Author's Note: If you're reading this, I am now working on updating all the chapters of Fortitude, as now that I have read through them, I have caught quite a few errors. After I complete my update, I will be adding new chapters! Rejoice!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A group of wizards and witches, both young and age-wizened, gathered around a table. The table was beaten, worn at the edges, and propped up by a stack of history books on one side - but it bore the thing that might save them all. They discussed the plans for the upcoming battle in hushed tones, one of the party occasionally glancing over his or her shoulder. Various scenarios were considered for the battle that could happen anywhere from a few weeks to several months. Their latest information held that Voldemort was unprepared still and wanted his victory to be insured and absolute.
The loud pop of Apparation interrupted the discussion and as they all started. Wands were drawn and pointed at the figure that stood near the door. A witch in Death Eater garb face them and , she clutched in one hand her mask and the other hand was pressed against blood soaked black robes. Powerful enough still for silent and wandless shield-casting, she lifted her brown eyes as curses bounced off her – and then stopped completely once those in the room realized who she was.
In complete shock, some of them finally remembered that true Death Eaters could not get past the wards of the Fidelius-charmed safe house, and that the secret keeper was Harry Potter himself. Most of the occupants were pale; after all, they were seeing a ghost.
The thin face of Hermione Granger looked up at them all; her brown eyes were wide and her hair wilder than usual. Her lips, chapped and blood-flecked, formed two words before she collapsed from the loss of blood. "They come," was all she said.
After a foreboding silence, the room erupted into complete chaos than it had when she arrived. A dark figure separated from the wall and nearly glided over to the prone woman and gathered her up, with murmured words of, "Episkey, Ammendo." Despite the betrayal etched onto the man's face, there was still great tenderness in his eyes.
He would have done the same thing she had, without thinking and without regrets, if their positions had been reversed. Yet still, he knew he would not forgive her so easily, nor would any of the others in the room. A pair of furious green eyes met his dark ones, and he knew that this was not over for Hermione Granger and her true trials had, perhaps, just begun. If she survived, he might just kill her himself for what she had done. For the past six months, they had thought her dead.
If they all survived, that was.