Hello everyone! Welcome to my first ever fanfic!

I thought I'd introduce myself and talk about the story a bit. I'm Sapphicfeels, a college student who's been writing for years and is now finally giving fanfiction a go after a long time of planning this story out.

This chapter is mostly a setup, just to explore characterizations and Hermione's mental and emotional state shortly after the battle. It will get much, much more exciting as time goes on (with a time-skip too! Oooh, aren't those fun).

So...yeah! I don't think I have much to say after that. I'll try my best to upload at least once or twice a week, and if you read my story I would very much appreciate it if you gave it a lil review! It doesn't matter if you liked it or not, all comments are welcome! (Don't worry, I can take it).

Thank you, and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, don't own Harry Potter.


The scalding heat of the fire on her back assaulted her senses as they ran from the explosion. The flames barely grazing them before they took cover behind one of the few walls that had managed to maintain mostly intact during the battle. Adrenaline coursed through Hermione's veins as her overactive brain worked tirelessly to process their dire situation. Taking a second to look around the room as she caught her breath, the young witch deduced they had entered the Great Hall, what was left of it at least. Only the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables were left standing, while the Gryffindor table was in shatters and Hufflepuff was nowhere to be found. All the windows were broken, adding no relief to the suffocating ambiance of the war within the walls. There was little space to move, with bodies and debris littering the floors along with the sheer amount of people running through the room. Different colored spells flew through the air, some bouncing against the walls while others contributed to the castle's destruction. The robed figures moved with such speed, Hermione could barely make out the faces of the students and teachers dueling the Death Eaters. There was, however, a figure that stood out more than anyone else in the room.

Lord Voldemort. Elegantly fighting some of the most talented and brilliant Professors Hermione knew like they were nothing more than bothersome pests. She knew, were he to win against the Hogwarts staff, she and Ron would be an easy target for him. The joy he would find out of murdering his enemy's friends in cold blood; in the place where they held so many fond memories from their Hogwarts years as he watched in horror, she could only imagine. Quickly taking hold of Ron's wrist, Hermione quickly moved to the nearest cover they could find (some of what was left of the Gryffindor table), as the wizard sent jinxes and hexes in the direction of one of the masked Death Eaters.

"I saw him!" she exclaimed, Ron's back facing her as he sent a knockback jinx at the Death Eater he'd been dueling. The redhead turned around, panicked and panting. His skin was covered in sweat, blood, and blush - giving it a red tint that perfectly matched his hair. He kept a sturdy hold on his wand with his right hand, while his left reached for Hermione's hand and tightened around it. Judging by his lack of reaction, and partly opened mouth, the witch figured he didn't understand what she meant.

"Voldemort!" she cried. It felt good saying the name again, now that she didn't have to worry about being found by the man in question, "I saw Lord Voldemort! Dueling McGonagall, Slughorn, and Shacklebolt! He's here!"

"Did you see Harry?" he asked, peeking his own head out from the side of their wooden cover. The pair had been separated from the Boy-Who-Lived after fighting had broken once more in the courtyard, but both presumed he was fighting his nemesis. If Voldemort was there, then it meant Harry had to be around as well. Hermione, rather than follow Ron's example, used her wand to perform a simple cutting spell on the wood. Delicately tracing the wand against their cover as she made a hole big enough for her to look through, while not being exposed to any attacks. She noticed, to her dismay, Harry was nowhere to be found. Nowhere near Voldemort anyway. It was unlike her friend to run from a fight - especially a fight that could mean the death of his parent's murderer and greatest enemy. Was he hurt? Dead?

Worse?

Her worries for her friends only became stronger when she caught a glimpse of light blonde hair, leading her to the bloodied figure of Luna Lovegood fighting off a smirking Death Eater. Judging by the man's proud, almost mocking demeanor, and Luna's tired stance, the Ravenclaw girl was in danger of losing the duel.

"No signs of Harry," Hermione commented.

"I know," Ron replied, followed by a short pause as he seemed to consider something. " I saw Parvati fighting Rowle. Didn't look good."

"I saw Luna."

The two remained silent. Simply staring at each other and holding hands. There was no need to speak, for they both knew what the other was thinking. Neither of them could stand by, hidden by the relative safety of their cover, as their mates faced certain death without their help. They knew, no matter what, they had to go to their aid. Even if it would mean their end at the hands of an angered Voldemort.

