Hermione could not make out what was going on around her. All she could
sense was a lot of screaming, mixed feelings of anger, fear, sadness, and
finality. The last thing that she could remember clearly was Draco Malfoy
being killed by his father and the curse that was sent her way immediately
after. Harry's voice was vivid. What he said and what he did was blurry.
She remembered the feeling of being dragged along the floor quickly, and
Harry's voice screaming in what sounded like panic. Than a cold voice
entered her conscious. She recognized that voice.
Voldemort.
He was the only one she could think of with that voice. It was very distinct. She could feel the raw power coming off of him, and she deducted that she was either very close to him, or he was even more powerful than she'd been told. She heard the voice for a few moments. It sounded like he was amused or pleased. Than a flash of green light appeared, and she heard Harry scream. Another flash of green light, and than for a few moments, silence, before she again heard the cold, high pitched laughter that had invaded the hall many times before and during the battle.
Voldemort was still holding her as a shield. His arm was around her shoulders, and he continued to speak to the group.
"Where are your saviours now? I have taken them. What ever will you do?" He said in mock despair. He began to laugh again.
Hermione felt the tremor behind her. She knew that she was being held up, and that Voldemort's voice sounded very close up. The only thing she could figure, knowing that he once again occupied a physical body other than his previous snake-like appearance that he was directly behind her. She felt his arm around her shoulders, and decided that this must be true. If it wasn't, well, at least she tried. Without him noticing, she remembered that she still clutched the knife, hidden in her robes.
Slowly, she raised the knife, and plunged it into whatever body part it happened to hit. Voldemort screamed in pain. He had protected his new body against curses, but had not done much protection on muggle weapons. He didn't think that anyone armed would be able to get close enough to him to do it. Foolish thinking. The grip on Hermione's shoulders loosened enough for her to struggle free. Her vision still blurry, but getting better despite the internal bleeding, she turned to see that her assumption had been correct. She had been Voldemort's captive.
She removed the knife from his pelvis, which is where it had landed, and plunged again in the left side of his chest, piercing his heart. The blood that flowed through the veins of his new body began to gush out, and much of it landed on Hermione, who was not quick enough to get away from him.
Before she was able to take a step back, Voldemort lifted his wand towards her, "Avada Kedavra" he muttered with his last bit of strength. The green light that shone towards her was very weak. It hit her, and she blacked out.
The rest of the occupants of the Great Hall stood and watched the dying form of Voldemort. Thinking that Hermione had been killed in those moments, they all raised their wands to the weakened form. Charlie had first countered any charms that would protect Voldemort, and the group than used the killing curse to finish him off. Many of them collapsed in exhaustion. The doors to the Great Hall were opened, and some of those still fighting had scrambled in. Death Eaters were still fighting for their beliefs with Voldemort, but soon were overpowered. The remaining alive were all taken into custody by the Aurors that had arrived the previous day after word of the attack had gotten out.
Professor McGonagall approached the still figure of the Headmaster, and fell to her knees beside him. Checking for a pulse, the last bit of hope that she had dimmed. She remained by his side for a few moments, composing herself. Charlie and Hagrid checked on Harry, and discovered that there was no hope for him as well. Professor Snape approached Hermione, expecting much of the same. When he checked for a pulse, however, he had discovered a weak, but steady one.
"Over here!" He shouted towards Poppy, who was doing a check up of Draco Malfoy, and declaring the time of death. Poppy quickly made her way towards Snape and Hermione, and brought out her wand. She, too, registered the weak pulse.
"Quickly, Severus. Bring her to the tent. I fear that there is very little time." She said. Snape nodded his head, and quickly, but gently, picked up the girl. Both he and Poppy made their way to the tent, hoping that they were not too late.
~@~
It was three days later that she regained some form of consciousness. How she had survived the killing curse cast by one of the most powerful wizards that century was beyond him. After examining Voldemort's remains, many of the researchers determined that Voldemort was extremely weakened and did not have the proper focus to perform the curse to its fullest, and therefore, had been unsuccessful.
