Every part of him was cold. It didn't matter where she had tried; it was all cold. Voldemort had consumed her friend and left him here, soulless, dead, and freezing like everything else the devil touched.
Now, she was trying to escape the frost, begging for warmth even if it came in the form of the fire that devoured her home, their home, Harry's home. The courtyard was a mass grave now, bodies littering the cobblestones. Columns crumbled under the pressure of curses, pieces the size of stars falling and crushing the dead and the living alike. Trolls smashed thoughtlessly at the walls of Hogwarts, at the doors as those who tried to flee made a last ditch effort to seal off their sanctuary from the darkness that dared to violate it.
Students ran to reach the doors before they could shut them all the way, Order members fighting back with worn faces and spirits. Still, they shot at their enemies, the promise of revenge on the tips of their wands. The Boy Who Lived's death was only the beginning of this, Hermione realized as she dodge the attacks of multiple deatheaters hell bent on killing everyone. No matter who or what was lost today, the war was not over.
A flash of red caught Hermione's eye and she readied her wand, thinking it the light of a curse. Instead, it was Ginny, moving against the current and towards the improvised graves of their friends. Frantically, she was searching for someone with burning eyes. Hermione knew exactly who Ginny was looking for, and if she searched long enough at this time, her friend would find him but not on this plane.
Hermione ran towards the girl whose breakdown blended in with the scenery. "Ginny!" She called as the redhead began pushing back the corpses of the courtyard columns, trying to find one of a human boy. Deatheaters had taken notice of the two witches and were shooting green sparks towards them. "Ginny, please!"
She grabbed at her friend and began to tug, yanking her upright while fending off attacks.
Ginny's face was almost as bad as any corpse she may have stumbled across. Her face was translucent and her eyes red. She did not cry, not yet. She was determined, only determined to find her love. But Hermione couldn't let her.
Mourning the dead came after saving the living.
"Come on," she urged. She led the two of them away from the advancing deatheaters, Ginny a rag doll behind her. Hermione watched as a few desperate students ran towards the attackers, pleading to join the dark lord only to greet his gatekeeper: death. So many lives clutched, and there were still many more to take. Young students, unprepared for a war, continued to pool towards the school doors, behind the elder pupils and Order members who basked in the red light of their counterattacks.
The red that illuminated their faces only horrified Hermione, as flashes of blood smeared over those she loved raced through her head.
And then there it was, the tug that tethered her to this school still. Someone was missing, someone who was supposed to be at her side, yet another person she needed to save before she could escape this hell.
"Hermione!" A familiar voice called her out of her thoughts. A shot of green zoomed towards her and she didn't have time to raise her wand and deflect it. But it wasn't needed, as a bright light flashed from behind her and rebounded the Cruciatus meant for her.
"Hermione," Neville gasped as he ran towards her, turning his wand on another attacker. "Everyone is heading to the Room of Requirement, where that vanishing cabinet is that the younger students used earlier. We're holding the doors and the ward for as long as we can, but you have to get through," he rushed out.
Hermione hesitated as they ran for the door, nudging Ginny towards Neville.
"Hermione, what is it?" Neville asked, eyes frantically scanning over their surroundings. They'd made it past the barricade of Order members, only a short stretch away from reaching safety but Hermione just couldn't walk any farther, not yet.
"I can't leave, not without him. Neville, go with Ginny. I'll be right there," Hermione spewed out, head swiveling to latch onto its target. No matter where she looked, all she saw was chaos.
"Hermione, it's useless. All hell has broken loose and if he hasn't passed the barricade, he won't now," Neville urged.
All she could manage to do was shake her head. "No, I can't leave him. Not now, Neville." He opened his mouth to fight back but suddenly there was an onslaught of spells flying towards them, over them and onto the ward. They were trying to break through. Neville, torn, looked from Ginny to Hermione.
"Don't. Die," he urged.
"Wouldn't dare to dream of it." Hermione gave him a smile and a push away before she turned around, and then ran right into the heart of her losing battle.
