A stunning jinx hit the furious earth-speaker from behind, followed immediately by a levitation charm to keep him from falling into the ditch. When Hermione whipped around to see who had cast it, she found their healer giving her a level, challenging stare. Not that Hermione was inclined to question that decision. Neville had clearly lost his composure, it was probably for the best if he wasn't allowed to continue murdering people with plants.
The other Durmstranger, their second Champion, obviously didn't realise that he was currently unconscious, though. She drew a ring of fire around herself, burning every speck of vegetation, brown and withered or not, to so much ash, then began transfiguring a stone floor and shield-wall for herself, and—
Oh, good, maybe Neville hadn't killed that boy, she thought, as an elf popped in to evacuate him.
"Weasley, the Durmstranger they just pulled out — did the official commentary say if he's..."
"Dead? No. No, he's not, I mean, not no, they didn't say," he answered rather distractedly.
Oh, thank God... She hopped down into the centre of the Fort to check the second captive's vitals. She was still breathing too, but very battered, with several very nasty-looking cuts and burns — Hermione hadn't realised veela could be burned...
The red-headed twin didn't immediately resume his commentary, which was...ominous. "Fred?" Damn it. "What's wrong?"
After a second, he shook his head. "Not important. Fuck. Oh, wait, that could actually be good. Katie's out," he added, before she could yell at him to do his damn job and tell her what could actually be good. "The two Durmstrangers over there are turning on the veela, I give him a couple of minutes at best. And two more Durmstrangers — shite, we didn't even notice them leave their camp! — two more Durmstrangers just broke cover to ambush Cæciné...and Lyra's helping take them out."
Of course she was. Bloody stupid... Far be it from Hermione to tell Lyra how to approach a fight, but honestly? How did it not seem like a good idea to accept help at the moment? She knew most fights only lasted through a few exchanges — a couple of minutes, maybe, between really well-matched professional duelists. They had to have been going at it for almost twenty minutes, now, maybe more...
"Ooh, that went faster than we thought it would. Veela's down. We've got four– er, three Durmstrangers on Lyra and Cæciné — they're crushing them, obviously. No one is surprised. Not even the crush-ees."
"Do the other Beauxbatonnais know that they've been betrayed, yet?" Hermione asked.
Before the Weasleys could give her an answer, Mallory called from the other side of the Fort, "What's going on? Fleur's dive-bombing Ingrid!"
"Yeah, I'd say so," Weasley said.
"Prepare to concentrate spellfire on Fleur! As soon as Ingrid's down, we take her out! Heavy water elemental spells, dark spells, lightning, conjured wires like Krum's been hitting Harry with — anything you can pull off at range! Vi, did you wake Neville again, yet?"
"'M okay," Neville answered, sounding slightly confunded. He was still lying down, but that was something.
"Good. Violet, get down here and see what you can do for Captive Two," she ordered, heading back up herself. She was pretty sure that refusing medical care to prisoners was a war crime.
"How're you doing, Nev? she asked, crouching beside him.
"I— Oh..." The blood drained from the boy's face so quickly Hermione thought he might pass out again. "Seven bloody hells, what did I do?!"
"It's okay, he's alive. An elf got him out."
Neville shuddered. "I think I'm going to be ill..."
"Pull it together, Longbottom!" Theo snapped. "Granger, if you're up here to give the signal, Ingrid's hair is on fire, so."
She was actually up there to help with the offence — she was fairly certain she'd been clear enough about 'the signal.' Hair on fire sounded like a pretty debilitating injury to Hermione, especially since it was veela fire. The Weasleys had mentioned it was setting trees ablaze like an immolation curse.
By the time she stood up, she could hear the Durmstranger's shrieks of pain, intermingled with desperate sounding snatches of Danish. Either she was yielding and the elves spoke Danish, or they agreed with Hermione that that was it, Ingrid was done for, because one of them popped in and then out with the junior champion before Hermione managed to get out the entire sentence, "Fire at will!"