"Take off all of your skin
I'm brave when you are free
Shake off all of your sins
And give them to me
Closer, let me back in
I wanna be yours, wanna be your hero
And my heart beats"
The clothing littering the hallway was black, laying in shapeless lumps amid the crawling shadows. The walls were newly redecorated with dark patches, visible only for the reflective nature of the sticky substance before it dried. The streaks were punctuated with handprints every so often. A small gasp broke the heavy, waiting silence.
The water, though cool, burned Hermione's skin as it rained down her trembling body. The numerous scratches and scrapes across her body dyed the water red as it flowed down the drain. Though she had been sure there was no room left for new scars, the amount of pain she was in told her she'd been wrong.
Pain was nothing new. She couldn't say she'd grown used to it, but it certainly wasn't unexpected these days. The Battle of Hogwarts had ended in a draw almost two years ago, and ever since, it had been a litany of stalemates, neither side victorious over the other.
Trying to shove back the anger and helplessness threatening to overwhelm her was a lesson in futility, as Hermione scrubbed herself as quickly and gently as possible. Little grunts of pain escaped her throat; she could only be grateful that no one was currently around to hear her. The safe house that was her current home was rather small, with only one bathroom and three bedrooms. It became uncomfortable fairly quickly when four other people lived there as well.
The days directly following the standoff between Harry and Voldemort had been chaotic, to say the least. The Order of the Phoenix had scattered to various safe houses across the country, and getting in touch with other members had been difficult. Hermione had been unbelievably lucky to have been near Charlie Weasley when the command had to come to abandon Hogwarts. He had just grabbed her and dragged her away; being in no state to protest or argue otherwise, she had found herself Portkeyed away to the house that she had now lived in for close to two years.
Almost three months had passed before Hermione finally received a reply message on the Protean-charmed Galleon from their days in the DA. Charlie had been alarmed to find her sobbing in her bedroom, only to realize that hers were tears of joy. He may have even shed a few of his own when he saw that it was his baby brother who had contacted Hermione. Only two short weeks later, Harry and Ron had come to stay with them at their house, bringing Ginny along. The youngest Weasley was a welcome addition, both as Hermione's best female friend, and Harry's girlfriend.
The fact that Harry had broken things off with Ginny before her sixth year, what would've been their seventh, had seemed completely forgotten. Hermione had initially been thrilled with the development. However, the relief of seeing her best friends alive and well had slowly turned to a slight resentment.
It had taken Hermione a further two months to discover the cause of her negative feelings. Somehow, during those first three secluded months, she had fallen for Charlie. The discovery had taken her by complete surprise, though looking back on it now, she wondered at her naivete. One would think growing up preparing for a war, and then living through it, would strip anyone of their innocence quickly.
Yet, Hermione had never explored that side of herself. Not satisfactorily, anyhow. There had been the sweet fumblings with Viktor, the uncomfortable advances of Cormac, and the awkward kiss with Ron in the Chamber of Secrets. None of these boys had been meant for her. Charlie, on the other hand… Charlie had been her rock when her world was falling apart. He had never once used her vulnerability to take advantage of her, nor did he ever insinuate anything untoward. Still, though, she had found his intelligence stimulating, his ease in conversing refreshing. For three solid months, she had had only Charlie.
For three solid months, it had been Charlie who had been there when she woke screaming from nightmares. It had been Charlie who calmed her during panic attacks. It had been Charlie who distracted her from her anxiety over the fates of her friends by starting lively debates on topics covering everything from House Elf rights to the morality of a Seer placing bets on a Quidditch match. It had been Charlie who had taken care of her, and it had been Charlie who inhabited her every waking moment.
The childhood crush she'd had on the second-eldest Weasley roared back to life with a vengeance. Having three other people suddenly invading the cocoon they had created was jarring, though, and it wasn't until Ron had half-heartedly tried flirting with her once that she realized how she felt about Charlie.
The sound of Crookshanks meowing brought Hermione abruptly out of her reverie. Her body was numb now, and she supposed she had completed her shower ritual on autopilot. Her hand moved to turn off the water, and she simply watched with detached interest as she then stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around herself. Crookshanks wound between her legs, heedless of the water droplets hitting his fur.
