Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling and her various publishers. No ownership is claimed or implied, and no money is being made from this work of fan fiction.
Burning Times
by Alathon
The body hit the wall with a dull thud. The sound it made when it finished its slide to the ground was even softer. The look on its face was not a pleasant one; rage mingled generously with pain, and perhaps a hint of sorrow, made for a visage that would require substantial adjustment before display in funeral robes. Though the state of the neck suggested a closed casket ceremony.
Fortunately, nobody there much cared. The body certainly didn't, the woman who'd torn its throat into a bloody ruin had already moved on, and the one other person present was far too busy to spare even a moments concern for the dead.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The bolt of lethal green energy was fast but poorly aimed, its trajectory unwillingly adjusted by a wrist shaking in panic. The elderly man holding the wand was horrified to see his target, a cloaked but probably female figure, avoid the attack and raise.. her leg. Her kick connected with his wand hand, sending the precious weapon spinning, breaking several of his fingers in the process.
As his mouth opened to vent his pain and fury, she closed it for him – with the same knife she'd used a moment ago. Driven almost straight up, the razor-sharp metal slid right through his lower jaw, tongue, and on up through the back of his mouth into the lower brain. It wasn't until the hilt made contact with the wattles of flesh below his chin that his mouth closed all the way, but ultimately it didn't matter. He didn't scream.
Without another hostile in evidence, the robed woman took her time catching the man as he fell and lowering the corpse to the floor so as to avoid any further noise. She then looked around, first up and down the medieval-looking curved stone corridor as if to see if anyone was coming, then over at a door... perhaps debating whether to hide the bodies within. Instead, she cleaned the blood from her blade on the robes of the fallen, before swapping it to a gloved left hand, a thin wooden rod replacing it in her similarly gloved right. Having done this, she left the bodies where they lay and continued with her work.
The short, bloody episode was just one of many to grace the premises that evening. Without a word, the woman moved from room to room, checking every nook and cranny of the tower for life, and extinguishing it where she found it. Most of those whom she slew never knew it, moving directly from restful sleep to the comfortable embrace of death. A handful were awake and tried to fight, but it was not until she reached the top floor that any further actual opposition was encountered.
The seemingly rickety wooden door just wouldn't open. Attempts to magic it open directly failed, as did attempts to manipulate the bolt holding it closed. Further charms directed at the hinges and adjoining walls were similarly unsuccessful. With a sigh, the woman resorted to a combination of explosive charges and magically corrosive charms, battering away at the door and its magical protections in turn. When it gave way, spraying the room behind it with what amounted to mulch, she dove forward low to the ground, into a somersault that lead to a crouch, from which she was quick to leap to her left, spitting out a quick and dirty series of shielding charms.
"Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!"
The first death spell flew two feet above her rolling form, the second went by only inches to her right, rending her strongest shield in the process. Rather than following up with more offensive spells, her enemy did as she did, erecting spells of protection and augmentation. Both finished.. and both waited for the dust kicked up by the door crashing to settle, taking the measure of their opponents.
On seeing each other, the woman was first to react, smiling grimly. Keeping her wand at the ready, she brought her knife up to her head, and used the tip to flip her hood back, exposing a stern and unblemished countenance topped by a severe white fuzz. Her opponent did not take long to react, responding in kind. While the woman appeared to be on the long end of middle-age, the man was obviously elderly, from the wrinkled, splotched skin, to the thinned out yellow-white hair. He was the first to speak.
"Granger."
Hermione's response was sardonic, her words laced with obviously false joy and wonder.
"Professor Snape!"
"You... You! You of all people have no right to call me that, you --"
"Mudblood?"
Hermione was quick to interrupt Snape's impassioned rant, and with that word hanging in the air, neither was ready to continue. Each eyed the other, almost daring their enemy to run their mouth, and so offer the other an opportunity to attack with the other's tongue tied up in empty words.
Neither took the bait, and some twenty seconds later, battle was joined.
"Sectumsempra! Sectumsempra! Reducto! Avada Kedavra!"
