Hello my lovelies!
I am so incredibly sorry about the long wait between chapters. This one has been an absolute pain to get through, especially the last couple of scenes. I cut it off a little earlier than expected, but it shouldn't be nearly as long of a wait for the next chapter. The last set back I had was my browser closing while I was doing my final edit and that killed a lot of my motivation. I rushed through what I had to re-edit, so the end of this chapter might be a little rougher.
Going back to the previous chapter, I did receive some excellent feedback regarding my formatting of the pensive memories. I understand that it might be a little difficult to understand with how I've been switching between italics and regular font as well as my choice to have Hermione interpret the memories rather than include conversation. At this point, the only reason I am sticking with present formatting is continuity. I will probably go back and change how I present this sometime down the road.
In the time between updates I have moved into a new house, been to Ontario and back, survived most of the summer craziness of work, and got more than my fair share of sunburns at the beach. Hopefully I will have more time to write and update as fall creeps up on us and things slow down.
Now for the necessary disclaimer:: There is quite a bit of violence, but nothing too graphic. But i may have skewed ideas on that considering the first movie I can remember watching was The Road Warrior with my father. I am keeping it at a Teen rating for now, but please let me know if you think this would be more suited to a Mature tag.
Also, while I was bogged down trying to work out the details of this chapter, I found myself wanting to include far more than I could and should. I kind of fell in love with characters I had meant to just mention and therefore, I now have plans for a prequel that will explain Hermione's past. I am really excited to be able to really dig into the characters we only get a glimpse of in Hermione's memories. I have zero time frame for that story as I only have a few scenes roughed out now.
As always, big thanks to those who review, favorite and follow this story. You're the reason I didn't give up on this chapter, and you're my motivation to keep writing.
xo
zsarah
May 6, 1974
Euphemia, Fleamont, and Hector all flinched at the explosion that rocked her memory.
Seeing it from her present perspective, Hermione was aghast at how violent the event actually was. Bodies were thrown in all directions and shrubs ripped out of the ground with the force of the displaced air. As the magic swept through them, there was a crack akin to a sonic boom.
Her active memory only recalled feeling the magical equivalent of static discharge before being swept off her feet and crushed into the ground. And though she could see and hear all the details of the memory for the first time, the pensive couldn't recreate the oppressive feeling of the magic; or the scent of ozone that it left in the air. Without those sensations, Hermione felt as though the watchers had a dim view of what actually occurred.
Seeing the remnants of the blue magic crawl across bodies from the epicenter of the explosion was as disturbing an image for her as it was for those watching for the first time. The images that followed; she previously only recalled vaguely. In the moment she had been dazed and winded; her arm and side aching from what she would later find to be a fractured humerus and several cracked ribs.
As those closest to the epicenter began to stir, Hermione recalled the exact moment the smell in the air changed. The ground touched by the magic sizzled, as smoke rose from the crumbling grass. She remembered feeling as though Ginny herself was judging her as the magic swept over her skin. It left behind the combined sensation of being in an uncomfortably hot bath with the pins and needles of a limb coming back to life.
As the magic dissipated from the defenders, and they were able to raise themselves from the scorched ground, they looked about with confusion as the still blue aura was now concentrated like a mist in a circle around the clearing. The trees were smoking as the mist crawled up them. The smaller branches and leaves disintegrated away to ash as the bark was burnt black. The confusion of those who witnessed the event first hand was mirrored on the faces of those now watching Hermione's memory in the present.
As the perimeter of the clearing was burning away, the death-eaters in the fringes of the forest began to writhe on the ground. One after another, they began to scream in agony as the mist surrounding them changed from blue to red. Where the magic touched their skin, it left burns that quickly turned from scalding crimson, to blistering white. Before anyone could do more than stare, the mist coalesced into solid tendrils, only to rear up and plunge into the bodies still on the ground.
It was to this day, the most gruesome thing Hermione had ever seen. She watched her own memory with rapt attention as the still living and screaming death-eaters were pulled apart by the now wild magic. Their bodies riddled with holes that both bled and burned; limbs and entrails were torn in all directions and their remains scattered around the periphery. The wet ripping sounds of flesh torn from bones and the snaps and crunches as those bones were crushed and broken. It couldn't have taken more than a minute for the tortured vocalizations to stop and only a further few moments for the carnage to be complete. The gore shone in the moonlight leaving an unnaturally perfect and even circle of blood and viscera around the previously lush clearing.
