Okay, so this is my first fanfiction, like, ever. I would really appreciate some advice, and I would also like to see if anyone's out there. I do not have a beta, so I'm sorry about any grammar mistakes that I may make, and I might not finish, but I can't be sure.Disclaimer: So, y'all know that I don't own any familiar content, because if I did, I would be a rich bachelorette sitting on heated toilet seats and drinking fruit punch with Donald Trump and Michael Phelps. All familiar content is owned by the delightful J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros.
Without any further wait, please read and enjoy!
A light breeze whistled through the ruins of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as the Death Eaters and forces of the Darkness paraded through what used to be the Great Hall. Coughs and sobs were heard throughout the students, whose eyes were once bright with youth, but were now dull after witnessing war.
Sobs and wails echoed through the remains of Hogwarts as Hagrid carried Harry's limp body through the Dark Lords ranks, tears the size of golf balls streaming down his face and landing on the ground at his feet. Not Harry. Harry was the last wall. The last hope of the light.
So that was it then. The war was lost.
Voldemort and the Death Eaters cheerfully paraded down the path of loss, sorrow, and despair that they had created, past the students and teachers standing in defiance in front of their beloved school. Past the hopes and dreams of the young that laid crushed and broken under their feet.
Hermione gripped her wand with a renewed force, her scarred and calloused thumb rubbing circles on the smooth surface. She tightened the strap of her bigger-on-the-inside bag that ran from her shoulder to her opposite hip and took a defiant step forward, all of her caution thrown to the wind. Harry was dead. Ron was dead. Dumbledore was dead.
Ginny was dead. Neville was dead. Luna was dead. Lavender was dead. Sirius was dead. Lupin was dead. They were all dead. Her parents didn't even remember her, for Merlin's sake.
This had to stop. Hermione took another step forward. Professor Quirrell in first year. Riddle's diary and the basilisk in second year. Sirius Black, the dementors, and the werewolf in third year. The Triwizard Tournament, the cemetery, and Cedric's death in fourth year. The dementors and Umbridge in fifth year. The half-blood prince and Dumbledore's death in sixth year. And now this.
And what, in Merlin's name, had she done to deserve this? She had always been a good student, always taken care of her family and friends. She was always there, in the background, always doing more than she knew she could handle, always overachieving and over preparing. She was always there. She took another step forward. She had separated herself from the remaining Hogwarts student body.
She took another step forward and felt a hand grasp her wrist, urging her to go back. She wrenched her hand away and continued walking. Tears were streaming down her face now, but she didn't retreat.
Hermione finally came to a stop a mere twenty feet away from the most powerful wizard of all time. She gripped her wand tighter and raised her voice over the murmuring crowds.
"This is not power," she said, her voice projecting over the dismal faces of her friends and the jeering faces of her enemies. "This is not control. This is fear. And fear is not a reliable source. Fear, makes the frightened stronger. Fear makes the frightened faster. Fear makes the frightened smarter. Fear makes the frightened able to take on any enemy, and you," she jabbed her finger at the dark lord, "are no exception."
The Death Eaters laughed and jeered at her. She turned once again to the Dark Lord. "Fear will not give you power," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "Fear will give the weak, the strong, the good, the power to be brave, wise, clever, and kind. These traits are not defined by the house you were placed in or the friends you made. They are not defined by who wins something as simple as the House Cup or as complex as a war." Hermione's voice grew louder with each syllable she spoke. "The war is won by those who deserve it.
"And if there is one thing that Harry, and all of the other lost loved ones would want to be taken from their death, it would be faith. They would not want to die in vain. They would want you to take their death and be fearful for your own safety. Be strong. Be fast. Be smart, and most importantly, be faithful, because that's what they would have wanted." Hermione turned in a circle, desperate to see change on someones face, anyone's face. And she saw it. Hope spread through the faces of her fellow classmates, through the faces of her past teachers and friends.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Hermione heard the shout and turned to Lord Voldemort. The flash of green light hit her in the chest, and she crumpled to the ground.