Chapter Text
Part I
Her Body, Their Battlefield
When a madman rises to power, the silence breaks with the echo of a woman running.
Prologue
If you ever doubt how much I love you, remember this: you asked me to write it down. I am doing this because you wanted it.
There is very little I wouldn’t do for you. I hope that’s clear by now.
Before we begin, a warning: don’t judge me too harshly at the start. I am not the same man I was then. I will not offer excuses for who I was, but I ask only that you let these pages show who I am now.
You know the earlier years well enough, so I’ll skip ahead to that fateful time — the year that Belladonna chose me, and with her came the Sirens — the girls who called themselves by that name, each carrying their own burden, their own secrets.
From that moment, nothing was simple, nothing was safe, and everything I thought I knew about power, fear, and trust was tested.
That’s where we begin. You can follow the rest from there.
Chapter 1
I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone. Trying to find the one where I went wrong
Never underestimate a woman on a typical day—she already carries storms in her silence. But a woman ignited by anger? That is death itself, painted in lipstick.
Hermione is not leaving Belladonna tonight without an answer. Without a clue. Without the faintest whisper of where Parvati has been taken.
A Siren protects her sisters. They have already failed Parvati once. They will not fail again.
The night starts with Hermione, Luna, and Cho moving beneath the Not-Here Rune. The rune is composed of three concentric, broken circles that create a visual sense of a spinning void. When fed with a droplet of her blood, the rune swallows the light around them, bending notice away. It cloaks them from sight, hidden in plain view. The rune gives them three hours to play as Belladonna’s Dolls.
They track the Death Eaters who prowl the club—reading gestures, catching stray whispers, and charting the currents of danger. They spend the first hour selecting their targets and using their enchanted bracelets with the Two-Way Rune—a stylized horizontal figure-eight, or "double crescent"—to communicate and set their strategy.
The bracelets are the only thing Voldemort has learned during the ten years since his comeback; the runes are still a secret the Order manages to keep. They help during battle and keep information internal. It is obvious that the Order’s members communicate somehow during combat, and the Death Eaters quickly understand it is via the silver bracelets they carry.
Because of this, the Sirens ensure their bracelets are different from those the Order uses. They also develop simple signals—a hair flip, a nod, a blink—to communicate without tapping the bracelet.
Ron says Hermione isn’t a strategist, but her nights with her sisters at Belladonna beg to differ.
Under the Different-Face Rune, their appearances alter to whatever they desire for the night. Unlike potions, this magic cannot be stripped away by a Detection Spell or spoiled by a Vanishing Draught. The illusion holds. Tonight, her rune-born face is a mask of blonde hair and blue eyes—some fairy-tale princess dragged into a nightmare. Instead of a castle, she moves through Belladonna, the hidden club inside the ruins of Abbey Cathedral, where Death Eaters come shopping for flesh.
Hermione sees firsthand how they use blood and flesh to enhance their powers. Using blood to heighten one’s power was abolished centuries ago, but it remained common among pureblood families. The problem with this approach is that if the drinker overdoes it, the blood in the system turns them into vicious beasts. Instead of craving blood as food, they begin needing it due to an addiction to the magic that comes with it. Drinking someone else's blood comes with a price, but in a world run by a madman, it is a small price to pay.
The Order also turned to blood magic over the past decade, but only as a catalyst for the runes. Hermione found that the ancient runes studied at Hogwarts remain useful when in touch with the right enchantment and blood. However, it can only be done in small doses to avoid the corrupt nature that leads to addiction. They use only small drops of their own blood when casting; they do not drink blood unless it is added to a healing potion in a carefully measured dose.
Of course, those taken for rituals and blood drinking are those with tits and a vagina. Women have been reduced to third-class citizens, kept alive for pleasure or drained for the rituals. Upstairs, on the second floor, the walls run slick—victims carved and drained, their flesh roasted in black feasts. The fucked-up thing about war is how Hermione has learned to rank horrors. Tonight, she is grateful her path leads to the first floor, not the second.
Once they mingle enough, hidden among the Death Eaters, the Sirens pick their targets. They tap Morse code signals against their bracelets. Strategy set. Then they step into the light.
