This story is my take on the Wizarding War. There will be harsh topics such as: death, torture, violence and gore. Please read carefully. It is rated M for a reason. I think J.K Rowling didn't portray the horrors that go along in the mist of war times or the emotional and physical toll that it has over the involved participants. It is a slow burn Dramione so please be patient. Harry Potter characters do not belong to me.
"Oh, we fear our enemy's mind, the shape
in his thought that resembles the cripple
in our own, for it's not just his fear
we fear, but his love and his paradise.
We fear he will deprive us of our peace
of mind, and, fearing this, are thus deprived,
so we must go to war, to be free of this
terror, this unremitting fear, that he might"
"Love my enemies, enemy my love"/Rebecca Seiferle
When Hermione was a child she used to read history books describing the ancient wars.
Historians often narrated war like a blur of years, and in the end, good always overcame the prominent shadow of evil.
Hermione used to believe that.
She had grown up thinking that war was beaten with an honest heart. But, when the time came, war creeped silently and deadly.
History books never told her the imperceptible beginning of a blooming rage. The almost non-existent warnings of secret organizations plotting to murder half a country if their madman order. History books never warned her about secrets and buried bloodshed desire behind familiar faces.
War turned out wasn't quick, nor known. War arrived like waves on the seashore. There's a calmness in the water, but there's also danger inside those misty waves. The ocean can be gentle, but it can also wipe away everything on it's path. And war pretty much was the same.
Sometimes Hermione could barely feel the warfare, but eventually, reality came crashing down when she had her dying comrades in her arms.
War didn't start the moment people fell to the ground. War began when breaches were made among common peace. Subtle broken bonds that allowed daily life to go on, but that off the records disrupted a whole system. A system that had always been weak, and needed only the right stone to bring it down.
War required patience. And Hermione realized her enemy had been most patient, like a sleeping dragon guarding it's treasure.
The path was built brick by brick until the mayhem broke loose.
War wasn't strategies in secret hideouts, nor streaks of victories. War was slow burning dead. Sudden disappearances of friends and foes.
Destruction didn't occurred immediately.
Hermione could still see a glimpse of what had been in the untouched alleys, in the joyful galas, the corrupt journalism, and the infectious appearance of wellness.
And maybe that was worse.
The approaching evil that could not be stopped, but could not be warned either.
When war was engraved in her bones, Hermione realized the truth. Historians never told the horror behind the tapestries, the permanent smell of corpses on the streets, or even how the sky would turn grey and the sun would not come out at all.
Hermione thought that she was prepared to dive right in and conquer. They all thought. And they were all wrong.
Chaos
Destruction
Murder
Everything started crumbling the moment Dumbledore died. His carefully constructed theater fell.
Before Snape murdered him, Hermione had seen right through the man's facade.
As soon as she had received her admission letter to Hogwarts, Hermione had begun researching, trying to devour the world that had been left out from her. Dumbledore had been the major focus of her academic research. When she was a child, Dumbledore seemed like the perfect representation of wisdom and kindness. He was the envision of the mystical nature of magic. Every review and account of the wizard praised his multiple achievements and awards. In Hermione's perspective, Dumbledore was the representation of what a wizard should be. As a kid she was easily starstruck and naive, even with her inquisitive eye the rotten part of the man had slipped quite easily from her judgment. But as the years went by the manipulations started to slip.
When the act started to fade, Hermione began to question motives and backstories. It was hard to find an objective chronicle of the wizard's life. It wasn't until deep within Grimmauld Place, a reading came upon her hands and revealed the lies. Undoubtedly the diary of a member of the noble House of Black would be biased, yet the little details and spilled secrets smeared in ink gave a most needed gap between fantasy and reality. Dumbledore had been allied with Grindewald, a connection buried by public recommendation naturally. The author hadn't been able to unveil the exact core and dynamic between these men, but nevertheless he had made the most interesting observations: coincidences and glances, childhood connections and youthful encounters, and finally a most tragic departure, or in Hermione's perspectives a fall from grace that could not be mended. A killing curse, so wicked and quickly that the perpetrator was never found.
Dumbledore--so called "peacemaker"--was tainted with poisonous wickedness. He had been more that ready to take and wipe away in the name of the greater good, and he had never really stopped looking for power. All those years whispering in minister's ears, earning his position as headmaster, and making sure Harry Potter was committed to him, the ultimate purpose had been his own personal influence among destiny's path. He wasn't a man who let dice fall randomly on the counter. He was a puppet master.
But who could she had warned?
She had no proof but linked suspicions and a hunch in her gut. Nobody would listen to the theories of a dead man driven by madness.
Therefore, Hermione had to sit and watch. She had to learn years of political games faster than lighting and better that all those pompous pureblood aristocratic jerks. She had to become wiser and quicker than Dumbledore himself, and she had failed year after year. When she had begun discovering the strings that were being pulled, Dumbledore would sneak away through mazes of lies. Hermione felt like Alice chasing after a rabbit that couldn't be catch.
Hermiones realized too late the place of the Golden Trio inside the twisted chess game laid upon them; they were pieces with hanging threads dancing along an unknown waltz. Yet, nothing had been mere coincidences. Their destiny was decided even before they had come to Hogwarts.