"Ron-"

She was caught off by Ron's weight falling on her. For a moment, she feared he was going to kiss her again, a repeat of the desperate embrace they shared in the midst of the chaos. But her fears were soon forgotten as his arms tightened around her in a hug, one Hermione returned immediately. She pressed her body against his, her eyes alert and hand not losing the grip on her wand as she checked over her friend's shoulder for any sign of danger. The hug, while quick, certainly didn't lack in feeling. With both painfully aware it could very well be the last hug they would ever share.

They soon parted ways, neither of them turning back as they rushed towards their target. Hermione, running as quickly as her tired legs would allow, leaped over bodies and avoided the angry jets of spells flying her way. Miraculously reaching Luna's side in time to raise a shielding spell as the Death Eater sent a hex their way.

"Oh! Hello, Hermione Granger," said the girl in her usual soft tone. Hermione, offering no reply, continued to send spell after spell against the Death Eater, who seemed less threatening now that he was battling the two witches. It took no time for the man to fall under one of the brunette's spells - a simple petrificus totalus that left him paralyzed (saved for his eyes, which narrowed in anger) on the wooden floor.

"Thank you. It's quite unfortunate we had to meet in these circumstances. I- look out!" Hermione turned, alarmed by the girl's warning, quickly enough to deflect the curse coming her way.

She noticed, much to her great dismay, they had attracted the attention of two Death Eaters. The two pairs began to duel, spells wildly blasting from the dark wizards' wands, a clear contrast between the student's more meticulous and thought-out approach. Hermione, always one to think before acting, found a more strategic approach better when it came to dueling. But keeping up with the crazed tempo of her opponent was starting to tire her. Hermione quickly moved for a more protective approach, casting shielding spells to stop the rapid pace of the Death Eater, but the constant assault on the shields caused them to deteriorate, and eventually fall through. Volts of lightning coursed through the air, striking Hermione's shoulders and grazing her cheek, fortunately missing any vital parts but making her drop her wand due to the impact. Luna stood on the corner of her vision, still fending off against her foe as her mouth moved to form the words "Hermione," at least from what she could deduce given the piercing ringing in her ears.

Quickly, still dazzled from the spell, Hermione ducked to avoid the next array of spells. Which never came. Instead, Hermione looked up to see the older wizards desperately raising their feet to avoid the significantly larger explosions of the colorful wizard crackers. She could see Ginny Weasley with a proud grin, holding a bag with the words "Weasley Wizard Wheezes" displayed on the front in one hand, and her wand in the other. Taking the distraction as a chance, Luna rendered one of the wizards unconscious, while Ginny levitated the other by the ankles and sent him flying to the other side of the Great Hall.

"You guys okay?" asked the redhead, reaching her hand down to help Hermione to her feet. The ringing in Hermione's ears now gone for good.

"Well, no, not particularly" replied the blonde girl. "There is a war going on."

"You know what I- oh, never mind" somehow keeping her patience with Luna and her odd remarks seemed to be more tiring for the girl than the battle.

"We're not wounded, not gravely at least," despite her oozing cuts, bruises littering her body, and the ache from the curses that managed to reach her, Hermione still considered herself as one of the lucky ones. It was hard not to, with the images of the gruesome wounds she'd seen on her fellow Hogwartians still fresh in her memories.

Safety, it was an odd thing to think of whilst in a battle of such magnitude. Yet it was the only word that came to Hermione's mind as she watched Luna start fussing over Ginny's visible wounds. Their group was small, yet powerful. Ready to take on any adversary in the name of their friends. Now, close to her friends, watching as the number of Death Eaters active in combat diminished - some incapacitated by students and faculty, others retreating from battle, the slightest bits of hope crept into Hermione's heart.

"Aww, Isn't this just lovely? I sure hope I'm not ruining the tea party!" came a familiar voice from behind the girls. Mocking in a childish high-pitched tone, Hermione didn't need to turn around for her blood to turn cold. Short breaths, trembling hands, her heart beating so fast she feared it would escape from the confines of her chest.