The Sirens slip into the arms of Death Eaters, playing the part of Belladonna’s Dolls. They are led upstairs to either the first or second floor, depending on the buyer. They gather whispers, secrets, and fragments of truth. Always careful. Always prepared. Contingency plans keep them from becoming too deeply entrenched in the roles.
But tonight is not a game. Tonight, Parvati is missing. She was taken during a mission to rescue Muggle girls bound for Belladonna’s stage—or worse. She has vanished. They have to bring her home.
A Siren is never left behind.
That is why, when Jamie MacKenzie’s hand slides beneath her skirt, Hermione does not stop him. His touch is nothing. The jagged mark carved into his throat is everything. It is Luna’s tactic—the escape scar the Sirens agreed to always scratch into their captor before capture, the mark left like a flare in the dark. To Jamie, it is just another battle scar. To Hermione, it is proof: Parvati was with him.
Hermione lets her lips curve into a smile, masking the fury that coils in her veins. She traces the scar with one fingertip, moving slowly and deliberately. She leans close, her smile practiced, her eyes sharp.
“What happened here, handsome?” she purrs, her fingertip tracing the scar as though it aroused her.
Jamie stiffens, but the mask of bravado clings to his face. “Just a souvenir,” he mutters.
She leans closer, the perfume of Belladonna’s halls clinging to her skin. “Funny thing about scars,” she murmurs. “They always tell a story. I want yours.”
Hermione’s pulse quickens. Parvati’s trail is there, branded into him. She regrets not yet perfecting a true tracking rune—one that could tether Siren to Siren across any distance. Until then, she has only this: her body, her mind, her will. She uses all three.
Hermione leans in, kissing the scar, feeling Parvati on her lips. Jamie moans, and his hand travels up her tights. I hate this, she thinks. I hate what I have to do to survive. I hate what I’ve become.
But she continues, for her Siren sister, for the Order, for herself. She presses her breasts closer to his side and kisses his neck and jaw. With one eye left open, she confirms Luna is okay—as far as anyone can be on the first floor with a horrible show going on the main stage. She also checks that Cho is still standing guard, once again invisible.
Hermione’s mission is to get intel on Parvati, while Luna, sitting on a Death Eater Commander’s lap, is tasked with getting information on the egg for Ron. Cho watches over them, ready to execute the second part of their plan and listen for military strategy.
Everything went according to plan once Cho spotted the mark on Jamie’s neck. Now it is time for Hermione to get answers. She is devilishly good with non-verbal spells, so Jamie does not even notice when her lips move in a silent whisper. Her index finger, playing with his hair, is cut, and small drops of blood fall.
She looks at Cho and gives the signal: two nods and a smile. Cho nods back, and Hermione starts drawing runes on his neck. To make sure he doesn't notice, she leans closer.
“I’m so angry at anyone who dared mark your pretty face,” she whispers, trailing her free hand over his stomach while his hand travels to her knickers.
Hermione closes her eyes for a brief moment, pushing the feeling of his hands near her core into a book in her mind and shutting it inside her library. The glamour only works on her face; when she looks in the mirror, her face belongs to someone else, but her body remains the same. The breasts pressed against his chest are still hers, and the thought makes her sick.
She can cry in her sister’s arms later, as they do every night after a Belladonna mission. She can ask Neville to touch her so she can replace the feeling of Jamie’s unwanted hand with his. But right now, she needs to draw the runes. A spiral hooked into a crossbar—Veritas, the truth-telling rune. It only lives for a minute on so little blood, but it works. She uses such a small quantity as not to cause suspicion.
She traces the patterns slowly, pretending to touch him affectionately. Four years of this have taught her that these men are cruel, but also starving for attention like lost puppies. She gives them a little, and they usually break. If the Death Eaters believe the Dolls are here because they want to be, they get lost in lust just enough for the Sirens to get something out of them.
The men respect the policy of not fucking in the first-floor lounge; Krum hates for the main event on stage not to be the center of attention. Today’s victim is a girl no older than fifteen. She is naked and handled by the man who bought her. Most Death Eaters are focused on the show, yelling instructions to their fellow monster. They can touch, strip, and grope the women here, but fucking is not allowed unless you are on the stage. They can negotiate to take the Dolls to the private rooms, where Hermione will later be taken as Part B of the plan. She has nightmares of those rooms every night.
