Disclaimer: Just bringing them out for a walk, honest!
Chapter 10
The walls vibrated with the screams of the Dementors. Hermione winced every time she heard the screeching sounds as the Dementors tried to break the wards. Everyone was tense and nervous, and they did not know when, or where the Dementors would finally break through. Another loud thud was heard and Hermione clenched her fists so hard her knuckles turned white. This reminded her of a bomb shelter. Did the residents of London during the Second World War feel like this? This strange, helpless feeling. Just waiting and waiting for certain doom, for that happy accident where you were unlucky enough to have that bomb drop on your head. After a few more minutes, there was a silence as deep as the ocean.
The occupants of the Great Hall felt rather than saw or heard the Dementors break through. Almost immediately they sensed a slimy chill crawl from the soles of their feet to the hairs of their neck. It was as cold as winter, and Hermione could even see icicles starting to form in her pumpkin juice. But this cold was not the clean, fresh, cold of the seasons. This cold did not invigorate you; it drowned you.
As she fell under the Dementors' spell Hermione could feel herself sinking more and more into the depths of herself. Every happy thought was slowly but surely being sucked out, eaten and digested. She was left with nothing but despair. Nothing but grief and hopelessness.
The other occupants of the hall were clearly feeling the same effects as she did. Moans and groans could be heard around the room, as students slipped off the benches and tumbled to the floors, some clutching at their heads and others holding their stomachs in pain.
All of a sudden, Hermione heard a yell outside the doors. That voice…somewhere inside the nauseating chill that held her captive, Hermione began to remember.
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She remembered a pale haired boy with a perpetually angry scowl on his face.
She remembered his hatred, his anger, and yet, his wit, intelligence, caring and flippant valor.
She remembered an offered hand, a warm body beside hers, comforting and healing her.
She remembered nervous smiles and intense looks, willing her to see him, to look at him as he really was.
She remembered strength, courage, and love.
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Standing up, she walked towards the doors, struggling against the sludge that had seemed to accumulate around her ankles, making it difficult for her to move. Slowly, she opened the doors, straining against the leaden weight. Slowly, she looked out. And stopped.
The first line was all but writhing on the ground, some shrieking and crying silently as the Demetors assaulted their minds. The second line was backing away, some stumbling as they tried to run from the scene. They were utterly terrified.
Only one still stood up to the onslaught. And as he stood weakly the Dementors seemed to stalk closer in pleasure. One held out its decayed fingers and Hermione heard a horrifying rattle. His eyes began to roll up in his head and he fell forward in a heap. The Dementors swarmed nearer, and it was all she could do to not scream.
Dracodracodracodracodraco! She was once again rooted to the spot, as she once was in that mansion, all those weeks ago. Soon his eyes will turn blank. Soon it will be all lost. Soon she would no longer have any reason for living. All was lost. All was gone.
And then something yelled. Yelled with all its might and all its pain, hurt, tears, blood, and hope. I WILL NOT LET HIM DIE! She took out her wand, one foot jerking in front of the other.
Now, Hermione. She heard someone whisper, as if from afar. Now is the time.
She stepped forward even as everyone was moving back, moaning in terror and fear at the approaching Dementors. They glided on unseen legs, their rags billowing about them as their groans shook the foundations of her very soul. She thought of Harry, of Ron, of all the happy times at Hogwarts. She thought of the time when they had saved her from the troll in first year, when Harry won the Quidditch cup for Gryffindor for the very first time, when she awoke to find Harry alive and well after their fight at the Department Of Mysteries, and of endless spring mornings spent lounging at the Great Lake, just the three of them, laughing without a care in the world. And curiously, just as she lifted her wand to cry the spell, she thought of Malfoy, giving his shower to her on the day she most needed a friend.
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The Dementors were blasted away by Hermione's powerful patronus, not even a wisp of them was seen after she had screamed her spell with all the intensity, all the trauma, and everything that she had felt and had kept bottled up in the past few days.
And even though Draco did not know whether he was alive or dead, and even though the light was fading fast from his eyes, he laughed. He laughed with joy and happiness and love and relief. Because his Hermione was back. And now, they would win.