were weak in this generation. Your ability to pass on magic is practically gone.”

With that said, the woman stepped back, allowing her companion to step forward. Draco swallowed, hard, as he took in the familiar, yet unfamiliar, features of the second person.

“Granger,” he said. It was all he was able to get out, though he really wanted to ask what the hell she was doing there, and how had she come to be there. Luckily, it seemed as if she knew exactly what he wanted to ask.

“I know what your wondering, Malfoy,” she spoke, and Draco was slightly surprised to discover that her voice had changed. While it still held hints of bossiness in it, it was no longer the light, no-nonsense voice he had often heard while at school. Instead, it was soft, unyielding with a hint of gentleness mixed with strength.

“Your wondering why I am here, among other questions,” she continued. “I'm here because you didn't just ask one question, you asked two.

“While the spell never mentioned this, the question that you shout out isn't the only question the spell will notice. It will notice the deepest question that your heart gives, and, if the question isn't the same, will send another one of us to answer your heart's question. As for why I'm the one who has to answer it, I do not know.”

He once again opened his mouth, prepared to ask her how she managed to become one of…whatever they were, when she once again responded.

“I'm a fae, one of the higher beings of the magic world. I was…recruited, for lack of better term, when Voldemort won the war. Don't flinch at his name. Even if he still has the taboo on it, the magic you mere wizards produce is barely a hundredth of what we fae can do.”

Draco couldn't help but stare at her, disbelieving her words. While he knew that fae were wizards' ancestors, it was widely believed that they had all died out. The fact that Granger was saying otherwise was…discerning. He went over her words once more, allowing them to soak into his head, when he thought about something that Granger had said.

He almost expected her to stop him as he once again opened his mouth, as he figured that she would already know what he would be asking, but it seemed as if she was going to allow him too, for he managed ask, “What do you mean, `the magic mere wizards produce is barely a hundredth of what fae can do'?”

Honest curiosity colored his voice, though, deep down, there was a spot of anger and disbelief hidden in the voice.

“I mean exactly what I said. You're the result of fae who mate with humans in an effect to produce more fae. Because humans themselves have little to no magic in there blood, the children of those who mated with us were just barely able to use magic. It took about two more generations before they could even use that magic.”

Here she stopped, and Draco could tell that amusement was on her face as she said, “And, when I say two more generations, I meant of those children mating with other Muggles. Hardly any of them mated with another until at least another generation, when the blood would be so…familiar.”

Draco felt ice in his blood as he realized what she was saying exactly, and she nodded her head.

“Your family line, as well as all other so called purebloods, are half-blood at best, since, to really be pureblooded, you would have to be full fae. Like I said, few of those children mated with another. Those that did took years upon years to build up the magic enough to be able to use it.”

He was tempted to ask how she, a Mudblood - though he really couldn't think of her like that as much as he used to anymore, especially if what she was saying was true- knew all of this, and could be a fae herself; for it was obvious that she was indeed a fae. However, she didn't give him a change, for she immediately began talking again.

“Anyways, it seems that we've gotten off of the actual reason why I'm here. As I mentioned before you asked two questions when you did the spell, one out loud, and one in your heart. I am here to answer the question that you asked in your heart.”

She could tell that her words had confused him, for she immediately started talking again.

“You were wondering about the future, and how what was happening now would affect it,” she stated quietly, and his eyes widened slightly. That was true - in fact, he had been contemplating whether or not he would ask that question instead of the one he actually had.

“Come with me,” she said, holding out her hand. He took it without hesitation, not even thinking about it. Everything blinked away, going black.

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Draco wasn't sure where he had been taken when color returned. He knew they were in a city, but even then it was hard to tell, for all black soot stained the few standing buildings. Mostly, they were surrounded by ruins, a wall standing here and there. He started walking, Hermione following behind, as he looked for something that would tell him where they were.

Hermione knew that he would eventually want to know where they were at, but didn't offer any clue. She knew that he would figure it out on his own. After all, they were almost to the place where he was sure to recognize, even if it was a bit different.

Just as she figured, he caught sight of one of the buildings, the one that she had passed through herself many times.

“Is that…The Leaky Cauldron?” he asked, pointing it. She nodded her head, and Draco couldn't help but notice just how different it look. He could tell that the only thing holding it up was magic. Like everything around them, it looked desolate, broken yet still standing.

He walked forward, Hermione following behind him. He reached to open the door, only to have her voice say, “You're like a ghost in this world, only no one can see you.”

A small frown crossed his face, yet he strangely trusted what she said, and walked forward, through the door. It seemed to melt around him, offering no resistance as he stepped through it, Hermione following behind immediately.