“Would you, dear? Hurt someone for me?” Jamie asks while his hand tries to push aside her underwear.
Hermione needs to make a decision. He will either finger me, or I can let him see and touch my breasts. Which will make me less likely to vomit when I get home? Breasts, she decides.
She finishes the rune and moves to straddle him, needing his full attention. Jamie moans and grabs her ass. Hermione does not have time to waste. She unclamps the fabric around her neck, and her dress pools at her waist. She smiles and moves his hand to her breasts, fighting the bile rising in her throat. She looks at Cho and moves her hair aside to signal that she needs to tell Luna to wrap it up.
“How did you get hurt again?” she asks innocently. She ignores the sensation of his hand on her skin and starts drawing the second rune.
“A fucking bitch stabbed me with her knife,” he says. The rune takes the truth from his tongue.
“What! How dare she? What’s her name?” she whispers, leaning down to kiss his jaw.
“One of the Patil sisters. I went to school with that bitch.”
“I’m sorry, handsome. I hope you killed her.”
“Ah, no. She is too precious, a pureblood traitor. She is going to the auction soon.”
Hermione feels close to vomiting. If they sell Parvati, she will be drained dry and have her organs harvested for blood rituals. She might even end up on a dinner table a floor above. Hermione will not let that happen. She will let Jamie do whatever he wants as long as she extracts the truth. The rune in his neck draws the truth, but because she only uses a drop of blood, he can fight it.
“At least she’s being tortured?” she murmurs, kissing his neck.
“Oh yes, we’re having our fun with her, love. But not as much fun as I’m going to have with you.” He moves his mouth to her breasts, and tears build in her eyes. Hermione pretends to moan.
“Where is she? She is locked up, right? Can’t hurt you anymore,” she says as he is lost in desire.
“Castle Loch.” The rune pulls the answer from his lips. Hermione pretends to moan as he bites her nipple.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot,” he groans, gripping her blonde hair and rocking against her. She is almost done with her final rune—the one that will make some girls’ lives easier. It isn’t easy, and she needs another minute. She sacrifices her body for another minute to help others.
“I wish I could fuck you right now if Krum wouldn’t kill me,” he mutters. The owner is clear about his policies. The elves on the first floor have permission to pry Dolls from buyers if they try to fuck them. Hermione has no idea if the elves keep track of all the girls, but in four years, they have never been caught. Krum is never seen in the lounges; he has private quarters and hosts special shows for the Marked Ones.
The Sirens have tried to infiltrate Krum’s private parties for years, but they don't even know where the entrance is. Kingsley pushes them to take the step further. To him, it doesn't matter if they can get out as long as the gold bands are on their wrists, linked to the Order. But Hermione, as the Sirens' leader, will not approve a mission if she cannot get her sisters out.
Jamie is starting to rise, probably to strip her, so Hermione acts fast—grabbing his face and kissing him. The rune is almost done. She keeps her fingers steady while his tongue invades her mouth. Is this rape? she wonders. She doesn't want him touching her. Am I being raped twice a month during these missions just to survive? The war took the meaning of words like ‘rape’ and left her with only echoes. She can no longer tell if she endures survival or abuse—only that the line has vanished.
She kisses him harder. His hand finds her panties again, and Hermione almost cries. She does not want to be fingered. She has managed to avoid that for a long time. One more line, and the rune is finished. He will be impotent for forty-eight hours. It is enough to give some relief to whatever girls he has at home or here. One more kiss, and she is done. Hermione pulls away, adjusts her dress, and takes his hand.
As they walk out, she turns to him. “Darling, what do you say to a little extra fun?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I’ve never tasted a cunt. Maybe you can buy me one? I’d love for you to take me while I have my first taste.” Jamie groans, the bulge in his pants proving he likes the idea. “Whatever you want, honey.”
“Can I choose?” she asks, bouncing on her tiptoes. He nods. “Ahh, those tits. Can I have her?” She points to Luna, dancing in front of Commander Kyle Hale. Hermione knows that Hale is a Maarked one, part of Voldemort's exclusive little circle, and that Jamie wants to please him to get closer to Voldemort.