Your hair is ridiculous.
"What?" Hermione spat out, the clip that had been poised in her mouth flew onto the ground with a pathetic clatter. Her hands were trying to capture the battling tendrils of hair that were, at the moment, becoming more and more frazzled with the day. The salt from the sea was always there, meddling with it and causing it to frizz. For months, she'd been dealing with the mane that had haunted her nightmares since birth.
"I said," Viktor chuckled as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, "your hair is beautiful. You should not try to hide it behind hair clips. Let it be free." He pressed his lips against her neck in a kind kiss, letting them linger there as he laid his head on her shoulder. He stared at her stunned reflection in her room's mirror.
"What is it? Do you not like me so close?" He asked, always the gentleman. Quickly, he retracted, going to pick up the clip she'd dropped.
She frowned at her image, mentally scolding herself for freezing up. "It's not that. It's just that you surprised me, is all. And I couldn't possibly," Hermione replied as she took the clip he offered back to her. She tugged her hair into a rough bun before clipping it shut. Immediately, a curl sprang loose, rebelling against its master.
"It seems you will not have a choice," he said, a strong hand grasping the curl, still so gentle that she barely felt him tugging on it to see it spring back to life when he let it loose.
"I guess there's no use fighting with it," she muttered, putting down the brush in her hand and turning to Viktor. She reached for him and, without needing to ask, his hands were wrapped around her waist and hers caressed his neck.
It was as if he'd never left that day in her fourth year. When he first appeared at the doorstep three months ago with his league, ready to unite with the Order, his first instinct was to find her and make sure she was still alive. He still adored her, everyone knew he did from just the look in his eyes whenever Hermione entered the room. He was a boy seeing magic for the first time, awed by its presence and fearful that it would vanish. He was a protector by nature, and he was a fierce one when it came to her. There was not a mission Hermione was on that he was not on as well. It was a strong attachment, and Ron always teased Hermione about it. Now that Ginny was feeling better, she was chiming in too.
But, Hermione was the last one to talk about the relationship.
"Mm," Hermione sighed against a strong chest. The heartbeat sounded foreign, it wasn't one she knew well. It didn't follow her own. It didn't beat with her, but for her.
"Hermione," he whispered against her ear and sparks ignited her skin.
There was the ghost of a touch against her bare shoulder. Rigid, Hermione's eyes snapped open and then confusion set it. Viktor hadn't said anything.
"Hermione," Viktor murmured against her hair, which was quickly escaping confinement. Already there were clumps of hair falling in her face, but that was the least of her problems. Still confused, she glanced up at her lover. "Hermione, you should go to sleep. We all need our rest for tomorrow night," he spoke again, planting a kiss on her forehead as he backed away.
"Did you," Hermione fumbled for a moment for words. "Do you think tomorrow will work?"
"Of course I do," he reassured her with a smile. "But I don't think it will end the war. I don't think we'll kill him."
Hermione nodded solemnly, already having known that one. It had been in the planning, though. With Voldemort down to just him, with all the horcruxes completely gone, he was weakened. It was just him, or so they believed. There was always the worry that he was already creating more of them.
She sighed as Viktor rested his hands against her cheeks, stroking the developing bags under her eyes with tender thumbs. The touch felt more and more foreign to her skin, no sparks inflamed her body, the impression of his fingers against her face did not match properly. Everything was off, and she didn't need to be feeling this way when they had much bigger fish to fry in the morning.
"Don't worry. I love you," he said before he released her and left the room. He never did wait for a reply.
"Still think this was a good idea?" Ron hissed as bright green streaked the air between the trees they used as shields.
"Expulso!" Hermione's wand shot out at a bedraggled wizard as he barreled through the trees. A shriek followed soon after. Her eyes grazed over the others, who were slowly coming up behind them to force back the mix of newly recruited and old deatheaters sent to protect their station. Not one person looked ready to retreat, solidifying her resolution. She grinned back at Ron as a strong blast from Ginny, a few trees to the side of Hermione, knocked the bulldozing Greyback down.
