It was war. War. Burnt and bloody bodies littered the slick ground, mud and rain and blood mixing together and making a treacherous, gruesome, slippery surface on which to battle. One wrong step and she was sure to go down, sure to join the heaps of deceased lying below, sure to meet her end at the wrong end of an Avada, her blood mixing with the mud in what could only be considered an ironic end. The Mudblood, muddying her blood in her final moments. But she did not trip, regardless of how treacherous her footing.
Spells flew through the air in all directions, a clusterfuck of malignant energy promising to consume any who let their attention slide. Hermione, her long, frizzy hair billowing around her, crackling with magical energy, shot spell after spell at the masked villains. Their pointed black hoods and shining silvery masks rid the enemies of any sort of defining feature, leaving only sheer anonymity and a quickly growing feeling of hopelessness. As Hermione took down Death Eater after Death Eater, another identical one would take their place.
It was a sea of chaos and Dark Marks, and she was at the center.
Tonks stood next to her, as her dueling buddy, shooting spells around and over her at enemies Hermione couldn't get, as Hermione protected Tonks in the same manner. Back at Grimmauld, everyone had paired up, and as Ron and Harry immediately clung together, Hermione had approached the clumsy Hufflepuff. An Auror, she would be a worthy teammate, and her individuality and spirit translated to unpredictable and passionate dueling on the battlefield. Tonks was impressive, ducking and weaving, shooting nonverbal stunners punctuated by verbal shield spells every couple seconds. She was unpredictable, shooting snakes and vines from the end of her wand, levitating and dropping opponents, fusing them with the ground or other Death Eaters, and fiercly protecting Hermione from any stray spell that happened to get past the shields.
Hermione got caught up in the overall feel of it all, the swirling chaos, watching pair after pair shoot multicolored streams of light across the battlefield. Somewhere, Ron and Harry were whirling around each other in a tornado of whirring energy, fighting off 8 or so Death Eaters at once.
Next to her, Nymphadora Tonks screamed "Protego!" Hermione's focus was drawn to the currently maroon-haired Metamorphmagus, but a second too late. The Shielding Charm had blocked a stunner sent from the left, but three other spells whizzed past the muggle-born's head to collide with Tonks's chest. Tonks let out an unearthly scream as she fell into the slick mud, joining what seemed like endless stacks of deceased witches and wizards.
"Tonks!" Hermione wailed, glancing down at the deceased Hufflepuff. Her facial features were morphing, changing into what they would have been genetically if not for the Metamorphmagi powers. Her hair became straight and black, much unlike the short choppy, tousled maroon locks she had sported that morning before the chaos of war took over. Her nose became, longer, thinner, and her lips became more thin. Hermione, for the first time, saw the resemblance to Sirius in her face.
But this was war. There was no time dwelling in loss.
Hermione blinked back tears, flinging stunning spells at every glimmer of a silver mask she saw. A loud cheer went up to her right, and she glanced over to see a ginger head go down. Their numbers were dwindling, and fast.
A firework shot up into the air, exploding into a phoenix and raining fiery red-orange feathers upon the battlefield. Remus's words from earlier rang through her mind.
'If you see the phoenix, Portkey out. Phoenix means retreat. I don't care if you've got You-Know-Who at the end of your wand, you see the phoenix and you retreat. No heroics. Got it?'
Shooting one last stunner at the closest Death Eater, hitting him square in the chest, she went to grab the Portkey from her pocket. A little key wrapped in cloth, it would transport her and only her to Grimmauld Place. Remus had spent hours encrypting each Portkey to a specific Order member, wrapping them gently in cloth and distributing them to their proper recipients. It was a genius idea.
The only issue Hermione could see was that the key wasn't in her pocket.
She dug through her jacket pocket with her right hand, shooting off spells with her left and praying to find it somewhere, anywhere. A scream of frustration ripped itself from her throat as she remembered setting it on the counter in the kitchen, not wanting to lose it before the battle even began. Fat load of good that did her! She was now stuck on this battlefield surrounded by the enemy, with her backup rapidly Portkeying away!
This wasn't good.
Hermione dropped to the ground, feeling for Tonks's pockets, looking for her Portkey. Maybe Lupin had changed the spells. Maybe she could use it to escape. Maybe, just maybe she had a chance.
The Death Eater she had recently stunned, about ten feet away, began to stir. He slowly sat up and his awful pointed hood fell back, revealing platinum blonde hair matted and marred with mud. Draco Malfoy shook his head, and picked up his wand from the ground beside him where it had been dropped.
Hermione began to panic, seeing him rise. The other Death Eaters had lost interest in her when she dropped to the ground, assuming, perhaps, that she was one of the deceased, but Malfoy wouldn't be so quick to pass her by, especially as he was already on the ground with her. Her hands roamed Tonks's still warm corpse as she anxiously sought the key she knew to reside in one of these goddamned pockets. Something soft brushed her knuckle and she gasped—could this be the key in its cloth?
She yanked the cloth out of her friend's left front pocket, opening the folds and touching her bare skin to the cool metal. Her entire body tensed as she anticipated the tight clench in her naval, the swooping sick feeling, but to no avail. No such sensations came.
"Damnit!" she screamed angrily, throwing the key to the ground. Malfoy's head snapped to the sound, focusing solely on her as she gave up on her escape.
He shook his head once more for good measure, and arose from the slick and muddy ground. The pouring rain soon washed the mud from his hair and face as he purposefully strode towards her.
Hermione scrambled for her wand, but she was too late. He was already upon her, piercing her soul with those vivid grey eyes, pointing his wand at her throat.
"Please," she whispered, "Make it quick."
A flash of light ran past her eyes and into her very being, and all was still.
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