The inside wasn't what he was expecting either. Despite the outside, he would have thought that it would have been packed inside, filled with purebloods like it should be - this was the future, after all; however, it was empty. There wasn't a single life form to be seen.

This disturbed Draco; last time he checked, The Leaky Cauldron was still a busy place where many of the purebloods went, mostly for the entertainment - the rooms that had once been meant for others to rent were where the others took the whores. He turned to look at Hermione, wanting to ask a question. However, he never managed to get the question out before she silently shook her head no.

“It's not time to ask questions,” she said softly, a sadness in her voice as she looked around the once filled bar. Anyone who looked in her eyes could tell she was back in the past, remembering when she would venture in there and to Diagon Alley, an eager student waiting for the next school year.

He, without being told, led the way to where Diagon Alley laid. He was surprised to discover that the wall that had been there before was completely gone; not even a stone was left of it. And, just like the Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley was empty, though he could easily see why; most of the shops where gone, boarded up.

After the Dark Lord had won, almost all the businesses where destroyed or moved to Knockturn Alley. So, he wasn't very surprised to discover the alley empty; in fact, he expected that everyone was in Knockturn Alley. However, when he arrived there, he did receive a surprise over the fact that it too was empty.

He was confused. How could no one be here? He walked down the whole alley noticing that, like Diagon, all of the shops were gone. He continued to look around, hoping to find one shred of proof that there were people around before walking back to where Hermione was at.

She hadn't followed him when he had gotten to Knockturn; instead, she had stayed behind, on the steps of the building that he knew was once Gringotts Bank, even if it didn't look like it anymore; the once pristine white building was now a ruin.

“Ready to go to our next place?” Hermione asked him, holding out her hand. Knowing that her asking was her really telling him that they were going to another place, he placed his own within the opened palm.

Unlike before, when she first brought them to where- and whenever they were, he caught glimpse of other places, places just as empty as what he had already seen, and yet places that he recognized and knew should have been filled with others. Over and over again, he saw the same thing until they finally came to a full stop.

Unlike before, he immediately knew where they were, despite how, just like the alleys, the place had changed. Gone was the magnificent castle that he, as well as many others, once considered a home. In its place stood a well preserved ruin, as if whatever magic that had protected the place was still protecting it.

However, he could tell that it was the only magical thing about it. Though he was only a specter, even he could feel the lack of magic that had once seemed to surround him and the others. And he didn't need to go into the castle to know that, no matter where and how hard he searched, no one would be there.

He turned to her, already knowing exactly why they were there.

“What happened?” he asked. He felt the need to know, like it was something important. Hermione allowed a small half-smile to cross her face as she heard the slight desperation in his tone.

“About a month after your `wife' terminated her pregnancy, a young girl was killed. Now, normally us fae wouldn't have thought much about it, as we were not only dealing with keeping the rest of the world unaware of what had happened in England, but I was still a bit new, and sort of blood thirsty with revenge against you and the other Death Eaters.

“So, of course, we hadn't really been watching what was going on in England as much. Now, normally, the death of a young girl wouldn't bother us too much, seeing as she was a muggle - we may not kill them, but it doesn't mean we completely care about them either; plus, they can protect themselves well enough. Anyways, it was about two days later that we discovered that she was not only a muggleborn witch who was displaying amazing powers, but also a faeborn.”

He interrupted her there.

“Faeborn?” he asked, his face twisted in confusion. He could have sworn that Hermione had said that she would have been a Mudblood, which meant that her parents were muggles. There was no way she could have been a fae, if that was what faeborn meant. Then again, if Hermione was a faeborn, then perhaps…

“Unlike wizards, and what you guys seem to think, fae think and know differently. Fae are born differently. They are not born like wizards are - with their powers passed down from one person to the next generation - but by whether or not the person can handle the power without going on a power overload,” she said.

His eyes widened as he realized what she was saying. Only those who would be able to handle the power were faeborn. With what she said on his mind, he couldn't help saying the comment that came from his lips.

“So, most of us pureblood wizards must be faeborn as well,” he said, sounding rather smug. After all, though she had said nothing about it, almost all purebloods were strong as well, and it only made sense that most of them would be faeborn as well.

However, one look at her face had him realizing something that he almost didn't want to think about.

“Among the faeborn, there have barely ever been faeborn pureblood wizards,” she contradicted softly, pinning him with her gaze as she continued. “Your need to keep your blood pure has, just like with holding regular wizard magic, made the bodies too weak to hold fae magic.”

