I have an angel and a devil on my shoulders...and their names are Music596 and . I love them very much, especially since they manage to forcefully drag out my best, no matter how hard it may be.
Lost to War
We should have seen it coming a mile away, but we were too engrossed in Him. We should have stopped her, but we were too concerned for His wellbeing. It didn't have to be this way. Too bad it was.
It started back in fifth year…As the room filled with a thousand words; ringing out even as more were uttered. She let down her guard for a split second and was thrown against a wall. The perpetrator apologized profusely, but that was the moment she realized that there was no amount of preparation they could do to get ready for what was coming. They were fighting an enemy that hid its face. Not out of fear, as some believed, not just because He told Them to, but because it gave Them an advantage. Not only did it alienate those fighting Them; it also united Them. They were highly skilled wizards…A few school kids doing parlor tricks stood no chance. She ignored the apologies, simply thinking for many long minutes. Then Harry called attention and they all left.
Over the course of the next few weeks, she trained, profusely. There was DA and simply studying the book for Defense Against the Dark Arts and performing in her classes, but, after everyone went to bed, She snuck down to the Room of Requirements, where she was provided with many Magic books, many of them dark, along with space to work. She only got an hour of sleep each night, but it didn't affect her; she was running purely off of the magic flowing through her veins.
Fifth year ended, with the loss of a great man, and she couldn't do anything about it. She couldn't even train, having been forced to live similarly to a muggle since she was under age. But she read. She studied all of the books with which the Room provided her that she could sneak out of the castle ten times over, then another five times after that. When she got back to the castle, she fell back into her old routine, punishing herself as Harry's stupid book helped him get higher marks than her. She didn't even know why she hung out with her two friends anymore; one was always moody, except when it came to Potions, and one was simply a distraction; she didn't have time for a love life.
With all of her other distractions, school was finally nearing an end when They arrived. She fought, alongside her friends, practically bursting at being able to use her magic. It felt so good that she almost couldn't stop. Once she got one down, she kept firing spells. Even her friends couldn't get her to stop and were beginning to become scared when the news arrived. The flow of magic stopped ice cold in her veins as she realized what she was doing and what had been happening. She rushed onto the frosty grounds and looked on as a distraught Harry hugged the shell of another one of his father figures lost because of one man's sick fascination with a prophecy he knew very little about.
She knew they couldn't come back to Hogwarts, so she visited the Room of Requirements one last time to shrink and sneak out as many books as possible, nearly all of them full of Dark Magic, the ones she had been afraid to touch before.
As before, she couldn't practice, but it didn't dampen her drive; simply setting it aside for a time it was needed. She knew she slowly acquired a crazed look in her eyes as the last year they were supposed to be in school passed, but she couldn't do anything about it, so she explained it away.
Then The Day came. She could feel her blood boiling over with unused magic, hear the familiar ringing in her ears, taste the tang of blood and revenge. The fight was long and hard. Many times, she narrowly avoided becoming a victim, sending some Dark Magic along the way when she thought no one was looking. That is, until she realized that no one cared and allowed it to flow freely from her hands, her fingers, her wand, every pore in her body. It felt amazing, beyond amazing! Then, suddenly, it was over. The surviving Death Eaters were disbanded to flee the country, Voldemort was dead, and everyone was rejoicing. Everyone, that is, except her.
She couldn't believe what she had done, allowing herself to lose control like that. In fact, the magic was still threatening to burst forth at any moment, like a running hose, kinked because it couldn't be turned off. And she was certain at least one of her spells could have hit someone on her side. She sat at one of the many entrances to the Great Hall, cloaked by shadow and the knowledge that no one would come looking for her soon, hugging her knees, and staring. Staring at the people crying, the ones who lived, the ones who died, the ones who shouldn't have even been fighting in the first place. She sat and rocked. Had she killed one or more of these people? Fred? Lupin? Colin? Then again, if she had studied just a little bit harder, if she had crammed just one more book into her overflowing sack, could she have saved them? Could she have controlled her magic better? Defeated the Bad more quickly? Could the good have survived? She blamed it all on herself.
After much deliberation, she stood. She turned around and walked away from the Great Hall, out the front doors, past yet more groups of mourning or rejoicing witches and wizards, and into the forest. She simply stood for a moment, just on the inside of the forest, then raised her wand and disappeared.
There were fifty-four people who lost their lives in the fight that night in the castle. Hermione Granger was not one of them, yet she was just another one of the casualties, one of the people lost to war.