Snape took the initiative, launching a barrage of injurious or fatal bolts of energy liberally laced with his most favored and deadly charms. Hermione, rather than dodging, wove her wand back and force, pulling items across the room to intercept the spells. A teacup, a fork, four beakers, and more than two dozen other household items spun through the air to burn, shatter, or disintegrate as they absorbed the brunt of Snape's magical assault.
After close to a minute of constant attack and chagrined at his lack of progress, Snape spoke loudly, his voice augmented by a wandless Sonorous charm. As he did so, he bunched his leg muscles in preparation to dodge the wave of offensive charms he knew was about to come for him.
"Wizards, awaken! Raiders have come to the highest floor! Awaken, Witches, and strike them down! Awaken, Wizards!"
The speech was repeated several times, until Snape realized that nothing was happening. Hermione stood there, wand at the ready, but had not launched a single spell for nearly a minute. She was, however grinning... and as soon as he made eye contact, she shook her head slightly, as if in response to his summons.
"I don't think anyone's listening, Professor. In fact, I don't think there's anyone left to listen. Just you. And you just aren't enough."
The confident expression on Hermione's face was mirrored in opposite on Snape's.
"Perhaps a decade or two back, you might have had what it takes... but now? No."
Hermione savored the furious, hateful expression that sprung to Snape's face as she belittled him, and wasn't surprised in the least when he renewed his assault, this time with his attacks driven by rage rather than cunning. And this time, she responded in kind, blocking some of his attacks as she had before, but dodging others and using the time afforded by those she dodged to respond with precisely aimed piercing and cutting hexes.
Spells flew back and forth between them and after more than a minute, still no decisive blow was landed. However, their conditions were noticeably different. Hermione, while liberally covered in the debris of shattered pottery and splintered wood, was not visibly harmed. Snape, however, was bleeding. Without any particular cue, both duelists ceased their attacks and took a moment to assess their conditions. As they did, Snape's fury doubled; on closer examination, he'd suffered ten minor bleeding wounds; two to each arm and leg, and one to each cheek.
He practically bellowed his outrage.
"You... You!?"
In his rage, he couldn't manage to push the repulsive acknowledgment of her skill through his lips. Even so, Hermione knew well enough what he was trying and failing to say. As her smile slid from grimly self-confident to something of a smirk, she looked her old Potions instructor right in the eyes.
"Maybe."
Snape practically quivered with unrequited lethal intent, his face a dull, ugly red, in marked contrast to his usual pasty demeanor. Barely a second passed before he renewed his assault, this time utilizing less powerful but faster-casting charms in an attempt to score on his assailant. Hermione blocked or avoided them all, but amidst the barrage was unable to prevent his next act. Snape's off-hand slid into his robes, and came out grasping a thin vial. With surprising dexterity for his age, Snape thumbed the cork out and quaffed the potion.
Hermione chose not to attack immediately, instead peering at Snape's ears and nostrils belched steam of a particularly virulent purple hue. As moments passed without a counter-attack, Snape allowed his assault to peter out, giving the potion time to take effect. As he waited, Hermione spoke.
"A pepper-up potion? Or perhaps something more.. potent?"
Her statement and question were spoken an academic fashion, without rancor. When Snape declined to answer the query, Hermione offered another, this one with a hint of mockery.
"You do know that such concoctions can prove dangerously stressful for the elderly, do you not?"
Snape grinned, his eyes alight with something akin to joy, and responded with gusto.
"A small price to take traitorous mudblood filth like you to the grave!"
An instant after spitting out the hateful words, Snape attacked in earnest.. and this time not without success. Where his hexes had previously been blockable with simple objects, they now tore through, and perhaps more importantly, he no longer needed a moment to recover from enacting his more devastating charms. Soon enough, suffering from several minor abrasions and one potentially serious wound, Hermione gave up even attempting to counter with attacks of her own and switched fully to the defensive. Both she and her wand danced as she transmuted the flagstones in front of her into stone pillars again and again and wove between them, for it took such sturdy structure to absorb even Snape's lesser hexes.
Recognizing his advantage, Snape was quick to adjust his strategy. Abandoning the killing curse and his own flesh-rending creation, he switched to the most powerful charms of impact and spells of shearing force he knew. Pillar after pillar rose as Hermione desperately tried to keep ahead of the barrage, and as seconds passed by, her side of the room was filled with a gray fog of stone dust. Hoping to smash her with the debris, or perhaps land a lucky cleaving spell, Snape smashed every single pillar as it rose.