It was the voice of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Ginny and Luna wasted no time facing the woman, pointing their wands in the dark witch's direction. Hermione stood still, unwilling to face the woman and unable to move from the danger. Her feet pulsing, eager to pull her away from the danger. Distant from the torturous despair of the war, where her problems revolved around her friends and schoolwork. Yet, as much as her heart yearned for a way out. Her body would not see to it. She knew, deep down, she couldn't live with herself if she turned her back on her friends. No matter what. The degrading scar on her forearm pulsed, almost as if aware of its maker's proximity. As images of Malfoy manor flashed before her eyes, Hermione wiped the tears clouding her vision and turned to face Voldemort's most trusted lieutenant.

"It's over, Lestrange!" cried Ginny. Resulting in a cold, wicked laugh from Bellatrix.

"Big words, for such a small little witch," her eyes raked over the younger girls, "joined by the lunatic," (had it not been for the lump in her throat, she would've commented on the irony of Bellatrix's comment), "and their mudblood puppet, back for another scar. The Dark Lord's best warrior, against mere schoolgirls. What makes you think you could win against me?"

"We've got each other!" that was Luna, her eyes narrowing in a way Hermione never could've imagined in the girl.

"You've got each other. You've got each other!" the older witch howled, her demented laughter roared through the destroyed Great Hall. Almost as loud as the sounds of the battle itself. With only a few remaining Death Eaters, most were left to tend to the wounded or watch the duels; Bellatrix's haunting laughter became a quick magnet to those able to be spectators. "Oh, am I going to have fun with you. Tell me, Weasley, would mummy prefer a Longbottom-crazy daughter? Or a dead one? You know, to add to the collection-"

The witch was cut off by a spell grazing her cheek, too small and weak to signify real danger, without losing its effectiveness. Hermione, still mute and with shaking hands, stared back at the witch. The threat was clear. She was done with her cruel taunts and sick humor. This ended now.

So be it.

There was no more talking. Bellatrix retaliated Hermione's spell with a curse easily blocked by Luna. The three stood next to each other, their spellwork merging into an elaborate number. Ginny, opting for quick and direct spells, used her force to distract the witch with a constant array of light straight to her chest. Luna, her hand firm and her movements delicate, sent slower and less destructive spells that curved to the sides and targeted the enemy's legs, arms, and hips. While Hermione, centered between the two younger girls, raised strong protective charms around her friends, shielding them from the incoming danger.

Bellatrix, Hermione noted, had a technique of her own. The madwoman proved incredibly agile, with her aggressive and swift movements rivaling the girl's nimble spells. Her arm moved along with her hand, exaggerating each wand movement as she cast curses filled with the grandeur and aggressiveness her swinging arm promised. Despite the battle not being won, her free hand rose above her head triumphantly, a dueling pose the girl considered a hazard until Bellatrix turned on the spot, moving to the side to avoid a particularly nasty jinx from Ginny. She threw her wand in the air, catching it with the previously raised hand to continue her array of spells. The woman wasn't simply dueling, she was dancing - and had entwined the girls in the deadly choreography.

It wasn't until Bellatrix's killing curse broke through Hermione's walls and brushed past Ginny's red hair that a new adversary rose from the crowd.

"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!" roared Molly Weasley, who pushed the girls apart to face the smiling witch. Hermione knew Molly wouldn't accept any sort of assistance, nor did she need it. Had she never met the Weasley matriarch, she would've sworn her to be another Death Eater. The darkness in her once warm and joyful eyes shone through the layers of blood (both her and her children's) and grime covering her pale face. The aggressiveness and bloodlust in her spells matched Bellatrix's, who finally seemed to recognize the danger she was in despite her cruel taunts at the grieving mother.

"You - will - never - touch - our - children - again!" Molly screamed, her vengeful words resonating in the chaos of the duel before she sent a final curse Bellatrix's way. The burgundy light penetrating Bellatrix's chest, right above her heart, and the dark witch fell backwards with a pained yell. Her power vanquished, the witch defeated.

And her master screamed.