The space was unrecognizable from what it previously had been. Where there had previously been grass and shrubs there was now only dust and ash. The glade had been a close to a circle as nature could create, but it was now several meters wider on all sides with unnatural edges bordered by blackened trees and scorched stones dripping with the blood of the recently slaughtered. The air was acrid and bitter, and seemed to hold the voices of the dead longer than it had any right to.
After the echoes faded to an eerie silence, the younger children in the group began to whimper, and the newly injured let out previously repressed moans of pain which goaded everyone into action. As they scrambled to help the wounded and assess the recently deceased in the group, the red glow mirroring the blood around the clearing faded back to a soft blue. The magic flickered around the edges of the circle, and she could see how the now thirsty ground sucked up the magic and blood until there was only bare bones, dry flesh and the remnants of robes left lying in the ashes.
Those viewing the memory with her were silent watching the aftermath. Euphemia looked a little green as they stood vigil over the memory while the ghosts of Hermione's past triaged the injured and drew robes over the several who had been killed in the short battle. A handful of witches began to cast detection and analysis charms around the now open space and as they read the results, Flitwick approached their number. Hermione saw herself cradling her left arm to her chest and moving gingerly around the clearing calling out for her friends one by one. Neville was the first clearly familiar face she found and she watched herself collapse into his arms.
The silent watch was broken by Fleamont, "I've read about magic almost exactly like that; protective events rooted in sacrificial love." His words were quiet. "It's some of the darkest magic recorded in the Potter Grimoires. One of my ancestors bound it as a family secret in the 18th century when the consequences of Eldritch and Chaos magic came to light." He was clearly confused as to how the magic he had seen was possible, "It's not one of those magics that you can stumble upon, the fact that young Miss. Weasley was able to bind her soul to her magic in such a way is almost unbelievable. You have to have the knowledge of the mechanics and possibilities in order in initialize that kind of magic."
Hermione smiled softly at him, "That ritual was open to anyone who cared enough to look past public record after October 31, 1981. The woman your son married in my time was an intellectual, and our best guess is that Lily found the information when she gained access to the Grimoires after marrying James. The world was in open war at that time, and she would have been looking for anything that could change the tide, even at the expense of her soul. From the stories I have heard, Voldemort and the death-eaters were a hair's breadth from winning, and everyone was desperate.
"When James and Lily sacrificed their lives in protection of their son, it created a similar shield around Harry as to what you just saw surround the clearing, but instead of a place, their shield protected a person. I was 16 when our group of friends theorized that the ritual was repeatable under the correct circumstances. Ginny's knowledge of how Harry survived allowed her to protect us all."
While Fleamont nodded in understanding, the mists of memory swirled around them again and solidified to show a smaller group gathered in what looked to be a cellar. There was Andromeda Tonks with tired eyes and baby Teddy in a sling against her body; Professors Flitwick and McGonagall in the corner of the room, locked in close conversation; Hector and Hermione both reading over documents in front of them; Ron, George, Percy and Arthur Weasley moving around the room, but with eyes always on the remaining members of their family; and Luna Lovegood and Oliver Wood clasping hands in silence.
She watched the memory of herself jump at the sound of a door opening, and everyone in the memory tensed visibly when they heard feet traveling down the stairs. From the shadows above, the group was joined by the exhausted looking pair of Neville Longbottom and Susan Bones. Wands and knives were drawn and oaths of loyalty were reaffirmed before the stairs creaked once again. From the darkness emerged Viktor Krum and Charlie Weasley. The same oaths were made with serious faces, and then with a surge the group surrounded the men with hugs and shouts of joy.
"After we were ambushed in the forest we retreated to various safe-houses scattered across the country and began using blood oaths to affirm our identities like the one I used to prove my loyalty to you. Somewhere between the planning and execution, the group you see before you became the inner circle of the resistance as the key points of communication." The conclave was mismatched and ragged, with ages and specialities across every spectrum imaginable.
