1: Night Battle
Blood was already flowing, but the battle hadn't started yet. It was hers. It was a familiar darkness, her moonblood, but it was still disquieting. She had never before been one for superstition or anything that couldn't be proved academically, but over the course of the last year—of her first continual involvement in this War—she had come to respect her own gut intuitions. Feelings mostly, not viable, but she learned to read the air around her and feel out things. As much as she hated the word, she took the sight of her own dark red, almost black, blood on the sheets this morning as a bad omen. Dusk was falling now, the sky a brilliant fire orange, and everyone was getting ready. She was dressing for battle. Alone in the room she occupied in Grimmauld Place, she was standing before her wardrobe after her bath, shivering in the chill musty air. A single candle was burning, the only light in the room floating a few inches above her head. She pulled out what she'd need: black pants she'd bought from a Muggle military store with ample pockets and straps to hold whatever she might need, a skin tight black sleeveless sports shirt, her heavy canvas black cloak, black combat boots that came to just below her knees, and a large black piece of stretchy fabric she had folded on a shelf. She pulled on the pants to hold off some of the chill and sighed. The battle tonight would be definitive; she could feel it, the enormity of the entire War seemingly weighing down tonight. She found herself concentrating hard on removing all of the silver rings she'd taken to wearing off her fingers—none were ornate, just several silver bands that accentuated her slim fingers—and putting them in a small box on the wardrobe shelf. She then pulled a few stubborn errant curls away from her face and braided her hair back to keep it out of the way—these days if it was free, she could sit on it—added to the fact that it made her entirely too recognizable, too easily targeted. She braided it as tightly as she could manage, pulling it over her shoulder to get it all. Two curls refused to stay put, softly falling from in front of her ears and framing her face, but she pulled the large square of fabric off her bed and deftly wrapped it around her head to conceal her hair entirely twisting it into a large spiraling knot at the back of her head. She checked her reflection to make sure that it would stay put and then pulled the shirt on in the near darkness. She would forego a bra tonight, not bothering with such trifles. She pulled a canvas holster out of the biggest pants pocket and strapped it to her upper thigh, sliding her Vinewood wand into it. On the other thigh the pants had a short strap, onto which she clipped a large knife. She'd bought that recently too, it was a Muggle knife, made with a spring, so the folded blade shot out to use, no fiddling with locks or sheaths. She found herself cracking her knuckles, a nervous habit, as she tried to think of anything else she might need. She could not bring any healing potions, the glass clinking in her pockets was too big of a risk; all those she might heal would have to be taken care of after the battle or to the best of her ability without potions. She rubbed her bare arms, hesitating over the large scar swiping across her right bicep, waiting, apprehensive. Finally, she pulled her cloak off her bed, weighing it in her hands for a moment before swirling it over her head and around her shoulders. Pulling the hood over her head and allowing herself one final sigh, she allowed determination to fill her mind and headed downstairs.
The Order, she among them, Apparated into the woods, someone had been to their destination before and cast a silencing spell on it, so no distinctive pops were heard to give away their arrival. They slipped through the tress, signaling to each other directions, and approached the edge of the trees looking out into a wide meadow and the back of the formidable house that stood in its center. In the black of this moonless night, Malfoy Manor looked even larger, a blackened edifice blocking out the starlight. Lights could be seen from within on the lowest floor, and the occasional flashes of bodies in front of the windows. This was an ambush, and it appeared that the Deatheaters were celebrating their last killing spree. Faint, but persistent music could be heard lightly on the wind—a waltz. Hermione snorted quietly to herself: Leave it to them to celebrate death, suffering, and destruction with something so arrogant—so indicative of high society. She found herself growling deep in her chest, an angry reaction she generally tried to stifle. Moody leaned heavily against a tree to her left and his magic eye swiveled in her direction as if assessing her anger, then away, after finding it satisfactory. He leaned over and whispered to her in his graveled tone,
"Do you remember what I told you about anger and pain girl?"
