Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, really. These are the copyrighted property of another; may all props go to JK Rowling, who has blessed the literate world with a body of fiction so rich and so beautiful so as to defy belief. Let this humble work serve as an homage to her brilliance. I certainly will not make any profit off of this tale. It exists in part to aid me in learning to write, and largely only for my own amusement.
Dark Days: Hermione Granger
October 31, 1997. Hermione sat by the window in the Gryffindor Common Room, wishing, for neither the first nor the last time, that Harry was there. It was not that she expected Harry to protect her, although he had proven at the Burrow that he was capable of doing exactly that. Nor was it that she felt free from attack when he was around; in fact, the reverse was more likely true. It was simply that he gave her a sense of content, safety.
The Late Professor Trelawney had once criticized the model student for her lack of an inner eye, but at times Hermione had to question that judgment. There were moments when she felt an inexplicable sense of gloom, as if evil things were about to take place. Harry had a sort of psychic link to Voldemort, and seemed to know when he was feeling especially treacherous. Hermione had never had any direct contact with the evil wizard, but sometimes she felt as if she too could feel his most sinister movements.
On Halloween night, Hermione felt it more powerfully than ever before. Where does this fear come from? It's… irrational. This she concluded, having searched her mind for the most obvious and searing condemnation of the feeling. Still, she knew that there were far and wide reports of near-prescient visions among muggles and wizards alike, the only difference being that wizards studied it in school. Maybe there is such a thing as an inner eye…No, there couldn't be. Just more of Trelawney's tricks and word-games.
Several of her fellow Gryffindors had been taken by the old fraud's act years ago, almost to the point of hero-worship. Hermione had promptly lost all respect for those. In recent memory, though, with dark forces seeming to lurk around every corner, the old witch had seen a resurgence in her popularity. Even Ginny Weasley spent whole hours staring into the fire, repeating the inaudible words to some dreary prophecy.
Hermione found herself staring at the green lights in the night sky in front of her, filling with dread. It was not the Dark Mark; there was no structure or plan to the design. It merely looked as if someone had thrown a shiny green sheet up into the sky. It looked ghastly and unnatural. With a sense of disquiet she turned away from the window and looked about the Common Room.
If Hermione felt nervous, she was not the only one. Ginny Weasley was sitting in front of the fire again, not saying anything but merely watching the flames dance. Her Transfiguration textbook lay open next to her on the ground, looking somewhat lonesome.
Neville Longbottom was sitting beside Dean Thomas, trying to go over some notes for Herbology. Dean's marks had been suffering that year, and Neville was blossoming into a prize student, in that category at least. He sat in front of Dean now, talking about Egyptian Fire Fungus, and gestured at a diagram with his wand. It seemed like his wand had never left his hand since his disappearance; Ron said he even slept with in clutched in his fist. Hermione had felt a little rebuffed when Dean sought out Neville for assistance; after all she was the best student in the House, if not the school. Not that I really have time for it.
Most of the magical community had ground to a stop in the wake of the coming war, but Hogwarts had not. Professor McGonagall worked hard to ensure that her remaining students were given the best possible education. No one could guarantee their survival; but McGonagall would be damned if they died ignorant.
Hermione could find some studious task to fill thirty hours out of the day if she really put her mind to it. There were NEWTS to prepare for at the end of the year, and she wanted to keep her grades up in order to keep an edge in the job market. Whenever I decide what job I really want.
She had kept up the weekly DA meetings. Ever since Harry's departure, it was not entirely clear who held the leadership of the group. Some of the students looked to Ginny or to Ron or even to Neville. Of course, a few of them seemed regarded Hermione as their leader; they at least understood who was putting in effort. In whatever passed for free time in her schedule, she would be found reading text books on disarming spells, deflections, and protective charms. Every week she had new material for her hungry students, and every week they surprised her with their mastery of it. They had learned and honed most of the simple dueling and defense spells in a way she was greatly satisfied with, and she was not easily satisfied. But what will happen when my students leave the classroom and go to war?
Sitting in an armchair in the corner was Ronald Weasley, screwing up his eyes at a celestial map in preparation for a Divination Test. She was not sure, but thought she heard him muttering the word "tripe" repeatedly. He scratched his red head, a look of pure torture crossing his freckled face. Hermione laughed silently at the sight; pure comedy. Ron, you can always make me laugh. It's one of the things I-
Stop. No time for that, not now. Ron is my best friend, not my… not anything else. She was seized by a sudden impulse to run to him and take him her arms, hold him close, for this might be her last chance. She did not do this. That's silly; where is my fabled Gryffindor courage?
* * * *
September 1, 1991. Hermione Granger watched, spellbound, as the ghosts slipped through the wall. She had been in Muggle schools for many years, and had never yet stepped into a Physics classroom. Even so, she was pretty sure that nothing in the Muggle world could explain that. What have I gotten myself into? I should have gone to boarding school. Not Hogwarts, or any of those other wizard schools. I should have stuck with what I know; mathematics and spelling and essays. I'm clearly out of my league here.
"Now form a line, and follow me," the old woman in front of them said loudly.
Feeling as though she would rather turn around and run back to train, Hermione followed orders. Something in the witch's voice made resistance impossible. Whether anyone else present really wished to, they formed a line and followed the deputy-headmistress through the doors, into the rooms that the ghosts must have been in. What have I gotten myself into?