"We are currently looking at one of the cellars on the Longbottom property. Several of us stayed here for two months before deciding it was best to move on and keep it as a back up. It was one of Augusta's prepared bolt holes and she kept the wards alive for us until she died." She pointed to Neville, "Her grandson then took the wards upon himself after that. I almost think him and the others who held our wards sacrificed the most out of all of us."
The group in her memory settled around a long transfigured table, some sitting and some standing, each pulling out a sheaf of parchments as she continued to explain what was happening about them, "This is about three weeks after the events of the forest. If I remember right, at this time we had 13 rotating safe houses active, and there were about 150 people working on a plan to save the world. That number of safe houses dwindled down along with the number of us alive. When I left, there were maybe two dozen of us left spread out over three safe houses."
She looked over the people that were gathered. They all looked so young to her. The war had aged them all far quicker than it should have and they changed drastically between injuries and stress in time they spent together. Her eyes got caught on Susan, who had already changed so much from the girl who started Hogwarts.
The last of the Bones' had cut her thin red hair off at her nape sometime during the year Hermione had been on the run, and while the young woman moved around the table in the memory Hermione could see how the last of the softness had melted off of the previously chubby girl. What was left was all sharp corners and hollowed cheeks, with eyes full of firm resolve.
She gestured to Susan as she spoke on her thoughts while the memory played out, "The Bones' name is telling in a way that few are. At the time we completed the ritual there were only three safe-houses left and they were the ones that could be guarded with Bones' family magic."
Hermione had a dim awareness of her eyes glassing over as she gave credit to one of the most important people of the resistance, "Susan went to her cottage this very night and worked old magic on her very bones. I never want to go against a Bones' that is willing to open their grimoire, because some of the magic in there turns my stomach to think about to this day. But that knowledge kept her cottage safe for the entire seven years at the sacrifice of her ability to leave it. The cottage became something between a sanctuary and a command central to us." She watched the Susan's movements knowing that the ritual she would soon preform would change her into someone completely different than girl who stood before them, "She wasn't the same after this night. No one who works that kind of magic comes out unscathed"
She thought about what it took for her to get to this point, the pain and sacrifice of not only lost lives, but lost innocence and freedom as well. "The last three years of preparation were touch and go with the Bones cottage as our only truly secure location, we were worried none of us would be left to complete the ritual, so we attempted to use the same magic to guard our other safe-houses. It was a brutal ritual, and one of the most closely guarded Bone's secrets. But Susan shared the information with anyone willing to attempt it. Only Neville and Andromeda were able to complete what the ritual took, and this cellar and the Black townhouse were added to the very short list of the other secure places we had." She looked at the people who had given so much for her to be here.
Fleamont's brow creased in a way that if she squinted, he could have been Harry's twin. "With so many of old families whittled down, how much family magic was shared with you?"
His words were almost accusatory, and understanding his meaning, Hermione hurried to reply, "Not as many as you would think, and none to the extent that I could usurp or interfere with any family claimants. Especially as I'm already sealed into the Dagworth-Granger magics. But thinking about it now, your family could have proved problematic." She saw the Potters both nodding and Hector looked at her questioningly.
She addressed her father, before he could ask his question. "What I mean is, Harry was the closest thing I had to a brother; and our magic recognized that. It was subtle; nothing more than being able to use each other's wands despite drastic incompatibilities. If I was not already sealed into the Dagworth-Granger line, I could see the Potter magic accepting me purely from familiarity."
She thought about all the other magics she knew and realized that the amount of family magic she knew was unusual for anyone, let alone a muggleborn. "The Weasley magics work well for me, but they don't recognize me as one of their own. The Bones and Longbottom Grimoires were open to me for years, but more in terms of knowledge rather than acceptance. Luna, being the last of the Lovegood's, shared what she could. But I only understand the wild magics on a shallow, academic level," Looking directly at Euphemia she continued, "And you well know there is nothing academic about any of the gifts your family holds."