"Miss Granger, do drink your tea before it turns cold," came the stern voice of Headmistress McGonagall. The young girl, shaken from her memories, looked down to see a warm mug of chamomile tea steaming on the table in front of her. She didn't raise her eyes from the drink to face the professor, nor did she make any effort to bring it closer to her lips. The sun shone through the gray clouds, signaling the new day that greeted the destroyed castle in the aftermath of the long battle. Survivors, old and young, wandered the halls and the few places that remained standing. Some still celebrating their victory, others searching for loved ones they lost sight of during the battle, others healing or helping others heal, and others grieving for the people they lost. Hermione, feeling oddly reminiscent of the lonely start of her first year before befriending Harry and Ron, didn't know where to place herself.

She'd celebrated Voldemort's downfall - rushing to hug Harry after the monster had fallen to his backfired killing curse. Then, she had let Madam Pomfrey tend to her wounds, and she had helped her fellow survivors look for the people they'd lost. That was until she'd taken the father and mother of a Hufflepuff 6th year to their son's body, which had proven too much to her. Now sitting in the Great Hall, where people regained themselves with the food and drinks the house-elves rushed to prepare, the Gryffindor was finally allowing herself the much-needed reflection she needed after what was most certainly the worst night of her life. The war, to put it lightly, simply didn't seem over. It couldn't be over so quickly, not after all the years of suffering it had caused. Even with Voldemort gone, she half-expected to be hit with a killing curse at any moment.

"Miss Granger. The tea." McGonagall repeated, pursing her thin lips as she moved to sit next to her student. The Great Hall, or what was left of it, had quickly become a temporary waiting space for the few who had yet to leave the battlegrounds. The Hogwarts staff, after removing the bodies from the room, had restored the tables to their original position, but it would take much longer for the walls to be rebuilt, and even longer for the memory of the battle that took place in the dining hall to vanish. Regardless, the Headmistress was determined to make sure her students felt as safe and comfortable as they could be . An effort that began with the brightest witch of her age.

"I'm fine, really. Give it to someone else," Hermione replied softly, her fingers stubbornly picking at her bandages against the advice of the healers.

"Miss Granger, I'm certain you and I both know you have never been a particularly talented liar." The older woman's eyebrows furrowed in her concern for the girl. "You know how the elves would feel if they found you didn't even touch the tea they made specifically for you."

That seemed to break through the girl, as she slowly raised the cup to her lips and took a small sip. Muttering a small "I'm sorry," in the process. "I'm not trying to be mean, Prof- Headmistress. It's just- well, the past few hours have been so horrible; it's hard to feel normal again."

"There's no need to apologize, Miss Granger. I understand," Hermione, for the first time raising her eyes, noticed wisdom in the older woman's words that reminded her of the late Professor Dumbledore. "Do you remember one of the first lessons I gave you? That day when Mister Weasley accidentally turned his hand purple because he was moving his wand too quickly?"

"`Quick hands and empty brain make good dragon bait?´" Her tone was far too naíve for McGonagall to believe that was all she remembered. But, given the situation, she decided to humor her former student.

"No. Patience and hard work are the keys to mastery. You cannot expect things to go back to the way they were so quickly after the war, no matter how much we wish for it to be true."

"So I should just wait? For things to go back to normal? What if the Death Eaters come again? What if-"

"What we must work on," interrupted the Headmistress, promptly silencing the young witch, "is for that not to happen. As we build a new future, we must learn from history and work from it. Work to keep another Voldemort from rising, and to erase his influence from the world. But understand that these changes will take time. And you should know better than anyone else, it does not do well to dwell on time, while we could do something far more productive with it."

It was odd, thinking about the future. Gone were the days when she would fantasize about herself as an adult, holding a position of power or even as a Professor in Hogwarts. Since the return of You-Know-Who, with the constant threat of being found and losing the war hovering over their heads, Hermione had long left those daydreams behind. Instead focusing on winning the war and living to tell the tale. At the time, it'd seemed silly to think about a future that she would most likely not have been able to see. But she had survived. Against all odds. And now, with her parents gone and the Wizarding World entering a new post-war era, she (for the first time) found herself without a plan.

"Know you'll always be welcomed at Hogwarts, should you wish to finish your education," McGonagall said, taking her silence as a sign of her doubts. "I'm sure the structure should be repaired by - Mr. Potter! Out of the infirmary, again?"

