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You can love someone so fiercely that you think you could die, but that doesn't mean that you're going to be happy together.
|HPTC-Hermione Granger|
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Part 14 - DeathSong
One of the training posts...
Hermione Granger held the spear in her hand, and with a weary sigh, jabbed forwards, back and side to side in slow motion. In front of her, ten eager pupils tried to repeat her movements. A volley of 'ow's and 'get that out of my side's rose up.
"Slower this time, don't make jerking movements." She said, in the perpetual teacher's voice.
As she taught her fifteenth class, her thoughts wandered. The endless repetition of movements lulled her into a trance-like state. She wondered where Draco was, and what he was doing. She hadn't been able to see him much lately. Hermione was vaguely concerned, he seemed to be snapping at everyone a lot and generally being extremely irritable.
He had shouted at her once, but apologised later. It was as if he was metamorphosing from her Draco Malfoy to someone completely different. Someone who didn't understand kindness or tolerance. Hermione sighed deeply and wondered if it had all been folly. Folly to think that Draco could love her and satisfy her.
Then she thought back to their last kiss, it had been very satisfying. His kiss had more urgency and yearning as they approached the War. Searing kisses of undying love. I'm experiencing what every girl dreams of...true love. And I'm understanding that true love doesn't make a relationship. She thought, with realisation. You can love someone so fiercely that you think you could die, but that doesn't mean that you're going to be happy together.
With chilling finality, Hermione understood the bond between them. They reminded her of Romeo and Juliet, doomed from the start to be torn asunder. Perhaps if Romeo and Juliet had lived, their passion would not have.
That was exactly how she and Draco were. Their love was a passionate, beautiful interlude. It would never survive in the long run. Their love would be eternal, but their physical bond would not last. They now existed on a curious sort of middle ground between each others' worlds.
Everything is just so- surreal.
"Now, watch me carefully." They had finished their SpearHandling and were beginning hand-to-hand combat.
She demonstated a few punches, kicks and blocks with ease. Her muscles had shrugged out of their initial stiffness and ache and were now used to the gruelling physical work.
Hermione grimaced. She would have to demonstrate basic flying next, and brooms weren't exactly her transport of choice.
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Draco's training post...
One batch of pupils were just departing from the training centre. Draco watched them go with mixed awe and disdain. He had never seen such a diverse group of individuals, united only because of their allegiance with Dumbledore and against Voldemort. Many were Mudbloods or outcasts.
He closed his eyes and felt the familiar tug of the Sorceror's world. In the blink of an eye he was once more within the musty library. He turned. The visions were becoming more and more real as time passed.
"I see you have made your decision, Draco Argentus Valwracen Malfoy- Sorceror Valwracen is a more fitting name."
"It's the only way I can defeat Voldemort." Draco did not return the greedy smile of the man.
"Do you know that you are being considered for the Trident along with your two friends?" Draco started.
"Then why are you helping me? I thought you wanted to kill Voldemort because he was trying to Ascend."
"Excellent question. The answer is- my time in the Trident is over. At whatever time you Ascend, you only truly take over from the old members once you have lived 100 years or once you die. Voldemort is much closer to achieving his 100 years than you. You will most probably be the next." Daemersgrale seemed resigned. "As long as I keep you alive, I will still rule."
"Will you train me to lead my armies?"
The Sorceror smiled. "Yes. Let us begin..."
What seemed like hours later, he was expunged into reality. He was slowly controlling his entrances and exits into the Sorceror's abode. Draco glanced at his watch, a self-satisfied expression on his face. Not a minute had passed. He saw Hermione and Harry come towards the training posts and assumed everyone had taken ten.
Hermione had a timid half-smile on her face, almost a simper. For some indefinable reason she irritated Draco. Everything about her, the smile, the face...she was plain trouble. His fine instinct for self-preservation should have warned him about her. She was the root of all his problems.
Draco shook his head, disgruntled. I always feel so bloody touchy after a meeting with the Sorceror.
"Draco...why-" Draco Malfoy cut her off.
"Do you want to change me, Hermione?" He snapped, out of the blue.
"What?" Her expression was startled.
"Am I some altruistic bloody crusade that you've taken up for the world's benefit? I'm told chicks do that all the time." I didn't even know I fucking felt this way...
Hermione looked deeply shocked, but in a heartbeat, her expression changed to indignant rage. "Sod you, Draco Malfoy! If that's all you bloody well think of me. You're so unpredictable. Bloody hell, when I come to say hello I don't know whether to expect you to kiss me or yell at me." She drew herself up to her full height. "I've had enough."