“She’s with the Commander, love. I can’t have her.”
“Do you think he’d join us?” She knows Kyle likes to watch.
“Go ask him,” Jamie urges.
She nods and moves toward them, tapping her bracelet to warn Luna. She grabs Luna by the hair and kisses her. Kyle cheers. Luna grabs Hermione by the ass. “Fuck yes,” Kyle says, touching himself through his trousers. Hermione knows she has won.
“Join us, Commander. I want to eat her in front of you,” Hermione tells him.
“Well, well, well. Tonight just got more interesting.” Kyle gets up, and Luna slips her dress on.
They move toward the rooms, Cho following them close behind, invisible. The mirrored room makes Hermione’s skin crawl. She hates seeing her reflection there. She can't look in mirrors anymore. Another little thing the war took from her.
“Sit, darlings, we have a show for you,” she says. The men obey, and Luna slides Hermione’s dress down, baring her breasts and stomach. She stands in front of two men in only her knickers. She hates every second, but Luna has already put on a show; it is the least Hermione can do.
“Fuck yes, touch her, love,” the Commander says. Luna moves to kiss Hermione’s neck, trailing down her breasts. Hermione grabs Luna’s hair and pretends to moan. She will happily let her friend touch her all night instead of these bastards.
Cho steps in front of the Death Eaters. In one swift motion, she removes a hairpin, crushes two stones into pink powder, and blows it in their faces. The men immediately fall asleep.
“Thank fuck,” Luna mutters, pulling away and helping Hermione dress with the care only a woman can provide. Hermione moves quickly, grabbing each man’s head and casting the spell that makes them believe they had their fun. She is so good at it now. They can’t risk wands, so her skill with non-verbal, wandless magic is their lifeline.
Once she is finished, Luna and Cho undressed Jamie to make the show believable. Hermione tosses her underwear across the room for realism. She and Luna activate the Not-Here Rune, while Cho uses a second stone—green powder—to wake the men.
As they dress, the girls listen for information. All they hear is how useless the recruits from Hogsmeade are. Hogwarts is now Voldemort's fortress, so the Shrieking Shack has been turned into a Manor where the new generation of kids is taught to become soldiers. They activate the Silence Rune and begin their exit. All three remove their heels. Each heel transforms—one into a knife, the other concealing a secret weapon. Hermione carries Neville’s deadly burning potion. Cho carries the potion-ward to get through barriers. Luna carries a brew that blinds.
They slip pills from their bracelets under their tongues—their assurance that if caught, the Order’s secrets remain safe. They nod to one another; the vow is sealed: no talking. The runes make Belladonna missions possible, but the risks are still there.
They follow the men out, past the sounds of girls being abused. On the ground floor, they linger for another minute to catch useful scraps, then drift toward the exit. Cho goes first, slipping through the wards with her potion. Luna follows while Hermione scans for watchful eyes.
Then Hermione turns—and freezes. For the first time in years, she sees a flash of platinum blonde hair. A Slytherin boy she once hated. A boy she nearly trusted—until he killed their Headmaster.
Draco Malfoy.
She takes in his slicked-back hair and the tattoos inked down his bicep. She has not seen him for years. Tonight, he talks with a redhead. She has never seen him at Belladonna before. What brings him to a place where girls are raped or eaten?
Well, he is a Death Eater, a commander just like Hale. It should not be surprising that Malfoy would also enjoy Belladonna.
She doesn't have time to wonder much. Cho’s hand pulls her through the wards. Before she turns, Hermione looks again. Draco is staring straight at her. He cannot see her, but it feels like his silver eyes lock directly with hers. Shaking her head, she steps into the rain. The storm washes away Jamie’s touch, and she takes what seems to be her first breath of the evening.
Luna and Cho hug her. She tells them she knows where Parvati is. They laugh and cry in the downpour. To any passerby, they look like three young women enjoying a wild night out. No one knows the war stole their girlhood.
But the war will not take their Siren. They are coming for Parvati. There is nothing more dangerous than a Siren hungry for revenge.