Chapter 13: Showtime.
"It's showtime," He picked at his nails, yawning. "You're still up to the task?"
"Of course I am." The response was no automatic it nearly scared her. Had there ever been a time of such little resistance?
"It's because you've finally accepted it," He said, smirking.
"Accepted what?"
"You're beyond redemption."
In that moment He faded away. A thousand small voices began to chip at her soul.
Beyondredemptionbeyondredemptionbeyondredemptionbeyondredemptionbeyondredemption…
The fire was beginning to weaken, Hermione noticed idly. Somebody should be tending it.
The fireplaces at Hogwarts are magically tended...Instantly she remembered a passage from Hogwarts: A History. Only a severe shock to the school's inner magic workings would prevent them from going once it is cold enough. When it becomes warm, the fires do not die but dissappear altogether.
Fires at Hogwarts did not die, nor did they weaken.
Only a severe shock.
Bolting out of her seat, she ran to the window. Though it was only October, a chill frost was making its way across the grounds. The Quidditch field is nearly frozen over, the voice continued. And the sky…
Was getting grayer by the moment.
"Herm?" Harry's eyes were deep with concern.
"Something's not right," Hermione muttered between clenched teeth. "Harry, I hate to ask this. Is your…is it acting up?"
At that very instant a bolt of pain flashed through Harry's body; this time, the scar did not centralize the feeling but every fiber screamed.
The last thing Harry saw was Gwen entering the common room, screaming to Hermione to help her get him to the Hospital Wi-
"Isn't all that bad, detention." Ron whistled as he exited the common room. "Thanks, Draco."
At first Draco was taken aback. Had he ever heard Ron call him by his first name, much less accompanied with thanks?
"Anytime, mate."
They were on the verge of hugging when Gwen ran into the trophy room screaming bloody murder.
"The Dark Lord is here," She managed to keep her tone even. "Run."
Deatheaters swarmed the school, uttering death spells in guttural, base cries. Professors, standing futilely to protect their students, were the first to fall. Confusion and utter panic filled the halls, the chaos spreading across campus.
There were few loyal in Slytherin to Voldemort; even so, those who did overpowered the confused students. Few, if any, knew Unforgivables in the lower grades, and most did not have a chance to use them.
One by one, they all fell.
One by one, the shadow fell over the school.
As Voldemort tore apart the world around him, Harry sat in Madame Pomfrey's largest hospital bed, the curtains drawn around him.
"This is how it ends, I think," Hermione whispered, taking her best friend's hand. "Our story, our world, our lives. Did you imagine it this way, Harry?"
"No," Harry said, wincing as another explosion racked the grounds. "Yes."
"I'd always had something different in mind," Hermione gave a weak smile. "Something cheesy like…dying old in a cottage by the sea or something, holding hands with somebody I loved."
"Sounds peaceful enough," Harry coughed. "I wish Ron was here."
Shouts of 'Avada Kevadra' could be heard from down the hall. Students, he wondered, or death eaters?
"I'd imagined it with you." Hermione's voice was uneven. "In the cottage, I mean. Holding my hand."
"Oh? Not Ron, say, or Ginny?"
"Not that kind of love, dimwit." Hermione smiled. "Passion and fire love."
"Is that your roundabout way of saying-?" Harry blushed to rival Ron's hair.
"Yes," Hermione gave him a peck on the cheek. "Very deductive, Mr. Potter. Fifteen points to Gryffindor."
"Twenty points away," Harry frowned.
"For what, may I ask?" Hermione stifled a giggle. The world is ending around you, and you giggle.
"Ms. Granger, you've never been accused of doing slipshod work before, but this," he firmly pressed his lips against hers. "Is how you kiss a man, not your silly little imitation."
It might have turned into a snogfest, despite everything else, had the door not opened.
"Is everyone inside?" Ron asked, looking over the heads. Gwen, Ginny, Harry, Herm, Draco and himself.
The last survivors of Hogwarts, for all they knew.
Draco helped him bolt the door to the Infirmary, carefully stepping over the body of Madame Pomfrey. Why, why damn it, did everything have to be this way? Why did it come down to the six of them dying as so many had already had, as so many would?
Why?
"The windows," Gwen kept her voice at a monotone. She's in shock, Draco thought. How I'd like to comfort you.
But you are not mine to comfort.