I'm still The Hooded Menace. I'm still writing, and I'm still working on my other fics. I still want you to review.
Disclaimer - I still don't own Harry Potter.
The Last Stand Of Hermione Granger
The battle was over. They had lost.
Hermione Granger was in a state of shock. She replayed the events over and over in her mind; trying to make them shift around, twist in a way that did not end up in defeat. It was impossible. There was no way, logical or illogical, that she could pretend they won.
At first, it looked like they had a chance of victory. The Order was slowly overcoming the Death Eaters. But then, Lucius Malfoy hit Ron with the Killing Curse from behind. Harry went mad with grief. He couldn't concentrate anymore; he blindly rained down Unforgivables on his enemies, killing several, but barely noticing his greatest enemy. Voldemort, of course, took advantage of his, striking him down, laughing that high, cruel laugh of his. After that, there was no hope.
The Death Eaters rallied; the Order of the Phoenix crumbled. There were some brilliant last stands that were the type that legends are made of – Lupin killed four Death Eaters before they got him, Hagrid five – but it is uncertain that anyone who would tell the tales lived. A couple people were unaccounted for: Tonks, who vanished after killing Lucius, Neville, who might have escaped, and Luna, who was surreal enough to survive anything. Hermione was among the unlucky few; the captured. One by one, they were led away. None of them returned, though she was sure that she heard their tortured screams lingering in the air. She was the last to go.
Two Death Eaters dragged her, ones she didn't recognize. She refused to walk, refused to make it easier for them. It was futile, but it wasn't that she actually thought she could escape. It was the principle of the thing. They dropped her in front of a throne that had been Summoned to the battlefield. In it was Voldemort, the Dark Lord triumphant. On the ground, lying prone in front of it was Harry's body.
Voldemort saw Hermione looking at it.
"See, Mudblood, see how your leader, your friend, now bows to me," he mocked.
Hermione's fear left her. In its place was a cold fury.
"Your silly posturing is useless," she spoke, "In life, he always resisted you. In death, he does the same. You do not posses him now; he is free of your slime."
His eyes narrowed into almost-invisible slits. "Foolish girl. Death is submission. He has lost."
"Lost what?" she challenged, "The war? His life? These are only temporary. You will be defeated, and Harry is in the next stage of existence. He kept what is important – his pride, his honor – things that you could not possibly understand."
Voldemort pointed his wand at her. "You talk eloquently, but you'll forget all those pretty words when you're begging me for mercy. Crucio!" he shouted.
Hermione knew that the pain would cause her to lose her nerve and scream for it to stop if she didn't do something. She bit down, hard, on her tongue. The pain helped her to bite clean through it.
She spat it out defiantly at Voldemort's feet.
He understood.
Angered, he raised his wand for a final spell.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A beam of green light hit her.
And Hermione Granger was free.