Her thoughts turned to many of the spells she used on a regular basis, "I know more Black magic, than anything else, and knowing how close they hold their secrets, that may prove problematic. I spent years living in the Black Townhouse, which was the seat of the family after 1981. Andromeda Tonks spent weeks after this forcing the magic and the wards to submit to her. She was never properly disinherited from the main line, and her father taught all his daughters as much as he could. She actually used her grandson's blood to lock the wards, as Black blood is all too common in other families. She then taught all of us as many family secrets that she could." Hermione focused on Andromeda sitting at the table, rocking baby Teddy. Already there was a glint of madness in her eyes and her ashen hair was unwashed and wild, making her resemblance to her elder sister unnerving.
By the time Hermione had left, the madness that was all too common in the Black line had set in. The last few years they had together, Andromeda had taken to referring to Hermione as 'Her Little Star.' It was impossible for her to not secretly compare the woman to Miss. Haversham.
"I'm half convinced she taught us all she did almost purely out of spite. She lost her whole family to the war and was left with only baby as a reminder. She took us all on as family, and I won't know until I meet another Black, how much my connection to their magic will affect me."
She let her words trail off as they watched the conversation at the table turn serious, as those in Hermione's memory discussed the options that were open to them. They had clearly decided that the only feasible choice was to prevent what had already happened. It was a testament to how far gone the world was that this was even considered and accepted. The watchers remained silent as hours of memory passed before their eyes in moments.
The group in her memory went over their findings from the clearing; how Ginny's magic was still active within the circle, that in order for someone new to enter, blood was needed, that the space existed in the fourth plane. From there, the initial details of a ritual to send someone back in time were hammered out.
Hermione remembered the exact point where things went beyond her understanding and she watched her younger self put down the quill she had been writing with as her eyes darted back and forth between Professor Flitwick and Charlie Weasley gasped and paled at almost the same instant.
They listened to Charlie shush the brainstorming and take the lead with the realization that it would take an equitable balance in order to work a stable ritual. Flitwick took over the notes at that point, standing on his stool and using his wand to move parchments and papers around the table, clearly looking for something specific. As he found the diagram he was looking for, he began muttering to himself as he drew in the air with his wand. Bright lines and flashes of numbers and runes lit up the room before branding themselves on the ever unrolling scroll of parchment. Occasionally someone would lean over his shoulder and point out something and from there, things would disappear or change form. As the number of unintelligible runes grew, so did the agitation of the small professor. One by one people around the table stepped back as the level of magic reached beyond their knowledge. Charlie was the last one to back down after pointing at an area of pictographs that lead to Flitwick rearguing the images. He continued to wave his wand until with a flash, the magic still in the air branded itself to the end of an almost comedically long roll of parchment. The small professor sat heavily in the chair as the group pressed together to look over the finished document. Silence grew leaden as those who read it paled.
"Flitwick was the one that realized exactly what it would take to send someone back in time. You really don't want to know all the details but because the clearing technically existed outside of space and time; in a similar manner to what was left in Bermuda after the destruction of Atlantis; what we had to do was essentially a fission reaction in the fourth dimension. It took years of balancing sacrifices to build up enough power to actually use that space to catapult myself through time. The ritual was beyond dark, touching on Soul magic, bastardized Necromancy, Blood and Death Magics, the whole shebang. I am pretty sure that both Charlie Weasley and Flitwick have dabbled in Eldritch or Chaos magic, because they took more of the burden of planning that any of the rest of us, and after a certain point, they were the only ones that could work the equations. Madness took Charlie after the last unwilling sacrifice, and he begged us to kill him until we gave in." Looking at the memories of the people she had left behind it was hard not to remember how many of them had died. She cleared her throat and continued with her story.
"It was quickly put on either myself or our other Muggleborn, Dennis Creevey to go back. Eventually, between my being older than Dennis and my loose ties to Hector, I was recognized as the best choice. It was also decided who had to survive until the end. We settled that Hector, Luna, Flitwick, McGonagall, Ron, and Victor would be the final elements of the ritual. But Ron was killed three years before completion and his place was taken by his brother George. And when McGonagall had a heart attack just six weeks before the end, Dennis volunteered in her stead."
