Mudblood Sucker

by NightOfMine

At times one is certain of what is to come, yet when they are faced with it they are proven terribly wrong. People are unreasonable and challenges often come with pain. Hermione believes herself above such matters. Still, ever so slowly, she is being enchanted by Bellatrix, who wants nothing but to hurt and kill the Mudblood. That is, until... (See AN - ch.9 - for more information)

8. Ch 8, Death and Victory

Warning: This chapter can be unsettling, for characters and animals appear to be dead and actually die.

---

From the moment they appeared in one of the shadowy alleys of Hogsmeade all was a disaster. A piercing artificial scream announced their appearance in the village, the sound was horrifyingly similar to that of the cry of a Mandrake.

It roused the people on patrol and, shortly after the Mandrake scream had started, it was accompanied by yelled commands. The voices were from men and women alike, some with the accents of East Europe and one, to Hermione's surprise, was definitely a Bulgarian accent. The heavy footfalls of the people ran through the village.

A small group of figures ran past the trio, who stood huddled underneath the Invisibility Cloak and pressed against one side of the street.

Once the Snatchers, for they had not seen any Death Eater masks yet, disappeared into the distance and around the corner, another sound reached their ears. One that brought goosebumps to their skin and shivers to their spine, happiness was drained from everyone the closer they came. The trio looked at each other in panic, what were they to do? Using magic would give their position away, but they did not have a choice at this moment. They could hardly make a run for it. Their breath condensed just before they saw the first cloaked nightmares. The Dementors came into their line of sight, they came straight to them. It was a group of half a dozen creatures, all drawn to the trio's aura. They did not need to see them in order to know of their position. And it was just a matter of time before more would notice the new arrivals.

Harry, Ron and Hermione reacted as one, they drew their wands and conjured non-verbal Patronusses. The stag Patronus ran with pride through the dark alley, the small Jack Russel terrier ran swiftly at its side. Their light never wavered as they charged right at the Dementors, the stag with its head bowed to spear the abominations to its antlers whilst the terrier bit and tore.

But there was no Otter in their midsts, there was not even a sliver of its existence. Nothing had come from Hermione's wand. And the realization of what this meant brought a shake to Hermione's fingers, her eyes widened in fear. She had chosen the memory that had always served her well, which had enabled her to conjure her Patronus in the Army of Dumbledore on her second try and which had protected her against Dementors numerous times before.

And yet it had failed her... Or maybe she had become a failure herself... What was the difference anyway?

Her mind had become blank and she had to be dragged by Harry to be set in motion, she followed him not bothering to think of anything to say or do.

It was only when Aberforth entered the room he had ushered the trio to that Hermione's mind started to work properly once more. The man's bearing was one being unaccustomed to kindness, yet he had come to their rescue and currently carried a basket of bread and fruit in his hand. Neither of the adolescents reached for the food since they had already eaten, but they appreciated the gesture all the same. It made Hermione dare to request for something else, "Perhaps a Pepper-Up Potion instead? We have had a little of it, but I for one could use some more."

The old wizard shook his head, a grimace on his face, "When the bastards made this village one of their bases, they went through every household to stock up on anything alchemy related. I am still not even halfway on replenishing everything I have lost. But maybe Hogwarts will have hidden some for you to find."

Somehow the conversation between them and Aberforth steered towards the history of the Dumbledore family. It brought light upon matters which Harry did not wholly appreciate, that much was obvious to Hermione as she looked at his steely features. And as the tales continued she understood the bitterness in Aberforth's voice all the more. She had never thought Albus to have had such drama hidden beneath all the parental gestures. She had never thought him to have such greed for power. Yet he had declined a profound seat at the Wizengamot year after year. Perhaps he had learned from his mistakes, she thought, for she did not want to believe that all these years of kind smiles and odd, though often truthful, comments to have been fake or forced.

The portrait of the young woman in the hallway turned out to be Ariana Dumbledore. Hermione was about to ask Aberforth when it was made and if there were such portraits of the brothers as well when the painting moved and from behind appeared none other than Neville Longbottom. At once they saw how much he had changed since they had last seen him. Harry and Ron greeted him with hugs and pats, their reunion a stark contrast to the evil that seemed to lurk in every shadow. Hermione kept it at a smile and a wave, Neville cocked his head sideways but did not question her verbally as he beamed at her. He thanked Aberforth for the proffered food and took a big bite from the piece of bread before he led them through the tunnel.

As they walked from the light of one torch to the other, Hermione had to keep herself focused on the story Neville told them. Otherwise, the walls of stone, the damp, wind-still air and the crackling fire of the torches brought her back to the cavern underneath Gringotts. Where the trio had trespassed, unreal as it may feel to her, not even 10 hours ago.

Neville told them a story almost too surreal to believe. All that Hogwarts had embodied had been sullied with, the grand castle's walls and floors marred by unnecessary and innocent blood. A place that had once enabled a safe haven of study and personal growth, had become a place of pain and indoctrination.

Despite the torches that lit the tunnel, the light that came from the door Neville opened blinded Hermione momentarily. She blinked, looked around and saw that the Room of Requirement had once again accommodated the wish to practice; it was their Army of Dumbledore's practice room. Only filled with more people this time. There were so many faces that looked expectantly at them, at Harry. The silence grew into murmurs and murmurs quickly grew into excited words and shouts. They were flooded in no time, people wanted to shake hands, patted them on the shoulder, some even hugged. But Hermione kept herself aloof (though she tried to smile at anyone who came to greet her), nodded or extended her hand to be shaken before anyone could try something else to greet her. The Muggle-born was not comfortable with all the attention and did not want to be touched by so many. She would have tried to shrink into the shadows had Harry not been there, she could not let him go through this alone. She stayed beside him, ever the loyal friend.

At some point a discussion started, one which she knew she had to listen to, but her eyes wandered. She searched as Aberforth's words echoed in her mind. And then her eyes fell upon a cupboard that had not been there before and wandered from Harry's side for the first time since they had left Shell Cottage.

The cupboard reminded her of the ones in the infirmary, wherein Madame Pomfrey held her potions and other trinkets. Was this supposed to be one of them, had the Room of Requirement taken one cupboard to place it here momentarily or did the Room duplicate it? With a little trepidation Hermione opened the small door, and exhaled once she saw what they needed. Hogwarts may be in the hands of the rotten cronies of Voldemort, but it still did what it has always done, helping students in need.

She pocketed two Pepper-Ups, one for Harry and one for herself, it would not do for Ron to consume any more of the potion. He had drunk one bottle and a quarter already. Hermione looked around, made sure that no one paid her any mind and laid her hand on the wall beside the cupboard. She thanked the castle with softly murmured words and fought the flush of embarrassment that rose to her cheeks; she did not think that the castle could actually hear anything, but she was not able to say or do nothing, Luna had taught her better than that.

Hermione re-joined Harry's side at the same moment the portrait opened to give way to a wave of red-haired people. Within the blink of an eye, the trio was smothered in the arms of a crying Molly, praising Merlin into heaven for keeping her children safe.

Please let me go, Hermione's eyes watered, she had not felt at ease with all the attention and she was so incredibly tired, this did not make it any better. She blinked her eyes dry as best she could. And by the time other Weasleys got their chance for 'hello's' and 'good to see you're still in one piece's', Hermione could show them a smile, her panic under control.

