Ripped Away

Year One: A Twisted End

Heracles woke up in an unfamiliar bed, in a room that smelled like a hospital. She groaned. Her head was killing her, and she had been having a rather nice dream. She was at her party in Savanaclaw again, with Jack and Ruggie and Leona and Grimm, and everything was alright. But the girl realized, as she became aware that she was in a place for the sick and injured, that everything was most definitely not alright.

Heracles sat up slowly and took in her surroundings. She was in the Hogwarts infirmary, with a pile of wizarding sweets and 'get well soon' cards stacked high on a medical trolley at the foot of her bed. Heracles stared at the sweets and cards blankly. Who would give her all this stuff and why? She hadn't done anything to-

Then the memories came flooding back. The traps, Quirrell, Voldemort, the sword, Jamil in the mirror. All of it flashed in her mind like some twisted movie. When it was over, Heracles made a low groaning sound and brought her knees up to her chest as she buried her face in them. She felt like she was going to throw up. The word murderer flashed in her mind several times, and Heracles suddenly felt utterly disgusted with herself.

Fighting Overblots was one thing. She never did any permanent damage when she was saving her friends from themselves. At most, she caused a few bruises and black eyes. The troll was self defense. If she hadn't killed the creature, it wouldn't have stayed down and would have kept trying to kill her. Quirrell... Quirrell was another thing entirely.

Quirrell hadn't been much of a threat. Heracles could have just stunned him and carted him off to Dumbledore when she got the drop on him, but instead she hit him with a spell she knew was lethal from the latin used in it. And then she used the sword she had stolen and finished what she had started with her own two hands. She could have stopped. She could have just left him and gotten Dumbledore. But she kept going. She killed the man who helped the... the thing that killed her parents (because Voldemort stopped being a person when he lost his body, and with it, what was left of his humanity), and likely released Voldemort back into spirit form as a result.

And worse yet, Heracles realized as she felt her throat close with some burning emotion she couldn't identify, she felt no remorse. She didn't feel guilty for what happened to Quirrell. She had felt that he had it coming in her fit of rage, and now that she was safe and had a clear head, she still felt he had it coming. The man got what he deserved, and it felt sweet when she gave it to him. Revenge hadn't been served cold with her. It had been served red-hot like her rage, and Heracles had eagerly consumed every bit of it. The only thing she felt guilty for, Heracles realized, was that in the process of killing Quirrell, she had broken a promise she made to Lilia one dark, dark night after she had faced Idia.

"Heracles, in the world we now live in, violence has grown to have no place. Diplomats have replaced legions. The pen has replaced the sword. People like me... we're part of a bygone era. We aren't needed anymore, and for that I am grateful. So please, please little one, don't be like me. Don't be a soldier. Don't be a killer. Don't throw away your humanity to be something the world no longer needs.", Lilia had told her, his eyes looking more ancient than they had ever. He had just been informed about the mess at S.T.Y.X and had come to visit Heracles in a fit of worry at Ramshackle a few days after the incident. All Heracles had been able to do was nod as she stared at his face with big, innocent eyes.

"I won't, Lilia. I promise.", Heracles had said. She had been so naive back then. Lilia gave her a soft, relieved smile.

"Thank you, Beasty."

Heracles felt sounds bubble out of her throat as she thought of the promise she had made Lilia. It took her a moment to realize that those sounds weren't sobs or groans, and that the emotion that had made her throat tight wasn't anger or sadness. She was laughing with dark glee.