Disclaimer: All credit for characters and world belong to the genius that is J.K. Rowling. Otherwise, plot is mine. :)
Authors Note: Be warned, this is dark.
Her eyes opened with a tremulous flicker as she assessed the damage nearby. Surrounding her was crumbled stone and masonry, bodies strewn about like carelessly discarded marionettes, and blood. There was so much blood. As her eyes began to focus memories came back to her in a sudden onslaught, unforgiving and cold.
She had fallen from a direct hit with a curse from an unknown hooded adversary and been left for dead among the rubble. Evaluating her surroundings, she realized she was slumped against a crumbling banister of the curved stairs in the entryway to the castle. Crashes and shouts boomed nearby but from which direction she could not ascertain.
Craning her neck to try and find the origin of the din, a viscous, warm fluid obstructed her vision. It was then the now familiar metallic scent overwhelmed her olfactory bulbs causing her eyesight to waver. Ever since the day Ron had splinched himself, the smell of blood made her ill.
She tried to bring her hand up to mop her eyes clear of the blood when she belatedly realized her arm had not responded. Turning her eyes to her right arm, she saw an additional bend in her arm half way between her wrist and her elbow draped over a large chunk of what used to be the stair's handrail. Her arm must have shattered on impact but she couldn't feel the fracture. Shock she imagined was the culprit.
Using her other hand, she wiped her eyes clear, grazing over a gash in her forehead. It didn't feel deep and she knew head wounds always bled an alarming amount so she put it out of her mind. She needed to know what had happened since she had gone unconscious.
Reaching behind her, she pulled herself upright, her dominant arm hanging loosely at her side. Stepping towards the source of the noise, her foot slipped a little and looking down she saw a wand. It wasn't hers but scanning the floor quickly, she realized hers was not in sight.
She grabbed the wand hastily and swung herself back up again. The jerking movement jostled her arm sending red-hot waves of pain coursing through her. A yelp instinctively was ripped from her as her vision faded to black and refocused as the pain receded. Biting down hard on her lip she took her useless arm and guided it into the stomach pocket of her muggle hooded jumper. The pain from the movement caused her stomach to attempt to release its contents, but she couldn't remember the last time she had ate. Quickly, the dry heaves subsided. Hopefully for now that would keep her arm meta-stable.
"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH," rang through the hall from the direction of the Great Hall where the enormous wooden doors were dangling slackly from their hinges.
That was Mrs. Weasley's yell she recognized and with a start, rushed towards the source.
As she entered the hall, her eyes scanned the chaos just in time to find a mop of brilliant orange hair blasting Bellatrix Lestrange to dust. Her cheer choked in her throat as an inhuman cry echoed through the room. She froze as all other movement in the room died away turning to look for the source of the otherworldly sound.
There at the front of the hall on the teacher's dais was Harry standing tall with his wand pointed directly at Voldemort whose crimson eyes snapped away from the disintegration of his most loyal follower to the bedraggled boy in front of him. The room went silent as the two began to circle.
She could see the calm determination in his eyes; the same courage had shone from him since he had taken on a mountain troll for her. He began to speak but was cut off unexpectedly.
The next scene happened too fast, she hardly could tell what occurred first. Voldemort's mouth curled into a malevolent grin as jet of piercing green light erupted from his wand. Harry was brilliant at dueling but had never conquered wordless magic. His words halted and his slight frame crumpled to the floor. It seemed as if the whole world had stopped its spinning.
There was a maniacal cackle and then quiet as Harry, her precious Harry, was hoisted limply into the air. All eyes followed his lifeless body, not a soul able to move. All she could do was stare in horror as her best friend was raised up and cruelly displayed for all to see.
His glasses slid off his nose and almost in slow motion fell to the ground. The room was so silent, the 'plink' of shattering glass was audible to all.
Then the hush broke with a desperate wail. A swish of radiant red hair, Ginny, erupted from the crowd screaming for vengeance. With a cry like a crazed banshee, she got as far as the step to the platform before she fell to her knees, a beam of green light hitting her square in the chest. She hadn't even fully raised her wand.
The world resumed spinning in that moment as a brigade of redheads stormed forward. Percy, the closest, was the first to fall to the green light followed by Mr. Weasley and Charlie. The rest stopped charging after that, Mrs. Weasley who a moment ago was triumphant was now cowering over the still frame of her husband.
Then he spoke, his shrill voice magically resonating through the high ceilinged room.
"Stop your assault and your Lord will be merciful. No more magical blood should be spilt; it is a waste of the chosen race. Stop the fight and I will allow you of to live. Cease now or I will be forced to annihilate you."
"Bloody hell we will," an all too familiar voice intoned. "FOR HARRY!" the voice shouted and pulled her out of shock. Until that moment she had been frozen by the door and at the battle cry she lurched forward.
"NO! RON, NOO!" a scream stabbed the air, unknowingly coming from deep within her.
In that moment, he turned looking for the source of her voice a buoyant sincere smile gracing his freckled face. He had seen her fall, he had thought she was dead and the light of hope filled his blue eyes.
Then in an instant his face contorted to shock as his moment of distraction led to his death.
Ron fell in a heap and with an animalistic howl Hermione's heart was ripped from her chest.