It was the appearance of Luna that made Hermione break from the circle of red hair. The Muggle-born took to stand before the Ravenclaw and took her hands in her own, completely oblivious of the stream of people that had come with Luna to Hogwarts. They had not been separated for long this time, but how good it felt to be with her again. Luna smiled, wrapped her arms loosely around the other and hummed a few chords of a melody Hermione had heard before as she hugged the Muggle-born.

"You did well, Hermione."

"Why would you say that? I..." I let people die.

"You are here, safe. Though your ability to attract Wrackspurt truly is impressive, bordering on worrisome."

Hermione smiled slightly despite herself, she took a step back to look Luna in the eye. They sparkled with life. Then it struck her that there was still a discussion between Harry and the others, which had only been interrupted by the appearance of the Weasley family, to finish. She motioned for Luna to follow.

The first thing Hermione noticed was the awkwardness between Ginny and Harry, but it was not only between them, for Cho seemed too keen on Harry. The latter tried to ignore it all as he defended his opinion against Neville and other eager students, all so willing to throw their lives away for 'the greater good'. Because that was essentially what everyone in this room had come to do, fight for what they all believed to be right. Hermione defended Harry whenever she thought others to be unreasonable, but he stood his ground most of the time.

As she listened to the comments that were thrown back and fro, something clicked in her mind, she turned towards Luna and whispered, "So obvious... that I did not see it before," Hermione's eyes wide in disbelieve, "They were all the prized trinkets of the Founders. That leaves Ravenclaw and Gryffindor."

Luna studied her, "You believe the diadem of Rowena to exist?"

"Could it truly be that simple?"

"Blimey, it could be," Ron's excited whisper surprised Hermione, he had listened to them from the start, "Would be the perfect insult to the whole of Wizarding Britain, wouldn't it be? The bastard has an ego to uphold, he was actually able to find it and make a -" Hermione elbowed his side before he could spill any more beans with his rambling; even though she had a suspicion that Luna had enough information to make the connection.

"Then we need to figure out where He would have hidden the Diadem. Merlin knows how many have tried and failed before us..." Hermione muttered, still not truly convinced the diadem to actually exist.

"We have a statue of Rowena in our common room," nodded Luna, her fingers played with one of her radish earrings. Her eyes on Harry, who currently shook his head at something Ginny had said.

"Reckon there won't be enough time for us to look around the castle and find a way to destroy the cup," Ron mumbled, his eyes looked into space whilst he thought frantically of possible solutions.

"You are right, we have too big a castle to cover," Hermione was somewhat reluctant to mention the following, she had read far too many stories wherein this decision had created the downfall for the main characters, but she said it anyway, "Maybe we should split up?"

Luna shook her head, "Don't."

Ron watched the Ravenclaw with a question clear on his face, "Why -"

Though Luna did not look away from Hermione as she answered him, "Because it wouldn't feel good."

Hermione nodded her defeat and said they should rescue Harry from this deplorable discussion, this was not going anywhere.

When he joined them and had listened to what they had to say a determined expression fell over him, "I think I know -" he cut himself short, focussed his eyes on Luna, "Could you bring me to the Ravenclaw tower?"

Meanwhile, Hermione took the two bottles from her bag and handed one to Harry. "Drink this before you go." He did, and she followed his example. The Pepper-Up Potions awakened their senses, made them feel awake.

"Yes, now follow me," Luna said and whispered to Hermione and Ron to be careful before she started out of the Room of Requirement. A bounce in her step. Harry followed her, looked over his shoulder to mouth them success and then he was gone. No smiles or waves were shared, their current situation suffocated any possible light-hearted interaction. Dread and fear, yet determined to fight.

But Hermione could not stay idle, she would not wait for Harry to return to give them instructions. She took a step closer to Ron, to relay her plan, "Harry is gone to find the Diadem, we have to destroy the cup in the meantime. We do not have the Sword of Gryffindor anymore -"

"It was crazy of you to leave it with Griphook," he muttered, shaking his head in a patronizing way.

Hermione felt irritation flare up, but ignored both the feeling and his words, "- however there still lies a basilisk's carcass down in the Chamber."

Ron's eyes widened in the realization that she was right, "But how do we enter it, we can't speak Parseltongue..."

"You don't remember any of the sounds Harry made? You are excellent at imitating sounds and accents."

A proud smile appeared on his face, "I could always try."

Hermione did not hesitate and went to Neville. Ron watched them talk; he could not help but notice the familiarity that was between them. Jealousy coiled in his stomach, he could not remember the last time that Hermione had not been distant to him one way or another. And here Neville stood, a good friend of the Harry, Hermione and him, but Neville was not one of the trio. He had not experienced any of the shit Hermione and he had gone through in order to help Harry. Still, she was warmer to Neville, more at ease, then she had been with him. It was not fair.

Neville nodded, earnestness on his face and he reached out to squeeze Hermione's arm.

A moment later she was back beside Ron and he asked at once, "What did you two talk about?"

Her eyebrows furrowed as she studied his face for a moment, it made Ron nervous, she always saw right through him. Then she turned around and as she walked she said, "I told Neville that we will be gone for a while. And I asked if he could inform Harry, once he has returned, of the following: that we are where the substitute for the Sword is. He will figure it out easily enough."

---

The tunnels were dark and at places not easy to navigate through, the stones that had fallen last time Harry and Ron had been down here with Professor Lockhart were still not moved. And they did not have time to change this, as much as Hermione would have liked to. She silently prayed that none of the stones of the ceiling would suddenly slip from its place and land upon them or close their way out.

In the glow of her Lumos, a variety of plant life bloomed before her eyes. Mosses and herbs that could be classified as rare grew between the more common sewage flora. Hermione recognized most of them and knew their English names, though Neville would have been able to tell her their Latin names and obscure background knowledge as well.

It did not matter, there was nothing she could do with all that she saw right now. She made a mental note to bring Neville here some time, another thing to add to her ever-growing list.

With their fast pace, it was not long before they stood where the basilisk had been slain, its carcass still in perfect condition.

Hermione was mesmerized by the size of the creature, but most of all the darkness of its scales. It flickered in all different kind of colours in the soft Lumos' light, just like the feather of a crow or raven when turned this way or that. Or perhaps the scales were more like the blacks from the paintings in Malfoy Manor. Blue, green, purple. And still, it was as black as black can be.

"So," Ron cleared his throat as he looked with unease at the dead creature, "How are we supposed to get those fangs out of the carcass?"

"We have to pull them out, but not without protection. Wait, let me search," Hermione rummaged through Fleur's shoulder bag. She knew that whatever clothing piece they would use would be ruined beyond repair, due to the basilisk's poison. Therefore she would not pick anything but her own jacket, it may be the last piece of clothing she had bought with her mother, but she could not let any of Fleur's clothes be damaged, nor Harry or Ron's. Besides, there were still stains of her own blood in the material of her jacket from her torture session with Bellatrix, it was ruined already.

"Here, we should use this. Hold the other sleeve," Ron did as he was asked, the jacket was stretched between the two of them. With a tap of her wand in the middle of the collar, the material ripped apart in a straight downwards line.

Hermione held the material so that they covered her whole hands and made to grab the tooth, but was held back by Ron. "Let me pull them all out, we should not both put ourselves in danger of poisoning."

"No, I want to pull out one myself," she would not let herself be a damsel in distress, nor useless, never.

"Why can't you just let me-" he began irritably.

"Because I am not helpless, Ronald. Now let's get this over with."