She smirked, and when mixed with the expression of her determination and anger, it looked positively lethal. Then she spoke words that he'd beaten into her head to prepare her for battle with a certain amount of reverence,
"Pain is your friend. It will keep you focused; it will keep you awake; it will keep you angry; it will keep you fighting, and most of all—pain will remind you that you're not dead yet."
He nodded in approval as the last three words hissed and seethed from between her bared teeth. She could faintly smell her own blood on the air and knew that soon, the smell would dominate her senses. When not on the battlefield, she served a Mediwitch for the entire Order, so it would not end for her when the battle did. Her battles were always longer; having to deal with the pain and blood for much longer than most of the others. Moody stood up then, they all sensed his movement and she suddenly felt unerringly calm—the perfect silence of the moment overtaking all her nerves as her mind completely cleared to that task ahead—and Moody signaled them forward. She could only think of herself as a true lioness then, slinking silently through the tall meadow grass, unseen by her prey. She always regretted this sensation later, but her Zen in the heat of battle lead her to be unscrupulous, unflinching—powerful in the face of great danger. They all halted and ducked down into the grass simultaneously a hundred yards from the Manor, and they all heard Moody's command, ordered like steel through the air:
"If you don't want to, don't—but if they aim to kill, aim back."
He left it up to them, the choice to kill, individually. She had never done it before on purpose, never used the Killing Curse, but she'd killed in battle using other spells. She tried not to think about it after battles, but right now, in her steel calm, the fact didn't bother her at all. She was ready. Moody signaled, and with Hermione, Ron, Fred and George—with black hats covering their distinctive hair—and Harry moved towards the Manor in the dark. It was nearly one in the morning, and they found themselves climbing up the façade using magic, unlocking tall windows on the second floor, but not yet entering. They were waiting. The rest of the Order was surrounding the house, still a distance away. The plan was simultaneous entry, by surprise, the Order below shattering all the windows on the ground floor and them above, infiltrating within and using the advantage of height to drive any remaining Deatheaters down and out of the Manor into the waiting Order members. Hermione listened carefully and she heard Moody's grunt, and Tonks' phoenix call—the signal. She pulled open the window nearest her and pulled herself inside to the sound of fifty shouts of 'Bombarda!' and the cacophony of shattering glass.
She scanned the room she'd pulled into quickly, a bedroom—books and parchments scattered across the desk in the corner and the bed unmade—but empty. She moved silently out to the door, and out into the hallway, listening to the rising shouts and sounds of battle below. A tiny creak to her left alerted her that Fred and George were next to her, and then Ron and Harry slid out of doors further down the hall. They all stepped across the hall and quickly checked the opposite rooms, but those were empty too. Everyone was downstairs, in the thick of the fight. They pulled together, hoods up, and walked confidently past the portraits of Malfoy ancestors and relatives that thought they were fellow Deatheaters, telling them to hurry downstairs and protect the house. It made her chuckle; her plan for their attire had worked wonderfully if it was fooling the portraits. They took a small back set of stairs into the kitchens and spotted a crowd of seven or eight House Elves shuddering in a corner under a counter. Just in case they attacked, Ron whispered 'Petrificus Totalus! Incarcerous!" magically binding their stiff bodies with ropes. Hermione though vaguely that they looked like small parcels one might send in the post and allowed herself a short, quiet, bark of laughter. They split up then, Ron and Harry going through the door to the dining room and she and the twins into the Parlor. She heard a roar of anger, distinctly Harry's but she had no idea what was going on. Anyway, she didn't have time to worry about it. As soon as they swept into the parlor, she found herself facing off against Bellatrix Lestrange. The twins were back-to-back, working together as she could see them in her periphery, taking on Rabastan Lestrange and Crabbe Sr. She was almost a foot shorter, but she found herself seemingly looking down at Bellatrix and her walnut wand. Hermione found herself feeling more powerful than ever before, she felt taller, and omnipresent. It was odd, she could hear her voice blasting Bellatrix with hexes and blocking, her 'Protego!' short and calculated on the air, but it was if she was outside her own body. She could sense everyone around, even those in other rooms or fighting outside. This was a new gut feeling, something she'd never experienced before, but another sensation she'd chalk up later to 'omen-dom.' Moody was outside, facing off against Mulciber and Lucius, Harry was slamming Wormtail's head into the dining room wall then locking him in a Full-Body Bind and moving on to shooting three 'Sectumsempra!' at Dolohov, She felt George's 'Stupefy!' whizzing by her right ear and into Crabbe, Lupin aligning himself with Tonks against Rodolphus Lestrange in the ballroom down the hall, Shackelbolt shouting a 'Avada Kedavra!' at Yaxley. She could sense someone else in the ballroom shooting out hexes, but she was paying more attention to dodging Bellatrix's powerful 'Crucio!' and backing the feral woman out of the small room. Hermione, battle-minded, wanted more room to fight, snarling out
"Bitch. Impedimentia! Serpensortia! Oppugrro! Attack!"