After half a dozen of his spells tore through the far wall, opening the room to the night air, Snape paused for a moment, then quickly snapped off another charm.
"Homenum Revelio."
Snape's smile grew to a wide, shit-eating grin as he examined the side of the room Hermione had inhabited and observed not only the lack of the glow associated with a living human being, but the cloak she'd worn amidst the rubble up against what was left of the far wall. The sight was perhaps the most joyous one he'd seen in years.
The knife that slid through the base of his skull with a crunch ended his life instantly, without the slightest discomfort. Withdrawing it proved to be something of a hassle for Hermione, but that wasn't Snape's problem, nor was extracting her rather worn cloak from the rubble.
Several healing charms later, Hermione once again donned the cloak, walked past Snape's corpse, and through the door he had presumably been guarding. What she found was mostly what she had expected; a small room dominated by a large-ish bed containing a single emaciated figure, that of a middle-aged man. One whose lank, greasy hair failed to hide a lightning bolt scar on his brow. One who had questions, this last part being something of a surprise.
"Who're you?"
The voice was low and rough, and followed promptly by a coughing fit. One that made Hermione wince with sympathy as the man in the bed attempted to halt it, taking better than half a minute.. by which point Hermione had conjured up a glass of water and presented it for his use. Arms came up slowly, as if weighted down, and took the glass, shivering with the effort. The water presumably helped, as a minute later, the question was repeated without a coughing fit.
"Who're you?"
Hermione responded with a question of her own.
"I suppose this really isn't necessary, but.. it is you, Harry, isn't it?"
He looked irked.
"What's it to you? And I asked first!"
Hermione motioned with a wand, sliding a chair across the floor to his bedside, sat down, and responded.
"You don't recognize me?"
Harry took a moment to eye her, looking over the battered cloak, the lines of her face, and the buzz-cut white hair.
"I'm afraid not."
"I ought to be offended by that. But, I suppose I can excuse it. It's me, Hermione. Hermione Granger. Same year as you, House Griffindor, --"
Harry cut her off, responding doubtfully yet with alacrity.
"Hermione?"
He took a few moments to examine her again, before continuing, a glimmer of understanding dawning on his face as he spoke.
"But you're so... how long have I been out?"
Hermione licked her lips, and responded.
"Thirty-eight years, and.. several months. And no, this is not one of those.. Fred, or George's, pranks."
Having said this she pushed the chair back, and stood up, turning away to allow Harry some time to mull this over without her eyes on him. Less than a minute later she turned, and while Harry was clearly still in shock, she spoke up.
"Listen.. Harry. I know this is abrupt, but --"
"You're really not kidding?"
Hermione, a little aggrieved, responded with some of that irritation in her voice.
"No."
"Really?"
While Harry sounded like he desperately wanted her to deny her words, Hermione refused to oblige him.
"Yes, it has really been just short of four decades since you were injured in Xenophilius' tower. No, I am not joking in the slightest. This isn't funny, not even one bit.. and I'm sorry, Harry, but this is absolutely the truth."
Harry considered this, before asking another question.
"Then.. why'd I just wake up now?"
"I don't know."
"What?"
"Well.. I do have a guess, but certainly not anything solid."
"Well, spill it!"
Hermione took a moment to ponder her guess, before explaining it.
"Well.. to be honest, the best I can come up with is that your magic responded to my presence."
She looked rather sheepish saying that, but Harry didn't seem terribly surprised.
"I don't know... but, that does sound like something Dumbledore would have said."
Several moments passed before Harry spoke again.
"So, what happened?"
"To you?"
"No, to.. everything! Everyone! Did we --"
"Yes, we took Voldemort down."
Harry sighed in relief, looking ever-so-slightly happy at that.
"So..."
"You want a short version of the important stuff?"
"I want.. I.. yeah, start with that."
Harry didn't sound entirely happy, but quited down and let Hermione speak without interruption.