They worked in silence. Not comfortable in the slightest. Hermione would never admit it, but it was not an easy task to get the fang out of the jaw, whilst she had to do it with the utmost care, as to not pierce herself. The smallest cut would be her death. A slow and painful one.

With a final groan, the fang finally cracked out of the jaw. Ron had his already wrapped in the cloth, for safekeeping.

"I reckon it's best to get rid of the cup immediately, the more Horcruxes gone, the better," Ron said and looked pointedly at the fang in her hand.

"Yes, that would be best." But she did not move, did not like the idea of doing it herself. Her deepest and most painful fears would emerge before her very eyes. She had heard the experiences of both Harry and Ron, knew the magic and images to have a paralyzing effect. She would be utterly vulnerable.

"Harry and I have each already destroyed one," Ron tried to encourage her, "It may seem scary, and in some ways it is, I guess. But the feeling that comes to you afterwards, that's what you should do it for. You will feel good about yourself."

The Muggle-born was not convinced and it was easily read from her features, but she did not say anything. She knew that Ron would not do it, she had heard from Harry what his biggest fear had been. Ron would never willingly destroy the Hufflepuff Cup before her eyes when his greatest fear included herself in Viktor and Harry's arms.

Hermione had to destroy the cup herself. Before anyone else would get a hold of her bag. They could not risk losing it. Without another minute to waste, she got the Horcrux from her bag and crouched down.

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, tried to steal herself and heaved the fang high. Yet it was for nought. Somehow the Horcrux knew what was about to happen and Hermione heard the first slivers of her nightmare echo in the distance. The noises grew in volume as if a herd of horses galloped right towards her. Her eyes opened. And right before her, there was nothing but chaos. Faces screamed, all in different hues of blue, the sound so much like her nightmare's screams.

The voices were everywhere, a hurricane all around her.

It was only due to her experience with her nightmare that Hermione heard her, softly underneath the sounds of pain, like a snake that slithered underneath your clothes, or worse, underneath your very skin. It felt wrong, intrusive. Insults about her heritage were cooed to her, with a voice one would normally use to talk to a newborn puppy.

Hermione's eyes were glued, to the faces, unblinkingly. Tears welled up and blurred her vision, minutely creating a fog of blue. However, all was clear once more, for the tears streamed down, clearing her sight, whilst they left trails in the dust on her cheeks.

In contrast to her nightmare, these faces were not void of human features. These were the faces of her loved ones, friends, and family; constricted in pain and sadness. Her parents, Viktor, Harry, Luna, Fleur, the whole of the Weasley family, Minerva and other members of the Order of the Phoenix. A blur of faces to anyone who did not know them.

But Hermione did.

The people dearest to her started to fall forwards, their bodies made with the blue all around them as they fell to the ground. Lifeless, suddenly with no expressions at all. Their eyes all stared at her without seeing, yet, a silent accusation.

Her father and mother; their bodies huddled and partially on top of one another, both their mouths slightly open with words on their tongues Hermione would never hear. Their eyes cold and vacant, accusing her.

Viktor was closest to them but otherwise alone, one hand stretched outward in Hermione's direction, the other disappeared under his body in an unnatural angle. His eyes cold and vacant, accusing her.

Fleur was nearest to her; she had fallen on her stomach, her hair everywhere and obscured most of her face, yet one eye and the tip of her nose were visible between the tresses. Her eye cold and vacant, accusing her.

Luna had her knees pressed against her chest, arms wrapped around them, almost a fetal position, had she not raised her head upwards to show Hermione her lifeless face. Her eyes cold and vacant, accusing her.

Harry was on his back, limbs in every direction, his neck in an impossible knack in order to look at her. His eyes cold and vacant, yet accusing her.

She was a failure, and their dead stares accused her rightly so.

And, amidst it all, Bellatrix emerged from the darkest blues. Air rippled around her, much like the dark plumes she could materialize into in order to fly through the air. Her lips in that deranged, feral smile. Condescending and patronizing in the way she looked down at Hermione. And the hatred was in her voice. A woman that embodied Hermione's undoing. The killer of all the people who were dearest to her.

The Death Eater could not be prouder of her own accomplishments.

Hermione felt cold, frozen to the ground, the little colour in her cheeks had vanished. Everything around her forgotten, all her senses attuned to what the Horcrux showed her. She did not hear Ron's words, did not hear him raise his voice as he repeated her name over and over again.

It was the sound of Harry's voice that made her limbs stir. His voice soft, almost a whisper, yet they pierced straight through the screams, "Hermione, love, I am here. I am alive. You have to destroy it, now, don't look at the images. They aren't real." As long as he talked, she would get through the movements that were required.

She raised the fang and...

CLANG!

The metal was pierced.

Everyone dissolved before her eyes, into slivers of blue, which in turn disappeared into the darkness beyond the light of their Lumos. Hermione inhaled deeply. Her hands shook as she covered her face whilst she bit hard on her tongue to keep the sobs from crashing through her being. She reminded herself to breathe, to inhale and exhale slowly. And counted backwards from fifty, whilst she listened to Harry as he breathed with her, at the same pace. His hands secure and warm on her shoulders.

After some time Harry said, "We need to get going, Hermione, Death Eaters and what not are swarming around the castle."

"Where to, Harry?" She asked, her eyes still wild from what she had to witness earlier. "You know where the Diadem is?"

He gave a curt nod, looked up to Ron to include him in the conversation, "I think so."

Hermione stood up to follow Harry and Ron, but when she reached the doors she halted and turned around. The air shifted. Her eyes were drawn to the place where she had destroyed the Horcrux. Not far from the basilisk. There was this eerie doom that hung around the remnants of the creature. Something she had not seen before, it made her realize how easily life could be forfeited, thrown away. A simple pinprick from those fangs would be enough.

"We should close the doors," Hermione said and heard the other two halt in their steps, though her eyes stayed on the carcass. "Lest someone..." could kill themselves.

Yet as they closed the door she wondered how someone would be able to come here in the first place unless they could speak Parseltongue. Still, she did not depart until she was certain no one could slip past. There was not a millimetre of space left between the doors.

---

They ran through the corridors. Explosions, screams, and magic filled the air. They had to ignore it all, not a single duel made them pause. There could not be exceptions, not when that which they were doing was the only thing that made the difference. Hermione and Ron had to make sure Harry would survive it all.

There were obstacles all through the castle. Fallen harnesses and statues. There were holes in the walls, and some were even completely demolished. But worst of all were the lifeless bodies of humans and creatures that scattered the floors. The stench of burnt flesh and hair, urine and vomit hung heavy and unforgiving in the air. It was revolting. And it upset Hermione greatly. She made sure to avoid looking at the faces of the fallen. Whilst her inability to help gnawed at her consciousness.

She saw that Harry and Ron had a hard time too.

Ron even muttered his denial over and over again, almost as if the reality of war had just sunken in. But Hermione could not believe that to be true, she knew he had known this would happen.

Harry's features were drained of all colour. He had a frown on his face and a determined spark in his eyes. Despite everything, there were emotions, positive feelings, in his expression. He was never without love. It was always there, even when he had not wanted it to. That was what made him different from everybody else.

---

Once they arrived at the Room of Requirement they had to make sure no one was left inside. That was when the awkward tension between Harry and Ginny exploded. They argued, with rising voices about whether or not Ginny should stay out of harm's way. Clearly, Ron thought it best to give his opinion, before long he had himself tangled in the argument as well.