It had taken Poppy almost 5 hours to get Hermione's vitals strong enough for her liking. The internal bleeding had taken its toll on Hermione, and it had almost been her end. She must have been in unbearable pain by the end of it. The memorials would begin in a few days. It would give enough time for most of those injured to attend. Out of the 1000 people who began the defense against Tom Riddle, only 264 made it out alive. It may be even fewer in a few days. There were many who were injured gravely.
The evening of the third day, Snape went to Hermione's side again. She was slowly recovering, and he had spent the day making a lotion for all those with surface damage. It would help soothe the pains from the hexes and open wounds. When he arrived, he had taken some of the cream, and stripped back some of the clothes she was wearing. He almost cringed at the sight of all the cuts and bruises. The wound in her side looked especially grotesque. The bacteria off the knife that she had been stabbed with had left the entry point infected. It was still healing nicely though. The infection would be gone soon.
He began to spread the cream along her back, sides, legs, and arms. Being gentle, knowing the force that she had been hit with by Lucius Malfoy's curse. It was the strongest that Snape had ever seen come from the late wizard. He had no idea why he was being so attentive to her. He chalked it up to respect. She had an intellect to challenge his own, she was very powerful, brave, and she held her own in battle. She fought to the end, and was, actually, almost solely responsible for Voldemort's final downfall. If she hadn't stabbed him, they most certainly would have lost.
Looking down at her, he noticed that the eyes moved ever so slightly. It seemed that she was regaining some conscious feeling and thought. He tried to be even gentler, making sure that she was comforted and she felt safe. Looking at her face again, he noticed a lone tear make its way down her face. 'She must be having some flashbacks from the battle.' He thought. If she woke up completely, he would give her some Dreamless Sleep Draught. She didn't have the strength to deal with these issues as of yet. She needed more rest.
He finished putting the cream on her, and got a towel nearby to wipe his hands with. A moment later, he heard a whimper come from her. He put his hand on her shoulder, and whispered, "Rest. I am still here."
It seemed that those words brought her some comfort. She relaxed under the touch. He smoothed some of her hair behind her ear, and gently trailed his index finger down her cheek, wiping the tear away. She soon fell back to sleep, and he sat back and studied her.
~@~
"You shouldn't have lived. You should have died with the rest of us"
"You have blood on your hands."
"You don't deserve comfort."
"You didn't even mourn us for a minute."
"Just carried on with your task."
"Without a second glance."
"You deserve what you get!"
The voices around her just carried on. All of them telling her what she already believed was true. She didn't deserve comfort. She had lived. She didn't deserve any second thoughts, any pity. The hand that she remembered earlier when she was semi conscious shouldn't have been there to comfort her. She didn't mourn her friends. She should have when they died. There shouldn't have been a later. Even if she did later on, it did not make up for the lack of compassion, the lack of sympathy that she had displayed.
She began to scream. "I DESERVE WHAT I GOT!!!" And continued to cry. Going into hysterics, she became aware that, in the waking world, she was being given something. Drinking something. She didn't know what it was though. Her mind refused to process anything other than the guilt she was feeling. The voices around her faded, and her hysterics calmed. A few moments later, she was aware of nothing.
~@~
Snape had been sitting beside Hermione for an hour. She started to move in her sleep, crying out things that he couldn't make out. Her limbs began to move more violently, and he knew what was happening. Merlin knows that he went through it enough himself. He quickly picked up the sleeping draught that he had brought earlier just in case, and went to her. Her limbs were moving around too much, and he was forced to bind her down to the bed. He than reached for her, put his hand behind her head, and gently lifted it. He was able to pour the potion down her throat, and her movements became less frantic.
He gently let her head back down to the pillow, and released the ropes binding her to the bed. He sat back down in his chair, and soon fell asleep. The next few days would be hard ones. Time for the funerals, memorials, and than, if anybody was up to it, the celebrations. He knew he would need to stay with her. Her parents had been killed earlier in the year by one of the Death Eater attacks, and now her two closest friends were gone. He wasn't really the best one for her to confide in at first. But she soon would realize that he knew exactly what she would be going through. And a bit of experience can speak volumes for her. She wouldn't want pity. She would just want to feel normal again.