"The short version is this. A bit over thirty-eight years ago, when an Erumpent horn beloning to that imbecile Xenophilius exploded, you were injured severely and entered a coma. We made attempts to rouse you by... well, many means. None of them worked. The war dragged on, things got very ugly, and the rest of the world.. the muggles.. got involved. Voldemort was destroyed, though some of his followers remained, obviously."
Hermione paused for a moment to take a breath, before continuing.
"With the Wizarding world out in the open, things got, well, complex. With everything going on, dark wizards and witches managed to kidnap you, and have held on to you every since. Presumably with the intent to use you to forward their cause somehow. I don't know how, though I suppose if it were some dark ritual, they'd have already done it. Fortunately, to bring us up to the present, they won't be a problem anymore."
Harry couldn't help but find Hermione's wolfish grin as she explained that last bit both attractive and a little troublesome, but let it go without comment as he puzzled over this Reader's Digest of the time he'd apparently spent unconscious, lining up the pieces mentally and pondering the gaps in between. Soon enough though he realized he needed to know something else, something monumentally important, and spoke up.
"Ron?"
Hermione lowered her eyes, and shook her head slightly. Harry's eyes opened wide as he got the message, before he closed them tightly. It was a minute before he started to ask another question, however Hermione was quick to cut him off.
"Don't ask, Harry. How, or who else. Harry, you have to understand... the fight against Voldemort dragged on for more than eight years. Most of us... well, everyone who had the courage to stand up to him was a target, and he had the upper hand the whole way. It wasn't until the rest of the world got involved that things turned around, and by then..."
As Hermione's voice trailed off, Harry looked up at her face, desperately hoping to see something other than the sorrow and honestly he read from it. He was disappointed, and soon lowered his own eyes, silently trying to make sense out of what he was now desperately hoping was a nightmare. He even tried to pinch himself, until he realized that the best he could manage with his fingers was a rub. Hermione noticed, and spoked up again.
"Harry, what are you...?"
"I'm trying to pinch myself, but these stupid hands won't do it!"
"Oh, Harry. I'm sorry, but it won't work. Even the best salves and potions against physical atrophy can only do so much over.. this long. And I'm not even sure what sort of care you've received while you were captive. Speaking of which, do you mind if I cast several scanning and assessment charms on you?"
"Sure, why not."
Hermione cast a series of spells that alternately sent tingles through Harry's body, chills through each appendage in turn, and one that actually made his scar itch. As soon as she seemed to be finished Harry grunted, tried to sit up, and failed.
"Damn..."
As he struggled, Hermione took a moment to pull the cloak up a bit and glance at her left wrist, frowning. When Harry finished struggling with his decades-unused muscles, she spoke up, this time with a bit of a catch in her voice.
"Harry... we need to --"
Harry interrupted her.
"Wait."
"Harry, we --"
"You took care of all the Death Eaters downstairs, right?"
"I.. yes, I did."
"And I've got months of therapy ahead of me no matter how soon you drag me to St. Mungo's, right?"
"Yes, but --"
"Then, tell me! Tell me what's happened, and not just bits and pieces! You don't need to tell me who died, but tell me who lived! How things are going, has everything been rebuilt? It must have, but, how has it changed. You know you'd --"
"Want to know if it were me."
Hermione cut Harry off by completing his sentence. Harry looked a little surprised, but was quick to affirm this.
"Yeah, exactly!"
Hermione paused for a moment, but didn't contemplate for long before walking back to the chair at the head of the bed, seating herself, and scootching the chair over to face Harry.
"All right. I suppose you have a point, were I in your shoes I'd want to know too. So. Bear with me.. this will take some telling. And understand, this is not going to be a terribly happy story. Things have calmed down now, however the past several decades have been.. turbulent. So, if you could try not to interrupt in surprise...?"
"Right. I'll let you tell it, even the.. not so happy parts."
Hermione took several moments to compose herself before starting in on the story.
"There isn't much to say about the first three years of the war with Voldemort that has any real value, they were more or less the same. People disappeared, cowards hid themselves or did their best to ingratiate themselves with the best known dark families, and we fought as best we could. Ron and I got everyone in on the Horcruxes, or at least tried to. Not everyone believed us, and well, most of those with the actual dark arts experience to verify what we were saying weren't exactly on our side."