Hermione watched it unravel before her unwilling to mingle, she was tired again despite the earlier Pepper-Up. Her being still felt shaken from the display of the Horcrux. And besides, it was not her place to make a final decision. Ginny was old enough to think for herself. Then again, Hermione understood Harry and Ron's fears as well, after all, Ginny had been among those blue face screaming in pain. But it was hypocritically of Harry and Ron to say that Ginny should not endanger herself since that was all the trio had been doing this whole year and all thorough their school years before that.

The Muggle-born held the sigh of relief to herself when Ginny finally stormed off to partake in the battle raging in Hogwarts. Knowing well that neither Harry nor Ron would appreciate hearing her opinion at this moment.

From there the search began and it was only a matter of time until Harry yelled his triumphant find. However, once Hermione and Ron were with him, they were joined by others as well. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. Petty insults were traded back and forth, which soon escalated into a fight. One that came to an abrupt end with the use of an Unforgivable. Chaos ensued. Brooms were used and rescues were made.

They all shot through the door that immediately closed behind them and crashed into the opposite wall, their brooms in splinters and their bodies bruised. All coughed, eager for fresh oxygen. Their clothes were covered with sooth and were signed at the end. But they were all alive, except for Crabbe... The roaring of Fiendfyre was a mere rumble now, almost like hearing thunder from afar.

Hermione sat on her hands and knees, couching the last of the smog out of her lungs when a horrible realization hit her.

"Harry, the Elves, we need to warn the house-Elves!" Her eyes wide in alarm, she did not wait for a response and scrambled to her feet. With renewed adrenaline, she ran through the castle to the painting of the pear. Harry and Ron hot on her heels. The Slytherins unceremoniously left behind.

---

Harry was gone. She did not need to search the castle to know he had voluntarily walked into the Forbidden Forest. With Voldemort's promise that no one in the castle would be hurt if Harry was delivered to him, it was only natural for him to do the most selfless act and deliver himself. Hermione cursed his foolish self-sacrifice. She clenched and unclenched her hands, jaw set and a glare in her eyes that kept the tears at bay. Because... What if he would not return to her this time? What would she do then? The Muggle-born fought the desire to scream her voice raw. There was nothing she could do but wait, along with everyone else.

People were all around her, they buzzed around in the Great Hall, even with all the fallen in their midsts. Her eyes travelled around the Hall. Sullen faces everywhere. The sounds of crying, arguing and hushing words suddenly suffocated her. A need to be anywhere else arose. Her mind once more with Harry. Where would he be, was he still walking between the trees to where Voldemort had settled for the time being? Or was her friend already faced with his worst enemy?

Restlessness overtook Hermione, she eyed the open doors that lead to the corridors and was faced with the destruction. A few others with likely the same despair to do something had taken to repair whatever they could. She brandished Bellatrix' wand from her holster and set herself to work.

---

The Muggle-born stared in appalled horror at the body in Hagrid's arms. Motionless... Lifeless? Shock and adrenaline held any emotional breakdown at bay. Her mind reeled, she could not seem to fathom the image before her. How simplistic it may be for another.

Harry embodied the impossible, he had thwarted Death one way or another often enough. He could not be dead. Could he?

The other thing that kept Hermione from screaming insults at the man and all his followers behind him, was the person to Voldemort's right.

Bellatrix leered at them all, giddy with whatever her Lord said or did. She intimidated many a person with her cracked teeth as she showed one of her cruel smiles. The dried-up blood on her clothes, hands, and face gave her visage a deadly edge. Hermione hoped, despite knowing better, that it was the Death Eater's own blood.

With the woman of her nightmares before her, it was inevitable for Hermione to become a victim of her own mind. She was forced to revisit the torturous moments in Malfoy Manor. But worse was the fact that the insult on her forearm seemed to throb painfully in recognition of its 'artist'. It made any of the lasting, though doubtful and naive, theories that the wound may not be cursed vanish.

At last, whilst Voldemort held his useless speech, Hermione recovered control of her body. Her stance defensive, Bellatrix' wand clearly visible to everyone who looked in her direction. She wanted to insult and infuriate the female Death Eater. Her tactic, basic as it was, worked. A Pureblood's pride would always be one of their greatest weaknesses.

Bellatrix' eyes widened before they narrowed, hatred burned within, clearly visible. A promise for what was to come. The snarl on her lips made Hermione wonder if the woman was actually growling, Bellatrix struck her as a person who would.

Hermione met those eyes, pretended her indifference; she faked it, but she was confident that her opponents did not know her well enough to see through it. She decided there and then that she would fight till her death, it did not matter that her wand was Bellatrix' own.

Being and fighting at Harry's side had always been dangerous, even life-threatening at times. That was nothing new to her, this was what friends did for each other. What was new to her, and very unsettling, was deliberately deciding that she would fight till Death would take her to the Underworld. A decision which was brought to her by desperation.

She tightened her grip on the wand and purposefully made the purple sparks tumble from its tip. They twirled through the air, danced minutely on the ground, and ultimately vanished.

Bellatrix jerked her chin upwards, spat on the ground and set a step forward. Ready to attack. Yet she stilled her movement, her Lord's words filled the air still. It would not do for her to interrupt him at such a crucial moment. And Hermione, caught up in the moment as she was, showed the most condescending smile she could muster.

The Muggle-born did not see Bellatrix' response. Since the sound of massive wingbeats and surprised screams caught everyone's attention. For a split-second, Hermione thought it to be the Ukraine Iron Belly, to have miraculously returned to them once more. Yet another second later, hove beats thundered over the ground and Hermione saw how a herd of armoured Abraxan horses swarmed above Hogwart's grounds and how a few had landed upon the grounds. All the massive horses had numerous people saddled on their back, all shouting in French; vulgar insults to Voldemort and his followers or one spell or another. One rider stood out against all the others, as she was just as tall as Hagrid, Madame Olympe Maxine.

And, at the very same time, another source of thundering hooves could be heard and felt, for they made the ground underneath everyone's feet shake. From the tree line of the Forbidden Forest emerged equally armoured Centaurs. There seemed to be more variety in species than Hermione could remember ever seeing, for as far as she could tell from the distance. Their war cries drowned out commands given by Death Eaters. Only when the first spells were cast from above the Centaurs did Hermione notice the flyers above them. People on brooms, some clad in more colourful armour than others. And even their language was familiar to Hermione, for they were Bulgarians. Her heart clenched at the thought of Viktor being somewhere in between all those men, women and Centaurs.

Voldemort's followers were flanked from all sides and above. For even the sides closest to the lake were dangerous with the Squid and the Whomping Willow, both slamming everyone in reach.

Then a flash of green eyes and black, messy hair filled Hermione's vision; Harry had used the distraction to his advantage and dashed over the yard, he yanked Hermione with him into the depths of Hogwarts, Ron hot on their heels. And with them, others followed. Students, Death Eaters, Professors. The battle was complete chaos. There was no clear battlefield. Death Eaters and Snatchers managed to pass the senior duellers, Professors and living statues in the yard and brought as much destruction inside, but some were faced with death themselves.

The battle was scattered, a mess, complete chaos.

At some point, Bulgarian shouts mingled themselves with the English and French words. And house-Elves armed with kitchen utilities, even though they used magic to defend and attack, had determined expressions on their features; none of them scared for whatever repercussion their participation in the battle would garner, something that otherwise had always seemed to literary loom above their heads.