Ronald Weasley had been carefully selected to introduce Harry into the magical world. His family was pureblood neutral, mildly friendly and not threatening. The Weasleys were meant to be a safe welcome and convincing allies to a scared child. Dumbledore knew Harry had been lacking love and attention in such a cruel place like the Dursley's house, so he gave him honey to guide him directly into his golden cage.
Hermione Granger was selected to show a wider acceptance of diluted blood. Although the relationship between Dumbledore and the former Dark Lord was hidden away, there still were those who remembered their connection and common goals, and muggleborns were not considered in that society. Dumbledore wasn't a fool. She was selected to gain numbers, and because she was prone to be the brightest and wisest. Hermione was chosen to be the brain behind the machine.
And finally, Harry Potter was kept alive to walk directly into death's bony arms at the end of the battle. Harry Potter was the key to a world of unlimited potential. He was the savior and the saint. A willing archangel who would die for his creator. Harry was Michael in a white suit fighting against demons.
Dumbledore had played them all, and Hermione hadn't been able to stop it.
When Dumbledore died, hell was unleash.
After the funeral, Minister Scrimgeour delivered the most peculiar inheritances. Shortly after, they went on their crusade.
Searching will often be tiresome, more so when the answer in question is hidden beneath plain sight.
A couple of weeks had gone by when they realize going directly on the run was a big mistake. First of all, they were inexperienced and too soon ripped assets inside deep waters. Even with Harry's proficiency at spellwork, their wand skills could not be compared to those of their adversaries. Dueling hadn't been a necessary requirement in school. Hogwarts had only provided defensive knowledge, but the offensive nature was left out of their learning. Unlike the Golden Trio, death eaters never hesitated.
All three of them had a moral compass engraved in their skin. They had been marked like cattle with the idea that you should fight fire with water buckets. Nobody had told them the destructiveness of passive action. As time passed by, they learned that sometimes fire should be fought with more fire, even when all that is left around you are ashes.
And second of all, their success depended on their ability to survive. They lacked the skills and experience of tough warriors. Magic became a double ended knife that was scratching them wide open. As a matter of fact, one of the many flaws amongst the magical world was ignorance. Wizards have the impression that with the possession of a wand a wizard becomes immune to any other liabilities.
After all, how can magic become unreliable?
But ignorance has always been the downfall of armies.
Their quest became too much. Too draining. Too risky. Too much for three people that had found out their bond was man-made from distance. Their doubts and fears began wrapping their souls, and morphing each of them into wild creatures.
At one of point, uncertainty won, and Ron ran away. He eventually came back, but damage was already done. The days that had gone by without Ronald stroked pain across her heart. Hermione had been restless. Harry had been lost.
So when the time came and earth wasn't wide enough to hide their future, the Golden Trio fell in the claws of snatchers and brought to Malfoy Manor. As soon as they were captured, they knew everything would be over.
But unexpected luck was once again in their path.
Unfortunate events aren't a consequence of a string of unwise decisions, but rather a course of action that manages to slip through the most well thought setups.
Dobby had managed to set them free. However, their nearly perfect escape turned upside down in seconds.
Apparating takes ten seconds. Ten seconds were needed to doom Hermione's fate. Ten seconds weren't enough time for hide and seek as a child. And ten seconds had felt like a lifetime for Hermione when she saw Ron's fearful eyes. She saw the crease on his forehead, the realization and pain of what would be. The last thing she saw was Ron mouthing an apology as he let go.
Hermiones was left on her own. Coming back would have been immensely foolish after such a narrow escape. In any case, the three of them had already decided that ,if either Ron or her fell into enemy's hands, a rescue would be unnecessary and unwanted. Harry was the puzzle piece that would bring the downfall of a dark lord. Ron and Hermione simply were noble knights protecting the savior of the people.
Hermiones was left alone and condemned.
Malfoy Manor became her pit of despair and agony. The marble walls of the manor became witnesses of Bellatrix's torture. Bellatrix cut her open like a pig. She splashed Hermione's blood across the drawing room, making idly patterns across the walls. When Bellatrix had finished, the room had look like an artwork from Jackson Pollock. Hermione still remembers Bellatrix's rotten breath, her crackling laugh and the sting of the cursed knife in her skin. Hermione still remembers the pain of being carved like a pumpkin. She remembers the exhaustion and explosion of mental wards resisting legimency attacks.
Hermione still remembers the tapestry and the diamond chandelier that hung above her. She remembers the way all those antique relics and elegant decorations seemed out of place on such a violent scenario.
Hermione remembers Malfoy's eyes on her. The fascination of an expected punishment. His gleaming curiosity, and cat like smile when he heard her screams. But she also remembers his horrified and disappointed expression. A disappointment that didn't make sense.
Hermione still remembers the way her spine snap in pieces when her body couldn't handle anymore cruciatus. Hermione remembers Bellatrix's teeth nailed in her wrists. She remembers all the rennervates that force her to go over and over through an endless suffering.
And for six long months all her world was agony and pain.
Author's Note: I know it is a short chapter but I want to see how much readers are interested in this story. The poems at the beginning will be my little signature. Always yours.