Disappointment washed over him, as well as a sudden anger at those in his, as well as several others, pureblood lines. The pure blood that had once made him proud and feel superior to others was proving more of a hindrance than something to brag about now. It seemed that, though they had kept their blood pure from what was considered to be something dirty, it was causing more problems than it was really worth.

“This is what the future holds for `English' witches and wizards,” Hermione said. He looked at her, noticing that she had emphasized which country she meant.

“We were able to contain those who supported Voldemort -“ he couldn't help the flinch at hearing the name - “in England. While there were a few who supported him that were left alone, since most of the people who supported him were already here, or had moved here after he won.

“After we contained the wizards, we `persuaded' the muggle minister that something bad was coming, and that it would be a good idea to get everyone out. The while place was evacuated, with the exception of the witches and wizards. It was an easy thing to do; none of you wizards have anything that would have helped you know what was going on, so you never heard anything about it. It was kind of comical, really. Your thoughts that you were superior and didn't need anything muggle turned out to be your downfall.

“Because none of you were interested in what was going on outside of your own petty lives, you didn't notice when muggles started to leave until, bored, you decided that you needed to have `fun'. In fact, that's when you first met us fae.”

A mischievous look crossed her face for a moment, and something told him she was remembering something that had yet to happen for him.

“Anyways, you tried to fight, you lost, almost all of you died in the attack, those that didn't were turned muggle…I think that's the main of it. After that, the only person left alive that should have died was Voldemort, which is the only reason why it England looks like it does.”

He looked her, confused. What did the fact that Voldemort was still alive have to do with the way England looked?

“Voldemort went to the extremes to keep himself from dying, as well as an ancient ritual to bring himself back after his killing curse backfired the night he tried to kill Harry. Serious magic like that is something that comes straight from us fae, so, while weaker because a fae wasn't the one who casted the spells, it's not as easily undone as a regular wizard's spell.

“It takes getting rid of every piece of his soul that is outside of his body, and remove the magic barrier they provide him before we can actually kill him. At this time, the best we can do is remove his power. However, while that is something that is normally successful, and we usually can just put him in a mental hospital, he is a madman, an irrational one.

“I am afraid to say it, but, even without the use of his powers, he is still a formidable opponent. We have no doubt that he would be a danger to everyone, no matter what,” she said, answering his question.

Draco felt himself nod at her answer. Even he could understand that. He took a look around him once more, the desolate outlook showing him just how bleak the future was, and he couldn't help but find himself feeling curious about something else, something that was rather selfish.

“What happened to me?” he asked. Hermione quickly looked over to him, her face expressionless.

“I am afraid that I cannot tell you that. In fact, some of what I told you was forbidden as well,” she said, her voice stony. She quickly turned to him, grabbing his arm as she pulled him closer to her. He felt fear shoot down his spine.

“Listen to me, and listen to me well, Malfoy,” she said, sounding a lot like she did when they were at school. “I am, despite the fact that it is extremely forbidden, and can go completely wrong, giving you a chance to change this future. And, just to let you know right now, without this chance, nothing you do will change what will happen. Even if you take the knowledge I have given you, all you will be doing is destroying more lives needlessly, and - I will tell you right now as well - that will also change the outcome of who will die and who will be stripped of their powers.”

Draco swallowed hard as her words went through his mind. He couldn't help but allow himself to think about what she was saying. Was there really a way to keep what he had seen from happening? Part of him could hardly believe it. After all, of there was a way to prevent this, why hadn't the fae done something about it long ago? Yet, even as he thought that, another, larger part felt hope bloom.

The fae in front of him was telling him that she could help him change this horrid fate. Something that, from the sounds of it, she thought only he could do. After all, why would she be willing to do something that, in her own words, was `forbidden'? Now, the only question remain was whether he would do it or not.

He took a look around him, remembering how bleak everything looked back in his present, and how desolate everything looked in his to be future, and already knew the answer. There was really nothing to think about. Squaring his shoulders as best as he could, he looked right at her, determination radiating off of him.

“What do I have to do?” he asked. Though her face remain the same, he could see a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes before she began to speak once more.

<hr>

Draco awoke on the floor. Groggily, he sat up, looking around himself, trying to remember how he had gotten there. It took him a few minutes to recognize that he was in his study, the materials that he had used to do the spell sitting where he had left them. He stood up, looking over at the clock to discover that hardly any time had passed by.

He blinked a few more times, allowing his mind to start working again before he stood up, and picked up everything he had used, returning it to where it belonged quickly. As he cleaned, he remember Hermione's parting words, and hurried out of the room. He had something to do, something important, and he wasn't going to waste any time.

After all, this was his only chance to change the bleak future. He wasn't going to waste it.