Once during the battle, Hermione had caught sight of an Abraxan horse that ran rampant through the masses. Throwing anyone who stood in its way to the ground. Blood dripped from the horse's flanks, its eyes wide and wild, and foam had gathered at the corners of its lips; it was totally out of control, its riders nowhere to be seen. It had continued to run through the remnants of the Great Hall, its armour deflecting all magic directed at it until an exceptionally well-shot curse hit the horse underneath all the metal. Hermione watched as the animal stumbled, fall forward and break its neck in the process. Blood pooled around its carcass, the curse had clearly made an open wound somewhere on its body.

A mad cackle brought Hermione's eyes on one of the few people capable of shooting down such a fast and well-armoured target. Ebony mane flew through the air as the woman practically waltzed through the battlefield in search of new entertainment. Killing as many living beings as possible.

Hermione was not near Bellatrix at the time, both had their own duels to fight in different parts of the Great Hall. And Harry and Ron were with her, Hermione felt as safe as one could be during the war.

Of course, this was not to stay, for the Muggle-born had something that belonged to the Death Eater.

Hermione had just Petrified another two Snatchers when a curse shot through the battle directly at her, she was barely fast enough to dodge. Her shield was up and several more spells hit its surface. She jumped to her left and shot her own offensive magic mid-air in the direction of her attacker. It was deflected, the Death Eater's disgust was audible when Bellatrix shouted her next incantations.

They did not speak up their minds, did not insult the other nor ask anything, there was no reason for them to try. For there was too loud a clamour around them. And besides, what was there to talk about? Nothing. Bellatrix would kill Hermione the first moment she got. And Hermione would Body-Bind the dark witch if she were given the chance.

Then why did Hermione feel the urge to say something, anything at all?

'I have impersonated you, Lestrange, it was a horrible experience', 'Didn't think you to still be alive and kicking after your failure to stop us at Gringotts, Lestrange', 'Isn't it infuriating to see your own wand in your opponent's hand, Lestrange? I am even able to make it abide my every wish'. Her teeth had her tongue ensnared, to keep it from creating the needed movements for the taunting words.

The latter of the taunts would not have been entirely true, for, despite being able to duel, the wand did act up. It restrained some of the heavier jinxes Hermione shot at Bellatrix and made some of her offensive magic stray from its intended path. This was not something she would be sharing, naturally. At least her defensive magic had not faltered, so far. But would it stay that way? Battling Bellatrix was horrendous, she was dozens of Snatchers combined. A born dueller, and cultivated to kill.

Suddenly Bellatrix' snarl transformed into an expression that brought Hermione intense discomfort. The woman smirked. It made the Muggle-born aware of how simple it could be to take someone's life, how easily she could be killed. A well-shot curse was all it would take, just like with the Abraxan horse, and she would join all the other lifeless bodies on the ground. Maybe it would be an instant kill, but she did not think that possibility likely. Bellatrix loved to drag out the pain.

Images and 'what if's' momentarily blinded Hermione's perception and anticipation, which had kept her on her feet this long. And Bellatrix pounced on her moment of weakness, like a hound on a fox.

If it had not been for a sudden shield to be resurrected before her, Hermione would have been helplessly wandless, if not dead. A noise of indignant frustration came from the Death Eater, whilst someone else joined Hermione's side in the battle; Luna. They did not have time to acknowledge each other, for both attacked and defended against Bellatrix. Who was able to avoid and deflect everything, though her attacks did lessen now that she had two opponents to fight.

The two students did their best to match the Death Eater, and they did, but it was not enough to overthrow the woman. Bellatrix did have over a decade more experience on the battlefield. And Hermione, somehow, got the feeling that the Death Eater was actually holding back, for she noticed the taut expression on her face, the controlled anger. Hermione did not linger on the thoughts, for it was infuriating to think that the Death Eater was not even battling at her full potential, whilst they, Luna and she, battled for their lives.

Hermione was certain of Bellatrix' lacklustre attitude in the battle when the witch started to miss on purpose. The Muggle-born's eyes looked worried around them, no one paid the Death Eater much attention yet, that was good. It puzzled Hermione that Bellatrix showed such conflicting behaviour. With her jaw set and the burning hatred in her eyes, the dark witch should have gladly blasted both students to dust. Yet her duelling showed lack of purpose and skill.

This could be just another trick, one Hermione could have been fooled by, had she not been fooled before. She was prepared for such tactics now. Yet she still worried. Her heart tightened.

Their duel continued. Hermione and Luna gained the upper hand in battle, but without any satisfaction. Despite this Bellatrix kept them at bay, she did not make it that simple for them. Hermione was about to set a new capture tactic in motion when a woman burst from the clamour surrounding them and screamed at the top of her lungs.

"It was you wasn't it?!" Molly's face was contorted in rage, anguish simmered underneath. And as she screamed she took her position against Bellatrix, both, Luna and Hermione, behind her as if they had been in need of saving.

The matriarch was an emotional wreck; her whole family duelled in this godforsaken battle and she had already lost one of her children. What if more had died already and she just did not know yet? The mere inkling brought hatred to the surface, it radiated off from her and brought her the power to cast the worst of the Unforgivable Curses over and over again. Until it finally hit her mark.

The green curse hit Bellatrix' chest, eyes wide, yet the dark witch had a blank expression on her face. She did not move her lips to form any words, and if there had been any, they would have been drowned out by Voldemort's wail of hysteria. He called out for his most trusted lieutenant as she fell backwards.

Hermione was in the middle of battling another Snatcher when Voldemort's cry for Bellatrix startled everyone. It enabled the Muggle-born to Petrify her opponent, and the moment her spell hit the body she snapped her head to the source. Voldemort's voice was filled with fury, yet his face was an impenetrable mask. Then her eyes found Bellatrix, and she watched as the woman fell, though before the body hit the ground it disappeared into the smog Hermione unconsciously started to identify with Bellatrix. Nothing hit the earth, only ash twirled down.

There was no time for a moment to just breathe, battles continued. People and creatures fought and lost, more deaths. That is, until Harry and Voldemort finally engaged in the inevitable battle.

---

Voldemort was dead. The war was over, and yet it was not, not yet. Death Eaters and Snatchers still swarmed in the castle and the grounds surrounding Hogwarts. People were not yet safe, they had to fight and capture anyone who still desired to fight for Voldemort's cause. Though with Voldemort slain many a follower surrendered or fled. And before long there was no one left to duel. Prisoners were taken to the makeshift cells in the dungeons, and fallen loved ones were gathered in the Great Hall. Cries of happiness and sadness filled the air. Laughter and sobs mingled. There was no end to the range of emotions that could be felt in these hours. A war that had started decades ago, had finally and truly been concluded in the early morning hours of this day. The 14th of May, 1998.

It was after the Golden Trio had returned from the Headmaster's office and were standing in the double door opening of the Great Hall when the first person flung himself at Harry. The boy started to cry from happiness as he thanked Harry over and over again. And like bees to honey, other people started to near them; all wanted to hug, shake hands, congratulate and what not. At this point it was not only Harry they wanted to be near to, for Hermione and Ron were being thanked as well. And unlike before the Muggle-born tried to wiggle herself free from the masses of people, this time she opted to hide in the shadows till this ridiculous display of gratitude was over. There was already a large gap between Harry and herself, filled with people, so it was not like she separated herself from him.

