Thank you to everyone who followed/favorited the story. It makes me so happy! Shout out to last chapter's reviews: Spike's Number One Pet, PADfootBalck, acetwolf94, bibikitten224, Ardentlyadmired, kmplease, Lady-Isowen, & Infernalbooks.
Before you read this update I want to inform you all that Tom Riddle will not make his appearance in this chapter for now. I want to create the right amount of leverage, more in depth world building before his actual in-the-flesh debut in the story so please be patient. I'm sure you won't enjoy it if I rush events. I have it all mapped out and yes, this is most definitely a Tomione fic. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
My utmost gratitude to the amazing Sunset Whispers for her brilliance! She helped me through my writer's block and polished this fic so now it's all smooth and shiny! She is a goddess *heart eyes*
Hermione soon realized that Bellatrix's curse was no ordinary one. It took Ron three whole weeks to recover from his stomach being sliced open and even now he could still barely eat.
The incident in the tower was a constant reminder of how they all failed and just how much more were they willing to lose? The unspoken question invaded her thoughts, bypassing her carefully built walls and mocking her like an unwanted visitor in her psyche with no intention of stopping. The smell of despondency and defeat permeated the air – strong and pungent as their arrival in the Burrow that very night.
~~O~~
Being the least injured of the three, Harry was considerably lucky emerging from the fight with only a few minor gashes. If Hermione believed in the Art of Divination she would have agreed with the statement, no doubt about it. She never really cared much for the subject and given their current predicament, she dismissed the idea entirely. She did however, agree to Side-Along Apparate with Harry.
Using her uninjured arm, she lifted her wand and transfigured her sweater into a makeshift bandage to support her shoulder. She did the same thing for Ron, whose dressing on the waist was quickly darkening and had taken on a brownish hue. The amount of bleeding left him unconscious and his skin ghostly pale. It made Hermione anxious.
"We need to get to the Burrow, Harry. Ron looks awful."
"Your shoulder doesn't look good either, Hermione. But let's go, it's not safe to stay here," Harry replied and clenched his fists. His assumptions about Draco Malfoy had been right all along. If only he listened to his gut then he wouldn't have been too late. It was Malfoy's fault that Death Eaters infiltrated the school. It was his mission to kill Albus Dumbledore. And regardless of everything he did and did not do, they were still running away.
Harry's green eyes swept over the castle and up at the bitter night sky. His irises saw everything and yet, reflected nothing. Behind them, however, blazed a feeling far more potent and more intense than ever before. A feeling he was now more accustomed to: anger.
The clouds above them billowed across the pale moon, casting Hogwarts into an ominous darkness, but the Dark Mark was no longer in sight. He and Hermione both held Ron's body firmly as they disapparated from the Astronomy Tower and headed to the Burrow.
** All color drained from Molly Weasley's face when she opened the front door. Her expression bore stunned silence mingled with fear. Her eyes went wide and her mouth hung open – a look she wore most of the time now. Her hands found the door frame, fingers gripping it tightly as her nails dug into the hard wood for support or else she would have collapsed. There stood on the Weasleys' front porch was her badly wounded son being held up by Harry and Hermione.
A cut rested above Harry's brow accompanied by several gashes and scrapes on each arm. Hermione's sweater was torn, exposing her blood caked arm. A sling was wrapped around the top of her shoulder to the crook of her elbow. However, the worst one of them was Ron whose flaccid form would have slumped on the ground if Harry and Hermione hadn't been keeping his body upright. He had unconsciously wrapped his arms around his midsection, as though to stop his insides from falling out.
"Mrs. Weasley…" Hermione's voice was raspy so she coughed to relieve her dry throat. "We need help."
In an instant as if a spell was broken, the older woman snapped out of her reverie. "Right, quickly come in!" She immediately ushered the three inside the living room, glanced to her right and left to make sure they weren't being followed before she shut the door closed. Then, she screamed for her husband, "Arthur!"
