Hermione dodged yet another curse as she ran through the fields, tossing a stunner over her shoulder, not bothering to check which side her target was on. The air was filled with shouts, screams and the various whizzing of numerous spells. The many shades of magic were ironically appeasing to her eyes, as she became frozen, her vision blurred.
She hadn't seen or heard anything about Blaise, Ron, Harry or anyone else for that matter. At the time, she chose to accept this as good news, though she was aching to know that her best friends were alright.
Now and then a strangled yell or shriek would pierce the air, freezing Hermione to the very soul. She found herself wondering endless thoughts, becoming jumbled inside her brain. Where was Dumbledore; had he made it back yet? Had the Order been summoned? Had the Death Eaters called in reinforcements, or perhaps... their leader? She shook in fear at the idea of Lord Voldemort being on this very field, in her own schoolyard. The terror mixed with hatred, creating an unnerving sensation deep in her stomach.
If only she could find some sort of sign...
"Hermione!" a voice called, and she spun around, eyes wide at the sight of a curse that was aimed only seconds ahead of her. She furiously located the source of the voice, grinning in slight relief.
"Ron," she breathed, running over to him. "I can't..."
"Hermione, he's here," he muttered, cutting her off. "I've just heard from Seamus, Harry's gone after him."
Her mouth opened in shock.
"You mean, You-know-who?" she asked quickly. Ron nodded feverishly.
"We have to find him, 'Mione," he said urgently. In an unspoken agreement, they began running closer toward the forest. Hermione tried hard not to look down at the ground, where both death eaters and students lay motionless. That Hufflepuff in sixth year, and those Ravenclaws... they've only been stunned, she convinced herself.
As they ran deeper into the heart of the battle, Hermione couldn't stand looking and tried to stop, to shut her eyes and will it all away. Only the determination in her heart that said she needed to help her best friend kept her going.
As she ran, every shot of black hair, every swish of a cloak sent her eyes spinning, searching relentlessly for him. She grew frantic and paranoid, as her close watch seemed to be in vain, and she saw no one else she recognized until...
"Ron, Hermione!" Her heart melted at the sound of her name, and the two turned back around, grinning widely at the sight of Harry Potter, grinning, wand held loosely by his side. His smile told Hermione everything she needed to know, and his wind-blown hair, shining emerald eyes, and flushed cheeks were the image she planted into her mind as the man who had always been there for her, over the past 7 years of her life.
"Harry... you did it?" she asked tentatively, taking in his appearance. "Oh Harry, your arm," she said fussily, noticing the twisted look of his left arm, clearly broken.
"I don't feel it," he grinned, and so did Ron and Hermione, so caught up in pure euphoria. No words were spoken for a moment. Ron and Harry shared an awkward hug, and Hermione laughed as she brushed away a tear. She shoved Ron aside and threw her arms around Harry's neck tightly.
"I'm so proud of you, Harry," she whispered as she held on to him.
"Nothing would have been accomplished if it wasn't for you, Hermione," he replied, wrapping his good arm around her back. She pulled back, smiling, and suddenly felt a flag pop up in the very rear of her brain. Her lips quickly reversed themselves into a deep frown, and she stepped away, staring eagerly into the still fighting crowds.
It all happened too quick; she knew there was something wrong. Harry wasn't meant to defeat the Dark Lord this easily; it had to have been a fluke. It just wasn't right, so many months of training for a mere half hour of battle. Blaise, her mind told her. There had to be something wrong with him; that was why her brain had stopped her so suddenly.
"I'll be back," she muttered, and ran away, leaving Harry and Ron watching in curiosity.
"Blaise!" she shouted as she ran, wand ready, she searched for a good ten minutes, finding that no one else seemed to know the leader of the dark side was actually gone. If they did, they were hiding it well.
"So, Granger, here we are," said a cold voice and she groaned, finding herself once more face to face with Lucius Malfoy. "You realize how badly you've spoiled everything?" he asked her in a deadly voice that sent shudders up her spine relentlessly. She shut her eyes as she felt his wand pressed into her temple, quaking with fear.
She was without words, and stood, listening to his taunts, working up the courage to talk. Lucius Malfoy knew; it was the only explanation for his burning hatred. He knew that her best friend had killed his only faith.
"I will rebuild this empire, with the shattered remains, you'll see," he sneered wickedly. "Oh that's right, you won't be around long enough." The wand was pushed deeper into her hair. "So how would you like to go, Granger? Slow and painful? One simple curse, so the world can be rid of you for good?" Still she had no response, determined not to dignify him with her thoughts on the situation.
It didn't look good; she had a fuming death eater on her case, wand ready for the kill.