Hermione sighed, a hint of frustration evident on her face, before continuing.
"Things got worse, and the running battles rarely ended in our favor. By spring of the fourth year since the fall of the ministry, there were only a handful of us left from the DA and the Order put together. Voldemort had the British and European wizarding worlds under his thumb, and was starting to make moves further east and south. We had to do something!"
The last bit was said almost plaintively, but true to his word, Harry held his tongue and continued to listen.
"We had long since begged any help we could from the other Wizarding communities, then threatened that they'd have to fight the same battles they'd face in Britain on their own turf if they didn't act. We got some help, but not enough. So some of us went to the governments – the muggle governments, I mean, and dismantled the statute of secrecy."
Hermione looked at Harry, waiting to see if he had something add, but again, he held his peace. Soon enough, she continued.
"There wasn't anyone else, we had to.. we had to do something! It was worse for them, after all, because it was their people being butchered for fun by Voldemort's pureblood goons. Accident after accident, 'electrical fire' after 'gas main explosion', Voldemort kept his supporters happy, and used that sort of butchery to harden his newer recruits. Well... once the cat was out of the bag, that got a lot harder. And once we had merasha, that really turned the... oh, right."
Hermione quickly recognized the lack of understanding on Harry's face, and explained, drifting quickly into a rather pedantic tone, with Harry smiling a little as he recognized that familiar speech pattern.
"Once the statute was done away with, we helped the governments, the British and American governments especially, with research on technology to counter the most glaring wizarding advantages over their muggle counterparts. Merasha was the turning point, it is.. well, first off. It's an acryonym, standing for magically-activated rhinovirus adaptation sigma hector alpha. It's.."
Hermone pondered how to explain the specifics and decided they weren't particularly relevant.
"Without going into detail, it is a way to technologically detect wizards and magic, and most particularly, to develop chemical and biological agents which target witches and wizards specifically."
As Harry pondered this he couldn't help but look a little alarmed, and listened intently as Hermione continued.
"That was six years into the war; it took us another two years to actually finish things, but we did. We never did manage to kill Voldemort, we couldn't without finding the rest of the Horcruxes, but we captured him, and with him in a cryogenic stasis.. well, he's not going anywhere, body or spirit. His supporters, well.. we certainly missed a few, but not a lot. And there were no pardons this time around."
Hermione sounded rather happy about that last bit, and Harry couldn't bring himself to blame her; it seemed to him perfectly reasonably and understandable bit of bloodlust.
"With Voldemort and his supporters out of the way, we started rebuilding. It was slow work with so many gone, but we made progress for a bit over three years."
Hermione paused, looking immensely troubled, and Harry couldn't quite manage to stifle himself.
"What then, did another dark wizard try to set themselves up in his place?"
Hermione sighed.
"No.. in fact, quite the opposite. Technology marched onward as time passed, with more and more bridges developed between it and magic. When they found a way to remove memory charms, well, the shit hit the fan."
Harry couldn't help but speak up again, startled by Hermione's atypically crude description.
"But why?"
Hermione sighed, and waited several moments before continuing with her explanation, choosing her words carefully.
"Harry, you have to understand... you know that Voldemort and his supporters practically made a sport of torturing and murdering non-wizards, right? Well, that was no creation of theirs, and went back far beyond him and his death eaters. Many of the pureblood families, well.. like as not, it was them and their children that taught Voldemort how to get his rocks off. And if you took a good, hard look at it, our society was practically built around their desires."
Hermione gave that statement a moment to sit in before continuing on rapidly, doing her best to deny Harry a moment to interject.
"There were no real safeguards on the power witches and wizards wielded, none that actually mattered when it came down to it. Most especially not on the Imperius and memory charms, the spells most open to abuse.. after all, only another wizard could notice their abuse, much less report it to the Ministry. Further, we were legally obligated to use memory charms to block any attempt by muggles to interfere in wizarding business... even when they had good cause to. A wizard could do whatever he wanted to muggles, blank their minds, do it again, blank their minds again... you see where I'm going with this, don't you, Harry?"
Harry, horrified, just nodded.