Her hair was plastered to her shoulders, her throat, her upper back, and her chest. She could feel water running down her shoulder blades and dripping past her towel to pool on the cold tile beneath her feet. She stared at herself in the mirror.
Her eyes were lifeless, her skin, under the numerous cuts and bruises and scrapes, was pale. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was aware that she needed to take, at the very least, a healing potion so none of the abrasions became infected, but she couldn't bring herself to act. Her emotions were locked down, and she simply didn't care at that moment.
Crookshanks meowed again and pawed at Hermione's foot; the pads of his toes were icy cold and wet. When she blinked and refocused on the mirror, she was startled to see Charlie standing behind her. She wondered how long she'd been standing there staring at herself. Normally, she knew, she'd be berating herself for letting someone sneak up on her, but this wasn't a normal situation. Meeting his eyes in the mirror, she felt like she was only moments away from falling, falling, falling through the crevice of darkness that haunted her dreams.
"I used the Killing Curse today," she told him.
"I will follow you down wherever you go
I am, baby, I'm bound to you and do you know?
Closer, pull me in tight
I wanna be yours, wanna be your hero
And my heart beats"
A drumbeat pounded in her ears: heavy, wild, primal, and erotic. Her skin pulsed with the flow of magic in the air. Even her hair was unbound and untamed, flying and swirling about her head with a life of its own. She twirled and ducked through the blinding flashes of light, dancing through the melee, exhilarated by the ferocity of the duels around her.
Hermione Granger was no longer a wide-eyed innocent. Another year had passed, another year where the Light had failed to eradicate the Dark. The Dark, however, was also as yet unsuccessful in triumphing over the Light. Harry had all but given up hope of ever winning against Voldemort, and Hermione herself had grown rather weary of the constant threat of ambush, the constant fearing for her life and the lives of her friends, the constant danger.
Being right in the midst of chaos at that moment, however, was another story.
She would never admit it to anyone, least of all her three closest friends, but Hermione positively thrived in battle. Her year on the run with Harry and Ron had been spent researching forgotten and arcane spells and rituals. Stealing books hadn't sat well with her for the first few months, but need overcame morals. Reading, at least, had kept her sane for those long, bleak months in between feverish bouts of action. And oh, the things she had learned. The Animagus book alone had been worth almost getting caught by Snatchers, and the books on Dark Magic had been particularly enthralling.
Different colored beams of light erupted from her wand rapid-fire. Orange, blue, red, and purple streaks shot across the room, hitting each target neatly. One of the only benefits of being so physically small was that she was able to hide more effectively behind large pieces of furniture without being seen. A quick Notice-Me-Not charm helped in that regard, as well. It was a never-ending source of amusement to the former Gryffindor how the simplest spells could have the biggest impact.
Grinning wickedly to herself, Hermione took a deep breath and darted out from behind the overturned table she'd been using as a shield. As she crossed through a doorway, she turned back to survey the ballroom. The chaos and confusion she'd sown - "Thank you, Black family library," she thought darkly to herself - was supremely satisfactory. The Death Eaters still standing were arguing amongst themselves.
Hermione raised her wand, pausing for a moment as if she was about to conduct an orchestra. With a flourish, she swiped her wand through the air and silently commanded, "Diffindo!" The large crystal chandelier fell with a sickening crunch on several of Voldemort's masked supporters. The strange sensation of deja-vu trickled across her mind, making her shiver when she remembered the way Dobby had saved them the first time the light fixture had come down.
Without waiting further, Hermione turned and darted down the hall. Only a few steps later brought her to a T intersection; the corridor she'd traveled down ended, and she could choose to go either left or right. Pressing herself into a darkened alcove against the wall, she allowed the shadows to caress her softly and wrap her up in their embrace.
Quickly, knowing she didn't have a lot of time, Hermione wrapped her fingers around the chain on her neck. Pulling it out of her shirt, she followed the delicate line down until she gripped the ring threaded onto the necklace. Without releasing the clasp, she slid the ring down past her second knuckle and focused. Holding her concentration, she allowed her magic to build up swiftly and then release.
Her eyes opened with a hard little smile on her lips. With the sapphire-encrusted ring burning on her left hand pointer finger, and her vine wood wand pulsing in her right, Hermione shifted forward.