The eight-foot pythons Hermione had conjured shot towards Bellatrix and she turned and ran—where Hermione wanted her to head—into the ballroom. There was a body on the ground, blue robes and blond hair spread out, smeared with blood—Narcissa Malfoy, she recognized immediately—and Draco was leaning protectively over her, firing curses and hexes willy-nilly around the room in rage and grief. She could see tears running down his face, Narcissa's dead then, she thought. She hit Bellatrix with a 'Petrificus Totalus!' and pulled out her knife, slicing a deep crescent line from her exposed collarbone down and around her bicep to the back of her arm as Bellatrix stared murder at her. She backed off—and to the shock of Moody who had just chased Lucius into the room; she took the Full-Body Bind off of Bellatrix who hesitated for a moment to look the blood Hermione had drawn. Hermione smirked again, looking positively murderous in her battle rage, before snarling at her opponent,
"Consider it me returning the favor, Bella," and before Bellatrix could raise her wand again, "Duro! Bombarda!"
A crashing sound and explosion of dust and rock shards filled the room for a moment, and Hermione stood there, smiling. She had won; returning the wound Bella had given her a year before then turning her to stone and blowing her up. It was satisfying. Hermione then turned on Thorfinn Rowle who had been shooting the occasional spell at the twins as they finally took down Rabastan with a Body Bind. She hit him with a stream of curses,
"Confundo! Incarcerous!" He was soon lying on the floor bound in rope, singing about daisies. She found herself chuckling again. She was having a moment of omens again, feeling the battle turning in their favor, Molly taking down Alecto Carrow outside, Bill's 'Avada Kedavra!' striking Fenrir Greyback square in the chest, Arthur putting both Nott and McNair into a Full-Body Bind in one sweep. Two things happened at once: when Lucius hit Moody with a 'Sectumsempra!' Draco was still making an awful keening sound, somewhere between a sob and a rage-filled scream, when he stood and pointed his wand at Mulciber who had just clambered in through the window. He was hit with Draco's 'Crucio!' and writhed on the floor in pain, howling. Draco hit him with it again, and when Mulciber got up he charged Draco, like a wrathful bull, tackling him to the floor with a definite crunch. Draco hit Mulciber with an 'Impedimentia!' but it didn't stop the older man from grabbing Draco roughly by the shoulder and stomping down onto Draco's parted legs, twisting around the knee, shattering his shin so that the pointed bones snapped out from beneath his skin and spattered blood across the floor. Hermione watched him fall to the ground, and heard the bass of a growl started in his chest that transformed into a roar that filled the room and everyone paused as the walls shook. A wave of lime green shot out like a tidal wave from Draco's skin and suddenly Lucius and Mulciber both dropped to the floor—cold and lifeless. Draco collapsed then, unconscious, and Moody slumped against a table. Hermione ran first to Moody, casting a quick 'Portus!' on a wineglass from the table and sending him back to Grimmauld Place. Her time for fighting was over; it was time for her to start making rounds as Mediwitch. She ran back into the dining room and parlor, shoving Portkeys to Azkaban into the hands of bound Deatheaters, and then back out into the ballroom. She called out a window, rushing out into the dark to round up more Deatheaters and turning Arthur's discarded hat into a Portkey for the wounded Order members outside. She ran back into the house, and immediately found herself rushing to Draco of all people, pulling him away from the lifeless and bloodies body of his mother, when Ron and Harry approached.
