A/N: Happy Friday the 13th During a Pandemic! Take care of yourselves and I hope you this offers some escapism from the chaos of the world right now.
The next chapter will be the last.
Trigger warnings: Implied violence/death
Hogwarts had changed, somehow. Hermione couldn't place exactly why, but rushing down the corridors felt… wrong. This was not the same castle that had nurtured her into adulthood. This was a battleground, the home of something a bit [LF1] more sinister than adolescence…
Her toe caught a groove in the stone; Narcissa caught her elbow before either of them went somersaulting down the staircase.
Her lungs throbbing, she tried to breathe regularly as she regained her footing and set off down the stairs—on her feet.
Split up! What is this going to do, Ron?!
The sound of activity forced her into a shadowy alcove. When no-one materialised, Hermione gasped for breath and contemplated pulling out all her hair.
"Perhaps we ought to Disillusion ourselves," whispered Narcissa beside her.
Of course. Hermione nodded without words and shakily brought her wand to the top of her head, shivering and frustrated as the charm melted across her body after two separate tries. Why didn't I think of that first? What's wrong with me today?
They took a mutual moment to inhale silence, then set off in the direction of the Entrance Hall. Why, they couldn't quite articulate, but it seemed like as good a place as any to figure out what was going on.
She didn't know where Ron had charged off to, sword in hand. To find other members of the reinstated D.A., or arriving Order members, or his family…?
The Order was on the way, but who knew how long it would be before they arrived? It was… early morning on a—a Tuesday? She honestly couldn't say, but surely the term couldn't have ended yet, it hadn't been that long.
For weeks she had watched Narcissa agonise over the fate of her only child, and now Hermione wanted to curl up in shame, for she had never spared a moment's thought for the students of Hogwarts today. In her head, the only others here were ready to fight back, had experience from Dumbledore's Army or their raid on the ministry—what about the younger ones who didn't know how to fight? Or didn't want to?
Oh, god.
I have to tell Harry—shit, where is he? He has to know that he can't take on Voldemort here! Not if there are young stu—
They turned a corner and the sound of a moderate-sized explosion ricocheted across the stones. The vibrations halted their steps and they held onto one another as they waited for another sound, or a tell-tale crumbling of sandstone…
A yelp directed her attention to a statue further down the corridor. Shrouded in shadow, it seemed unremarkable, but Hermione realised the significance of where they stood and, without a heartbeat's thought, stormed down the corridor, magically reappearing along the way.
She found a young student, perhaps second year, huddling behind the statue, barely managing to fit themselves between the pedestal and the wall.[LF2]
"What are you doing here?" She demanded, and the student flinched so violently when they saw her that it was a wonder they didn't hurt themselves.
"I'm sorry! I just wanted something from the kitchens! Before the carriages leave! I'm really sorry! Please don't tell anyone! Please! Not the Carrows!"
Hermione didn't recognise the child and she figured they couldn't have recognised her, or else their reaction would surely be different.
The castle shook again; they both looked to the ceiling, half expecting it to fall down.
"What's that?" asked the student quietly and with so much fear that Hermione's heart nearly broke clean in two.
The shimmer of air beside her fluctuated restlessly. Hermione heard more echoes of aggressive magic, and feeling utterly helpless, gave the student the most authoritative look she could manage. "Look, you have to go back to your common room as quickly as you can. Don't talk to anyone, just go. And tell all your housemates and any other students that they have to stay inside their dormitories unless their head of house comes with other instruction. It could be very dangerous otherwise. Do you understand?"
The student nodded, eyes wide and brimming with tears.
"Good. Now go, and remember to stay out of sight."
The student darted down the corridor, keeping to the shadows, and Hermione felt a gentle hand on her waist. A wand tapped her head and the cool shroud of invisibility dripped down her once again.
I should've Disillusioned them. An older student would've been able to undo it when they got back to their tower. Fuck!
"Come, we haven't any time at all."
Taking Narcissa's hand, Hermione nodded invisibly and noted that it didn't feel much different from when she could be seen.