Hermione followed the rest of the students into the Great Hall. All of her fears and concerns about her imminent new life vanished, replaced by astonishment. The room was lit by a thousand candles; all floating in midair, suspended by impossible forces. They cast a brilliant light around the room, in every way decorated lavishly with impeccable taste. The ghosts were there, too, floating about amidst the candles, adding a slightly spooky feel to the scene. Nothing else, in the room or in her previous experience, compared to the roof, though.
She had read about it before, of course; the bewitchment of the ceiling so as to resemble the sky outside. She was still blown away by it: the very heavens were peaking in to watch over the room. There are things in this world that are so majestic that even books cannot convey them. Maybe I did make the right choice in entering this brave new world.
They came to a halt in front of the staff table, and Hermione looked over to see Harry Potter with his head craned back, staring up at the scene in bewilderment. "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside," she whispered to him. When he did not respond, but continued to stare upwards, she added in embarrassment: "I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."
Her attention was taken by Professor McGonagall, who had produced a stool and a beat-up old hat. She placed the hat on top of the stool and within a few seconds the hat began singing, a short song about the nature of the four Houses, and its own wisdom in placing students. Hermione clapped as loudly as anyone when the hat finished singing, again basking in all the wonderful new things in this world.
Professor McGonagall gave them some instructions and then began calling out names. Each student wandered up to the front as their name was called, and placed the Sorting Hat atop their heads. The Hat announced its decision quickly and finally.
When her turn came, Hermione tried not to run to the stool, but felt herself awash with a blend of eagerness and nervousness. She pulled the overlarge hat over her head and sat down. "Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor," she breathed, crossing her fingers hopefully.
"Gryffindor?" A voice appeared inside her head, startling her. There was nothing about this in Hogwarts, A History. "I don't know that I've ever seen a more perfect Ravenclaw. You're exceptionally clever, and well educated for a first year, but with an insatiable thirst for more knowledge. I wouldn't be in the least surprised if you were a direct descendant of Rowena herself."
Rowena Ravenclaw?
"Exactly what I'm talking about. I think we both know where you belong."
But I want to be a Gryffindor.
"Among the courageous, the bold of heart? You're certainly confident, but if you think that's the same thing as bravery, maybe you don't know as much as we both think you do. But if that's what you want, I suppose I can't let you down. Remember, Hermione, courage is a skill, not a gift. Work on it."
* * * *
October 31, 1997. Hermione had fit in pretty well with the Gryffindors in the years since her Sorting. If Neville Longbottom could keep out of Hufflepuff, I could be in any House I want. There had been times, of course, when she wondered if she was in the right place. The most poignant example had been at the end of her first year, when she and Harry had been stuck between towering columns of flame, on their way to find the Sorcerer's Stone. It had been a simple logic puzzle to figure out which bottle held what; one potion led back to safety, the other led to danger, and a confrontation with the Dark Lord. It was a far simpler problem to figure out who would go where. So Harry went on to meet his destiny, and Hermione went back, feeling as though she had been wrong.
Hermione was pulled back into reality from bittersweet reminiscence when the Portrait suddenly swung open. Several Gryffindors, mostly from the lower grades, shuffled in. They were followed by a rather distressed-looking Professor McGonagall.
"Attention, everyone," she stated. The Common Room fell into a complete silence. "Is everyone here?"
Hermione glanced around, counting heads. Twenty-two. "Yes, Professor," she answered instantly.
"And here you shall remain," Professor McGonagall dictated, making eye contact with everyone in the room before continuing. "There is an emergency situation developing, I am afraid that I must leave here to attend to it. With any luck, I shall return soon. Until I do, YOU ARE ALL TO REMAIN IN THIS ROOM. Is that clear?"
Everyone nodded, looking at each other worriedly. Professor McGonagall beckoned to Hermione, and she joined the Headmaster in front of the backside of the Portrait. "Outside," Professor McGonagall said quietly, swinging the door open.
Didn't she just say… "Yes, Professor," Hermione replied, following the old woman out the door. They were alone in the corridor, which suddenly seemed darker and emptier than she could ever remember previously. "What is it, Professor?"
Professor McGonagall made a face of discontent, as if she did not care to answer the question. She sighed heavily and then replied: "The Ministry of Magic is under attack. It looks like… it looks like the final battle. The Deatheaters have pulled out all the stops; they're attacking in force. I'm about to lead the counter-attack from the Order."
Hermione felt her legs go a little wobbly, and she leaned against the wall for support.
"It's okay. We will be successful in turning the attack," The Headmaster assured her. Hermione noticed the lack of confidence in her voice, and it chilled her to the bone. "But we must be prepared for the possibility that we will not."
I can't believe I'm hearing this. "What are you talking about, Professor?" Hermione whimpered.
Professor McGonagall ignored her protest. "More specifically, you will have to be prepared if things do not go our way. It's… it's entirely possible that I will not return from this battle. It's entirely possible that the Deatheaters will meet their goal, and destroy not only the Ministry but the Order as well. If this happens, Hogwarts will be defenseless. They could well attack here and make a clean sweep of it." Professor McGonagall kept her voice level, but Hermione could see a touch of the same fear in her face that was threatening to overtake her.
"I know that you have been very successful with Dumbledore's Army. I am proud of the preparations that you have all made," the older witch went on.
Why does it sound like you are giving your final address?
"But you must not try to face the Deatheaters. If they attack tonight, take as many students with you as you can, and flee this place. Try to find some loose members of the Order or the Ministry. You must not fight, if you can at all help it. Do you understand me, Hermione?"
Only too well. "Perfectly," Hermione answered, wishing that it were not true: wishing in fact that the situation had not been given to her to understand.