"Honestly, Ron. Since when do I ever come up with bad ideas?" she shot back without wavering, making Ron grimace before turning his attention back to the approaching onslaught. Despite the extensive check for charms around the Manor earlier that day, and Hermione's slow but complete disabling of those they knew about, Neville of all people had stumbled on one they hadn't exactly known about.
An alarm had been sent to the Manor and immediately afterwards, their present situation arose.
"If Kingsley wasn't dead before, he is now," George muttered, the bitterness of Fred's death a poison in his words. Molly and Arthur, only a few paces behind their son, frowned.
"That's enough out of you. You can't kill off deatheaters with negativity," Arthur scolded.
"Should I do a song and dance instead, then? Maybe I should kill 'em with kindness. Do you think you-know-who fancies a hug?"
"George! Would ya' pay attention!" Molly yelled over the crack of a branch over George as a spell hit it. He moved just in time to avoid the brunt of its fall.
"You alright?" Neville and Ron called at the same time, both shooting spells at a tree further ahead that was suspiciously spouting killing curses.
George nodded, a scowl on his face as he retaliated against whoever had tried to knock him out with a tree branch.
Hermione bit her lip and looked back to Ron. "We're not all getting in, Ron," Hermione started and already he was groaning.
"Hermione, it's all or none," he rebutted.
"You know my plan will work! If we'd just done it from the first place, instead of compromising, I'd be in by now," she argued, already exhausted because of the bickering they'd had earlier that day.
A cry from further back the line caused both of them to turn grim. Ron bore his eyes into the path up ahead as if it were the path to the underworld. It probably was.
"Ron, please. If we advance, they won't be able to focus on a few people breaking through the barrier. If we keep hiding behind trees, if only a few of us start running, sure, we're dead. But not if it's complete chaos."
Now he was glowering.
"She has a point, mate," Neville remarked, ducking under the stump he got stuck with.
"Shut up," he grumbled, looking for back up in Viktor, who just shrugged. Hermione had already warned the Bulgarian not to take sides and he wasn't about to screw things up. Completely grumpy, Ron scowled. "Fine, do it. But if you get killed, I bloody swear I'll kill you."
Hermione smiled. "Love you too, Ron," she remarked before shooting out three sparks from her wand. With a roar of clambering feet, the Order sprang forth and a show of lights colored the sky as they fought. Hermione, Viktor, Luna and Neville weaved through the lower end deatheaters sent to take them out, fighting off those that spotted them while the Weasleys pushed against the madmen.
"There!" Hermione called to her group when she spotted a weakness in their attackers barrier. They were parting, fighting the Order as they circled around and pulled them further away from the Manor. Viktor made a move for Hermione, grabbing onto her with the other three as they broke through the line and got a clear view of the deatheater headquarters.
The Malfoy Manor, decrepit and chilly from its new residents whose demeanor made the Malfoy family look like pygmy puffs, cast a menacing shadow over them. Overgrown vines strangled the gate the wizards reached, and seized the entire estate in its charcoaled, greedy grasp. Nothing was green anymore, and the Manor was not excluded from the decay. The shrubbery, stoic and once revered for their imposing design, were nothing but skeletons; their leaves were long gone. Roots rose above the ground, as if the plants had tried to make a run for it when the Dark Lord appeared. Neville stumbled over a handful of the petrified limbs.
The house itself looked menacing, the paint chipping off beneath the darkened windows, the large double doors daring the group to try and get through. Hermione, of course, was all for it. Wand in hand, she approached the door while the others scouted the parameter, stunning any guards that came about the corner before any warnings could be sent inside.
"Clear," Neville whispered as he rounded back to the entry as Hermione nudged one door open with Viktor on the other door. Their wands entered the estate first, searching and ready for anything that would try to kill them.