The chaos outside the Entrance Hall was utterly mad. Hermione couldn't help it; she stopped for a second simply to stare and attempt to work out what was going on—professors darted back and forth, a Death Eater (one of the Carrows?) lay crumpled in an undignified heap. No-[LF3] one seemed to pay them any mind as they stepped around the body and carried on with their frantic business.
Someone bumped her shoulder.
"Remus!"
The werewolf stopped, searching the air with anxious eyes. "Hermione?"
"Ah-sorry. Finite incantatem! I'm here."
"Oh, good, you're here. Ron and Harry?"
"There here somewhere, too."
"Narcissa Malfoy?"
"Beside you, Lupin." Remus jumped and squinted at the human-shaped shimmer.
"Right, well, probably best you do stay invisible. Might be a distraction if the other side catches sight of you."
"They're here? In the castle?"
"We're not certain," Remus told them gravely. "There are Death Eaters outside, pushing through the wards. We won't be able to keep them out for long. We heard from Harry that our priority must be to defend the castle and kill the snake[LF4] , so that is what Minerva is organising to do."
"Professor McGonagall? She's here?"
Nodding, Remus told her, "She has taken over control of the Order's forces. As Deputy Headmistress, she knows the castle best. Or what it has become in the last year, I suppose. She's mobilising everything we've got."
"What about Snape—?"
"We don't know where he is. Bloody snake." Hermione opened her mouth to explain otherwise when another assault shook the castle. For a moment, everyone grew silent, then the energy redoubled as they worked to keep the enemy out for as long as they could manage.
"I have to go, Hermione. You two keep yourself safe and help where you can, alright?"
Hermione nodded dumbly as he clapped her shoulder in a show of solidarity before running off to do… something. Who knew? What on Earth could hope to keep evil at bay for long enough?
Fear crawled through her blood and she didn't like it at all, couldn't think straight anymore, not now that all the adrenaline wore thin.
Narcissa's hand found hers and for a moment they could only watch as the knights of Hogwarts marched by, armour clanging. I didn't know they could do that. Like wizarding chess pieces…
One by one they went, filing out the door, crushing the morning dew. Roars of hostile magic charged into the castle and raised gooseflesh on Hermione's arms.
Narcissa's hand clenched and suddenly Hermione found herself dragged aside and stuffed into a corner, wisely hidden by a pillar as the Narcissa melted back into view.
"What are you doing?" hissed Hermione, squirming as Narcissa tapped her crown with her wand; the shiver of magic unveiled a fierce glare.
"I have to talk to you."
"What for? We have to go help!"
"Hermione…"
And then she saw it, that look in those pale eyes that made her stomach plummet into the dungeons and her throat close in a horrible betrayal of emotion.
"No."
"I can't fight here."
"You fought with us before!"
"Draco is out there, being ordered to do Merlin knows what—"
"He can take care of himself!"
"But he can't, and you know this! He's not like you—fear does not do him any favours. He is thoughtless and impulsive at the best of times. When he is desperate, he is rash and foolish. He needs protection from himself."
"And I don't?" A stupid thing to say, and the way she spat it was so very cruel, but Hermione couldn't help it, couldn't stand to feel Narcissa slipping away like this—
"You are a warrior, darling. You will be perfectly fine." Narcissa's hands came to rest on Hermione's waist, then one on her arm, her shoulder, her neck, her cheek… "I cannot fight this battle with you. For one, my appearance would be too distracting to people on both sides. And I would not be able to truly attack for fear of unknowingly hurting my son."
"But—"
"I will come find you when all this is over, I promise."
How?! What if it isn't over and we all go back into hiding and you're out—out there, somewhere, and have no idea how to contact me or find any of us—then I'll be without you and you'll probably be dead!
And that was the most unbearable thought in the world.
"Please," Hermione whispered, filling the small space between them with all her desperation, "Please, don't go!"
"He is my son!"
"I know! And you're my—my… Look, I've no idea what you are, but I wouldn't be here, alive, without you, and we wouldn't even have a chance of winning this without you! Please! You saved my life, but I don't want to live it without you either!"
Oh, god!
The space around them, between them, all of it became a vacuum, hiding them away from the rest of the world as they breathed and stared at one another. Hermione didn't know where those words had come from but didn't particularly feel like taking them back, either. They were startlingly true, even if she hadn't known it until she heard them herself.