But normal for her would never be the same.
Voldemort.
He was the only one she could think of with that voice. It was very distinct. She could feel the raw power coming off of him, and she deducted that she was either very close to him, or he was even more powerful than she'd been told. She heard the voice for a few moments. It sounded like he was amused or pleased. Than a flash of green light appeared, and she heard Harry scream. Another flash of green light, and than for a few moments, silence, before she again heard the cold, high pitched laughter that had invaded the hall many times before and during the battle.
Voldemort was still holding her as a shield. His arm was around her shoulders, and he continued to speak to the group.
"Where are your saviours now? I have taken them. What ever will you do?" He said in mock despair. He began to laugh again.
Hermione felt the tremor behind her. She knew that she was being held up, and that Voldemort's voice sounded very close up. The only thing she could figure, knowing that he once again occupied a physical body other than his previous snake-like appearance that he was directly behind her. She felt his arm around her shoulders, and decided that this must be true. If it wasn't, well, at least she tried. Without him noticing, she remembered that she still clutched the knife, hidden in her robes.
Slowly, she raised the knife, and plunged it into whatever body part it happened to hit. Voldemort screamed in pain. He had protected his new body against curses, but had not done much protection on muggle weapons. He didn't think that anyone armed would be able to get close enough to him to do it. Foolish thinking. The grip on Hermione's shoulders loosened enough for her to struggle free. Her vision still blurry, but getting better despite the internal bleeding, she turned to see that her assumption had been correct. She had been Voldemort's captive.
She removed the knife from his pelvis, which is where it had landed, and plunged again in the left side of his chest, piercing his heart. The blood that flowed through the veins of his new body began to gush out, and much of it landed on Hermione, who was not quick enough to get away from him.
Before she was able to take a step back, Voldemort lifted his wand towards her, "Avada Kedavra" he muttered with his last bit of strength. The green light that shone towards her was very weak. It hit her, and she blacked out.
The rest of the occupants of the Great Hall stood and watched the dying form of Voldemort. Thinking that Hermione had been killed in those moments, they all raised their wands to the weakened form. Charlie had first countered any charms that would protect Voldemort, and the group than used the killing curse to finish him off. Many of them collapsed in exhaustion. The doors to the Great Hall were opened, and some of those still fighting had scrambled in. Death Eaters were still fighting for their beliefs with Voldemort, but soon were overpowered. The remaining alive were all taken into custody by the Aurors that had arrived the previous day after word of the attack had gotten out.
Professor McGonagall approached the still figure of the Headmaster, and fell to her knees beside him. Checking for a pulse, the last bit of hope that she had dimmed. She remained by his side for a few moments, composing herself. Charlie and Hagrid checked on Harry, and discovered that there was no hope for him as well. Professor Snape approached Hermione, expecting much of the same. When he checked for a pulse, however, he had discovered a weak, but steady one.
"Over here!" He shouted towards Poppy, who was doing a check up of Draco Malfoy, and declaring the time of death. Poppy quickly made her way towards Snape and Hermione, and brought out her wand. She, too, registered the weak pulse.
"Quickly, Severus. Bring her to the tent. I fear that there is very little time." She said. Snape nodded his head, and quickly, but gently, picked up the girl. Both he and Poppy made their way to the tent, hoping that they were not too late.
~@~
It was three days later that she regained some form of consciousness. How she had survived the killing curse cast by one of the most powerful wizards that century was beyond him. After examining Voldemort's remains, many of the researchers determined that Voldemort was extremely weakened and did not have the proper focus to perform the curse to its fullest, and therefore, had been unsuccessful.
It had taken Poppy almost 5 hours to get Hermione's vitals strong enough for her liking. The internal bleeding had taken its toll on Hermione, and it had almost been her end. She must have been in unbearable pain by the end of it. The memorials would begin in a few days. It would give enough time for most of those injured to attend. Out of the 1000 people who began the defense against Tom Riddle, only 264 made it out alive. It may be even fewer in a few days. There were many who were injured gravely.