Yet she could not make it out of the throng of people, there were too many and there seemed no end to the well-wishes. She had to square her shoulders and abide it all. Hermione did not smile, not a single time, it would only look fake. The Muggle-born barely even nodded in acknowledgement and did not allow people to hug her.

Needless to say, Hermione jumped at the first opportunity that presented itself to get away from the masses of faces, smiles, tears and hands. With a sigh of relief, she slid in the shadows of an alcove, at last, from where she kept an eye on Harry and Ron. The latter basked in all the attention, whilst Harry looked as displeased with all the attention as he had always been. In this explosion of excitement, no one seemed to notice her disappearance.

Luckily there were still people that just walked past the war heroes. Normal people, with other things on their mind than to celebrate in a jubilant way; on their way to the grand oaken doors to have a bit of fresh air, or on their way inside to mourn their friends, family, and lovers.

Every time the Muggle-born was inside the Great Hall her eyes had feverishly glanced over all the yellowish, ash-coloured faces. Her insides twisted in horror at the mere inkling that another one of her friends could have been added to the pile of human deaths. Fred, Nymphadora, Remus. They were already lost to the afterlife.

She had not seen Luna anywhere since Molly broke their battle with Bellatrix apart. And the anxiety brought Hermione near tears, she was only able to calm herself with the knowledge that Luna was probably in a conversation with Centaurs or tending to the (hurt) animals.

From her peripheral vision, the Muggle-born saw a familiar silhouette drawn in the soft light of dawn. It made her eyes wander away from Harry and Ron. And her heart started to beat faster when her eyes fell on him. Viktor walked with a few others, whom Hermione did not recognize, from the grounds through the open doors and inside the castle. Clearly on their way to the Great Hall.

Hermione slowly emerged from the shadows, she had only taken a handful of steps when he noticed her as well and halted in his strides. He ignored everyone around him. They both did. Their eyes were locked, both their expressions unreadable.

She did not run towards him, instead she walked with slow, measured steps and halted an arm's length before him; to others, she looked the epitome of calmness, but in reality, she was afraid that her brain played tricks on her, that the person before her was a figment of her imagination. Though he immediately stepped closer the moment she halted. They did not touch for a few seconds longer until Viktor's hands grasped hers. It made an electric current dance over her spine. His grip on her fingertips was gentle, the warmth of his hands made Hermione's flesh tingle.

Viktor really stood before her, held her hands and gazed down in her eyes. He is alive, he is, truly, with me. I am not crazy.

Then Hermione realized this could be an imposter, it could be anyone, as long as they had Polyjuice Potion. It was unlikely, after all there had just ended a battle, but not impossible. And without any hesitation, she asked in Bulgarian, "What was it that I said when you took me to the Lovers Tree in your childhood village?"

A glimmer of joy emerged in Viktor's dark eyes and he stepped even closer to whisper his answer, his scent a pleasant perfume to Hermione, "I quote, 'I never get why teenagers make places so important, if you hadn't said anything to me this would have been just an ordinary tree to me.'"

The Muggle-born nodded in earnest at the correct answer, a relieved, though still disbelieving, smile grazed over her lips, the memory was a fond one. Viktor had laughed heartily back then, much to Hermione's confusion and slight annoyance, only to giggle along once he twirled her around as if they had been dancing all along.

He shook his head slightly, on his lips the smile grew into a beaming grin, "You are exquisite to me".

It made her blush though she too started to beam, and then more words flowed from her lips, with only the slightest of a stutter when her voice broke from the emotions that roared inside her. "You are here, alive... Still with me... We both survived." Her sight blurred, Viktor's face was still all she focussed on.

Tears welled in Viktor's eyes, but he blinked them away as he let his fingers caress Hermione's cheeks, whilst his thumbs wiped away her tears, "My girl, my love, I missed you so..." Then he leaned down and captured her lips with his own.

Hermione's arms wrapped around his shoulders and neck, as his arms snaked around her waist, their kiss was soft and tender. Their bodies pressed together, cloaked in each other's warmth. They luxuriated in the feel of each other's bodies, hands, and taste. They had been without one another for so long, it almost felt like their first kiss; tentative, shy and new. No one could deny being changed after this war, least of all the two of them.

When their lips parted, they rested their foreheads against the other. Hermione had her eyes still closed and felt how Viktor's breath danced over her face. Silence, beautiful silence, with only the scuffling of others in the background. The most important words had already been shared between them, for now, they could stand here and bask in each other's company. They were not in anyone's way, there were no obligations they had to fulfil and no one was out to hunt them. The Muggle-born would not have minded standing there in the arms of her lover for many more hours.

But that would not do, even though there was no immediate danger or need to do something, Hermione felt restless. She had not yet found many of her loved ones, did not know if they were alive or dead. She gave a quick kiss on Viktor's lips before she took a step backwards. "I need to look for Luna, I haven't seen her yet. I don't know how she is doing."

"Of course," Viktor nodded and looked around them. His friends had left, to grant them some privacy, but he needed to help with the preparations of the Bulgarian camp. After the battle that had been fought, no one was in a taste to return to their homeland, even though they had Portkeys. And besides, the castle and its inhabitants could not be left all on their own. Therefore they had to make a camp somewhere on Hogwarts' grounds. His group had been on their way to the Headmistress to get her approval and recommendations on the best spot, though he had obviously stayed behind.

"I will be busy with preparing a camp somewhere on the grounds, but visit me sometime today, please? I will come and look for you the moment we have everything settled."

"Yes, I will come to you. Perhaps I can help with setting things up. What about the French people, will you set up camp together?"

Viktor nodded, "Yeah, and the Bulgarian Centaurs will be located close to our camp, though in the protection of the forest."

"Ah, they did strike me as Centaurs from another culture, they have such a different built than the English ones." Hermione murmured and nodded, whilst her eyes travelled to Harry and the dispersing crowd around him. "I really want to know how you got the Centaurs to cooperate, was it the Bulgarian Centaurs that made the English join in the fight as well?"

"I will tell you everything you want to know, my girl. Later. When we have time," Viktor leaned down and kissed her cheek softly, "I will see you soon."

Hermione nodded and watched Viktor disappear through the double doors into the Great Hall. Only once Harry was truly free from all the people did she start to walk towards him.

"Harry, I am going to look for Luna. I haven't seen her yet, and I am worried."

He nodded, his eyes met hers before he looked back at the people in the hall. He searched, and indeed, Luna was nowhere to be seen.

"Be safe," he said gravely as if the battle was still roaring all around them.

Hermione looked at him without a sparkle of humour at his tone of voice; she understood his gnawing worry, knew that she would be constantly worrying about Harry's wellbeing whilst being away as well.

After a few more seconds, his eyes returned to hers and he continued, "I will be among the Weasleys, probably. Or maybe I am going to arrange someplace for us to sleep. I doubt you want to stay in the Burrow." He attempted a wry smile, but it just looked pained. Still, Hermione appreciated his effort and squeezed his hand.

During her search for her favourite Ravenclaw Hermione helped people with small tasks, asked after their wellbeing, asked if they needed anything and healed minor wounds that had not yet been tended to. Whenever people thanked her, she just shook her head and trudged on with her search for Luna. But she could not even find her, not even at the edge of the forest near the Centaurs' camp.

In the end, Hermione did not find Luna, it was the other way around.

"There you are."

Relieve flooded over and inside Hermione as the voice reached her ears and she turned around to see the one she had been looking for all this time. Luna had a bandage wrapped around her right thigh but seemed otherwise unhurt and very much alive. Hermione actually skipped to close the distance and hugged her close.