She left out the facts that Dennis had become a liability after the death of his brother, and that George would have taken his own life anyway. Without direction and order Denis would disappear for days and return with injuries that he couldn't remember receiving. George would simply go silent for weeks at a time focused on nothing but the work he had in front of him. Following those periods, he would then have a manic turn where he would talk for both himself and his dead twin, often to the memories of his deceased family. The fact that they took such great joy in sacrificing themselves to fuel her time-travel, was a sobering thought on the memories she had left of her friends.
The memory of the dim candlelit cellar faded from view to be replaced with a warm bedroom lit by midmorning sunlight. The windows were open and there was a gentle breeze blowing at the gauzy white curtains. It was a dreamy image; almost to the point of being fae. The room looked like it should be a quiet place for lovers to waste the day away in each other's company while the scent of sunshine and clean linen filtered in through the windows.
The serenity however, was marred with an image of herself; prone and nude. It could have been a coy position, if she were propped up on her elbows and looking over her shoulders. In fact it was one she had found quite useful to entice a lover back to this very bed.
In any other circumstance she would be appalled to have her father see her in such a state, even with the sheet draped over her lower body to preserve her modesty. But with the number of times she had been disrobed for medical procedures she had little concern left. It wasn't delicate sensibilities about her virtue that caused her enough discomfort to almost keep her from showing this memory; but it was knowing that the sight of what had been inflicted on her body would make everyone else uncomfortable.
She remembered the room smelling of blood, sweat and potions rather than anything so pleasant as breakfast in bed. The bedside table was covered in ointments, potions, and poultices and there were bandages both fresh and bloodied floating in the air around the bed.
She vacantly watched those with her stare agape at the broken body in the bed. She had sympathy for them. To hear that someone had been tortured, and to see the immediate aftermath were two different things. Her back and shoulders were shredded by whip marks and deliberate cuts spelling crude words and insults. They ranged from ragged and scabbed marks that seemed to be weeks old all the way to fresh slices that were still bleeding slowly. What could be seen of her thighs were in a similar state, and through the white sheet drew a clean line over her body, her skin did not bear that same privilege. She watched her own hands grip the wrought iron headboard with white knuckles as the clean bandages dove towards her. They wrapped up her back and circled around her ribs.
Euphemia and Hector kept silent as they watched a twitchy looking Susan Bones circle the bed, busying herself tying off the loose ends. The flighty looking woman waved her wand over a soiled bandage covering the back of her shoulder revealing an infected looking bite mark that had clearly been made by a human. Hector placed a gentle hand on that same shoulder, and all Hermione could think was how strange it was that one could feel physical sensations from others while sharing a pensive memory.
They continued watching until only Hermione's bruised face was uncovered by bandages. While Susan dabbed different ointments on the marks, Filius and Hector sat in the corner of the room talking quietly. When Susan nodded slightly, both men approached the bed and helped her turn her patient over onto her side. Filius fussed with some of the pillows while Hector helped clear away empty potion vials.
As Hermione watched herself get doctored, she felt the need to fill the silence and spoke up on the events that lead to this memory. "This is the aftermath of being held captive by death-eaters for just over two weeks." She thought back to that time, "I was on a supply run between Devon and Kent and it was a whole lot of bad luck that we sprung a trap and were surrounded. Arthur Weasley was killed in the initial fight and I was captured with Septima Vector and Ron. I was the only one that made it out.
"It was lucky that the next death-eater that was captured by our group knew where I was being held, and we were fortunate enough that the Dark Lord was out of the country consolidating his victory over Eastern Europe. And while the rescue mission was reckless and needless, it ended up being one of the most successful raids of the resistance. We gave thanks to Arthur, Ron, and Septima for giving up their lives and more than one person expressed that they were almost grateful for the deaths and torture. I would have torn my own people apart for the risk they took if it hadn't successfully lead to the deaths of 26 death-eaters with only two additional losses on our end. With Malfoy Manor cleared out and burned to the ground we took away a huge tactical advantage for the enemy and gained enough supplies to see us almost all the way through the next three years. And I couldn't be mad at our people when they managed to retrieve the only wand that has ever worked perfectly for me."
The memory Hermione sighed slightly as she settled, a slightly dazed expression on her face as she clung to the vinewood wand that memory Hector had just handed her. "It was on display in one of the parlours in the manor from the first time I had the pleasure of being a guest at that godforsaken shit-hole. I still have trouble believing that George recognized it years later."