The very second she landed, she immediately ducked and threw a shield up behind her back. A bright aqua blue curse zinged off it at an angle, hitting a masked Death Eater several feet away square in the chest. Nothing happened for a moment until he screamed and dropped to the floor.
Hermione smirked cruelly. One less Death Eater to worry about, and I didn't even have to do anything, she thought. There was a pause in the general commotion of the room. Hermione took the moment to glance around her, sizing up the space.
The ballroom was large, rectangular. Covered in red-veined white marble. Decorations tended to heavy gold ornamentation and black furniture. There were 38 Death Eaters, and only 11 Order members. There were two, possibly three exits: a doorway that had been blasted apart from the outside in, leading to an inner hallway; a monstrously ornate set of glass French doors with golden handles and filigree; and another door set into the right-hand wall towards the back of the room that remained closed.
Hermione drew in a deep breath. The odds were not especially inspiring, but there was always the hope that more reinforcements might show up. But more than that hope, was the fact that she always had a backup plan.
It had only been a mere 12 seconds since she had appeared, and as she straightened from her instinctual crouch, Hermione turned her head and winked at Charlie. He grinned back at her, his mercurial eyes sparkling. They ignored shouts from both Light and Dark members, questioning how she had suddenly appeared when anti-Apparition wards were in place, as they simultaneously withdrew their fingers from matching rings and tucked them back under their shirts. With speed borne from familiarity and hours upon hours of practice, the pair of former Gryffindors took their dueling stances.
The other Order members noticed and snapped back to attention. Without any further ado, the fight began anew with a twin snap of flame from Charlie and Hermione. A circle of fire grew around the pair, standing in the very center of the once grand ballroom. They coaxed it slowly into growing larger, hotter, and pushed it slowly away from their bodies. With room now to move about, the duo moved so they were standing back to back. Now the real fun can begin, Hermione thought with a feral grin.
A sinuous, lethal dance began. The pair moved fluidly around each other, twisting, turning, ducking, jumping. They spun slowly, slowly, slowly in their circle of fire. Charlie's aspen wood wand flashed left and right, over and under. Hermione followed up his heavier attacks with less taxing, but no less damaging, curses and hexes. Her wand was practically a blur as she covered Charlie's blind spots.
The rush of magic she felt was incredible, intoxicating, indescribable. It flowed through her, filling her up, spilling out her very pores. It was absolutely addictive, and she'd been hooked from the very start.
As their numbers dwindles, the Death Eaters became more vicious, more wild, more… careless. Five more Order members had fallen, yes, but Hermione and Charlie had drawn most of the attention. The ring of fire surrounding them not only made physical advance possible, but thanks to a brilliant stroke of inspiration, Hermione had been able to tweak the spell so that it acted as a shield charm as well. None of the Death Eaters had managed to bring it down.
A sudden commotion from the direction of the ruined doorway and hallway beyond drew Hermione's eye. Without losing concentration on the duel, she looked back every few seconds until she saw it. Terry Boot jumped over the remains of the door and gave the signal she'd been waiting for, waving his wand back and forth exactly three times before shooting off electric purple sparks above everyone's head.
Slowly, she counted to five in her head, watching the apostles of the Light exit the room with all due haste. By this time, it hardly even mattered to their Dark counterparts. Hermione and Charlie were a deadly team, and had felled easily half of those who'd been swayed by Voldemort's lies. When Hermione pressed her free hand to Charlie's thigh behind her, the pair dropped their weapons to their sides and moved with an easy grace to each other's sides once more.
The Death Eaters left standing had spread out around the perimeter of the flame circle. They shifted on their feet, looking for any sign or signal that the fire might soon be doused. After all, how long could two young people hold such powerful magic in check before it drained them?
Long enough, it seemed.
Hermione tilted her head up and caught Charlie's eye again, smiling widely. His return grin was full of boyish mischief, though his eyes held something darker within. Before she could let herself get carried away on the tide of his sinful expression, his face cleared and he nudged her. No time to waste, she reminded herself.
They lifted their wands at the same time, a choreographed motion synchronized to perfection. "Promoveo!" they cried at the same time. The circle of fire surrounding the pair exploded outward. The flames grew in height and temperature and ferocity and hunger. The remaining Death Eaters had no chance.
