Something to Worry About

Disclaimer: If you honestly think I own Harry Potter, you should check yourself into St. Mungo's. No really, you should. I hear the jello there is excellent.

See A/N at bottom of page.

Hermione woke when a cold hand slapped over her mouth, none too gently keeping her quiet. Her eyelids flew open, and she jerked reflexively for her wand. The figure's face came into view an instant before she hexed them.

Harry.

What the hell?

The finger he pressed to her lips kept her from asking him what was going on; he pointed to the sleeping figures of her roommates. She nodded in understanding. He pointed outside, toward the lake, and she chanced a glance before they woke the other two girls. She could see only darkness, then a few huddled shadows. Her eyes widened.

Lavender and Parvati, as dippy as they could be at times, understood instantly, rolling for their wands and clothing.

In the minutes that followed, the future of the wizarding world changed forever.

Voldemort smiled in glee as he sensed the boy awaken from slumber, the frantic rush, then the cold calm that followed. The boy wouldn't have the chance to alert Dumbledore before he came. It was a perfect plan.

Snape woke screaming, the Dark Mark blazing white against his skin. The pain seized him, cramping his muscles until tendons stood out in strain on his arms and legs; his back arched so hard the vertebrae cracked and popped. He knew.

Voldemort was here. And he had not been called.

Gryffindors fourth year and above were gathered in the common room. Harry and Hermione had locked the remaining younger students into their dormitories, making sure they were as safe as possible for the ensuing fight. The young warriors bolted out of the portrait hole, gathering in ranks as they had prepared, and marched determinedly down, down, toward the Great Hall. Four messengers were sent out, one to each remaining house and one to alert the faculty.

Hermione smiled grimly at her comrades in arms; if they died tonight, they died fighting.

When the Army of Voldemort invaded the castle, the Army of Hogwarts was waiting for them.

Bloody. If there was one word to describe the final battle, it would be bloody.

Death Eaters had blown the doors to Hogwarts off their hinges; splinters were later found forty meters from the entrance, embedded in stone. Immediately, hexes and curses and jinxes had flown, in a rainbow blaze of light and sparkles. Hermione would never forget the faces of some of her friends that night; grim, frightened, determined not to show it. Wands were at the ready. And when they'd heard the doors go, Minerva McGonagall had spoken in a horrible whisper:

"Give them everything you've got; don't blink."

And they'd fought, screaming and rushing and dodging the curses that meant death and pain. The followers of Voldemort didn't play with such toys as Jelly-Legs and Leg-Lockers. Oh no, Unforgivables were their choice. Hermione had once made a promise to herself. Never would she use an Unforgivable. Not ever.

When she came nose-to-nose with Bellatrix Lestrange, she never hesitated. "Avada Kedavra!" she'd screamed, before the bitch had the chance to cast first.

The woman responsible for the death of Sirius Black and the loss of Frank and Alice Longbottom was gone. Good riddance.

She fought hard and without mercy, side-by-side with Draco Malfoy. She took her share of hexes as she dished them out; more than one burn and broken bone would need to be fixed when this was over. If she made it to the end.

She'd been separated from Harry and Ron when she'd chased a Death Eater down a dungeon corridor. She wasn't taking any chances.

She slowed down when she finally realized where this one was going. Quickly, she turned down a side corridor that ended in a dead end. Or so it appeared. During her sixth year, she'd been looking for a way to escape the jeering of Malfoy and his cronies. Hiding in the hall, she'd leaned breathless against a section of cold stone. Or rather, leaned until she'd fallen through it. It was a mirage, a secret hallway down into the dungeons.

She arrived before the Death Eater did, waiting for him to get in range of a good Petrificus. He burst through the door of Snape's chambers an instant before she'd gotten the chance.

Crossing herself and hoping that she'd make it through, she rushed after him.

"LUNA! WHERE'S HERMIONE?" Harry had to shout to be heard by the girl watching his back.

"I DON'T KNOW. I SAW HER RUN OFF A WHILE AGO!"

"RUN OFF?"

"CHASING - oof! - CHASING SOMEONE!"

He never had the chance to go after her as a second wave of Death Eaters swarmed upon them.

Lucius Malfoy slipped into the room with a satisfied smirk. He was going to deliver the traitor to his master on a silver platter.

Stupid, Severus, betraying the Dark Lord. Very stupid.

The dark man was stretched out across his bed, body seized in agony. Steam curled in thin wisps from his left arm. His skin was reddening from strain and his hands were fisted in the sheets. Sweat had soaked his fine black hair and it lay in lank strings against his face and on his pillow. Tears streamed from his eyes and disappeared into the hairline at his temples.

It was the Cruciatus, and more. It delayed the pain from damaging the brain, as Crucio would, making the bodily torture last longer, become more intense.

Serves you right, you dog. You don't have the right to lick the Master's boot anymore.

A muffled cry came from behind him, and he turned too late to fully dodge the Stunning Spell she'd tossed at him. His wand dropped to floor, and he was stuck in the half-lunge position he'd been in. She raised her wand again, putting the blonde in a full body bind, watching as his arms and legs flew together, and he hit the floor with a muted thud.

She stepped over the prone body of Lucius Malfoy, hastening to Snape's side. Quickly, she ran a list through her mind of everything she knew of the Dark Mark and its effects; it wasn't much.

"Finite Incantatem!" she spoke clearly, hoping it would work.

Nothing happened.

Dumbledore cast spell after spell, everything he could think of to both protect his students and take care of the enemy. He could feel the tide turn against his students; there weren't enough with experience to fight them. He could hear them all around, screaming in anger, in casting, in death.

He would die if it would save the children.

Voldemort faced his nemesis, a look of pure calm on his features. Gone was the slit nose and red eyes of three years ago. Now he was Tom Riddle again. Flesh and bone and blood, filled to the brim with the everlasting need to kill Harry Potter.

The boy faced him with the same calm face. A smear of blood graced his left cheek. His glasses were broken, and his hair was in wild disarray.

Potter.

Riddle.

Ready to die, boy?

If I die killing you, then yes.

Perhaps today is a good day to die, then.

Perhaps.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

It was in unison and with equal power that the curse was cast by both men. For the second time, the golden nimbus of light surrounded them, connecting them in body and wand. Time slowed around them, the battle raging on without them.

I should have told them I loved them.

Silly boy, did you think you could defeat me?

I should have told them all I loved them.

I will win, and I will kill you!

I should have said goodbye.

In a moment of absolute clarity, Harry Potter chose. The nimbus broke, exploding out in a force unparalleled in any way, and the Dark Lord flew back, back, into the far stone wall of the Great Hall. His body impacted the stone no less than a foot below the great Hogwarts Crest, leaving a bloody, smeared trail as it slid, the body going down in a heap. The Boy Who Vanquished lowered his wand, crumpling to the ground.

A/N: And you thought I'd abandoned it. Okay, so four months is a long time between updates, but I had to put aside writing for a while, all right? I still love you guys, and if you're good, I may just send you chocolate chip cookies. (Homemade, of course.)