Hermione made a note to visit Ollivander's at some point just to be certain that there would be no issues with a duplicate wand floating around in the past. It would open herself up to the risk of questions from the old man, but as she was unsure of when her wand had been crafted, and being that it's designs were unique enough to be recognizable it was a risk she had to take. She shook her head to keep her mind from wandering off track and to refocus herself on the story.
"I was almost feral when they got me out of there. I've heard stories of muggle soldiers who had been held for years and were still sane. But they only had me for two weeks, but from what I remember it felt like two decades and I was probably days away from loosing myself to insanity. One of the bastards must have known something about muggle torture methods because I was hardly allowed to sleep, and was only fed enough to keep me alive and conscious. After Septima killed two of the guards and then herself, they took more precautions with me. I was physically chained instead of magically bound and they broke my leg to keep me on the ground. The entire time I was awake, they were finding new ways to cause me pain. I wouldn't have been able to escape even if I was given an opportunity."
After she was the only one left, they went easy with the crucios, not wanting their toy to expire before they wished. After the number of times she had already been under the curse, she was lucky to get out with only mild nerve damage. She wondered again about the mechanics of a pensive, because even inside her own mind she could feel the numbness that sometimes crept down her left arm. She flexed her hand, even knowing it wouldn't bring back any feeling.
Euphemia was reaching out as she listen, as if she unconsciously wanted to comfort the broken girl on the bed. "When they got me back to the safehouse, I begged for them to remove my memories. It only took a few hours of describing everything that happened to me for Filius to give in and obliviate me. I only remember what I told him and what I watched of those memories he saved for me." She watched herself wince as Filius and Hector explained everything that happened within the resistance over the two weeks of her absence and what lead up to her being retrieved.
"Dissociating memories from the mind isn't the best way to deal with trauma, but I was needed and I couldn't be hampered by the weakness of emotional breakdowns, flashbacks or stress disorders. One day I might work to incorporate those memories back into my psyche, but right now, that is years down the road, and at after this much time I'm not sure what the point would be. Either way I won't be doing it until the day comes I never have to worry about war or killing again."
In the memory the door to the room opened and George Weasley and Minerva McGonagall entered. The former bearing a laden tea tray and a tear stained face and the later only a look of bone deep weariness and thick folder of parchment. Chairs were pulled around the bed and without any comment, the room went from hospital to boardroom with George going over the past month's casualties and inventory while Minerva got a shark-like smile on her face as she said that Lucius Malfoy was captured alive. She remembered how the only living Malfoy had crucioed Ron until his mind was gone and his heart gave out, and she remembered the vengeance that was visited on him for it.
She touched the angry looking scars on her wrists as she remembered the feeling of her chafed and torn skin wrapped in clean bandages. "I picked this memory to show you just where I am coming from when I say I will do anything to not have to go to war again." As the memory of herself faded away the mists around them reformed to show the last hours she had in the time she was born in. "And I picked this one to show you just what was sacrificed for us to get me here."
She wasn't sure what effect watching this memory would have on her now. At the time this memory had taken place, her mind had been singularly focused on her purpose. Her breakdown after her arrival in the past had been more from relief at the cumulation of years of hard work. But she had been avoiding thinking about how her friends and comrades had either killed themselves or ceased to exist with the destruction of her timeline.
It had only been a few days, but in those few days she felt like she had lived a whole new life. The wounds of the past were already starting to heal with the hope of success. And for the first time in her life there was the promise of a future that was only scarred by war, not killed by it.
As the barren clearing, surrounded by gnarled trees faded into view, her heart clenched in her chest. It was nearly unchanged from the time Ginny's magic had initially ripped apart the world around them. But now, that which was beyond the clearing wavered as if it were behind a thick pane of glass. There were bones scattered in haphazard piles in the middle of the clearing, rather than just around the perimeter, and they all had an almost imperceptible luminescence to them.
