Her heart beat against her ribcage painfully causing her breath to come quickly and she was sure she heard a bone crack. It was a steady beat that echoed around the tiny hallway in which she stood, legs shoulder width apart knees slightly bent and her neck erect. She may have appeared proud and unruffled to an onlooker but it was her way of coping, that rigid position held power in it, a kind of control and she'd be damned if she didn't need control right now. She knew what waited for her somewhere beyond that door, a world of chaos because everything had gone so terribly wrong, and she didn't know any arithmancy equation that could fix it. There was no level of equilibrium that could be reached everything had been tipped to the dark side and there would never be enough light to steady out the world again.
So as the minutes ticked by, she convinced herself that she would go out grandly cursing the son of a bitch that had destroyed her world, her Harry, and her Ron. And god be damned if they didn't deserve a little something for all they had sacrificed. She couldn't stop to think of all those who had died Albus Dumbledore, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Severus Snape, there were too many to name and she knew if she discovered the full contents of the list she would be unable to stand up to this final force in her life. Instead she thought of what she would say, starting a fictional conversation within herself with the most evil wizard in the world. Of course when he barged through that door she would be standing proudly yet nonchalantly because she had accepted her death and was no longer afraid, and these forceful words would come out of her mouth "I will not die easily" and that all mighty asshole would be speechless. She was shocked from the beginning of her inner dialogue by a bang and a snap as a door was broken somewhere in the house and she began to shake her fantasy disappearing so quickly her mind did not have the time to store it in her memory. And there she stood lost with no control and she'd be damned if she didn't need some control right now. But she swore that she would be defiant if not for herself but the light, that little bit that remained inside her painfully pounding heart which held the only beat left in the world.
She almost cried as she heard the tap tap of feet moving across the floor, and she leaned against the wall for support wishing that perhaps some piece of Sirius' soul remained there. In a perfect world she would be given renewed strength, renewed courage, sadly this was anything but a perfect world. As the sounds of people came closer she steadied herself and resumed her position that gave her the only control she could get. Her wand was clasped in her sweaty hand and she wondered momentarily whether if it would sweat if she held another's hand before remembering that she never would, it was cruel really being unable to have that small experience and that was what she was thinking of as the door burst open little shards of the once solid wood hitting her face and causing her to bleed. There he stood surrounded by his Death Eaters the utter dark of them starting to creep along the floorboards to her and she had the wild urge to stomp her feet. Her mouth formed a hard line as she resisted the urge and watched the men before her start to laugh; it caused a shiver of disgust to run through her body.
"Look the wittle girl's afwaid." She would know that voice anywhere even if not accompanied by the psychotic baby talk. 'Hello Bella' she whispered in her mind and wished to say aloud but her mouth stayed firmly shut. There was another voice to cut the silence and even though Hermione could not see Voldemort's eyes knew he was watching her sizing her up, this was after all their first encounter.
"My lord should we kill her?" That voice stirred something inside of her but she did not know what. There was only the shake of a head and he advanced slightly separating himself from the mass of black cloaked figures, she fingered the wand that she had tucked slightly up the sleeve of her over large robe. Was this her moment? Was this the time to go out? But she didn't want to make the first move still didn't want to condemn herself to death even when she was about to die anyways.
He gazed at her steadily, silently and it was so intensely unnerving more than anything he could have done. Her shoulders tensed and she hoped it made her look like she knew what she was doing.
"You are just as I expected, the dirty mud blood friend of the blood traitor, and that boy." His voice was a hiss and again she felt that darkness slither towards her. But, her heart swelled for some reason, for the hate he had for her paralleled that of the hate he held for her two best friends. "You have nothing to say girl?" His voice showing amusement and her jaw clenched not in resistance or defiance but to keep her lips from shaking. "The blood traitor didn't have much to say either; he had a lot to scream for though." He laughed and it was nails piercing her skin, it incited such anger in her. "The half-blood begged me to have mercy like the little brat he was."
"Yet you're not much better are you Tom?" Hermione looked up in surprise recognizing her own voice speaking the words. He visibly blanched before his eyes went cold with fury.
"I am Lord Voldemort." He hissed.
"Only now among the living but the dead aren't very likely to forget." Her voice was deadly and she could feel poison slipping through her veins making her numb.
"You will die for that." He whispered and the curse hit her before she had time to blink. She felt her bones being splintered and those pieces being dug through her skin and her mouth was locked shut and a scream would not break through. Then it was over. "That was only a taste." His voice was humorous and she looked him in the eye and spat.
"I will not die easily." She said her voice more calm then she felt.
"Of course you won't." He whispered his face coming closer and she saw the contours of his misshapen face and looked into the blood red eyes and knew a new type of fear. He said the curse again and she withered her eyes being pierced by the shards of her bones and she went blind for a moment and when she could see she was on all fours head bent and panting for breath. Her heart seemed to be hitting her chest now and from it came the whispering of words 'Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.' She repeated the words that her heart had said rolling the words around like a ten year old scotch. And she supposed it was that something brought to her as a tiny bit of beauty. She raised her head and looked into those fearful eyes again and she took that beauty and raged.
"Avada Kedavra." She whispered the words pulling along with them the poison that had filled her veins. Hermione watched the white light shoot out of her wand and swamp the man before her and when it faded there was nothing but a charred mark on the floor.
"Rage, rage against the dying of the light." She whispered as she heard the rustle of wands being drawn.
A/N: The excerpt 'Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.' Is from Dylan Thomas' poems Do Not Go Gentle Into That Dark Night a very good poem which I suggest you read.