"Good," Professor McGonagall breathed. "We shall both hope that I return here soon."
* * * *
October 31, 1997. Hermione was back in front of this window, but this time she had her back to it. Her eyes glanced around the Common Room furtively, taking in the scene. Not a single Gryffindor had gone to bed since Professor McGonagall's announcement, and showed no sign of doing so. The room was abuzz with anxious words and dire speculations. Hermione rubbed her Prefect Badge nervously. Someone needs to restore order here; there's no reason to worry, right?
"What was that little tête-à-tête all about, 'Mione?" a voice asked from her side.
Ron. "Huh?"
"Your talk with McGonagall. Did she tell you what this is all about?"
Ever the impetuous one. It's cute, really. For a friend, that is. "Yeah," Hermione answered, not wanting to talk about it.
"Well then, spill it, 'Mione!" Ron muttered urgently.
I love that name. "It's… Nick, what is it?" Hermione stopped in mid-sentence to address the Gryffindor Ghost, who had just wandered into the common room in a state of extreme urgency.
"Catastrophe! It's war! It's war!" he shouted, quickly silencing all the other conversations in the room.
Did Professor McGonagall tell him, too? And why is he sharing it with all the students?
"Peter Pettigrew and a band of soldiers are attacking Hufflepuff House!" Nick screamed, drawing outraged gasps from many in the room, including Hermione. "And Draco Malfoy is marching all the Slytherins up to Gryffindor Tower as we speak!"
Hermione felt her heart freeze in terror. "This is it, then," she said quietly. The whole room hung on her every word. "The war has come to us at last. The teachers are away, and Draco Malfoy is bringing to the war here to us, now."
"It can't be!" Dean yelped, seeming terrified.
"It isn't so unlikely," Neville retorted. "It was almost inevitable, in a way."
"How long until they get here, Nick?" she asked the House Ghost.
"Any minute!"
"They will still have to get through the Fat Lady," Hermione said, nodding. "Nick, I want you to go to Ravenclaw. Find Luna Lovegood, and tell her what is happening. Make sure that she understands. Tell her to mobilize – no, tell her that I said to mobilize her soldiers, and to go and assist Hufflepuff in their time of need."
"They aren't soldiers, they are just kids, like us!" Dean protested.
"Not anymore. Today we are all soldiers," Hermione replied, her voice hard.
"What about Gryffindor?" Ginny asked, sounding frantic.
"We will manage," Hermione answered. "Until help arrives."
"That's very brave of you," Nick spoke up. "But I think it would be wiser to bring the Ravenclaws here."
"Why is that?" Hermione demanded, her voice sharp.
"Well, there are more soldiers on their way here, and… And I don't know that there is anyone left to save in Hufflepuff."
Merlin's Beard. Good-bye, my friends. And just ten minutes ago I was worried about Dean seeking out Neville for help instead of me. "Very well, then. Send them our way. Then go and watch Pettigrew. If they show any sign of joining the fray, I will need to know immediately."
"Right away!" Nick shouted, and stole away on his urgent mission.
"Okay, my fellow soldiers. The time has come to show what we have learned," Hermione spoke loudly, noting the complete attention that she was receiving. "Turn over every couch, chair and desk in the room and make them into a semicircle arrayed around the Portrait. Make sure that no one is in front of anyone else. Hide behind the ramparts and have your wands ready. When they find a way through the door, they will come pouring in: stun them quickly."
"Stun them?" Neville asked. "I think we can expect them to use far worse spells against us."
"Stun them, Neville," Hermione repeated, allowing no doubt to enter her voice. "I will not kill anyone if I can help it."
Neville looked like he wanted to retort, but did not. The students began to turn over the couches and desks as ordered, sliding them into position. The work was interrupted when the Portrait swung open quite sooner than expected. All eyes rooted to the spot.
"GET DOWN!" Hermione screamed, pulling Ron down to the floor beside her.
From the shadows outside the door, a bottle of murky fluid was given wings. It soared through the air and smashed into the hearth. Almost immediately, thick gray-green smoked engulfed the room. Within seconds, they could hear feet shuffling inside.
"FIRE!" Hermione screamed, and only then was the smoke lit by blazes of red light.
The intruders responded in vicious manner. Green lights were returning from the other side of the room, but it was impossible to tell how many found their target, owing to the thick smoke that had covered everything.
"How did they get in?" Ron coughed, choking.
"STUPEFY!" Hermione shouted. They had found their way behind a large couch, and she was casting the stunning spells around the corner in the general direction of the door. Occasionally the couch would lurch against them, when hit by a hurtful spell. "They must have the password," she replied simply a second later. Which means that we have been betrayed.
"What's going on out there?" Ron asked. "I can't see a thing out there!"
Me neither. Hermione rolled over on her back and pointed her wand where she guessed the window would be and let off another stunner. She heard it slap against the stone wall. She aimed a little to the left, and then fired again. This time she heard glass shattering, and knew she had hit her mark. "Dispellitus!" she exclaimed, and the smoke began to drain out the window.
The scene slowly came into focus. Ron was still beside her, and on the far side of him was Neville, at the other end of the couch. She could see that several other ramparts were manned by various other Gryffindors, the Creevey brothers behind the nearest, and a pale-faced first year between them. Between the many ramparts were scattered dead Gryffindors; their eyes open, their faces contorted in fear… I can't mourn them right now.