Hermione didn't even flinch as scores of bodies incinerated on the spot. She and Charlie waited for the space of four heartbeats before releasing the spell. The fire died out with a little whine, as if saddened to have fulfilled its purpose. As the last flicker of light faded, the two pulled their rings back out from under their shirts by the chains and slid their fingers through.
Stopping Charlie's movement before they left Lestrange Manor, she gripped his shirt in her right hand and pulled his face down to hers. Though he wasn't the tallest Weasley sibling, he still towered over her by at least nine inches. She pushed herself up onto her tiptoes to meet his lips in a passionate kiss. It didn't last nearly long enough, but to linger was unwise. Besides, it was rather difficult to both grip onto his shirt and also hold her wand without dropping it.
Pushing him back firmly, Hermione smiled at Charlie one last time before they refocused their attention on their rings. She could feel his gathering magic as it slid against her own. The feeling quickened her heartbeat, as it always did, and she focused on their bedroom.
"What the fuck-!?" The normally insane quality to the witch's voice was missing, replaced by genuine shock, though Hermione would know that sound anywhere. Bellatrix's eyes spat venom as she stood just inside the shredded doorway, looking between her and Charlie before settling on Hermione. Perhaps it was her fallen comrades that had her spitting mad. Perhaps it was the fact that the only two left standing in the room were on the opposite side of the war. Perhaps it was the destruction of her own home. One thing was perfectly clear: the Dark witch's gaze promised death.
Three things happened then in rapid succession: Bellatrix shouted "Attero!" and directed a sickly looking bolt of murky orange toward Hermione; Charlie hooked his arm around Hermione, his finger still shoved through his ring, and curled her into his body as he turned his back into Bellatrix's curse; and Hermione screamed with both her voice and her magic as Charlie's back stiffened in pain, yanking them through the darkness and away from the now mostly-dead Bellatrix.
"I'm just gonna raise my head
Welcome to the final edge
And I'm gonna fall
(And the stars make love to the universe)
I'm just gonna raise my head
And hold you close"
Charlie cradled Hermione's jaw in his calloused, gentle hands. "Are you ready, love?" he asked her, searching her eyes, searching her heart, searching her soul. Her smile was gentle in reply as she held the connection with him for several long, sweet moments.
"There's no going back now." Her words, however, were harsh. "Everything we've done has led here." Her gaze turned fierce, positively predatory. His own eyes darkened in response and he pulled her tightly against him to show her just how much he enjoyed her show of temper. No one could handle her wildfire like he could.
Much as she was tempted, Hermione pushed at Charlie's chest until he moved back. He didn't fully release her, though, sliding one hand down her throat, her sternum, her belly, before dropping to her hand to twine their fingers together. She allowed the warmth to suffuse her momentarily before returning back to the task at hand.
Slowly, she brought their clasped hands to her mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of his, before releasing it and stepping back. Holding Hermione's gaze, Charlie pulled back the left sleeve of his robe and pressed his wand to the Dark Mark.
The next hour passed in a blur. Blood and death surrounded the no longer Secret-kept safe house the Order had been meeting in. The northern Ireland wind scratched at her cheeks with icy claws. The red-stained grass glinted madly in the moonlight, while nothing could be heard except the ever-flowing waves crashing against the shore some meters away.
Hermione felt as if time had stopped. Except, if that was true, then the tide would not have continued its unrelenting pounding on the sand. Her heart, then. Perhaps it was her heart that had stopped. She should've known.
Harry Potter was dead.
Even Voldemort looked surprised. Slowly, ever so slowly, a look of pure glee took over the monster's face. Hermione felt Charlie appear at her side, slipping his hand around hers and squeezing slightly.
Still, she didn't move. Even as Voldemort began gloating, she didn't move. She simply stared at the body formerly housing her best friend. She should've known.
Suddenly, Hermione's eyes snapped to the megalomaniac currently crowing his victory. Fury, hot and potent, flowed through her, turning her veins to lava flows and her magic to molten magma. She should've known.
Never in her life had Hermione been as blindsided by something as she when the black mist rose screaming from Harry's scar. Not even when she learned she was a witch all those many years ago. It all made sense now, why Harry had not been able to defeat Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts. A Horcrux would not want to cause harm to its original soul.