She turned, a slight smile replacing her previous sorrowful expression as she took in her disheveled best friend. His clothes were torn, his face still bloody, and his glasses had a small crack, but it didn't matter. He was there. Still alive and well, and that was all she cared about. He walked up to the two women, with hands sheepishly hidden inside his pockets as if he hadn't just saved the Wizarding World. While his presence did call for some attention, everyone was far too preoccupied with their own problems to care about the famous Boy-Who-Lived (twice, amazingly enough).

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I'm healed!" Harry ran his hands through his messier-than-usual hair with a sheepish smile, which faded quickly. "And there's work to do."

"What work?" replied Hermione. McGonagall, while she remained silent, arched her brow in question. Harry looked around to make sure no one would listen in and then replied, quietly, "they need someone to move the bodies."

"Oh," both were stunned - clearly not expecting such a grim task. Hermione didn't exactly fancy being around more dead bodies, no matter how much she wanted to spend time with her friend. "Can't anyone else do it? We cannot be the only people available...not to mention we're not exactly qualified."

"I asked. Aurors and the Order are chasing after the remaining Death Eaters, Hogwarts staff are with students and families, house-elves are cleaning up rubble," Harry replied, "They've all been moved to the courtyard, all we have to do is identify the bodies and line them up and cover them. I just thought, with our experience, we're probably the best candidates."

Hermione turned to look at McGonagall, almost as if she were asking for her permission. Truthfully, she would've much rather stayed in the Great Hall wallowing in her misery before she had to start planning funerals, but Harry looked determined. With a task as unpleasant as that - she certainly wasn't about to leave her friend to do all the hard work on his own. Still, some reassurance from her favorite professor (who looked unimpressed, at best) would've helped. "Just hope Madam Pomfrey doesn't find you wandering around the castle, . You may have survived him, but I doubt you'll be as lucky with her." The older witch said as she stood from her seat. "I meant it, Miss Granger. Hogwarts will always be open to you."

With that, the two friends were off. Engaging in awkward small talk as they passed through the remains of the castle. Once they arrived, they found the bodies already set in an unorganized pile, waiting to be laid out on the pre-market ground. Next to them with his back turned to the approaching wizards and holding a piece of parchment, stood none other than Draco Malfoy. Hermione instinctively grabbed onto Harry's arm, expecting he would pounce on the Slytherin (though she had the same urges, and had given him a fair share of slaps in the past). Upon hearing footsteps, Draco turned and quickly changed his empty and pensive expression to his signature sneer. "You're not Aurors," he commented dryly.

"You don't say," replied Harry sarcastically, "and here I thought I'd been promoted already. You'd think killing Voldemort," he paused for a second, Malfoy's subtle flinch almost going unnoticed by Hermione, "would be enough."

"Shouldn't you be off? With your family or, better yet, on a boat?"

"We defected if you weren't aware," countered Draco. Hermione was aware. She knew of what the Malfoys (mostly Narcissa) had done during the last minutes of the battle. Still, she didn't trust him. Couldn't trust him. Not after everything they'd gone through. "Father's being questioned and mother's having a fit, so I figured my knowledge would be of better use here."

"Like hell-" Hermione, despite her urge to let the confrontation turn physical, tightened her hold on Harry. There was no need for more violence. All she wanted was to get the task done and forget about the war altogether, at least for a day. "We can identify them ourselves," she said.

Malfoy chuckled. He took his quill from one of the pockets in his dirty robes and pointed at one of the Death Eaters in the pile. He was missing an ear and part of his nose, but he was still identifiable. At least, he would be, if either Harry or Hermione knew who he was. "Gwydson Bagston. Insignificant, quite useless but still prestigious enough to be invited to balls and meetings. He had a family, who I assume will want to claim the body and hold a proper burial rather than leave it to rot in a common grave. That means he goes to that side," the feathered part of his quill pointed at the empty space next to him, "so he and his identification papers will be ready before we contact the family. Thus saving the Ministry any further complaints and the family from going through even more pain. But I'm sure high and mighty Potter would've been able to do that on his own. Right, Potter?"

The "high and mighty" boy in question clenched his fist in anger, and Hermione's nose narrowed as her hand lost the grip on Harry's shirt. The Boy-Who-Lived took a step forward, and Hermione braced herself for the incoming fight - but it never came. Both Hermione and Draco stared in stupefaction as the person they'd known - especially for his impulsive tendencies, simply walked closer to the pile of bodies and started levitating Bagston's body. It was unlike Harry to give up so easily, even when he knew he'd been beaten. And while Hermione hadn't been especially eager to start another fight with Malfoy, her friend's attitude only made the ever-lasting knot in her throat heavier. He'd changed. Perhaps for the better - but for all the wrong reasons.

