Secrets and Masks

26. A different type of Exorcism

TW; suicidal thoughts.

1st May

"What the fuck is all this?!"

Malfoy lacked the common sense to hide the roll of his eyes. "What does it look like?"

A firing squad, that was the honest answer. A death sentence waiting to happen.

There were guns everywhere, of every shape and calibre, all arranged into neat lines on the wooden table the demon mask had guided her to. Rows and rows of pistols, rifles, handguns, every type of firearm Hermione could think of. All itching to be held by her, aching to be aimed between Malfoy's eyes.

Despite the way her fingers flexed towards the weapons, Hermione forced herself to take a step back.

Her instincts were screaming at her to run, that this was a trap, a cruel little trick he was playing on her, something to distract her while he stabbed her in the back. She met his stare again, searching his eyes, working out which of the two Malfoy's she was playing with today.

Mostly grey, the blue almost non-existent.

"Go on, pick one up." Mr Hyde nodded towards the weapons. "They won't bite."

Hermione's gaze flickered back to the guns. They were all spread across the large dining table, mere inches from here. So close, but just out of reach. Her stomach twisted in nervous excitement when she noticed a sleek handgun with a gold chamber. She almost felt drunk looking at them.

She'd hated guns at the start of the war. She thought they were vile, repulsive things that caused nothing but suffering and tears and heartache for those caught on the wrong side of them. Far too dangerous, and yet, so easy to get hold of.

But, although Hermione often opted for the use of magic, preferred to end the lives of blood supremacists with sharp spells and powerful hexes, showing them how lethal, how fucking powerful a Mudblood could be, there was something about pointing a gun at a Death Eater that always made her smile.

Hermione knew what it was, she'd known for years. Voldemort was scared of guns, he always had been.

For the Dark Lord, guns represented muggle strength. Guns showed how powerful the 'lesser species', 'the vermin' could become. It didn't matter that they didn't have magic or spells or brooms, they had technology. They'd advanced, forged weapons and bombs powerful enough to demolish buildings and sever arteries effortlessly, and guns were the start of that gun powdered revolution. To Voldemort, guns showed that even the strongest wizard could be powerless against a none magical person. All it took was a scrap of metal and a twitch of their finger.

Medusa had told her of Voldemort's fear on their first meeting, a peace offering, showing his betrayal was real, and the Order had run with that information. It was one of the things that forged the bond between the Order and the muggle armies, united their visions and strengthened their connection.

Hermione had always carried guns after that, multiple firearms secured in holsters on her thighs, easily accessible, and she'd been all too happy to point the barrel at masks of Gold and Black. And even one's with Demon horns, if she were given the opportunity.

Guns. She hadn't touched one for months, and there were so many here, all glistening and within her reach.

He must have charmed them. He had to have done. Probably boobie trapped everyone to explode with the slightest touch from her hand. Or electrocute her the moment they came into contact with her skin. He must have done, there was no way he would let her anywhere near such dangerous weapons otherwise. She knew Malfoy was up to something, but she couldn't help herself. Her mind was already abuzz with a thousand different scenarios. A Rolodex of a hundred different possibilities.