"Aw, shit. I'm sorry, Mia. Look, it's just all this tension and the war and all. I just met with the Sorceror and I'm always a dickhead after that. It'll wear off." He said, hopefully. The periods when his angry self was in control seemed to be increasing rapidly.
He simply could not fathom how he could feel such raging inner turmoil, yet complete his day-to-day life tasks. His relationship with Mia was frayed, and he knew that. It would have to be mended...yet now was not an opportune time.
"The rest of us have problems, too, Draco. It's hard on everyone." Her voice seemed strained almost to the point of cracking. She was openly resentful. "What with Sirius and Lupin gone, and Dumbledore sick-"
Her lips trembled as she mentioned Dumbledore's name. He had seemed fine just yesterday and had suddenly gone down with a severe case of influenza. The case was so unexpected that many believed it to be some kind of attack by Voldemort. Rumours were rife, and morale was being depleted.
Draco's cheeks reddened. "It is especially hard on me." He gritted his teeth. "I must not only bow to the wishes of the Sorceror, learn enough to survive and actually fight the battle...but I must also face my own father in the battlefield. I may hate him- but he is flesh and blood. I've lost enough people to Voldemort."
"We each have our personal demons." Harry entered into the conversation.
"A particularly large one in my case-" Draco screwed up his face. "-one which breathes fire, has foot long claws and eats eight people for breakfast." He stopped. "I just don't need relationship issues now."
"The world doesn't revolve around you, Malfoy." Harry said. Draco looked at him with an unreadable expression.
"No. It revolves, Potter, around you."
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Four days later, the fifth of July...
Teams had been deployed to Greenland well in advance of the Armies' arrival. The whole Quidditch Pitch had been converted into a giant portkey, set to go off at fifteen minute intervals. A group of about a thousand could be teleported at once. In Greenland, the large TimeFreeze had been initiated by a large team of specialists, led by Minerva McGonagall. The incantation could not be completed until all had arrived.
The air seemed to tingle with the impending event. The weather was chilly, but not bothersomely so. The site chosen was quite nearby the ruined city of Erzmyn Szreil, the Mesopotamia of WizardKind. It's great stone structures, resembling StoneHenge, rose defiantly above the frosted lands.
At the far ends of the designated battlefield two immeasurable large horseshoes gleamed. They were to form administrative, strategical, intelligence and medical centers as well as congregation points for the war. The eastern one was an uniform Slytherin Green in colour. A large flag of the Dark Mark was unfurled above the middle.
The other horseshoe was far more vibrant. It was divided into five equal, separate areas of colour. Hermione had opted for a cool blue for her armies, Harry's were denoted by the scarlet red area, Celeste LaSeule had chosen deep gold and Albus Dumbledore's portion in the middle was a neutral, clear white. The last colour on the huge horseshoe was a dark black, which was unmistakably Draco Malfoy's colour.
Large numbers of people appeared, disoriented, into the centre of the horseshoe. Harry, Hermione and Celeste were sorting out the crowd and dispersing them. Smaller independant groups appeared. Draco stood at the entrance to his part of the HorseShoe. Dumbledore's absence was conspicous. Each person who arrived was divided into Harry, Hermione, Albus or Celeste's armies. Draco only led those who chose to fight for him.
A few tough, hardened characters had assembled themselves by his side. Many of Voldemort's former cronies, filled with tales of Draco's power, had swelled his ranks. Alyewn was comfortably nestled in the huge barn behind the horseshoe. Oddly, both Hermione and Celeste looked suited to their physically challenging roles. Commanding a large army was more strategy, planning and pep-talks than actual fighting.
The atmosphere was charged and electric. Within an hour, most people had found their niche. Military discipline and titles were suddenly everywhere. Squadrons were being established, but the hierarchy remained simple- the posts were oversimplified, in fact. It went Soldiers- Squadron Leaders- Commanders- Captains- Generals. There were five Generals, each General had ten Captains, each Captain had ten Commanders and each Commander had ten Squadron Leaders.
As they passed through the designated door, each person was equipped with chainmail and protective clothing and gear, a tunic in their colour, a specially designed holster which strapped to their back, a crossbow and quiver or arrows, two dismantled spears, a sword and a shield, a compact broom, first aid kit and rations.
In the uppermost room of the white centre column, Chief Tactical Officer Ronald Weasley was hunched over a sheaf of papers and vividly coloured map. Clusters of dots represented each army, and he was moving them about, muttering feverishly. Three assistants hurried around, collecting arcane and trivial data to lose in their badly organised offices.