An hour later, and the trio found themselves nearly done with their work. The three had worked tirelessly, hurried yet careful in their fear of making a mistake and having to deal with the consequences. While Draco identified the bodies, Hermione wrote down the information and placed the card on top of the body, which Harry levitated and placed in the line. Some, she was able to recognize. Death Eaters like Yaxley, the Carrow siblings, and of course, Voldemort himself - nothing was said, but all three of them bashed in the undiscussed pleasure of knowing that Lord Voldemort, he who saw himself as a superior being whose power was great enough to defeat death itself, would be buried in a shallow grave. Most, as Draco explained, were low-ranking Death Eaters. Hoping to gain political power by siding with the Dark Lord in the final battle. They were discarded with ease, with the exception of those Draco seemed to mourn in silence (Hermione noticed Draco's unwillingness to look at those bodies more than he had to, and could've sworn she could see his eyes watering when a younger Death Eater was moved, but chose not to comment).

Malfoy was the first to break the silence after the final body had been identified and placed in the appropriate pile. "Where's the next pile?" He asked, in a tone that made it seem like he was talking about nothing but homework, not the bodies of the people he once worked with. It disturbed Hermione to no end. Malfoy was a git, but no git deserved to go through what the Death Eaters had probably done to him.

"There isn't one. The rest either ran or turned themselves in. You're free to head home and take a nice vacation, I hear Azkaban's lovely this time of year." Despite the seriousness of the situation, Hermione couldn't help the giggle that left her lips at Harry's remarks. Malfoy, however, was not amused. Odd, he was never one to back down from a fight against his arch-enemy.

"Don't be stupid, Potter. This can't be the last pile."

"And why is that?" As Harry spoke, Hermione's eyes ranked over the corpses once more (she had been avoiding looking at them more than she had to), stopping as they fell on Voldemort. Rather pathetically laying amongst his least-trusted soldiers. As opposed to how she'd originally thought he would've looked like in death. Either alone in the fanciest coffin blood supremacists could buy, or laying next to the woman he'd always kept at his right side. A woman whose body she hadn't seen since the battle.

Bloody hell.

"She's not here!" Hermione piped up, much to Harry's confusion and Malfoy's agreement. "Bellatrix, Harry! She's not here!"

It made no sense. She'd seen her die. She'd been there when Molly had dealt the curse that had taken her life. She'd celebrated her demise. She'd watched as others spat on her corpse (only stopping herself from doing so because it was gross and she didn't want to spit on anyone who looked like Andromeda). It couldn't be. How could she have escaped? How could she have been so stupid to let her flee? Of course, Bellatrix Lestrange, out of all people, would've found a way to cheat death the way her master had. She should've been there, guarding her body, instead of wasting her time with celebrations and tea with McGonagall. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid!'

"Right. I'll tell McGonagall that Lestrange's escaped, I'm sure they'll make her the prime target. That is, of course, if the old bat doesn't go after her herself."

"And let you go alone so you can help your crazy aunt? Not bloody likely."

"Come with me then if you're so frightened of me. Let Granger keep watch over the bodies in case someone tries something with them."

Harry stopped to ask if Hermione agreed with Malfoy's plan, but the girl was still too wrapped in her self-hatred and worry to muster a proper response. But with no time to wait for Hermione to come to her senses, the two ran off towards the castle to be alert of the possible danger. Leaving the girl alone and wishing desperately for Ron to be there, or any friendly face, really.

"Right. She was wounded. Too wounded. She couldn't have gone far. They'll find her quickly and sentence her to death. That will be all. You're okay Hermione, you're okay, you're okay, you're-"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Mudblood," spoke an emerging voice from the woods. The words rapidly rising in volume as the frightened girl turned to face the newcomer. Bellatrix Lestrange. Looking more crazed and unhinged than she ever had before. And Hermione found herself, for the first time, wondering how comfortable the ground would be next to the bodies.

For she had the sinking sensation that she would be joining the never-ending list of war casualties sooner than she'd imagined.