Spectrum

By: Consume

Now lengthened to a two-shot, and more will probably be added when I get bored.

A/N: I'm sorry but I couldn't help myself, oops. What do you think the fur actually is? I can tell you it's anything but faux!

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the fantastic world created by Jo Rowling

March 1977

It was the 70's at the moment. The era of pivotal changes. The time of growing disillusionment of government, advancements in civil rights, increased influence of the women's movement, a heightened concern for the environment, and increased space exploration, The Beatles, drugs and sex… a lot of sex.

Hermione was about 40 years old, she didn't know the exact age. Ever since she had stolen the Philosophers Stone (which was a long and complicated plan), her age got a bit confusing to keep up with. The Pureblood Ripper –a creative name which was given to Hermione –toned down his/her murders during the 1950s and very few people actually remembered what had occurred. Hermione had become an expert thief, powerful in her own right due to the fact she was magically adept and could manoeuvre her way throughout the muggle world to lay low. In 1971 Hermione had met with Albus Dumbledore when she realised she was running low on money and books. It was very much unnerving to see her previously dead headmaster and it took all her strength not to break down crying. But she was used to it. She needed a place to work; she was desperate and adept at teaching. That desperation and Occlumency was what fooled Dumbledore in the end.

"I'm very sorry to hear about your son, Mrs. Pettigrew," Hermione said while guiding the weary woman throughout her new home.

"…As am I, –and please call me Carissa."

Hermione nodded with a smile on her face "Then you must call me Hermione," she said in return before facing her back to the annoying woman,

Carissa Pettigrew was still grieving over the sudden "disappearance" over her son and today Hermione had become Carissa's own personal therapist. It almost made her regret killing Peter…almost. The boy had whimpered pathetically for hours, moaning over how his friends would find him –how James and his heroicness would burst through her home and free him from her attic.

Hermione rolled her eyes, still leading the woman through her home. Her home…She gazed at everything that belonged to her, small souvenirs from her missions over the years were scattered all around and Hermione would swear to it, every time she walked past Lucius Malfoy's hair, which was under anti-decaying charms, she felt a sort of euphoria fill her. Perhaps the hair still held magical powers –Hermione didn't care to find out.

"Hermione, what've you got here? –Wow! What fur is this made of? I've never felt anything like this!"

Hermione's lips twitched, "I must confess, it is not real fur," Hermione lied easily, "Just something I picked up in a muggle store."

"And this?" Carissa pointed to a stuffed rat in a cage, her voice was shaking and she had turned and interesting shade of green. Hermione watched Carissa under her sharp gaze as she reached into the cage and withdrew the large rat with trembling fingers.

"Also fake."

"You're lying, Ms. Brown," Carissa said with a watery voice.

Hermione's eyes hardened slightly. Her heart did not skip the clichéd beat; sweat did not form at her brows. It had been a long time since such trivial emotions had occurred and Hermione wasn't going to start such nonsense now.

"…I really don't understand what you are talking about, ."

"NO!" Carissa shrieked, "Don't stand there –Do not look me in the eye and lie to me. Do you know why I came here today Hermione?"

A manic grin was threatening to force its way onto Hermione's face, "I do not."

"I feel it. I can feel the death surrounding you, my son," Carissa whimpered and with shaky fingers, she tried to retrieve her wand from her wand pocket.

Hermione walked over to the woman, plucked to the wand out of her loose fingers and slipped it into her robe pocket.

"Don't cry," Hermione whispered as she watched Carissa drop onto the floor, drowning in her sobs and caressing the long dead rat held under a preserving charm.

"Don't cry," Hermione repeated crouching down next to Carissa wiping the tears from the woman's face with her cold fingers. She paid no mind to Carissa struggling to get away.

"I said: Don't cry."

Carissa stopped crying only small whimpers escaping her lips.

Hermione smiled, a warm motherly smile, "I know why you came here Carissa. You even know why you came here! You're a seer correct?" Hermione asked, even though she knew the answer.

Carissa didn't reply.

"A special type of seer, whose abilities are passed down to every 3rd generation female. I've researched you a lot, and how no one else has figured out your big, big secret is a surprise. I bet your Peter didn't even know."

The look on her Carissa's face was all she needed.

"Y-You're right," she whispered.

Hermione shrugged, "I know."

"My son?"

"He's dead."

Carissa let out another whimper and Hermione had to restrain herself from not slapping her. Physical violence was never the key after all.

"It's not like you haven't accepted the fact and the thought of your son makes me want to vomit," Hermione said, leaning against the wall, "and not because his death was especially gruesome –"Carissa let out an unnecessary wailing sound that grated Hermione's ears, "…Anyways, I just wanted to say that it is very unfortunate that you created such an ugly child and that I wanted to console you with the fact that he died an ugly death!"

"YOU KILLED MY BABY –"

"I did," Hermione confirmed calmly.

"–YOU DESERVE TO BE PUNISHED! I –"

"–A hero will never be punished but perhaps one day I will but what will you do? Carissa, you are trapped in the inner depths of my very large home," Hermione taunted with a childish smile, "You don't even remember the location of my home, thanks to the fidelius charm. You have no wand and wouldn't be able to fight me off the muggle way if you tried. That's the thing with purebloods though, they rely too much on magic and when that magic is gone…well they die."

Hermione twirled her curly hair between her fingers, "To be frank Carissa I hate your son. I loathe him with every fibre of my being! He was responsible for so many deaths –"

" –No Peter never…"

"Not yet he hasn't. Not yet," Hermione repeated, "but he will…and so many people will be affected."

"What are you? A seer?" Carissa asked in a whisper.

"No," Hermione walked to the desk situated at the corner and pulled out the drawer, "but you're a seer Carissa and we all know what the punishment of seeing is."

Carissa straightened her spine and looked at Hermione with deadly determination; she was ready to die. Hermione pulled out the intricately designed knife and felt a rush of power and nostalgia. She crouched next to Carissa whose attitude was yet to crack until Hermione placed the edge of the knife at the corner of her eye. Fear slipped through.

"I regret this."

She ploughed her way into Carissa's right eye socket, her screams like an intoxicating melody. Hermione closed her eyes briefly and ignored everything, the whimpers of Carissa and the blood running down her face at an alarming feel. She ignored it all so she could feel the power that she loved. With one more circular stroke as though using a spoon, the soft eye fell on the fur rug.

"Stop crying," Hermione said as Carissa she moved on to the second eye. Carissa was attempting to push her hands away weakly and thankfully, Hermione ignored it, had she responded to Carissa's movements she would have ruined her art piece. When the second eye joined the first on the rug Hermione smeared the blood on her fingers on the trembling Carissa's face. She painted and painted until Carissa had long passed out. She kept painting. Hermione made sure that Carissa's lips were covered with the beautifully hued lipstick.

"And the seer sees no more."