The action had died down after the initial burst of spells. It seemed as though everyone in the room had found their way behind some sort of wall or another, and the frenzy of attack had turned into an entrenched war of attrition. Most of the people in the room were peering around corners and letting off occasional spells. She glanced around wildly, searching for a particular face. "Where's Ginny?" she whispered fiercely.
"What?" Ron snapped, a look of pure rage on his face.
Hermione put her free hand on his forearm to restrain him. "Hold."
"Where are you Longbottom, you filthy squib?" A voice jeered from near the entrance. Hermione stole a glance around the corner, spotting a sea of corpses from both Houses. At the Portrait hole, more Slytherins were coming in. Hermione tucked her head back in time to avoid a flash of green.
"Longbottom!" Draco's voice rang out again. Wherever he was, he must have felt secure."The Dark Lord has decreed that you must pay for the death of Bellatrix Lestrange!"
Hermione looked over at Neville, who returned her a very worried, very confused face.
How could he know about that? We told no one… no one, except… Hermione looked around wildly, and this time located Dean Thomas and Ginny Weasley sitting behind a desk, on the wrong side. Dean had his arm around her throat, and clutched his wand in his other hand, a look of terrified elation on his face. That's our traitor. She had no chance to fire at him, as he was largely concealed behind the desk, and Ginny was between them.
"Dean, you bloody idiot!" Hermione howled at the ceiling. "What are you doing, you stupid stupid fool! You're muggle born like me! They will use you today, and then kill you tomorrow for not having pure blood!"
"Sod off, Granger!" Dean called back. "I have been granted a great prize for my service!" He held Ginny all the tighter, smiling viciously.
Hermione could scarcely breathe. The rumors of Dean's affection for Ginny were right after all. He had joined the other camp in order to get her.
"I'll kill him!" Ron breathed, starting to get up.
Hermione held him down again. "You'd never make it across the room!" she hissed. "Sit tight and wait for our chance."
Ron apparently was not the only one who would kill to keep Dean's hands off Ginny. Draco suddenly appeared beside the two of them and stuck his wand in Dean's side.
"What the-" Dean started, but got no further.
"Avada Kedavra!" Draco stated, and grabbed Ginny before she could escape from Dean's suddenly limp arms.
You deserved that, Dean.
A lull in the action occurred then; it was nearly thirty seconds any more killing curses hit the back of the couch. Draco had apparently orchestrated a combined attack on that couch, having zeroed in on her location. The force threw the whole couch forward several inches. One of the wooden armrests banged into the back of Hermione's head, and her vision was filled with stars for a few horrible seconds. After a moment, the stars were gone.
So was Ron. He had taken off in her moment of disorientation, and was racing across the room recklessly, diving from chair to desk in a rage to get to the place where Draco held Ginny captive. All around him green spells flew, but none found their mark. After a few anxious moments, he was on the other side of the desk from Draco and Ginny.
"Where is he?" Hermione heard Draco call to his soldiers urgently.
Ron nearly pulled it off. In a swift, deft maneuver, he hurtled over the top of the desk and managed to get behind Draco, safe from enemy fire. He threw a vicious blow to Draco's jaw, and Ginny squirted free, back to the Gryffindor side of the desk. No Slytherin fired at her.
Draco recovered from the blow and began struggling with Ron. Hermione held her breath as Draco got his back to the desk and his foot into Ron's chest. She figured out his plan just as he kicked Ron hard in the jaw, sending the Gryffindor toppling over on his back. Hermione's scream was drowned out as a volley of green spells pelted his body.
"No! No, god no, please no, don't let it be true, oh god no RON!" Hermione screamed, her voice choking in tears. "Please no!"
"Oh no!" Draco's voice rang out in mockery. "Not Ickle-Ronnikins! Don't let it be so!"
Hermione's heart had no room for hate, so overflowing as it was with pain.
"Did we kill your little lover, Mudblood?" Draco taunted. "Did this pitiful excuse for a wizard mean something to you, Granger? Why don't you come over here and make me pay for it then?"
Ron… no…
"Come on, Mudblood, I'll strike you a deal," Draco shouted, changing tacks. "Give me the squib, and I'll leave the rest of you in peace."
Hermione snapped out of her reverie. You too I will mourn later, Ron. "Fat chance!" she exclaimed, finding her voice again.
"That's a pity. Now we'll have to kill you all!" Draco laughed. Hermione could see that he was making some sort of gesture to his troops, but she could not discern what it was, exactly.
That second, a pair of Slytherins broke out from their hiding places and charged toward her couch. She saw them coming just in time to duck her head back around the corner to escape the cover fire from the Slytherins. Neville, on the other hand, struck back. "Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!" he shouted, and Hermione realized that the pair of thumps she'd heard meant that he had hit his target.
"Looks like someone over there has grown some balls!" Draco cried out in a singsong voice.
His elation alone was enough to turn Hermione's stomach. We've sunk to his level, and it pleases him. She looked at Neville sadly, and he stared resolutely back. She found that she could not maintain eye contact, and looked away. Her attention was drawn by a bright red shape not four feet in front of her. Fawkes? What are you doing here?
"My friends, I think we've found the squib," Draco called out, again taking Hermione's attention. He began gesturing and speaking in a whisper to his troops. Soon, he would be laying plans to swarm the couch and kill both of them. She knew they had to move; to remain where they were was death. Hermione looked about wildly. To her left was the entrance to the girls' dormitories. She could lead the rest of the girls up there, but the enchantment on the stairwell meant that the boys would be stranded. There was no such enchantment on the boys' stairwell, but the entrance to that was clear across the room, where Draco and Ginny were on opposite sides of the same desk.