"Is anyone home?" Luna asked, making Hermione jump out of her skin. She turned her wand on the other witch and stared at her in disbelief.
"Really Luna?" She hissed.
"I was just asking the zigbies," Luna shrugged, as if it was completely normal to question the air.
"What are zigbies?" Neville asked, his face contorted in confusion. Hermione scowled and motioned for the two of them to zip it as they moved into the manor.
As soon as they'd stepped inside, there was the sound of footsteps in one of the halls branching off the main foyer. Quickly, the four dodged behind the set of chairs beside the door and stilled themselves. With held breaths, they waited as shadow smothered the bleak walls of the hall directly ahead of them; the same one Luna had told them lead to the formal living room. It was there that she had been tortured for information on Harry's whereabouts earlier that year. Now, Hermione considered it to be the central location for meetings besides the dining room located elsewhere in the Manor.
The wild curls, heels, and disastrous dress reflected off the wallpaper illustrated the shape of Bellatrix Lestrange. The very name made Hermione's throat run dry and she could feel the tension rolling off of Neville as he fought back the desire to wring the bitch's neck. The shadow lingered there with an accompanying shadow wand, thankfully aimed within the room she'd come from.
"Do not disappoint the Dark Lord or it will be the last and only time you do. Now get those filthy vermin OFF MY LAWN," she screeched before stomping off, further down the hall and away from where the vermin stood.
"That room, that's where he'll be. The basement entrance is in there," Luna whispered, pointing to the room Bellatrix had left.
Gritting her teeth, Hermione led them forward, sprinting through the foyer and clinging to the walls in a low crouch. Her heart was racing, clawing its way up her throat as they approached the still open doorway to the living room. Light pooled out of the quarters and served as a natural alert system to whoever was inside. And there had to be someone in there, Hermione grumpily admitted to herself. Bellatrix Lestrange was a well-known psychotic witch, but she'd yet to sink so low as to yell at invisible creatures. At least, as far as Hermione knew.
She motioned to the others to stay put, winning a disapproving look from Viktor. Still, he stayed on guard with the other three as Hermione slid to the other side of the hall, her back flat against the outer wall of the room. Slowly, she inched herself to the doorway.
Her heart was going to give her away. How'd no one hear it yet?
She peered in, wand at the ready with a strained grasp.
The room was empty.
Hermione did a double take, squinting into the room for reassurance. The fireplace held licking flames, and the light from it illuminated part of the room- the source of their issue outside- but the stately velvet lounge chairs that sat in front of the fire held no shadows but those that the night played on them.
Her eyes raked over the opposite side of the vast room, over the descending staircase that most likely led to the prisoners' chambers, the murals and the tables and shelves showcasing the Malfoy heirlooms and love of firewhiskey. But, still, not a living creature in sight.
Bellatrix Lestrange was finally completely and utterly mental, especially for leaving Kingsley alone. Didn't they know why the Order was here?
With an amused smirk on her face, Hermione turned back to the others.
"Don't leave, not yet," a smiling voice pleaded from behind as arms wrapped around her waist. Hermione squealed and immediately cupped her mouth in shock. There was a hush over the two as the strong arms tightened around her protectively, greedily. When nothing came to reprimand the young witch's cry of joy, a soft chuckle came from behind her.
"See, we're alone. Stay."
"Hermione?" Viktor mouthed, concern straining his face when Hermione came to, shaking her head. Her disorientation didn't last as long as the overall shock. Her mouth agape, she looked at the people depending on the fact that she wasn't completely bonkers.
"We… we're alone. Let's go," she whispered, pushing away from the wall as if it had sprouted arms meant to capture and contain her. Still puzzled, face heated with embarrassment and something… else, Hermione entered the large and completely empty room. There was no snake, no dark chill that followed Voldemort in his wake. There was only the gloom of fallen hope seeping into the walls.
As long as there weren't any deatheaters waiting behind a corner to jump out and end them all, Hermione could care less about the miserable atmosphere.