"Mione, what the bloody hell are you doing?"
She ignored this, tucking Draco's fallen wand into the extra slot on her thigh holster and searched for something to use to transport his unconscious body back to Headquarters so she could heal him. Harry stood stone-faced while Ron went on a rampage, but she ignored them both and picked up a bit of rock from the floor and as she closed Draco's hand around it, he disappeared. She disapparated back to Grimmauld before she had to hear another word. She ran to the parlor and transfigured all the chairs and settees into beds with curtains around them and levitated everyone to a specific bed, Draco's against the far wall, closest to the west-facing windows, Moody on the other end of the room, closest to the fireplace. She worked quickly on the smaller injuries and then sent those healed back to help cleanup after the battle. She tried her best to stop the bleeding from Moody's chest and arms, but she couldn't make the slashed cuts stay closed, and Moody woke for a moment to verbally cuff her,
"Leave it girl. It's fine," as she started to stutter, trying to hold back tears of frustration and desperation to heal her mentor, he softened, "Hermione Granger, don't you dare weep over an old grizzly like me. I will die, and that's fine. I saw Lucius Malfoy die, that's good enough for me. Anyway, there's nothing anyone, not just you, can do about these. He hit me with three of them. Leave it. Bring me some Earl Grey, will you?"
She acquiesced, conjuring a teacup, and summoning the kettle of tea from the stove. He sipped it for a moment before his breathing became labored; lay back against his pillow and sheets soaked with blood, and sighed. It was last sound Moody would make—a contented sigh. She nodded, dosing a few who admitted to needing a restful night's sleep with Dreamless Sleep potions and Oblivious Unctions. When they were all asleep, she set herself about the work of cleaning up the dead for burial, Moody first, then apparated back to the Manor to deal with the dead Deatheaters. She used Portkeys to send all the bodies to the Ministry morgue, where their families could claim the bodies and have them buried of their own accord. She found herself turning to Narcissa's body last, levitating the once beautiful woman up from the floor and cleaning off all the blood with a 'Scourgify!" before placing her back on the floor. Hermione knew—she just knew—that she had been killed at least an hour before they had attacked, so she felt herself crying as she looked down at the wounds on this woman. Narcissa was covered in bruises, cuts on her upper arms and thighs, her robes torn away from her body in places, and a large slash across her belly. Hermione summoned a different set of robes that hovered down the stairs into her hands, and performed a switching spell, so that Narcissa was covered up and looked less destroyed. She did not cast any glamour charms to cover the bruised face, but at least this woman would go to the Ministry morgue with some dignity. And for some reason, she though of Draco, and how it would be easier to collect his mother's body if she did not look as she had. She cast a 'Portus!' on the tiny silver and onyx pendant already around Narcissa's neck and when she dropped it back onto the cold flesh, it disappeared. She freed the House Elves from the kitchen, told them Draco still lived and would be back soon, and hinted that they should clean up the house. When she arrived back at Grimmauld Place, Draco was still unconscious, but knowing that he couldn't know where he was when he awoke, she made a few precautions and then headed to her room, intent on sleep. Ron caught her by the stair and tried to start arguing, but she silenced him with a wave of her hand and moved heavily up the stairs. She took off her battle gear, slipped into a long silver cotton dress she slept in, and collapsed on top of the blankets, asleep immediately.