Narcissa's hands, clammy and shaking that they were, came up to hold Hermione's jaw as she pressed their foreheads together. Hermione's head emptied of everything that was not the sound of the woman's ragged breathing, the feeling of her skin, the smell of her hair, and she couldn't help the way her brain ferociously catalogued every detail as though this were its last opportunity.
"Don't…" Hermione couldn't help it; her eyes slid closed as their breaths mingled. "Don't for a second think that I don't feel the same, you understand?" Hermione nodded, but it didn't matter—not when her face was contorting itself into something horrible to try and keep the sobs away. Narcissa's thumbs shakily traced her cheekbones. "I'll come back to you; I swear it…"
You don't know that, and you're too bloody pragmatic to make a promise you can't keep!
"Truthfully, I don't think there are many other places I'd rather be…"
That's more like it, thought Hermione with near-hysteria. What was the point in analysing anything anymore? We're all about to die and though you admit my company is nice, you'd still rather be in Greece!
But none of it mattered, not really, and she knew it. The world was ending and all that was truly left now was just the two of them, huddled in a corner, waiting for everything to come literally crashing down. But instead of finding clarity or blissful nothingness, Hermione's brain accelerated out of control, so full of everything.
All the ways this could end.
The feel of Narcissa's body, barely close enough for their hips to brush.
The sounds of spells, protective and otherwise, readying the castle for the onslaught of whatever it was that waited outside.
Whatever Narcissa was about to fling herself into.
Please…
Narcissa herself, all warmth and trembling and fear and still somehow resolute beneath all that. Hermione's hands found her shoulders, her collarbone—anything she could hold onto, maybe to make her stay, maybe so that Hermione could leave, too.
She wasn't quite crying—neither of them was. The brushing of their noses made Hermione gasp and she wondered if she could inhale enough of this woman to keep her safe.
She would have gladly breathed her in forever, and maybe that's why the brushing of their lips made her jump hungrily, brought her even closer by shoulders, jaw, neck—
It felt like a culmination of everything she'd ever felt and somehow utterly unremarkable. And in a moment of absurdity, she thought quite clearly that this was inevitable from the moment they'd first reached for one another in fear.
Narcissa's fingers wrapped tightly in Hermione's hair while her lips moved, trembling, against Hermione's own. Too much emotion hung heavily around them for their kisses to be anything but quivering and messy-Hermione didn't care.
Until it stopped.
Narcissa's lips vanished, now too many throbbing inches away. Hermione heard her laugh—as though she'd astonished herself. Trembling thumbs rubbed Hermione's cheekbones and her skin seared from the touches alongside memories of her lips, memories so vibrant she could almost delude herself into believing they were the present.
She opened her eyes just in time to see Narcissa pull away, an unfathomable look in her eyes as she melted back into the air and the ghostly shimmer of her body slipped out the door.
Hermione couldn't tell if she still breathed. She supposed she must, though reality had taken on a new colour she couldn't quite understand. Truly, very little made sense anymore and maybe that was why she didn't bother to Disillusion herself as she wandered into the Great Hall. Her wand probably couldn't be persuaded to do the job again, anyway.
The warmth of Narcissa's mouth still hovered about her lips; she licked them absently.
Narcissa was gone now. Hermione did not think she would return. Honestly, no part of this war had gone remotely as anticipated (who knew what Snape so desperately needed to tell Harry? Alone? God, that sounded more and more suspect… why had she and Ron let him run off?) but she saw quite clearly now that there were some things she simply did not know.[LF5] And that was fine.
For several minutes, Hermione watched as the Order fortified Hogwarts from the inside out. She walked past McGonagall in a corner of the great hall, furiously ordering students to barricade themselves in their dormitories while a particularly resolute sixth-year Hufflepuff insisted on staying for the fight.
Ron stood alongside his mother, casting charms with more focus than she'd ever seen from him. The Sword of Gryffindor hung from his hand and Hermione thought it looked like an extension of his skeleton, as much a part of him as any other limb.
She didn't join them but continued on with her quiet circuit of the room, occasionally assisting with small tasks when instructed. She wondered what they waited for—penetration by enemy forces? Or would this culminate in an offensive strike?