Ron tried to ignore the raucous sounds of alcohol-induced laughter from below. The goblins had taken up residence in Dumbledore's army, since none other wanted the trouble. Facts about the Goblin Wars and Rebellions that had been drilled into his head in History of Magic kept floating into his thoughts. The giants would only arrive after the battles had begun.
They were hiding out close by, which could be any distance taking into account Giant Strides. Their cooperation with Dumbledore was mainly because of Olympe Maxime and Hagrid's expedition into the country. Since each had giant blood they were grudgingly accepted into their stronghold.
For the whole of Ron's fifth year Care of Magical Creatures was taught by a frail, soft-spoken Professor called Andre D'Angelo. Many teachers had been missing from Hogwarts that year. Snape had come back more hate-filled and bitter than ever. Minerva McGonagall had gone missing for three months. Hermionesaid that she had been told that Minerva had a gift for languages, and probably knew more than Dumbledore himself. He supposed she had gone to convince the goblins to help them.
But after that fifth year, things settled down. There was always the occasional disappearance and murder, but WizardKind had become numb to grief. The Aurors had returned in full force, and could be seen patrolling almost everywhere.
There was nothing unusual about sixth year except that summer Harry had been chosen to play for the Edinburgh Eagles, the youngest player ever to enter professional Quidditch. He had beaten even Viktor Krum to it. That was the only year that the Edinburgh Eagles won the All England Quidditch Cup, beating the Glasgow Grindylows by 50 points.
This summer was supposed to be the time when he played World Class Quidditch. Ron knew Harry had dreamed of a face-off with Viktor Krum.
Ron stopped his mind wandering. "Jackson, check these numbers- be quick about it."
Ron handed the assistant a sheet of printed paper. He nodded deferentially and jogged out of the room, double time. Ronald Weasley leaned back in his leather chair and sighed. He had found his dream job.
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Hermione's column, very early morning...
A figure clad in a black bodysuit nimbly broke the Sealing Charm on the entrance door and cautiously pushed it in. The alarms had been triggered. She- the shape was obviously feminine- smiled in contempt at the paltry excuse for security.
She slid out her wand and muttered a Locator Spell. Her wand pointed to the main quarters, upstairs. There she would find her quarry. The door was already half-open. The figure gave a satisfied sort of grunt.
"Dormi ad revivium." She muttered, putting Hermione into a sleep till she was ready for her.
With an amazing lack of sound, she heaved the tall, healthy Hermione Granger onto her shoulder. She allowed herself another smile, and with admirable agility and speed, retraced her steps, closed and re-spelled the door behind her and ran into the dark night.
Her soft footfalls crunched on the frost covered snow. Soon she slowed down, her legs were breaking the top layer of newly descended snow and entering the wet slush below. She pulled herself along till they reached the nearby site of Erzmyn Szreil. A large arch loomed over the figures' head. She propped the sleeping Hermione against the rough hewn altar.
The snow was pristine white. She removed her black muffler and mask and ran her fingers through her short, spiky hair. The woman had piercings all over her body. Her nose was double pierced and she had one bar going through her eyebrow. Six holes adorned one ear while the other remained untouched. Her hair was streaked silver and the spikes stood stiffly hair-sprayed.
"Well, well, well..." She had a throaty, low voice. "So you're the wonderful Hermione Granger. Enervate." She wore an enthusiastic smile. Hermione awoke with a start and a chill.
She jerked straight and stopped leaning on the stone surface. "Who are you?" She tried not to betray any emotion in her voice.
"Senneca Liebermann- I used to be in the Secret Intelligence Service- MI-6, Wizarding Sector. But I suppose now you could call me a spy for the Dark Lord." She replied tersely..
"What do you want with me?" Hermione groped in her pyjamas for her wand. Damn, left it on the bedside table.
"Well, my Master wishes to deliver a message." As if in slow motion, she drew out a long, glinting sword.
With a lethal and practiced swing, she plunged the sword into Hermione's chest. Hermione felt herself gasp and detach herself from the trauma inflicted on her body. A thin, reedy scream escaped her lips. She could feel her blood pulsing out of her. If the sword hadn't hit her heart, it had certainly rent one of the main arteries.
This is just like what I saw happen to Draco...it's the same place... She thought, as her vision blurred and lights dimmed.
She felt a desultory pounding in her head and felt herself sag down into the white snow. The trickle of blood had already darkened the frost around her.