"Thank you," she whispered, unable to say anything else at the moment. Images of Bellatrix flashed behind her closed eyelids, the feral sneer, the controlled anger, a flash of green that would have been her end if it had not been for her friend. They stood like that without saying anything else, until Luna took a step back to look at the Muggle-born.

"Hermione, I think we are having a serious problem, the ease with which you attract Wrackspurts begins to worry me." Luna's voice was serious, yet a fond smile brightened her face. She reached upward to tuck a curl behind Hermione's ear.

"Let's think of a remedy as we walk to the castle, shall we?"

"You have to mull less, Hermione," Luna quipped, "that is the whole point."

"Yes, that... would be a difficult task."

Luna hummed in a nondescript way and changed the subject, "Fleur is here as well, and I think she would really like to see you."

"Fleur is here?" Hermione repeated in surprise, "Did she come with the French allies under Maxine's command?"

"What makes you think that they were under Madame Maxine's command?"

"Well, the Abraxan horses are hers, or at least from her Academy, which led me to believe their arrival was out of some sort of camaraderie. One school helps the other, that is what the Triwizard Tournaments stood for all these years."

"When you think about it that way, yes, it makes sense, but it was actually Fleur who rallied them all together. Though it would not be surprising if Madame Maxine took the role of command on the way, wouldn't it?"

"How do you know of this? Have you talked to Fleur?"

"I was sent to Hogwarts, instead of Muriels', to ensure that the Abraxan horses would find their way to the castle."

"What happened?" Hermione asked, eager to hear the story, instead of telling her own which she was likely asked to do from now on, time and again.

"You took off to fight once more against Voldemort, which left us in the dark. For most of the day, I practised spells and curses, I didn't see Fleur once. Not until after William had returned from Muriels' to take me there. She was wrapped in a dark cloak and ready to take her leave as well, to France. When I said I wanted to help, she told me everything I needed to know to be useful to the cause. I needed to secure the route the Abraxan horses needed to fly to get here in time." Luna paused before the open doors that led into the castle and looked around at the destroyed grounds around them. Unconsciously Hermione mimicked her. And not for the first time her stomach turned upside down, bile rose, but she gulped it down.

Many a person was outside. Some gathered the boulders and other large objects together, massive things that had been thrown about by the Giants who had fought at Voldemort's side. Others restored the castle at the most urgent places, a large hole near the lake was one of them; if it was not closed and a rainstorm flooded the lake, then there would be such an unnecessary problem in the cellars.

Then there were the Bulgarian and French people, who had started with setting up of their camps. They were stationed close to the remnants of Hagrid's cabin. The latter who could be seen as he tended to his trampled garden next to his destroyed house, with his half-brother Gramph at his side, who was wholly splattered with blood and one eye and the half of his head covered with bandages. Gramph stumbled about, he clearly could not use one of his legs properly, despite this all he seemed calm and serene. Probably exhausted from the fight, as were they all. Hermione could not see Fang anywhere, something that did not bode well.

Of course, it was not the living people that made the Muggle-born feel sick to her stomach.

It was the destruction that was left on the fields. The dark coloured patches of ground, grass which was coloured red. And spread over the field, in a sporadic way, laid still some limbs and organs, overlooked by those who had taken the responsibility to clean the grounds on their shoulders. Ravens and crows feasted on the forgotten pieces of the carcasses. Minutely Hermione wondered where all the bodies of the Death Eaters and Snatchers were held, for they were not in the Great Hall. But her thoughts were disrupted when Luna continued to lead them inside as she resumed to tell of her experiences.

"I followed Fleur's instructions as best I could, aware that it was likely the safest route to get to Hogwarts. Yet, if it had not been for Aberforth, I don't think I would have been able to get through all the men and women that patrolled the streets in Hogsmeade."

"He helped us too," Hermione breathed out, and she realized that he must have helped everyone that had come through the Room of Requirement into the castle. The man had been a reckless fool, but one she was extremely glad to have had on their side.

Luna nodded, looked at Hermione and smiled, "I am glad he did."

Then she led them to the Great Hall. As they neared, Molly's heartfelt crying could be discerned from the rest of the noises. It made Hermione slow in her steps, she had difficulty being among the dead, their eternal silence pressed hard on her conscious. If they had been faster, so many lives could have been spared. So many more students would still be able to pursue their dreams, so many more parents would watch their children grow. Hermione's throat tightened painfully, yet she followed Luna like a lost puppy.

Besides she had to be there, to show her respects to the dead, instead of constantly finding other tasks to help and distract herself with. And Harry was there, if he could handle the pressure of being around the dead, so could she.

Every dead person had been made presentable by funeral directors and coroners before they had been laid down on a bed in the Great Hall, but that did not mean it was not mortifying. People missed limbs, some had half their faces bandaged to keep head wounds from being seen, and Hermione had overheard people say that some of the dead had been too grotesquely mutilated to be made presentable. Magic had been a blessing in the first years Hermione knew of its existence, but now, after the war, she knew better. Never before had she been so brutally aware of the dangers of it. Magic could be just as destructive as most, if not all, Muggle weapons.

Before long, Luna and Hermione had merged with their friends. The sight of the ones that had died made her choke on the air she inhaled, and take a step closer to Luna. Hermione had been told of Fred, Tonks and Remus' dead, but seeing them lie here... deadly still...

Witnesses had relayed what they had seen, it was information that did not surprise anyone; Nymphadora had been killed by her very own aunt. And the hellish red colour of her hair made everyone believe that the fight had not been without insults and torture.

Remus' facial features were contorted as if the man was still in agonizing pain. And seeing his mutilated body it was very likely that he too had greatly suffered in the moments before his death. He missed most of his left leg and had a few additional wounds on his face and neck, which were all covered with bandages.

Fred was the only one with a somewhat peaceful look on his ashen face. Though George and Molly's heartfelt sobbing and wailing made it impossible for anyone to believe Fred anything but lost to them all. Both sat on either side of their lost sibling and child. Ginny hid her face in her father's sweater, who held her in his arms as he tried to make shushing noises between his own sobs. Charlie's absence was felt; Percy and William both stood there a little lost, arms draped over the other's shoulder in a brotherly fashion. Ron had one arm around George's shoulders, whilst his free hand covered his own face. Harry, Hermione and Luna stood with them, as much a part of the Weasley family.

Hermione looked sideways at the younger woman. Luna had silent, unbidden tears drifting down her cheeks, whilst her eyes were glued to the enchanted ceiling; for whatever reason, she was unable to look at the dead who laid before them. The Muggle-born circled her arm around the back of her friend and pulled her against her side. She wanted to comfort her without any words, words were useless. Harry took a step closer to stand before them and reached out for both their hands; one in each of his own and squeezed them gently. His thumbs ran over their knuckles as a heavy sigh left him. His head was turned sideways, his eyes never left the dead, it was clearly important to him to see them. Hermione, on the other hand, had seen enough, knew that she would be troubled by their faces in her dreams when her cursed nightmares would not do the trick. She closed her eyes and rested her head on Luna's shoulder. A moment later she felt cool fingers caress her cheek and Luna's fingers stayed there.

Time trickled on; neither Fleur nor Viktor joined them, both were still too caught up in the organization of their camp. There would be time for them to show their respects later.