Still, she was having a hard time concentrating so she let Luna lead the way through the room and to the staircase so that she could deal with the headache that began to creep up on her. Hermione rubbed at her temples, trying to suppress the puzzling scene that had surfaced only moments ago. None of it made sense, and yet it didn't feel completely foreign to her. The more she thought of the episode, the more details came into view. The wallpaper of the hall in front of her when she was held from behind that looked similar to that of the hall she was in now. The lighting was just as dark and the arms felt fitted to her curves as if they were meant to be there.
She hadn't been sleeping well lately and Hermione was in the process of figuring out where she and Viktor stood. She was just imagining situations during heated moments, right? Figments of her imagination were popping into the forefront of her head at the worst times and she was just merging reality with fiction. Or at least, that's what helped make the headache go away.
When she returned to herself, confident once more in her sanity, she was looking into a worn, but perfectly Kingsley face. He was bruised, one eye sealed shut with pus and blood, the surrounding tissue a dark green color. His regal clothes were washed out and covered in sweat and there was a pungent smell to the room and him. And yet, he still held the authority of the Order's leader. With a weak smile, he greeted his rescuers.
"What lovely faces to see after such a long time away from beauty." His voice was still strong, powerful enough to command an army. It was something that was missing from the Order since he'd been taken away and Hermione was infinitely relieved Bellatrix and her minions had not killed his spirit, or him entirely.
Viktor was already working on the door with Hermione while Luna and Neville stood guard, knowing a wild Bellatrix still lingered the halls. Footsteps upstairs made them work quicker, knowing that the wicked witch wasn't the only one here.
Finally, with a crack, the charmed lock was undone and Kingsley swiftly left his prison. He stumbled and many hands reached out to help him up the stairs. He would not be on the field immediately after this but, by the determined look on his face, neither was he going to be out for long.
"Is it just the four of you? There must be others, for this place to be so empty," Kingsley remarked as they made for the door.
Shrill footsteps approaching silenced Hermione before she would answer. They froze; Kingsley slouched over Neville and Viktor's shoulders with Hermione and an ever-attentive Luna poised with their wands towards the door. Still, if Bellatrix was to enter the room, they were certain others would come soon after. This was, after all, meant to be a covert mission. And it was about to be blown to bits.
"The doorway," Hermione breathed involuntarily, her brown eyes going blank as a map drew itself in her head.
"What doorway?" Neville hissed, snapping Hermione back. She looked to Luna, trying to cover her mishap.
"The doorway, Luna. The one behind the mural you spoke of when we were planning this," Hermione replied.
The footsteps were drawing nearer.
Luna looked puzzled, shaking her head slowly. "I didn't mention a doorway."
"Nevermind that, let's go," Viktor interrupted before an argument could break out in the middle of the Malfoys' living room. He steered Kingsley towards the one mural that wasn't perched high upon the wall while Hermione rushed to yank it aside. Desperate for this strange idea to work, she pulled with all her might and, miraculously, the painting swung open silently to reveal a dusty passage.
She pushed the others through as the footsteps grew louder, piercingly so, until it stopped. Hesitant for reasons unfathomable, Hermione lingered as the others rushed through to the other side without knowing what would greet them.
Too late, Hermione realized the footsteps stopped.
There was a break in the air as a wand flicked and the painting's frame tore away from Hermione's grasp. It shut closed with a snap, leaving the witch bare to whoever had found her.
"Oh, no. Don't leave, not yet," a humored, familiar voice drawled from behind. A chill slithered down Hermione's back and, on a reflex, she began to raise her wand. Within an instant, it was flying out of her hand.
"Move, and I will kill you. Well, I'll do it either way. Let me correct myself," he snarled and finally it dawned on Hermione who now had her life cushioned in a chokehold.
"Move, and I'll make sure to drain every drop of that filthy blood out of your veins before I finally let you die," the voice of the head master of the house now demanded.
Draco Malfoy now had her at wand-point.