"Well, it didn't stop with single actors.. more than a few of the purebloods would make family outings out of muggle bashing. Entire families with malice and perversion passed from father to son, mother to daughter. They'd break into muggle houses and make them do.. depraved things.. to amuse themselves, and to demean their victims. Some they'd kill, but some they'd simply obliviate. For replay value, you see."
More than horrified, Harry looked downright sick. That didn't stop Hermione from plowing on.
"It's important to understand just how widespread this was. To understand that, perhaps the most compelling fact is that based on genetic research done since the war, it's been determined that the capability to wield magic must be inherited from at least one magic-capable parent."
It took Harry a few seconds to connect the dots, but as soon as he did, his face registered the digust and horror Hermione expected.
"Yes. Exactly."
Harry promptly looked down, embarassed and not a little ashamed to be a wizard, for the moment at least. Not particularly interested in belaboring this point, Hermione moved on.
"And of course, those are just the cases where a child was conceived, brought to term, and magic-capable. This went far beyond just a few pureblood families, though they were certainly the most prolific offenders. Wizarding society was built around shielding witches and wizards from the consequences of any action they choose to take against muggles, barring the most painfully obvious and undeniable. We had our share of criminals and sickos outside the pureblood families, and they were just as protected from muggles as anyone else."
Hermione paused for a moment, deciding how to word her next several lines.
"And.. even a wizard who would normally be a decent person could get themselves very drunk and do whatever amused them at the time, or do something terrible in a moment of anger. But unlike their muggle counterparts, they could toss a few memory charms and try to forget that they'd ever 'made a mistake'."
Hermione paused, recognizing a discontinuity in her descriptions.
"And yes, witches too. Less often than wizards, certainly, but more than you'd expect. Anyway. With all that kept in mind, the 'muggles' found a way to remove memory charms. At first it was used sparingly, because of the expense, but once the sheer number of victims became obvious, governments started making it available... well. In the space of six months, we went from cautiously accepted to utterly hated. Practically everyone knew someone who was affected. If not a friend or relative, then someone on the telly."
Harry was once again looking up at Hermione's face, but didn't have anything to say. Hermione didn't much feel like saying anything either, but ground on.
"Well. Like I said, everyone knew someone, and in the space of a few months, government policy followed public opinion. And unlike in the dark ages, the muggles had the tools to make their policies stick. Unsurprisingly the issue was seized upon by practically every religious institution as justification to demonize witches and wizards. Not that they needed much help, we did that well enough, but... Harry, you have to understand. So many knew someone who was hurt, and there were a multitude of victims calling for vengeance. All they needed was some sort of excuse to let their own rules and mores slide, and once the churches, synagogues, mosques, and all the rest said 'go', it was open season."
Lacking the will to continue just yet, Hermione took advantage of a partially emptied glass of water on Harry's lap to fill the voice. She picked it up, sipped it.. sipped it again.. before ultimately mustering the nerve to fininsh the story.
"The mobs didn't accomplish much; they didn't have any way to know who to target, so they went after whoever was nearby and unpopular. Which mostly meant other muggles. The governments, though, they had the tools, and they used them, starting with the drinking water and moving right on through crop dusters and cloud seeding to assassinations."
Hermione paused.
"Ultimately, they succeeded."
Harry couldn't let that pass.
"What do you mean, succeeded!? Murdered every witch and wizard they could get their hands on?"
Hermione's response was matter-of-fact.
"In a word, yes. Not every government went quite so far... with most of the British wizarding world already destroyed or skittish and ready to hide at a moment's notice, there was minimal resistance here. In time, Great Britain became one of the most.. shall we say, progressive, of the nations. Though if you ask me, calling us progressive is a terrible bastardization of the term."
"But --"
"Most countries followed the lead of the American Empire and established legally that witches and wizards were not human. Consequently, not deserving of any protection under the law, and a clear and present danger to both the State and every 'real' human citizen. They enacted policies to match."
"But --"
"Most of the major nations jumped to follow their example. Some of the middle-eastern nations even tried to one-up them, to prove they were 'tougher on magic' than the westerners. A few nations like Britain still allow for the secret existence of witches and wizards, but.. not without safeguards and a price tag. Mandatory government service, handlers, 'kill switch' implants, and the like... what? Could you really expect otherwise? It may be repulsive, but it's certainly no surprise."