She couldn't tell. And it all felt so inconsequential she wasn't totally sure it mattered, either.
Or she thought it didn't, until that voice slithered into her head and coiled its way around her heart until she couldn't breathe.
"Well done… but I am afraid you are too late… I am ordering my Death Eaters to cease their fire… there is no need for fighting… Harry Potter is dead."
Voldemort kept talking, something about Snape lowering the wards, but the meaning of the rest of his words was swallowed by the exhaustive emptiness which filled the castle. Yells and sobs; looks of betrayed confusion…
Hermione didn't believe it. Impossible! Harry could not be—not here. He was the one who always made it, inexplicably, through the most mad situations and—
Someone's arms wrapped around her waist. She thought it might be a Weasley—Arthur, maybe. It felt paternal and protective, dragging her away from her rooted spot by the door. She stumbled, but followed as instructed, all the while wondering why she was being moved and what these voices around her were trying to say, if they were speaking to her at all.
Where was Narcissa? Would she come back now? If the fighting had stopped, then no-one would be hurt anymore.
Something bubbled and stirred near her liver[LF6] . Ready to rise up and pounce on—on something. Whichever thing prodded her first. She felt it twitch with every movement, every word someone murmured, strategizing in case this wasn't some bizarre mistake…
Hermione found herself pressed against a wall and people and she had the absurd image of a crowd of penguins huddling for warmth, except all the bodies around her were tense with magic and readiness for defence—or offence. Hermione didn't know which one to copy, so she listened to the little fire brewing hotter in her viscera and waited for provocation.
Footsteps, uneven ones, sounded on stone steps, and the Great Hall immediately quieted to a silent roar.
Her wand felt cold and slippery in her hand and she wondered if the thing was actually trying to escape her grasp. A begrudging ally, that stick of wood, if it could be called an ally at all. She'd never really persuaded it to work with her magic.
The energy in the hall shifted into something else—something more primal, maybe. Too many people with taller heads than hers stood in the way; she couldn't see! Except for some worn trainers hovering in the air, attached to something long and slender, with a chaotic mop of black at the other end…
Someone shouted. It fractured halfway through the sound, and Hermione thought her soul might be doing the same thing. People spoke, voices cold and gleeful, others hot and desperate. She saw Snape, standing stoic. The shadows beneath his eyes had grown deeper and darker, Hermione noticed. She thought he might be trying to hide behind his hair. She'd done it so many times; she knew the signs.
She leaned against the wall at her back, waiting for the tide to charge so she could give herself over to the masses. Her wand shook in her hand. That hadn't happened since she was a first-year, unable to reign in her frustration. Now she thought the wand itself might be angry at her. Could that happen?
Voices carried on, more of them now; empty pockets in the Great Hall slowly filled in with figures in black robes. Hermione searched for locks of blonde but found none. Where was—?
A horrible sound, like the puncturing of slick leather—the preparing of wet [LF7] [FZ8] potions ingredients, suffocating on the cauldron's fumes—the malevolent slithering of the basilisk's hide on the ground as it pursued her—
The soundscape changed: Silence, then an uproar that filled Hermione's ears to the brim.
"Merlin!"
"It's dead! His snake! Fucking dead!"
"Pinned to the ground by its own tooth!"
"Are you kidding? That came from something far bigger."
"Who did that? Did you see?"
"I swear, it came out of the air itself!"
"Ruined his day, that's for sure."
And then the tension finally gave way into kinetic motion, a wave of fury pulling her forward into the fray as horrible screams of anguish turned into battle cries and the air which before had been so frigid came alight with magic. Spells flew about her as she whirled, wand shakily aimed at nothing in particular, trying to work out whose side she faced—
Colours, crashes, wails, grunts, bodies and curses brushing against her form all sides—
She gasped. She tried, really, to aim at an enemy and cast the spell—any spell. But they came at her from every dimension and she couldn't even find it in herself to be surprised when a rush of magic wrapped around her chest, buckling her knees.
She'd given in before she hit the ground.
P.S Everything in my life is cancelled through mid-April at the earliest. So come talk to me on tumblr! I'll write requests or we can just scream, whatever feels right.