Gathered around those bones was a circle of witches and wizards centered around a ragged version of herself. Dressed in the clothes she wore when she arrived in the past, she was staring wide eyed into space as each of the people in the circle around her cut the tip of a finger and painted rune after rune on her face. Some were layered, like the norse symbols on her temples and the Naacal pictographs drawn on her chin and jaw, the blood of the entire group mingling as person after person traced over the mark. But some were made by individuals like the crossed 'Dagaz' smeared across her forehead by Hector.
The marks were a mix of ritual elements and her friends wishes for her life. When everyone stepped away, the observers could see that there was hardly and inch of skin on her face that wasn't red with drying blood. As the group spaced themselves out in a rough circle around the clearing, Flitwick began to chant as his wand twitched in an intricate pattern. The small man's whitened and sightless eyes were unerring fixed on the focal point of the ritual; Hermione herself. Soon, the others focused with an eerie intensity on her and their voices joined his as each member of the circle added to the swelling cacophony. The voices carried over one another until they were indistinguishable from each other. There seemed to be no pattern in the vocalizations, but Hermione knew that the chant was a mix of different languages, ranging from Manx to Ona, to Latin and Greek interspersed with ancient Egyptian. Words in Sumerian, Gobbledygook, and the guttural consonant heavy words drilled into their minds by Charlie Weasley and Flitwick himself closed off the circle's chant.
As the last syllables echoed in the darkness, a single voice lifted in the same haunting language. "F'goka n'gha ch'ya pha'hai'yar."
Hermione hardly recognized the sound of her own voice as she spoke the haunting language and watched herself turn in a circle as the words were repeated over and over. The people who surrounded her, broke the circle and one by one approached her and slid their wands into the handbag tied to her waist. The last person to do so was the frail and elderly version of Hector who had become as much a father to her before she left as he was now. The old man took one of her hands in his and pressed a kiss into her palm. As he walked away to join the reformed circle she felt tears start to roll down her cheeks, matching those that she cried in the memory.
As the echos of her chant cascaded over the clearing, a blue glow began to seep from the bones spread like water across the area. It trailed over the ground until it gathered at the feet of those surrounding her. As the mist touched each of them, knives were drawn from hidden sheaths. Dennis and George both had face splitting grins and they held their knives to their throats, eyes closed with the hope of seeing their families again. Victor's face held enough sorrow to almost break her heart once again. His eyes never looked away from her as his shaky hand lifted his small skinning knife to rest on his collarbone. Filius' eyes were sunken and milky with cataracts as his eyes never left hers. A wicked looking khanjar rested steadily on his shoulder and his face was a stoic mask as the cold brass touched the skin of his neck. Luna looked more like herself than she had in years as she tapped the flat of her father's sgian-dubh on her cheek. Her memory of Hector just twitched his lips in a small sad smile as his arthritic knuckles cracked as they whitened around the small paring knife that was normally used for his potion preparations.
Hermione braced herself as she remembered what was soon to happen. As the memory of herself reached a crescendo in her chant, the blue magic rose higher in the air and the tendrils of it wrapped around her. She remembered the way the magic felt. The warmth of it reminded her of summer at the Burrow, sitting against Ginny's legs while the younger girl tried in vain to braid her hair into some semblance of order. Those were happy days, where they talked about boys like normal girls, forgetting for those minutes all the horrors they had faced in their young lives. She remembered the feeling of peace and hope filling her, and knowing it was time, ended her chant abruptly. The moment her words stopped each person holding a knife drew it quickly across their own throats.
As her friends fell to their knees, blood pooled on the ground the mist faded to bright red as it seemed to absorb the blood as fast as it flowed. The coils of magic turned cold and wrapped tightly around her. She watched herself struggle against the bonds that were constricting the breath from her lungs as her friends died.
George was the first to stop moving, his neck cut almost halfway through, Dennis and Filius followed him to stillness soon after. She watched the moments stretch on like hours and as one by one her friends died in front of her. Victor was the last to bleed out onto the ashy ground and she watched his last breath leave his bloody lips. She remembered the magic tighten further and for a moment fear, panic and a desire to live take over. She watched herself gasp for breath until just when she thought she was going to die as well, the magic flared bright white, and the perspective of the scene shifted. Suddenly they were standing in the same clearing that Hermione had arrived in. They watched her collapse to her knees in grass, when with a whoosh they were pulled upward as the memory faded to mist.