Hermione strained her ears to hear. She could not make Draco's words, but she could hear the sounds of spells cast out in the corridor. In fact, it was a confrontation. Luna!
Whatever Draco Malfoy had a mind to pull, he soon found his plans dashed. His soldiers were suddenly fighting an entrenched battle in the common room, while being wide open to the Ravenclaw attack in the hallway. Previously, it had been a sort of uneven impasse, with the Slytherins sure to better the outnumbered Gryffindors, although at a high cost. Now, however, they were squeezed between two sets of armies.
Neville, too, appraised the situation quickly. He peaked back around the corner and began shooting green light at the Slytherins. "Gryffindors, ATTACK!" he screamed.
Draco was trapped in crossfire and he knew it. He did not hesitate to issue one final order; sending his soldiers charging at Hermione's couch.
Hermione began stunning the attackers in a state of near panic. Fifteen seconds elapsed in pure terror, as hordes of green-clad warriors raced toward her. The remaining Gryffindors were now standing and delivering a counter-strike. At the door, Hermione could see the first Ravenclaws entering the Gryffindor Common Room, stepping over the bodies of the Slytherins littered on the floor.
Hermione could soon see little else except a cluster of green swarming in her direction. Bits of the mass fell off on either side, and the force diminished in strength as it approached. Finally, Blaise Zabini toppled over in front of her after being hit by one of Neville's spells. His head impacted heavily the stone ground less than a foot away, and Hermione thought she might have been hit with a chunk of tooth that sprayed out of his mouth.
Behind Blaise was… no one. Silence slowly descended on the Common Room, as Gryffindors and Ravenclaws stood dumbfounded by the scene of carnage in front of them. Every bit of furniture had been turned over, and most of it had been smashed fragmented by spells. There was still a dim haze of green left over from the smoke bomb, and the air was tingling with the residual power of so many spells cast. There was a sea of dead bodies in the common room; Slytherin, Gryffindor and even a few Ravenclaw. No one was safe from the slaughter.
Luna Lovegood, looking a bit taller but paler than usual, poked her head into the door and seemed to swallow whatever comment she was about to make. Beside her, Terry Boot patted her shoulder in a consoling way.
Hermione had no more time for any of this. She got to her feet, stepped over Blaise, and then made her way toward the far side of the room. Luna was beginning to assure that the survivors were intact, but Hermione did not care: her only concern was for one who was not at all intact.
Ginny had found her way back around the desk, and was squatting beside her brother, whimpering quietly. Hermione fell to her knees beside her, and only then did the tears come. She held Ginny and they howled together, and before she knew they were both clinging to the cooling corpse without any other care in the world.
"Hermione," a voice said from far away. "Hermione? HERMIONE!"
She looked over her shoulder with watery eyes at Neville, who was standing beside Luna. The Ravenclaw clung to his shoulder, her face pink but determined. Lucky bitch.
"What is it Neville?" Hermione croaked, surprised at the sound of her own voice.
"We have collected most of the bodies," he told her, his voice stiff with formality. "We have not found Draco's body."
Hermione frowned. "Well, keep looking. It's possible he has escaped out into the castle, but I doubt it. He must be around here somewhere."
Neville nodded, and he and Luna turned to start giving orders to their troops. Hermione felt a sense of puzzlement that they were taking orders from her. "I'm going up… to his room," she told them with difficulty, eyeing the staircase in front of her. "I'll be back shortly."
She began to ascend the stairs, her legs feeling shaky. She tucked her wand into her robes and grabbed the railing for support. She took each step slowly, deliberately. She was not sure why she was going upstairs, to his room, but she wanted to get away from the dead body downstairs that she found herself unable to look at anymore.
She was jerked into awareness by shuffling sounds inside the seventh year dormitory. She pulled her wand and crouched low outside the door, peering in. Draco Malfoy was inside, rummaging about with his right hand, his left holding his wand at the ready.
Hermione felt anger surging through her. "Accio Wand!" she shouted, and before he knew what happened she was holding both wands.
"Mudblood!" he hissed, facing her.
"Villain!' she returned, standing up tall. She tossed his wand back down the staircase, and pointed her own at his heart. Kill him!
"Are you going to kill me, Granger?" Draco asked, beginning to cross the small room toward her.
Oh yes. Avada Kedavra! However, All that came out of her mouth was odd, sputtering noises. SAY IT! AVADA KEDAVRA! He killed Ron, he took Ron away from you! He must die!
Draco was right in front of her, his hand reaching out for her wand. He was saying something, likely a taunt of some sort, but the world seemed to have gone silent. Nooooooo!
The tip of another wand appeared over her right shoulder, and green light burst out of the end of it. Hermione had enough time to see Draco's eyes widen in dismay before he fell over backwards, dead.
Sound returned to the world. "Are you okay?" Neville asked, still standing behind her.
Never been worse. "Yes."
"It'll be okay," he assured her.
How can you say that? "I couldn't kill him, Neville," she said softly. "Even after he started this war, even after he killed… I still couldn't do it."
Neville put his hands on her shoulder and swiveled her around to face him. He leaned his face close to her, staring intently at her. "Hermione, listen to me. You did not kill him because you are not a killer. It's just not in you. And don't ever regret that."
Hermione looked at Neville's round face, at his sad but hardened eyes, and believed him.
"Do you know how he got up here?" Neville asked a few moments later, gesturing to the corpse on the ground.
Hermione made a grim face. "I think that he… used the last of his soldiers in a big charge to get at us. He couldn't have expected to get us, but it did give him a chance to slip upstairs."