Harry's face was expressive as always, and Hermione was quick to respond to one of his expressions. Soon enough, though, Hermione's slight indignation was replaced by something else, something along the lines of exhaustion.
"And Harry, if you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about this any more. Frankly, it makes me ill."
The silence was thick, but preferable by far for both. For several minutes, Harry pondered Hermione's words, and Hermione just sort of stared past Harry. Eventually, someone had to break the silence, and this time it was Harry.
"So.. I suppose we have to get out of here soon, don't we? With us on the run, it wouldn't do to stick around after a battle. There was a battle, wasn't there? There was an awful racket outside when I woke up..."
"Yes, Harry, there was a battle. And yes.. it's time for us to get going."
Hermione started to stand up out of the chair, before stopping mid-stand, and seating herself again, which Harry couldn't help but notice.
"What? What is it?"
Hermione actually bit her lip in indecision before deciding to ask Harry something and looking him in the eyes.
"What do you plan to do now?"
The question was direct, and Harry understood what she meant immediately. He gave it a couple moments thought before responding.
"Well, once I've got myself back in shape, I suppose I'll try to find whoever is left. There's no way they got all of us, and if there's enough of us for even a little village.. oh. I suppose you must have been looking, yourself."
Hermione nodded, and allowed Harry to continue without comment.
"Well, if someone hasn't already done it, I'll get people together and go somewhere, anywhere, where we won't be found. Start over, and get things right this time. Stay secret, probably for.. well, probably the rest of my life, and a while after that too. Our grandkids ought to have a better chance with muggles who haven't lived through all this than we do now."
Harry paused for a moment, searching Hermione's face for a response, before finishing up.
"I know it sounds like a lot, and maybe it won't work out, but.. I've got to do something."
Hermione's smile was bright as she reached out with her left hand to twine her fingers with those of Harry's right. While she had to do most of the work, and use her other hand to close his fingers around hers, soon enough their hands were clasped, and Hermione replied to Harry's bold declaration of purpose.
"If anyone can do it, it's you."
Even in its emaciated state, Harry's face practically glowed, suffused with hope. For that moment, as their eyes met, his entire world centered on her face and the faith he saw on it. As a result, he never noticed her other hand drawing something from her robe.
Two gunshots later, Harry Potter's blood, bone, and gray matter decorated the headboard and wall.
Hermione sat there holding his hand for nearly twenty minutes. When she rose, her eyes were still blurry, but functional. She stood away from the bed, pulled the cloak off, and tossed it against one of the walls, simultaneously holstering her sidearm. Examining herself, she recognized with disapproval several spots where Severus Snape's hexes had torn her thermoptic camouflage, and made a mental note to have them patched. That done, she raised her left wrist to her mouth, and spoke.
"This is Lieutenant Granger. Mission accomplished."
Several moments passed, before she spoke again.
"Confirmed, he was here."
Another pause, this one shorter.
"Confirmed."
Several more seconds passed, before she spoke one final time.
"I'll be back by oh-six-hundred."
Hermione let the arm fall to her side and was moments from apparating when she stopped, pondering something. After several moments, she reached a decision. With a steady stride, she walked from the room and closed the door behind her before apparating.
Having closed the door on the last era of Wizarding history, it seemed a fitting gesture.
Author's note: A couple years back I found myself particularly vexed by the growing interest among many acquaintances in Harry Potter fanfiction. I enjoyed the books but at the same time found the mechanics underlying the HP world quite... absurd. And it seemed like every other story linked was a HP fic. Maddening!
My proposed solution to this situation was this story, in which I more or less vented my bile straight onto the page. The wizarding world sucked, then it died. Hoorah! Surprisingly enough, this worked; I've enjoyed a wide variety of HP fanfiction ever since.
That said, I'm posting this now as (hopefully) a prelude to getting back into the habit of writing. Should anyone still remain after these several years who hopes to see Frying Pan completed, take heart! I really, truely will be continuing it.. and with less than four and a half years between chapters. Having taken a couple hours to scrape some of the emo off this story in favor of a bit of polish, I find myself looking forward to writing again.