Senneca Liebermann swallowed and pressed her fingers over her lips to keep from vomiting. Despite her feigned nonchalance, she loathed her role as Voldemort's assassin. Especially when it came to dealing with defenceless people. The girl was merely a few years younger than her and it was patently obvious she was not an intelligence agent.
Senneca covered up Hermione's body with some snow. She bent down.
"I'm sorry. Your spooks-" She used MI-6 vernacular in referring to Intelligence Agents. "-have probably picked up on my break in by now. Master told me to trigger the alarms. They might even find you here- if they get past my defences."
Senneca pulled the black mask on and wiped the look of self-disgust from her face. If she didn't kill Granger, her master would kill her. It was an easy choice to make.
She sighed. The dawn was approaching and she had a long way to run.
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Intelligence Headquarters, Senneca has just entered the building...
"What in the name of blue hell is that girl trying?" A weathered man sitting in a large chair asked incredulously. "There's nobody there but General Granger's army."
"Damn, Jimmy, that girl's got to be Senneca Liebermann. She was in my squad and I know the way she moves. She won't be here just to rattle us, Jimmy, that's for sure. She's got real meat cooking." An equally old, but sharp-eyed man answered. He sipped his coffee dubiously and then stared at it in disgust.
"Better not alert her to our presence now- she could give away something." Jimmy stopped and stared at the Security Monitor. "Bleeding hell, Raef, she's carrying someone out-"
"Oh, fuck, it's the General-" Raef moaned, leaping to his feet.
The two agents raced down to the stores. They followed the Automatic Tracking Spell Senneca had triggered. Halfway there, they were greeted by a barrier. Jimmy ran into it first, giving himself a nasty concussion.
"Ah, nice bit of work, eh? Taught her myself." Even though the obstacle had stopped them, Raef could not help the note of pride in his voice. "That also means I can undo it simple."
A shrill scream echoed through the crisp air. Raef muttered softly. The barrier gleamed for a second and then vanished.
They glanced around, unsure of the originating point. A large white pegasus neighed and started to gallop to the left. Raef and Jimmy were smart enough to know they should follow.
Raef Smithson reached the site quick enough to see a figure in the distance, running away.
He turned his gaze to the General. One look and he knew the extent of her injuries. "Oh, shit. Jimmy, call meds, her friends...her family. The poor lassie ain't gonna last too long." Jimmy complied. Arion nuzzled Hermione's neck.
Hermione barely even heard the words or felt Arion's touch. She shivered involuntarily and then ceased. She was suddenly starting to feel warm. She let the feeling travel through her body with delight. Her brain was too shocked to recognise the most dangerous stage of hypothermia. She was literally freezing to death.
Raef took off his cloak and wrapped it around the shivering girl. Her lips were blue and her eyelids caked with frost. "General Granger, Hermione Granger, can you hear me?"
Hermione heard the words echoed and magnified. She wanted to signal to him but she felt too drowsy...
"You must not- I repeat- must not fall asleep. Stay with me, Hermione!" He held her wrist in his hands, taking her pulse. Raef turned to Jimmy. "Where are those damn meds, I don't know what the bloody hell to-"
He stopped and let her wrist fall to the ground. He leaned in and tried to listen to heart sounds. He bit his lip. There were none.
"Magic's End, Jimmy, she's dead." He whispered.
The sound of many feet running could be heard in the gloom.
The paramedics shoved their stretcher into the snow and knelt to take a pulse. The senior one glanced at Raef. He shook his head slightly. More people were arriving behind them.
A pale blond boy had ripped forward. The paramedics tried to restrain and soothe him but he fought them. "Let me go, you blithering idiots!" He roared. He elbowed one in the stomach and toppled the other one with a well-aimed kick to the shins. "Hermione..."
He had knelt beside her and had her wrist in his fingers. For the first time, she didn't feel warm to his icy touch. Raef recognised the boy with growing incredulity as Lucius Malfoy's son, MI-6 had spent years trying to lock his father away.
His voice was barely above a whisper. "No- no...you can't leave me, Mia...no, come back. You're not dead...I'll never accept that you're dead...you can't do this- I'm sorry..." He placed her wrist on the ground gently and buried his face in his hands. He threw his head back and screamed the barbaric, agonised scream of the damned.
He cradled her head in his lap and stroked the frizzy, beautiful hair. Harry dropped to his knees. "Hermione..." He whispered. "No..."