Neville whistled. "I wish I were surprised."
"No, Draco was no hero, not even to his own." She felt her cheeks burning, a wave of new tears threatening to break through.
"Hermione, I'm afraid you're going to have to hold it together for a little longer," Neville said tenderly, releasing her shoulders and looking away. "We yet have work to do. Peter Pettigrew and his soldiers are still in the castle. It's no good to sit and wait here for them to attack, either; that didn't work very well for us before. Luna and I think it would be best if we moved against them."
Oh please, no more death today! "I suppose you're right about that. How many, oh god," she stammered trying to ask the difficult question. "How many of us are left?"
Neville's eyes dropped to the ground. "Seventeen," he answered.
"Seventeen Gryffindors?" she asked hopefully.
Neville shook his head. "Seventeen in all."
Hermione felt as though the ground were giving way below her, literally. The look on Neville's face told her that he had felt it, too. She turned her eyes out the window to see that the sky only, and not the ground, was visible.
"We're moving," she breathed in surprise.
"How is that possible?" Neville asked incredulously.
"I don't know. But I think maybe we need to get out of here," she said, grabbing his wrist and leading him down the staircase at a run. Halfway down, the castle lurched again with a deep groan, throwing them against the wall. They jumped the last few steps and emerged into the common room, where the survivors were looking about in confusion.
"What's going on?" Terry Boot yelled.
"I don't know, but I think the castle is collapsing!" Hermione answered. "We need to get out of here right now!" Several students began moving toward the portrait hole, but Hermione called them back. "Stop! We'll never get out in time, that way." She looked about wildly until her eyes fell on the small red bird, now sitting on Ginny's shoulder. It looked anxious, if that is possible for a bird.
"Ginny! Come over here," Hermione said. She ran over to the window that she had previously broken during the fight, and broke out the rest of the pane. Ginny was now beside her with the Phoenix. "Everyone else link arms and grab onto us!"
The other children hurried to do as ordered. The castle mean while was making loud groaning noises – from the sounds, it would not be long before the whole thing went down. Ginny and Hermione grabbed onto Fawkes' feet, and everyone else latched onto them.
"Is this everyone?" Hermione asked. There were roughly a dozen students congregated around them, pressed tightly together in a mesh of limbs.
Neville nodded, his face lit with fear.
"Okay, hang on!" Hermione shouted. Something rather large must have given out below them, and she felt her stomach sink horribly. She turned to the small red bird. "Fawkes, please take us away from here!"
Dumbledore's pet seemed to understand, and began beating its wings heavily. A peculiar energy seemed to course through Hermione's fingers, and throughout her body, passing on to the others. Suddenly, they were airborne, outside the castle. After a few wild seconds, Hermione turned back to look at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Something was indeed wrong with the castle, as large bits of the first floor seemed to be missing, somehow. Everything on top of that was quivering and swaying, no part more so than Gryffindor Tower.
Without much notice, their House toppled over away from them, landing on top of the castle itself. This proved to be the catalyst for the entire event; the castle buckled and collapsed under the weight with a loud roar. The roof everywhere fell in, walls folded in, and everything dropped to the ground, spraying a plume of dust upwards.
Hogwarts is no more.
Fawkes, who seemed to be struggling under their combined weights, began taking them down in a wide spiral. Within two minutes of the time they had left the window of the now-defunct Gryffindor tower, the Phoenix had brought them in for a slightly rough landing.
"Thank you Fawkes. You've saved us all," Hermione said, softly petting the bird. He did not say anything, of course, but made eye contact in an understanding way. With a flap of his wings he left Hermione's fingers and settled back on Ginny's shoulder. Curious.
Neville, who had been staring at the wreckage that was once his school, began walking towards it, his wand still in his hand. His walk was slow and deliberate; he was not mounting an emergency rescue mission. They understood perfectly well that there was no one alive inside. Hermione and the rest of the survivors fell into step with him.
Here we are; all that remains of Hogwarts. Beside her, Ginny walked with the Phoenix sitting on her shoulder. Luna and Neville were in the lead, followed by Lavender Brown, and Natalie McDonald (a fourth year from Gryffindor). Somewhere behind them walked the Creevey brothers, and the rest of Ravenclaws, led by Terry Boot and Mandy Brocklehurst.
Within a few minutes, they had reached the place where the front doors had once been. Neville and Luna stopped in their tracks, witnessing the panorama of destruction. Hermione walked right past them and stooped before the pile of rubbish that had been the outside wall. She reached out her hand and touched the warm stone.
"That may not be a good idea, Hermione," a strong voice ordered her.
Hermione jerked her hand back and looked up, into the wreckage, to see who was speaking to her. "Professor McGonagall?" she gasped, unable to believe it.
"Yes, my dear," the shimmering ghost in front of her answered, staring at her with pearly eyes.
"How- What are you- What happened?" Hermione said, having finally deciding which question was best.
"I believe that the battle at the Ministry has likely concluded. I daresay that things did not go well for us, particularly for me," the apparition before her said, gesturing to her shimmering body. "The Ministry of Magic has been destroyed, almost as completely as Hogwarts will be. There are few among our government that are still alive. The Order of the Phoenix has also suffered heavy losses, but will remain intact."
"And… Harry?" Ginny asked, her voice tremulous.
