Red Sun Rising
Chapter Two
Nefertiri's Handmaiden
Disclaimer: I'm too lazy to write one, but you all get the point.
Note: I liked the first one so much I had to write another chapter. This one's Hemione's POV. Harry's will follow in the next chapter.
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Hermione knew, without a doubt, that – for her, anyway – things were ending. She could feel it. But that was okay. Harry would win. Things would turn out okay.
Whatever pain she'd felt previously had faded to a cold numbness that reached all the way to her heart. She turned her head – the only part of her body she could yet control – and gazed at the red carnage around her. Not far away Neville lay unconscious. A thin red thread of his blood flowed calmly from his body and joined the much larger stream of her own crimson blood, which she watched with dispassionate interest.
Brother.
He would live.
Luna would not. Nor Angelina, nor Ernie, nor George.
Fred, lying next to George in a dizzying, sickening mimicry of vacant expression, would make it, but not George. What kind of sick twist of fate was that, that one might survive while the other died such a horrible death?
She hoped that somewhere Ron was okay. She didn't want to meet him where she was going. Not yet, at least. Maybe in seventy or so years. She could wait.
And Harry. . . she already had a feeling Harry wouldn't make it past this night. She'd known it for a long time, and had chosen to ignore it.
Ginny would make it alone. She was strong.
She took a deep breathe as things around her started to fade and she felt the end rushing toward her in slow motion.
With her dying drop of magic, which some witches are occasionally blessed with in large quantities, she performed a single spell, one that she made up herself as she wove the thread of magic that would survive her passing.
Tomorrow, she knew, – though she would not see it from this plane of existence – the sun would rise red.