Mr. Weasley had a healer come over in less than five minutes. Ron was still unconscious, lying supine on the couch as the mediwitch examined the extent of his injuries. The skin surrounding his abdomen was lacerated, exposing his internal organs where it should not have been. The blood soaked his shirt while she tried to cover the ripped flesh.
After she had thoroughly inspected the wounds, the healer tucked her wand in the pocket of her robes and spoke, "Your son suffered great trauma and blood loss in his abdominal region. The curse that hit him tore his stomach open, allowing the contents to seep into his bloodstream, damaging his liver and intestines."
"Will he be alright?" Mrs. Weasley asked, worry lines were etched on her forehead while she clutched her husband's hand for comfort. Every time her eyes would glance at the clock where Ron's fate remained at mortal peril.
"Stomach fluids don't normally travel through the bloodstream since it contains acid as well as other components that can cause severe infections in the body," the mediwitch answered as she cut Ron's shirt open. "I prepared a cocktail of potions that should be applied to his injuries every hour for the next three weeks and his dressings must be changed daily." She methodically cleaned his wounds and placed a new bandage over it once she had given him the necessary potions. "Your son will recover. I only found small traces of Dark magic in the curse that was used."
She then treated Hermione's shoulder before moving on to tend to Harry's brow. The healer had told the younger witch that she was lucky she sustained only a cut on her limb. Although applying the medication might hurt, she would feel better in a few days just like Harry. It did not take long for Hermione to learn that what the mediwitch said to her was most definitely wrong.
The duration of their recovery was absolute torture for her and from the discomfort on Harry's face, he might have felt that way too. Molly had gone into full-blown mother hen mode, shifting between smothering them with care and scolding them for their rash behavior and most often than not she did both at the same time.
The older woman went on a tirade about how they were too young to fight. That children should not get themselves killed in a battle that was not theirs to partake in. War could tear you apart and turn people into monsters. It would strip you of your strengths and expose your vulnerabilities – flaying you from the inside out.
In all honesty, Hermione could not blame her for the way she was acting as she had almost lost a child. But this… this was her fight as much as it was Harry's. And when her line of sight fell upon Ron's sleeping form, she knew with certainty that he would always fight alongside them, as well.
~~O~~
Remus Lupin visited the Burrow the day Ron finally regained consciousness. Their former DADA professor had heard the news of Bill's attack by the werewolf Fenrir Greyback prior to the trio's arrival at the Weasleys' home. Remus had informed Arthur and Molly that their eldest son would not turn into a werewolf, however, he would still develop some lycanthropic symptoms and the injuries he sustained would leave him with a permanent disfigurement. Compared to Professor Lupin's condition, Hermione thought Bill was fortunate that Greyback had not transformed the night he was assaulted.
When he was finished explaining, the older wizard proceeded to check on Ron. "How are you feeling?" Remus asked as he sat on the chair by his bed.
"Like a herd of bloody Hippogriffs are kicking me right in the gut. Everything hurts," Ron answered, groaning in pain. The effort of pulling himself up to a sitting position was difficult enough for him. "I can't even eat without throwing up."
"Well, maybe next time it'd be better to conjure a shield to block a curse instead of using yourself?" Lupin raised a brow at him and Ron looked away slightly embarrassed, but he knew that he had a point.
"In all seriousness, Ronald, you should be grateful. You could have died," the older wizard added with no hint of amusement.
"Professor, do you know what curse Bellatrix used on Ron?" Harry inquired, beating Hermione's curiosity.
Remus' forehead creased in contemplation. "I'm afraid it's a spell I've not encountered before... probably something of her own creation. But magic, especially Dark magic always leaves a trace–" He was about to say more about the subject when he heard Arthur call for him from the hall. Politely excusing himself, he headed to the door and Hermione followed after him.
"Professor," she said when she knew she was out of earshot. She seemed apprehensive as she chose her next words carefully before continuing, "You may be repulsed by my question, but I need to know."
"I always assumed you had a penchant for knowledge, Hermione. What is it?"
She did not miss a beat and went straight to the point. "How did Ron survive the curse?"