Draco looked at Harry, green and grey connected for an instant in mutual grief. "The last thing I said to her was angry...I don't even remember what the argument was about..." Draco whispered, his voice hoarse.
Harry squeezed Draco's shoulder. "This can't be the end..." He shook his head in angry denial.
Ron was standing behind them silently. In an explosion of pent up rage he seized Draco's pyjama top. Draco gently laid her head on the ground before standing up. He was shaking. Draco had never shed a tear before in his life. Not even for his mothers' death. Not because he didn't want to, but he didn't know how to.
His eyes looked watery, as if the forbidden tears would begin coursing down his face any second.
"This is all your fucking fault!" Ron screamed, pushing Draco's chest. "If you had just left her- all of us- alone, she'd still be alive." His voice cracked with wrath and grief. "She loved you- and this is what you did to her!"
Draco did not look up, push back or retaliate in any way. He looked as if he would be sick any minute.
"You killed her, Draco Malfoy! You've killed her!" Ron yelled. Harry stood up, tears running down his face.
"Shut up, Ron. It's hard enough. What would Herm have thought?" Harry gripped him firmly by the shoulders and shook him.
"No, he's right. I am responsible." Draco said, in a strangled tone. He looked up, the glare of a madman met them all. "But she cannot be dead. I won't-" He said, through clenched teeth. An idea seemed to strike him. "Nobody touch her till I get back, or I swear I'll rip them limb from sodding limb."
"Accio FireBolt Extra." He said, holding his hand out. In a few moments he was on the broom and had zoomed far out of sight- heading towards Voldemort's horseshoe.
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|| (*A/N: should I finish here? Naw...that would be heartless*)
General's quarters, Voldemort's horseshoe...
Only one of the three generals of Voldemort's Army was inside the quarters.
Light flooded in as Draco Malfoy swung open the large entry door. His face was worn, and a deep worry line had formed on his forehead that would never leave his countenance. He was forever altered by the events of the night.
"I need your help." He said to the General.
The General laughed. "Ah, so now you need my help?"
"I will do anything, pay any price you demand..."
"For what service?"
"I need you to reverse death."
"Who?"
"Hermione. Your Voldemort sent an assassin." He spat out the words.
"You do know that the process could kill me? It's a fifty percent probability. Even if it doesn't, it depletes the soul." She stopped. "Do you know the Law? The Law of Balance?"
"Yes."
"So you know you are sacrificing everything. It must be fulfilled within two years."
"Sooner."
"I don't understand your willingness to be k-"
"I told you, Parthenope, anything." Draco looked desperate.
"I just want one thing." The General's eyes narrowed. "You."
"Whatever you say." Parry's eyes lit up.
"You will marry me, Draco. I shall join you in the war. I don't care if you are unfaithful. You will marry me."
"Yes."
"Hermione Granger will not remember a thing once I bring her back...she will probably hate you forever." Parry smiled at the thought.
"I know." Draco bit his lip. "At least she will live."
Pathenope Czyren laughed hysterically. "Bit ironic, eh, Draco? Marrying me to save the love of your life who won't even understand what a great sacrifice you have made."
"Time runs short. You can only revive a person within twenty to thirty minutes. Let's leave."
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The altar at the Ruined City...
Hermione's body was already stiff by the time Draco returned. Harry looked in astonishment at his passenger. None had understood her significance.
Parry hopped off the broom and touched Hermione's forehead. She shivered and took a deep breath.
In the same beautiful, melodic voice she started a new song. It was almost painful to hear. The words were Gaelic in origin, soft and haunting. They spoke of terrible mourning, loss and bereavement. Each note seared through Draco's veins like molten lava. The song then drifted into cruel, twisting tunes that penetrated the listener, suffusing them with a feeling of hatred and desolateness- of the unsurmountable loneliness of death.
As they watched, the DeathSong transformed, growing fuller and more alive with each passing beat. Parthenope's fingers glowed with black-silver light and perspiration beaded her brow. Her song was being torn from her throat, and Draco could hear the effort behind it. He heard her wheeze and gasp in her breaths as the song moved at a faster tempo.
Swirling wind enveloped Hermione and the necromancer. The frost twisted in glittering spirals all around her. Parthenope drew the sword from Hermione's breast and tossed it aside. The song grew wild and reckless, sung with sheer joy and abandon. As she warbled the last fruity note, Parthenope's eyes flickered upwards, her chest heaved and she collapsed onto the snow.
Beside her Hermione gave a great gasp and shot upright.
"What happened?" She asked.
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