"The Boy-Who-Lived was still alive when… when I was struck down," the ghost answered. "After Albus perished, I thought it was a great pity to have lost his services forever, and I promised myself that, that if my time came, I would not leave you in this battle. So I did not cross over to the other side. I came back with the intention of helping in these Dark Days. Little did I suspect that I would come back and find this." Professor McGonagall gestured to the pile of rubble behind her.
"What happened to our school, Professor?" Neville spoke up.
Professor McGonagall made a very bitter face. "It was a very old potion, known as the Stoneburner Draught. It basically eats stone away. Draco must have started it on the ground floor. I could have stopped it if I were here. As it is, Hogwarts has been destroyed. No one is left alive inside."
Hermione turned her gaze over the breathtaking destruction in front of her eyes. Bits of the castle were still in tact; the curve of a wall here, a segment of hallway there. Little by little the pieces were still collapsing in, as the pile slowly leveled itself out. Soon, the Stoneburner would eat the rest of it away, leaving only the contents of the castle in a beaten up jumble. Energy, in a variety of colors and intensities, was zapping through the broken chunks. In the distant, through the haze of still settling dust and magic, Hermione could see a variety of white shapes floating about.
"Can you see the spells discharging out there?" the ghost went on, with a jerk of her head behind her.
"Yes," Hermione answered. "What's happening?"
"As you know, there are, or rather were, a variety of spells protecting Hogwarts from attack. However, they never anticipated an attack from within our own school." The ghost seemed to be choked up by the events, and held her silence for a moment. "It was unthinkable, really. But, at any rate, the spells on the school were all tied into the very building itself; not in the desks or the tables or beds inside, for this come and go. The protection was cast on the stones themselves, the very bones of Hogwarts. And now that the bones are rotting away, these very powerful spells are being released."
"Why are they crying?" Luna asked, gesturing to the rest of the Hogwarts ghosts. Hermione listened closely and discovered that Luna was right; from the direction of the swirling spirits one could make a distinct, ominous wail.
"Ahh. I cannot explain to you the mysteries of Death, but these souls are.. tied to Hogwarts. They do not leave the grounds; they cannot. And now that it is being destroyed, their time is at its end. They are pretty upset about it, as you can see," she explained.
"Does that mean that you'll die, too?" Ginny squeaked.
"My dear, I already have."
"Then you will... pass on?" Hermione guessed.
"In truth, I am not sure what happens to a wizard once they have rejected to pass on, and then are forced out of this plane of existence. Perhaps we will `pass on', or maybe we will simply cease to be," Professor McGonagall said quietly. "So you see, Death is as much a mystery to me as it is to you."
Silence hung, thick and complete, between them. The wheels in Hermione's clever brain were turning rapidly, trying to come up with anything. I can't lose any one else tonight!
"Professor!" she declared suddenly.
"Please Hermione, just this once, can you call me Minerva?" the ghost asked, her face tender and translucent. "After all, it is my last night on Earth."
"Oh, certainly, Pr-Minerva," Hermione answered, somewhat surprised. "I was wondering, why don't we pull some of the larger pieces out of there? We could make a little pile over here, and you and Nick could stay on it, and-"
"No, that won't do. We would be doomed to spend eternity sitting on a rock in the middle of nowhere. These ghosts have no life of their own; their reason for staying on this Earth is the students of Hogwarts, the life going on inside its walls," McGonagall explained. "I'm afraid that Death catches up with us all in the end, and the time had come for the Ghosts of Hogwarts."
"What should we do then?" Ginny asked, her voice frantic.
"Go to Hagrid's Hut. Wait for someone from the Order, who should be arriving shortly, as soon as they make heads or tails of the events at the Ministry," McGonagall went on. "You must take them a message for me. Tell them not to fear, that we will yet win our most noble war."
"How do you know that?" Ginny cried out.
McGonagall did not answer immediately. "It is the truth, young Weasley. Even as I die this night, I have hope for the future."
No one answered this.
"Furthermore, you must tell them Remus Lupin is to succeed me as the leader of the Order. It is important, in these times of confusion, that there be a clearly mandated leader. I choose Remus."
What about Harry?
"I know that the most powerful wizard among is Harry Potter, but he is not yet ready to shoulder the responsibilities of leadership, and I ask that you honor my request," McGonagall told them, addressing the unasked question on all of their lips.
"Of course," Hermione squeaked.
"And now you must go," the ghost said. "My time is near at hand, and I do not wish for you all to be here to witness it. Please remember this one thing; I loved you all very much, and I am saddened to leave you now, when you need me most."
"We love you, too, Minerva!" Hermione cried, tears suddenly running down her face.
"I love you!" Ginny called.
Their sentiments were echoed by the other students present, until McGonagall raised her hand to silence them. "Obey this my final command; go to Hagrid's."
"Yes, Minerva." Hermione turned with a heavy heart and lead the rest of the students away from the pile of destruction that was their home for years.
* * * *
November 1, 1997. "I don't think I was cut out for this," Hermione remarked suddenly, shattering several hours of silence. It was early in the morning by then; in the east she could see the horizon beginning to light. There was still no sight of the rescue party from the Order, so they passed the time in quiet contemplation. Fawkes had recently departed to return to Harry, so it was only a matter of time.
"What's that?" Neville asked, his voice thick and hoarse. He had been slapping his wand against his free hand absentmindedly, but stopped when she spoke up. The two of them sat outside the door to Hagrid's Hut. Inside, the other students were trying to sleep, crashed out on various blankets and sheets. They alone had elected to keep watch, and sent the others to sleep.
"This whole thing, really. Fighting and killing; I certainly am not cut out for that."
