He did nothing wrong
By: Creepypsycholady
July 12, 2011
It had been loud, cries of pain echoed through the air. The scent of death lingered about him like an obnoxious perfume, it's become something that he can't get away from; his trademark scent much like his old smirk.
Like a snap of the fingers the cries and yells are no more, there is no sound. He watches the people run by him as if he were invisible. Maybe he is. They speed up and then they slow down till they are frozen in place.
He has no idea what kind of magic this is or if it is even magic. He climbs out from his hiding place ready to dart back underneath incase this was just a rouge. It's not, he touches one of the Deatheater's arms, he hadn't bothered to learn any of their names after Dumbledore was murdered. The person is frozen, anger boils in the pit of his stomach and he pushes the man over. He crashes into a million pieces unable to ever be put together again, just like Humpty-Dumpty.
He moves like this as he goes pushing the people who were part of the Dark Lord's rise to power over. That is until he reaches his father. It is a surprise to find the man that had taught to hate people who did not follow the Dark Lord's way of life or those who did not belong to magic shielding Granger of all people.
This is the man that he had wanted as a young boy so why was that someone else got to have this side of him and he did not? It was simple, Lucius had seen Granger defend his son from a misdirected killing curse. In that respect he had forfeited everything that he upheld as right to repay this debt.
As he thought of this it no longer seemed fit to call her by her last name. What was her first name? Hermy? Hammy? Hermione? Hermione, that's what it was. With the slip of a tongue her name flies from his mouth.
He gazes down at her for a little while longer and realizes that his father was too late. He can see her life slowly slipping away. Blood was – had been pouring out of her body, soon, if this were all to start again there would be no Hermione.
No brightest witch of her age.
No one to fight with anymore.
"I'm sorry. Hermione, I am so, so sorry." He whispers his voice cracking with every word. He feels the tears prickling in his eyes ready to slip down his cheeks. "Hermione." He whispers with one last word and just like that the war resumes around him. Each spell that should have hit him seems to take a detour to another person.
He stays like that till everything clears, holding her in his arms. That is how they find him, holding her soulless body, his tears pouring into her open wounds and over her face like a salt river.
He struggles to keep a hold of her as they pry her body away from him, he is taken to a classroom and there he is convicted of her murder that he had no physical attribution to.
It is there now that he sits in Azkaban watching the sky day-in and day-out for a sign from the other side that she is well.
It is there that he shall wait until she comes to take sin riddled soul back across with her.