"Nothing to say? Then let's end this now," he whispered cruelly, drawing back slightly. "Avada Kedav—"
She shut her eyes in submission; after all those years of reading and training, she had froze when everything she had was needed the most. She deserved this end for being such a failure. She cracked an eye open as she realized that she hadn't heard the last of the curse. Her eyes widened as she saw her supposed murderer on the ground, eyes opened slightly. His wand lay loose at the tips of his fingers, arm tossed across the ground.
She scanned the field, very aware of her heart beating loudly and rapidly in her chest. She blinked away the image that she knew didn't exist. But he didn't vanish.
He was staring at the immobile form on the ground, eyes burning with hatred, until they shifted on her and she saw concern inside those silver depths. He walked toward her, glancing at the form of his father, lips pursed.
"Is he stunned?" she whispered, eyes watering.
"No, dead," he replied bitterly, turning his gaze once more upon her. She was suddenly overwhelmed with nerves after being apart for so long. He tucked his wand into the pocket of his jeans and traced the outline of her jaw with the same hand. He trailed his fingers to the back of her neck, and she exploded from the heat of his contact that she had forgotten about.
He tilted her head towards his, placing his lips against hers without words, in the softest kiss she had ever experienced, but her heart instantly went into overdrive. It held more emotion than she had ever thought one kiss could contain, and she responded with as much passion as she could gather, ready to give herself to the power of his lips when he pulled away, only far enough to enable half an inch of space between the two of them.
"Did I ever mention that I missed you terribly?" he whispered against her mouth, shutting his eyes. She stared at him, his silvery hair messed by the wind, and she had never seen him more beautiful. When he opened his eyes once more they reflected the sun brightly and Hermione was blinded temporarily. The recent events finally pervaded her mind as her eyes began to flood with tears that she refused to let fall.
"You didn't, no," she breathed, swallowing. He smirked and ran an arm around her back, pulling her body to his in complete contact. She blinked and stared at his eyes, now positively glowing with mischief. He closed the last of the space between them, kissing her forcefully, as he bit hard on her lower lip. Without conscious thought she moaned softly at the sensation and the kiss soon became a battle for dominance. Hermione poured all of her fear, anxiety and frustration into him, keeping up with each stroke of his tongue, and he gladly welcomed it, determined not to pull away until the lack of oxygen grew too great.
"Well," he drawled at last, breathing harsh and erratic. "I did." She laughed quietly, leaning into his chest, heart beating furiously. As the world seemed to drift back to its original position, the realness of the current situation hit her hard. Looking at the numerous motionless bodies on the ground brought bile into her throat and she quelled the urge to vomit. She was struck by guilt at every thought, every wonder of who else could be lying on the ground, having taken their last breaths already.
And here she was, safe and comfortable, off to a far side of the field, with Draco Malfoy. It seemed wrong; she was the one who had trained so hard for this event, not the fourth and fifth years still fighting desperately with their limited knowledge.
The screaming, it seemed, had all but vanished. Those who remained fighting were few; students and professors were retreating to the castle.
"Will you stay for the rest of the year?" she muttered to the Slytherin deep in thought next to her. He shrugged.
"I suppose so," he replied, staring once more at the lifeless body of his father, several feet away. He began walking toward the castle, sending her sideways glances until she caught up.
"And what about getting away from the war, the death eaters?" she asked, grinning in spite of herself.
"There were certain things higher on my list of priorities to attend to." He smirked and snuck an arm around her waist. She merely shook her head at him. Damn him for making her smile in the midst of war.
Dinner that evening was one that Hermione would regret attending for the rest of her life. It was the most somber affair she had ever been to, filled with shock, terror and endless tears.
Dumbledore had spoke at great length of the war and its true outcome. The students were silent, tears streaming down the cheeks of many at their diminished numbers. He had read from a scroll, respectfully bringing the brave souls to their remembrance who had passed in the battle. It was the last name, however, that the Headmaster choked on, that brought a dead silence upon the crowd, and that the true happenings began to sink in, amidst the numbness.
Harry Potter. There were cries of denial, of anger, of heartbreak. Their leader had not gone down, of course not. He had defeated the greatest enemy, for Merlin's sake! Hermione buried her head in her arms, not trusting herself to keep at a stable level of emotion. Ron's eyes were red, watery, and he appeared entirely broken.
The truth came out. After the downfall of Lord Voldemort, his most determined servants had imposed on Harry, forcing him into a twenty-to-one battle. It was hopeless, and he had fallen at the wand of Lucius Malfoy. Hermione choked on a sob at this news, and Draco paled visibly, pushing his dinner around with a fork, failed of composure.
Harry had been caught off guard, in a light mood from his victory, and hadn't seen the advancing crowd, hadn't felt the overpowering burning hatred until it was too late.
At four of the five tables, it was hard to notice a dry eye. Particularly one was the most subdued, and the fifth was silent. Not a single remark came from the Slytherin Table. One or two of the girls had tossed aside their facades, allowing grief to take them.