"Hermione-"
"No no, hear me out. I know that I'm not a killer, and I'm okay with that. I really am. It's the rest of it that perplexes me, the leadership thing. I could lead the DA meetings, because that's just school, you know? I can do academic stuff. But because of my responsibilities to that group, I became the leader in battle tonight, and I couldn't handle it," Hermione explained.
"You know what? I never really felt we had a leader in the DA," Neville replied.
"Huh?"
"I don't think we had a leader, Hermione. I mean, sure, there were a few of us older students who kept things moving, but I don't think any one of us was the leader. I know the kids all felt that way."
"What are you saying?" Hermione asked, perplexed. It was as if something very important was going on, and she was missing it.
"I think you were in charge tonight because you chose it," Neville answered.
"I-I didn't want to. I would have gladly let anyone else do it."
"You don't have to apologize, Herm: You did a great job. Truly. It was grace under fire, literally. You saved a lot of lives tonight."
Not enough. "But-But I'm not brave like you, like Harry!" Hermione protested. "It seems like I've spent the whole night crying."
"Nonsense. You kept your head when Draco and his soldiers were breathing down our necks; that's saying a lot. Whatever happened later, you were in control when it mattered; that's what matters," Neville told her. "The fact that you cried only means that you're a sensitive human being, that you haven't let this war change you, make you colder. You're to be commended for that. You say that I'm brave, but you're wrong. I've killed, not because I'm strong, but because I'm weak. I don't have the strength to be who you are, to keep myself during this whole affair. I… hate that I kill."
"It's not your fault, Neville," Hermione said, squeezing his shoulder. "It's this war, it's Voldemort. Don't flinch when I say that; I think we've both outgrown that silliness."
"Yeah, you're right. V-Voldemort. Wow, that's tough to say. Voldemort," Neville said, looking around as if the Dark Lord might indeed show up. "Listen, Herm, I don't want to hear anymore of this nonsense about your being too weak or too afraid. You're strong, and you're brave."
Hermione reflected on this for a moment. "I've learned a thing or two about courage, tonight. Courage does not mean not being afraid, because I was terrified throughout the whole affair. I think courage is the ability to act in spite of the fear, to be able to forge ahead when what you really want to do is run."
"I'd agree with that," Neville said. "What else did you learn?"
Hermione closed her eyes, picturing Ron lying on his back on the common room floor, his eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling above. "Courage just isn't enough. Courage won't save you from losing the things that matter to you in this world."
"No, it sure doesn't," Neville agreed. "Looks like we have company."
"Harry?" Hermione asked, opening her eyes quickly.
"No, not that sort of company at all."
Hermione looked back toward the scattered debris that had been Hogwarts to see a group of several dozen people approaching from the distance. Hermione shook her head and looked again; the group was not actually far away, they were simply very small. Marching toward the front of the group Hermione recognized Winky, onetime servant of Bartemius Crouch.
Hermione and Neville stood up and walked toward the group, meeting them some fifty feet in front of Hagrid's dwelling.
"Hi there, guys," Hermione greeted them, unsure what to say.
"Master Granger," spoke one of them. He stood a little taller than the rest of the group, and seemed to speak for them all. "We present ourselves to your service." With that, he dropped to his knees in front of her, and the rest of the house-elves quickly followed suit.
Oh, bloody hell. "I-I don't want your service. I want you to be free."
"We are yours to command," the leader persisted.
"Then I command you to be free, and to do as you please," Hermione informed them.
At this pronouncement, the group began to howl and wail in abject misery. "Master is… presenting us with clothes?" he asked, seeming terrified of the possibility.
Hermione opened her mouth to explain to them that they were free, and that this was nothing to be feared, and that they should seize the opportunity joyfully. Neville's arm on her elbow interrupted her. "What?" she asked, her voice severe.
"C'mon, Herm, they've had a long day as it is, just like we have. Don't do this to them. Not now, at least," he added, his voice plaintive.
"They could be free!" Hermione whispered urgently.
"But they don't want that," Neville insisted. "Look at them."
Hermione did as suggested. In front of her, the group of prostrated house-elves quivered in horror, knowing that their fate was being decided. None of them dared to look at her. "But why would they want that?" she asked aloud.
"Who knows? It's the way they are. It's not a question of servitude or wrongdoing. This is what they want, Herm. Don't deny them."
Hermione opened her mouth to respond that she had no intention of perpetuating slavery, but instead proclaimed: "Very well. You may come with me, my… friends."
An authentic cheer rose from the ranks of the house-elves, startling her terribly.
"But things are going to change, starting right now," Hermione went on, earning an exasperated sigh from Neville. You there, in front, what is your name?"
"I is Plunky, master," the elf squeaked.
"Okay, then, Plunky. From now on, no one is
to refer to me as Master," Hermione told him. "I is, er, I am Hermione, and I
won't tolerate anything else. Is that clear?"
"Yes Mas- urm, Hermione,"
Plunky stuttered.
"Good. And all of you get on your feet, right now," Hermione continued. "From now on, you're not to bow to me or any other human. We can figure out your wages and hours later."
"WAGES?" Plunky exclaimed, sounding as if he had just been hit.
"Yes, that's right, and I'll hear no more argument on the topic," Hermione said severely.
"What is you meaning by hours, Hermione?" Winky spoke up.
"Oh, you know, the times when you work, and when you are off-duty," she explained.
"Hermione!" Neville exclaimed, but she paid him no attention.
"I is not understanding, Hermione," Plunky told her.
"Well you will," Hermione answered. "Before I'm through, many things are going to change."