A/N: Thanks, as always, to Luna305 for beta duty, and to TimeTurnerForSale, a.k.a. Anastasia, for live RR. The ceiling is for you.
War
The jackal exploded into the library, a blazing white light, a shout: "LEAKY CAULDRON! NOW!"
And then the library too was empty. No movement, no sound, save the rustle of a lone piece of parchment as it drifted to the floor.
Hermione appeared in the Leaky Cauldron. It was empty save for a frowzled, sleepy witch emerging from the Floo.
"Mrs. Weasley! It's a trap!" she shrieked, diving instinctively for the covering shadows of the bar.
Molly whipped her wand out of her bathrobe pocket and backed into the nearest wall as a dozen or more black-robed figures emerged from the shadows. She crouched into a fighting stance, both her posture and the look in her eyes at odds with her usual comforting, slightly distracted presence.
Too late, Hermione. A masked figure edged, catlike, toward the bar.
Hermione did not betray the fact that she noticed.
A dozen hexes, curses, and Binding spells flew from a dozen wands, converged on each other, some fizzling, some rebounding to crash into the walls, the ceiling, and the chairs that were stacked on the long wooden tables. Plaster silt exploded into the air and drifted downwards, feet raising the dust from the floor, a cloud obscuring all but the hooded figures and the chair legs, oddly disembodied in the haze.
Hermione watched, unnoticed, from the deep shadow behind the bar. One dark figure separated from the chaos, gliding in apparent slow motion toward the fireplace where Hermione had last seen Mrs. Weasley, indifferent to the flying arcs of light, the blinding iridescence of firing spells, the cacaphony of shouts, yells, curses, counter-curses.
Voldemort, Hermione thought, retreating further into the cover of the bar, flinching as a large chunk of the ceiling fell and crashed down, showering her in plaster and bits of brick. Please, please, Mrs. Weasley, escape.
Then she realized – the older witch would not leave her here; she would reach Hermione or die trying.
Damn!
Severus Snape had just reached the same conclusion.
Through the smoke, dust, and hail of plaster, Hermione saw that one of the larger Death Eaters was approaching on Molly's blind side, wand out, ready to strike. Abandoning her hiding place, she leapt to her feet, shouting, "Expelliarmus!"
All eyes turned to her as his wand flew to her hand, and in that moment, Molly let fly a Stunner at the Death Eater closest to Hermione.
"Protego," Severus snapped, flicking his wand almost negligently a few degrees to the left, deliberately deflecting the rebound away from Molly and angling the shield's radius to protect Hermione from whatever curses might fly her way next.
Molly's face contorted with fury as, not realizing the real implications of his subtle deflection, she nonetheless recognized his voice. The wandless Death Eater made a dive for her, grabbing a handful of her bathrobe, entangling her in it and pulling her down. Molly struggled to stay upright, to free herself, to get to Hermione.
Hermione did the only thing she could think of. "Molly!" she shouted. "Hogwarts!" And she Disapparated.
Adequate, Severus thought, dropping his shield and inching forward toward the ongoing struggle, his mind smooth, focused - determined, if nothing else, to help a brave woman die.
But Hermione's departure freed Molly, who, falling, flung a final well-aimed curse at the central ceiling beam and Disapparated. Severus' last thought as he dove under a table to avoid the crashing beam was that she'd taken Crabbe with her.
/x/
Hermione grabbed the iron gates of Hogwarts for balance, clutching the Death Eater's wand and the pitted iron column awkwardly. Less than a second later, her Patronus shot off to Professor McGonagall, and she found herself counting seconds, thinking, Come on, Molly… please…. Professor, hurry! and Please be okay.
Whether that last thought was for Molly Weasley, or for Severus, or for herself, she wasn't sure. She repeated it like a prayer as the wind rustled in the trees.
And then Molly Weasley Apparated before her, on the ground, flailing, struggling with the burly Death Eater. Hermione tried to take aim, but could not get a clear shot. Blast it! Oh, bloody hell… "Stupefy!"
The Death Eater went rigid, and Molly shoved him roughly off of her. She flinched reflexively away from the inert body, and stood up slowly, stiffly.
Hermione was instantly at her side. "Are you hurt?"
Molly shook her head. She held the Death Eater at wand point, and, in response to a gesture, his mask slid aside.
"Crabbe," Molly snarled. For a moment she seemed lost, then the corners of her eyes crinkled as if she'd been struck anew by remembered pain. Very quietly, she said, "Avada Kedavra."
Hermione was stunned.
Molly looked up, pale around the eyes, her expression vague. "This is war, Hermione." And she fainted. Hermione caught her shoulders and the two of them slid heavily to the ground. Resting Molly's head in her lap, Hermione looked anxiously toward the castle, where a slanting rectangle of warm yellow shone from its base. A dark figure hurried toward them, a small point of light marking its progress down the lane.
"Professor McGonagall! Hurry!" Hermione shouted.
"Hermione?" came the distant response.
"Molly's fainted!" she called back.
A few moments later, Minerva, wand out, was unlocking the gates. She stopped short at the sight of the Death Eater's body. "What on earth - "
Minerva raked her eyes sharply over the scene - Crabbe's body a crumple of twisted black robes, a foot splayed at an unnatural angle, a ragged hole worn in the sole of one dusty boot; pale dusty swaths painting Molly's deep blue bathrobe, her head in Hermione's lap, her cheeks damply reflecting wandlight; and Hermione, cradling the older women, her eyes glassy.
"What has happened?" Minerva hastened to Molly and felt for a pulse. Relieved, she asked, "Are you all right, Miss Granger?"
Hermione nodded, saying simply, "He's dead." After a pause, she added, almost to herself, "Molly killed him."
Minerva stood, nostrils flared slightly, but otherwise betraying no outward hint of distress. "It is high time we got you both inside," she said, waving her wand and gently bearing Molly's prone form through the gates. "I shall have Poppy see to Molly, and inform Hagrid about…" she gestured toward Crabbe's body, "… that." She closed the gates and re-set the defenses, muttering, "Better Hagrid than Filch, oh yes, especially at this hour." More loudly, she ordered, "Come along, child."
Hermione responded obediently, relieved by the headmistress' presence and her familiar, somewhat brusque efficiency. But a little voice in the corner of her mind, the voice that accompanied harder, more knowledgeable eyes and small, old smiles, said, Child? Oh, no. I don't think so. Not any longer.
"Once we see Molly settled, I will, of course, be wanting to hear your explanation - " Minerva continued, distantly, but not unkindly. "Although I know you're tired."
Hermione nodded mutely.
Minerva spared Hermione a glance. The girl looked all in: her Muggle jeans grimy, shirt askew, her hair an astonishing lopsided tangle… and, although it might have been her imagination, it seemed to Minerva that Hermione was rather carefully avoiding her eyes. The child must be in shock… She sniffed. She would have Poppy see to her, as well, but after they talked.
There was no delaying their debriefing conversation – as titular head of the Order, Minerva knew she had to place information above all else, even concern for whatever had put that look on her favorite student's face. A small sigh escaped her lips. She'd lived through the Grindelwald years, and knew all too well the burdens Albus had carried, large and small. This one, she knew, was small.
Well, there was no avoiding it. Better a quiet explanation than taking center stage before a rampant gaggle of distraught Weasleys.
What Minerva didn't know was that what she would ask of Hermione Granger was not unlike what Albus had asked, so often, of Severus Snape.