Remus folded his arms before replying, "My only theory as of this moment, is that perhaps Bellatrix hadn't perfected the spell. The Dark Arts requires a caster's malicious intent in order to be successful and magic of this degree could also be hard to control."
"Would a person be able to replicate a curse even without knowing the incantation?" Hermione asked, intrigued to know how it worked and how to achieve it. She could feel her anticipation building as she waited for her professor to respond.
Remus eyed her speculatively, although he did not pry as to why she wanted to know. "It would be difficult, but not impossible."
His confirmation was all she needed. Hermione could feel the cogs inside her brain working on overdrive. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess of chaotic twists and turns all coming together to form into one idea. She needed to make a visit to the library soon.
Ron was foolish to risk his life like that without even taking into account the repercussions of his actions. When Hermione returned to the room, she couldn't help but lash out at him. She told him in vivid detail, using words that she had no idea could come out of her lips and would have made the Weasley matriarch rinse her mouth with a 'Scourgify' that he shouldn't have done that – that it was incredibly stupid and annoyingly Gryffindor of him to use his body as a shield. How dare he try to kill himself for her. Who does he think he is?
She voiced her frustrations, feeling the pressure build up inside her like a bomb slowly ticking, ready to explode at any minute. When she ran out of words to say, chest heaving up and down that began slowing to a normal rhythm, Hermione watched as Harry turned silent with her colorful outburst. Although, much to her dismay, Ron simply took it in his stride. She assumed that maybe having five older brothers and one younger sister had its advantages because of course, he was used to this sort of thing. He laughed then winced slightly from the pain in his abdomen before clapping her on her good shoulder as she had to remind him more than once that day. For the last time he made an error it didn't end too well for him.
"It's okay, Hermione," Ron said as though they were merely discussing homework and it was not his life on the line. "You're one of my best friends."
His sincerity had her sighing and instantly, her growing temper was defused. She knew it was unfair, Ron did not deserve her ire. On the contrary, she was truly grateful and she knew he knew it too. However, her heart was replaced by a hot coal in her chest, glowing and burning within her at the same time. Deep down inside, she would never admit how insignificant she felt compared to him. He was a Pureblood even if he was a blood traitor and she was just an ordinary Muggleborn witch; being a Halfblood like Harry was much better than this. In this Wizarding society she was a nobody. Would they even bat an eye if she was killed?
If they had asked her long ago she might have cared what they think. Now, she was past the point of caring, retribution was the only thing on her mind. So, what if she was a Muggleborn? 'A filthy, little Mudblood,' as Malfoy liked to call her. If Voldemort could shape the Wizarding world to his whims then so could she.
Nobody had spoken after Hermione's fit and the silence that followed was deafening, putting her on edge. The truth she kept locked away suddenly poured out of her mouth and it was too late to stop it.
"I am sick of watching people die, knowing I could've saved them if I had done things differently. I am tired of constantly fighting for my life using magic meant for defense. I am fed up of being told what spells I can and cannot use. I am done playing by the rules," Hermione ground out through clenched teeth. She was both physically and mentally exhausted. Despite her healed shoulder, she felt constantly drained as though her magic was leaking out of her body. She looked up, brown irises fixed on Harry and Ron. "I don't want to survive in this war. I want to live even if it means I have to–"
Kill. It was a word she did not need to say aloud for Harry and Ron heard it loud and clear. This was an act of supreme evil. The ultimate crime that would separate the saints from the sinners. Although, they would not address themselves as murderers. That term was reserved for the psychopaths, to those who took lives and did not crumble under the weight of their guilt even when they had a choice.
"This might be the only way to win the war," Ron agreed, nodding solemnly.
With Dumbledore dead, Voldemort and his Death Eaters would take control over Hogwarts once they seized the Ministry. They had no options left.
"We won't make the same mistakes again," Harry vowed as he met their gaze. It was a silent promise engraved in stone. A newfound confidence surged through his core, purging what was born of fear inside of him. They thought he was weak. A measly orphan boy who was no match for the darkest wizard of all time, but their lapse in judgement – their error would not be his own.