The evening of the third day, Snape went to Hermione's side again. She was slowly recovering, and he had spent the day making a lotion for all those with surface damage. It would help soothe the pains from the hexes and open wounds. When he arrived, he had taken some of the cream, and stripped back some of the clothes she was wearing. He almost cringed at the sight of all the cuts and bruises. The wound in her side looked especially grotesque. The bacteria off the knife that she had been stabbed with had left the entry point infected. It was still healing nicely though. The infection would be gone soon.
He began to spread the cream along her back, sides, legs, and arms. Being gentle, knowing the force that she had been hit with by Lucius Malfoy's curse. It was the strongest that Snape had ever seen come from the late wizard. He had no idea why he was being so attentive to her. He chalked it up to respect. She had an intellect to challenge his own, she was very powerful, brave, and she held her own in battle. She fought to the end, and was, actually, almost solely responsible for Voldemort's final downfall. If she hadn't stabbed him, they most certainly would have lost.
Looking down at her, he noticed that the eyes moved ever so slightly. It seemed that she was regaining some conscious feeling and thought. He tried to be even gentler, making sure that she was comforted and she felt safe. Looking at her face again, he noticed a lone tear make its way down her face. 'She must be having some flashbacks from the battle.' He thought. If she woke up completely, he would give her some Dreamless Sleep Draught. She didn't have the strength to deal with these issues as of yet. She needed more rest.
He finished putting the cream on her, and got a towel nearby to wipe his hands with. A moment later, he heard a whimper come from her. He put his hand on her shoulder, and whispered, "Rest. I am still here."
It seemed that those words brought her some comfort. She relaxed under the touch. He smoothed some of her hair behind her ear, and gently trailed his index finger down her cheek, wiping the tear away. She soon fell back to sleep, and he sat back and studied her.
~@~
"You shouldn't have lived. You should have died with the rest of us"
"You have blood on your hands."
"You don't deserve comfort."
"You didn't even mourn us for a minute."
"Just carried on with your task."
"Without a second glance."
"You deserve what you get!"
The voices around her just carried on. All of them telling her what she already believed was true. She didn't deserve comfort. She had lived. She didn't deserve any second thoughts, any pity. The hand that she remembered earlier when she was semi conscious shouldn't have been there to comfort her. She didn't mourn her friends. She should have when they died. There shouldn't have been a later. Even if she did later on, it did not make up for the lack of compassion, the lack of sympathy that she had displayed.
She began to scream. "I DESERVE WHAT I GOT!!!" And continued to cry. Going into hysterics, she became aware that, in the waking world, she was being given something. Drinking something. She didn't know what it was though. Her mind refused to process anything other than the guilt she was feeling. The voices around her faded, and her hysterics calmed. A few moments later, she was aware of nothing.
~@~
Snape had been sitting beside Hermione for an hour. She started to move in her sleep, crying out things that he couldn't make out. Her limbs began to move more violently, and he knew what was happening. Merlin knows that he went through it enough himself. He quickly picked up the sleeping draught that he had brought earlier just in case, and went to her. Her limbs were moving around too much, and he was forced to bind her down to the bed. He than reached for her, put his hand behind her head, and gently lifted it. He was able to pour the potion down her throat, and her movements became less frantic.
He gently let her head back down to the pillow, and released the ropes binding her to the bed. He sat back down in his chair, and soon fell asleep. The next few days would be hard ones. Time for the funerals, memorials, and than, if anybody was up to it, the celebrations. He knew he would need to stay with her. Her parents had been killed earlier in the year by one of the Death Eater attacks, and now her two closest friends were gone. He wasn't really the best one for her to confide in at first. But she soon would realize that he knew exactly what she would be going through. And a bit of experience can speak volumes for her. She wouldn't want pity. She would just want to feel normal again.
But normal for her would never be the same.