The warning she had felt, it wasn't for Blaise. She had assumed Harry and Ron were both safe; hell, they were right beside her! Blaise had been fine, if not for her own stupidity, maybe she could have helped fight off the Death Eaters. She could have at least warned them of what she was feeling.
By the time dinner was over, few plates had been touched, and Hermione had cried her eyes literally dry of moisture. She spoke briefly with Ron, wrapped him in a tight hug and departed alone to her common room.
She spent the evening by the fire; sprawled lazily across the couch, desperate to wake up from this nightmare. When Draco entered, he said nothing, and merely sat by her, offering comfort in his presence. She wished her voice would work to express in the smallest way her appreciation.
Late in the night she stood and went to bed, though she didn't sleep.
As with the rest of the week; sleep became a foreign topic, unknown to her mind. All students had been excused from classes for the next week, and to Hermione, it was longer than the past 17 years of her life had been.
The remembrance service had been another sad and tearful day, bringing in members of the order, family of the deceased, and other witches and wizards there to express their pain. Hermione had chosen to leave early.
"Things won't ever be the same, will they?" she asked the Head Boy that evening. It was the first time she had spoken to him since on the field, possibly at all.
"Nothing will ever remain the same forever," he replied softly. "But no, this won't change back." She realized she admired his honesty. Anyone else would have said that everything will be alright; things will return to normal after a while. What was normal, though, really?
"Is it awful that I don't want to move on and get over this?" she asked him quietly.
"Of course not," he answered, watching the fire intensely. "You have more right than anyone to grieve, and it's no ones place to stop you."
She lifted her feet onto the couch, into a cross-legged position and turned to look at him. She hadn't actually watched him recently. But his actions were the ones that spoke louder than his words, and she ached to see more.
"Thank you," she said tentatively, gauging his reaction.
"For?" he asked, turning to face her.
"I don't know," she said dismissively. "Understanding, I reckon."
"For pointing out the fact that I do have a heart in here somewhere?" he asked, allowing the ghost of a smirk to grace his features. She looked away.
"I didn't mean..."
"Don't mention it," he broke in gently.
"Malfoy?" she asked, and he jerked his head back towards her. "What is it like... to kill someone?" she questions, seeming terrified at the thought. He shrugged.
"It's not typically something I make a habit of," he began, and then sighed. "I doubt you know that I had never killed anyone before the war, it was a rather new experience." She shook her head; she always imagined that he had killed before, though when she thought of it, it was an odd assumption to make. She almost smiled at the thought of him being all talk...
"So how many people did you kill in the war then?" she asked, knowing she should stop, but she was just so curious. He pondered.
"One." He frowned, watching her. "Truth be told, I don't think it's something I'd like to make routine. Those Death Eaters you saw, most of them have been using the Avada since they were younger than our age. They get a type of sadistic thrill out of each kill they make, unfortunately. Or else it's just the fact that they're living up to the expectations of their master, that encourages them to kill even more. I know some just can't seem to get away from it so they sacrifice themselves to end their lives of torture. Like Blaise's parents for example. They refused to do his bidding, and my father tried to convince them otherwise, but eventually told his master, and his parents were murdered."
"But isn't it just a waste of a good life? Not only the one ended but the one doing the ending?" Hermione asked desperately.
"Sure it is, but they just can't see what's right or wrong anymore. They think killing is a good life, in some twisted way," he explained. Hermione shook her head but let the topic drop.
"What made you come back anyway?" She asked, brightening.
"I actually got rather bored, and I was tired of being alone. I began to hate everything about America, like how every damn person I met asked me 'oh, are you British?' in theirstupid American accents," he muttered, and Hermione couldn't stop a snort of laughter from escaping. He looked at her.
"That sounded attractive," he said, smirking.
"Thank you," she replied politely, grinning.
"How about you? Surely you didn't sit around and do nothing while I was gone?" he questioned, seeming genuinely interested.
"Well, schoolwork, for one," he laughed. "I got to know Blaise quite well," she continued, ignoring him.
"How well?" he raised an eyebrow at her.
"Not that well," she answered, inside feeling warm at his apparent jealousy. "He has a girlfriend, you know," she grinned.
"Yeah, her," he drawled. "She's still around, is she?"
"Yes, she is," she replied strongly. "Blaise loves her, you know," she informed him and he shook his head.
"He says he does. But she's got him whipped like no one's business, it's fucking hilarious actually," Hermione couldn't help but laugh.
"You're lying," she stated.
"Am not," he smirked. "He'll deny it if you ask though, so I wouldn't recommend it."
"Yeah well, liar, I'm going to sleep, good night," she muttered, mocking anger. He looked hurt.
"Don't give me that," he scoffed. "Come here." She did as he said, carefully standing next to him and he pulled her down to him still on the couch, pressing his lips firmly against hers, before letting her go and he smirked as she pretended to glare at him, and went to sleep. And sleep, she managed.