Chapter 4: The Dawn
Deep within the remains of the castle, the surviving band of students slept uneasily, each one's dreams punctuated by their own distorted view of the disaster that had wiped out the world they had come to know as their world. It was as if god himself had simply said that this place was no longer meant to be.
Hermione had removed the remains of her charred robe to form a pillow on one of the blocks that littered the floor. Her dream was terrifying experience; she dreamt she was standing in a field, Harry and Ron standing before her, then the blast of the A- bomb reached them. She watched helplessly as their bodies disintegrated before her, first their skin, then their muscle and organs and then finally their skeletons, all burning away. She screamed, but nothing came out of her mouth. She looked at her own hand, and saw the same thing happening to her. Then, she felt herself falling, faces flashing past her, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and every other person who she knew was above the surface, and were now reduced to the very atoms that their bodies were made out of. She started to call out, reach out with her hand, trying to grab these people, but she wasn't quick enough, and these people floated away from her grasp.
She woke up. Tears flowing down her face, she looked up to see Harry's deep green eyes staring down on her.
"Oh Harry…" she whispered, struggling to form words as she tried to recollect the events of the past few hours.
"Sshhh", he comforted her, and pulled her close to him. Neither wanted to let go, they both didn't want to lose the last thing they cared about. Hermione turned her head. Ron was on the floor, using Harry's wand to shine a light over Lavender, who looked even worse now, infection was spreading in her wound, and only a few weak moans came from her mouth. Parvati sat close to her, holding her friend's hand, her own covered in blood-soaked bandages. Neville, who had escaped major injuries, was now rocking around on his backside, muttering nonsense words and moving his eyes over the room. The blast had sent him over the edge.
The Slytherins hadn't fared much better. Draco and Pansy were sitting side by side, Pansy's face was badly burned, and bandages covered the entire left side of her face, and frayed holes bore witness to collision with falling stonework. Crabbe and Goyle both sported the usual mixture of burns and cuts, and both sat silently behind Draco.
No one spoke. Words wouldn't do anything to help them now. Hermione settled down with Harry again, and fighting an incredible urge to regurgitate her last meal. Her eyes closed again. Her thoughts went now to her parents; did they think she was dead? Or hadn't they been told? Right now Hermione would have given anything to be with her parents, safe in her bed, warm and cosy, or perhaps with a nice cup of hot chocolate in her hand whilst reading a book of some sort. She slowly drifted off to sleep, a cool breeze helping to sooth her sore burns.
Mr and Mrs Granger sat on their sofa, hugging each other in silence. No one could understand a parent's sorrow, particularly when they didn't know what had happened to their precious daughter. They had left the phone off the hook, and instead kept the telly on, hoping to catch some news on what had happened.
There had been a lot of coverage of the explosion, but it was mostly some obscure ex-MOD scientist discussing the impact of the bomb and how it would affect world peace and something else. The Grangers didn't care, they only wanted their daughter back, or at least know she was dead, so they could at least start to mourn.
Mr Granger had phoned the MOD hotline, but the only information he could get was not to travel to the restricted area. He had a picture of his daughter, which had been magically developed so the people in it moved. He set it down on a table, and he and his wife watched as the little waved back at them, a smile on her face and a pile of books under her arm.
In the North Sea, the USS Powell was observing the effects of the nuclear explosion. Her captain saw nothing wrong when a large airborne target appeared on the radar screen. Just another RAF plane looking around, he thought. He saw nothing wrong as it flew towards his vessel. But the target didn't change course, instead it dived right at the warship. Its lumbering mass slowly turning as the object appeared out of the night sky off the starboard side of the ship.
Less than a minute later, its back was broken and the superstructure was ravaged by fire. The vessel quickly went under. There were no survivors. Just a few broken fittings and loose life jackets floating in a tranquil sea.
A/N Sorry for making Americans die, no offence really, but a necessary part of the story. What do you think? R/R plez.