Now Harry was dead, and Hermione was filled with an unholy fire.
Without even pausing to think, Hermione straightened her back and raised her head. Her wand came up without conscious command. Spells began blasting from her wand, no pause between the curses and hexes and jinxes and charms she was throwing at Voldemort.
The Dark Lord, for all his acclaimed intelligence, had not been prepared for such an onslaught, least of all from the tiny, bushy haired little pest that had annoyed him slightly from Harry Potter's side. He had barely begun lifting his arm to defend himself when Hermione screamed.
Her rage, her hurt, her grief poured from her mouth like an avenging Valkyrie. Her eyes had darkened, her hair emitted little crackles of magic that spread down her arms and legs. Voldemort's eyes widened fractionally and Hermione grinned ferociously. Good, he recognizes what I've done, she thought, darkly amused.
Focusing harder than she'd ever focused before, Hermione gathered her magic around her like a shield. Her breathing was harsh as her wand slowed in its barrage against the dark wizard. Baring her teeth, the little witch stalked forward. Her eyes didn't move from his, so she didn't miss the slight twitch when one of her spells finally broke his shield. She didn't miss the hiss of pain when another spell shot straight through his leg. And she didn't miss the fear he now showed when she came to stop only a few steps in front of him.
She didn't give him a chance to speak. "You killed my best friend," she proclaimed darkly. Her voice was amplified, deepened, by the magic running through her and over her. "And now, with all your Horcruxes finally destroyed, you too shall meet Death." Her eyes narrowed. "But not," she added fiercely, "as an old friend."
Finally, Hermione loosened the grip she had on her magic. It exploded out in a lightning storm of wrath, enveloping the snake-like wizard without remorse until all that was left was a smoking husk. She stared at the remains of Lord Voldemort with a raised eyebrow, looking incongruously just like she had as the more naive schoolgirl she'd been in years past.
Her eyes were still glowing when she finally turned to Charlie. A wicked, sinful smirk twisted her lips, and Charlie gave her a sultry wink, the kind that never failed to send her stomach in loops. He sauntered over to her and kissed her soundly, but quickly. When he pulled away, Hermione straightened her spine and shoved her grief over her best friend down, deep down, to pull out later and deal with. There was a much more pressing matter to attend to first.
Charlie stepped back just a bit further and once again lifted his left sleeve. Gasps were heard throughout the yard, belonging to the remaining Order members. No one moved, though. Hermione Granger had just killed Voldemort, who had just killed Harry Potter, and no one knew what to think, what to do. Flicking her eyes around the yard, Hermione simply smirked again and took Charlie's arm.
A fine, whispy, black cloud rose from the Dark Mark just as her fingers grazed the edge of the tattoo. Her smile widened, becoming more genuine, transforming her face into one more closely resembling a fairy, or a nymph, than an avenging angel.
"Signum Tenebris, ut vos reponere," she whispered, touching her wand to the center of the fading Dark Mark. Charlie shuddered as the ugly brand faded away completely. His eyes widened and snapped to hers as a new feeling replaced what had once been there. A warmth suffused his chest, building and building, until it overflowed and pooled into a visible cloud of sparkling red above his arm, above where the Dark Mark had been only moments before.
They held each other gazes, unconcerned with any of the other people in the yard, as the magic sunk into his arm with a comforting tingle. Hermione looked down first, smiling triumphantly at the playful little fox now decorating his inner forearm. How appropriate that her Mark would take after her Animagus form.
Leaning in closer to Charlie, Hermione peered at him almost shyly. "Now you'll always have a little piece of Vixen to carry around with you," she whispered, knowing how much Charlie enjoyed her fox form. He especially enjoyed chasing Vixen around as Balaur, his dragon Animagus form.
Charlie leaned forward and captured her lips once again, causing her to barely hold back a moan. Thankfully, he pulled away first this time, as Hermione was quite thoroughly tired of pausing pleasure for business. He rose to his feet, pulling his love up with him. She took a breath, let it out, and once again surveyed those left after this final battle.
"Now," she snarled, her voice full of pain and darkness, "you can join me, or you can join your former master."