As they stood there Hermione grew aware of the throbbing of the scars on her forearm. There was even a prickling pain that accompanied it, and as time passed it grew worse. It was as if there was something from within her flesh that needed to tear through her skin, to get out. The Muggle-born suppressed the tremble that seemed to settle in her arm, she tried to still its movement. Unconsciously her grip on Luna and Harry tightened.

She opened her eyes, blinked several times till her sight was adjusted to the light. The pain in her arm made her clench her jaws. Suddenly the image of Molly's tear-streaked cheeks reminded Hermione of only one thing, it was the Weasley matriarch who had killed Bellatrix Lestrange. A kill Hermione had, in all honesty, never thought possible. Images of her own battle with the Death Eater flashed in her mind. Bellatrix' sneer was the last facial expression Hermione had seen on the Pureblood's face, her disgust for all to see.

A heavier pain surged through her arm and made it tremble despite Hermione's efforts to keep it still. Her hands slipped from their place on Luna's hip and from Harry's grasp. All the sadness around her had only been durable with her dearest friends beside her, but the burning pain had invaded the safety they had created. In an instant, it was suffocating her, fear for the sadness. Have to get out.

The Muggle-born took a step backwards, from out of the circle of her friends. Harry looked at her, a question in his eyes. She muttered that she had promised Viktor to go to him, and ignored Harry's response and Luna's question as she walked away.

Once outside, she greedily inhaled the air but did not stop to look around. She walked straight down the front steps and to the lake, the desire to cool her left forearm too great to ignore. It burned, the nerves in her skin were irritated and throbbing. When she rolled up her sleeve Hermione was not surprised to see that the bandages had become a dark red for the most parts; the letters had opened once again. Which made it impossible for her to put her forearm in the cool water of the lake. It would only get infected.

Hermione's shoulders slumped as she rolled her sleeve back down. She ran her hand through her hair, and steeled herself against the pain as best she could, she would not let it get to her. Instead, she went through a mental list of duties that would distract her from the pain. The Muggle-born opted that her help was certainly welcome with the repairs of Hogwarts and began her search for Professor McGonagall.

On her way she caught sight of the Whomping Willow, and to her astonishment there were still dead bodies hanging on and speared by its branches. It was not likely that the cleaning party had overlooked those bodies. For they could be seen from far away. Likelier was that the Willow had not allowed its branches to be cleaned of the carcasses, as if it was proud of its own accomplishments. To scare off anyone who dared to attack again. Ravens had already feasted on the eyes, giving the faces hollow sockets. Dried blood cracked and limbs hung at weird and unnatural angles.

Hermione forced her eyes away from the display. She had already enough nightmare fuel to last her a lifetime, with everything she had seen during the battle and the images of the Horcrux's illusions; all were far too fresh in her mind. Because of her idleness, even during her current search, Hermione conjured a Lumos in the palm of her right hand, and by stretching and curling her fingers she played with the strength of the light with which it shone.

---

Dirt and broken stones swirled through the air, a faint glow emitted from the debris. The castle's walls had magic within every aspect of it, centuries-old charms and enchantments had protected it. And even when reduced to little more than pebbles, the magic lived within it.

As sand, broken marble and stones twirled to reunite and form a wall once more, the castle's magical defences seemed to restore little by little. The growing strength of the wards was palpable in the air; it created the feeling of safety, despite the fact that the repairs were far from over.

Not one but two wands swished in rapid movements, creating diagrams most wizarding folks did not dare to conjure, whilst a Scottish brogue murmured chants as if in prayer. Both Hermione and Minerva had their brows furrowed in concentration, their current project sufficiently demanding most, if not all, of their attention.

This was the second outer wall both women attended to, Minerva having dealt with even more before she had been joined by her student, and the energy it took from them started to wear Hermione out. And Minerva started to look weary as well. Sweat made their skin gleam. Yet neither thought about quitting, it was not in their nature. Though when they lowered their wands and looked at each other, Minerva saw that it was time to call a stop to this. Exhaustion was etched on Hermione's face, even if the Muggle-born herself would not acknowledge this. Because, despite the evident tiredness, there was determination evident in those brown eyes.

Still, it forced the older woman to see reason. It was enough, the castle was fortified, other bands of people had taken it upon them clean and repair as well. And there was always tomorrow.

Minerva swished her wand to clean their attire from any flecks of dust, "This will be all, Granger, for today this will have to suffice. I bid you join your friends and loved ones, you deserve some rest after all that has happened today."

"Why does it sounds like you aren't planning to halt in the repairs yourself any time soon, Professor McGonagall," observed Hermione. She tucked her wand into its holster nonetheless, for she knew she could not argue with Minerva about this, the woman was still her mentor and Hermione did not like to displease her. Besides she felt a need to check upon Harry, they had not seen each other since she had departed from the Great Hall, which was a few hours ago and it began to gnaw at her conscious.

Said Professor lifted a single eyebrow and watched her pupil over the rim of her square glasses, a spark in her eyes. It was only due to the many hours whilst having been in the woman's care throughout the years that Hermione knew the spark to be one of humour. Yet at the same time, she was still not certain and after a few more moments of silence she bowed her head and said with a blush of embarrassment, "I meant no disrespect, Professor, truly."

With her eyes downcast, Hermione could not see the faint smile that appeared on Minerva's lips as she said with a tone that brokered no disagreement, "On you go, Miss Granger."

---

Once back inside the castle, Hermione went right, instead of left to the Great Hall. She would join Harry and Luna shortly, Hermione promised herself. She just needed to see something. Something she could not have said out loud if someone would have asked her where she was headed. For she felt drawn to revisit the place where she had communicated the most (in her entire life) with Bellatrix Lestrange, albeit in the silence of body language.

She rounded the corner and was only another corridor apart from the square where Voldemort had held his speech when her eyes fell on the one person that could make her heart skip several beats. And they made her halt after a few more steps. Viktor walked through the hall, in a manner that conveyed to her that he was searching for something or someone. And when his eyes fell on her it was clear by the relieved smile on his face that she was that someone he had been searching for. Hermione smiled back, the sparkle in his eyes made her momentarily forget what she had come to do. She stretched out her hand, whilst he covered the distance and entwined their fingers when his hand was in hers.

Viktor smiled as he looked at her, his eyes shone with emotion and with his free hand he tenderly caressed her cheek after he had brushed some of her curls behind her ear before he leaned down to kiss her.

When their lips parted he rested his forehead against hers and whispered, "The camp was organized enough, I decided I could be with you for now. If you like?"

Hermione angled her head so that she could plant several butterfly kisses on his lips, sighed in contentment as she angled her head back and spoke earnestly, "Of course I want you by my side, Viktor."

He could not stop smiling, his lips even cracked into a grin at her words. His shoulders a bit straighter, he looked proud. And it made Hermione roll her eyes, a gesture which she softened with an affectionate caress over his entwined fingers with her thumb.

However, a thought made its way into her mind and she could not shake it off, even though she wanted nothing more than ignoring it. Her eyes travelled to the gap in the wall that would have led Hermione to the place which she had wanted to visit before returning to her friends, all the while she said, "Have you paid your respects to the dead yet?"

At this Viktor's smile faltered and he shook his head, "No, I haven't. I was too caught up in the chaos of organizing."

She nodded and they agreed without words that it was high time he would make that visit. The bodies would not stay much longer in the castle. Somewhere before nightfall, all bodies were supposed to be transferred to their respective families, or, if there was no living family left or no house to bring it to the bodies were to be brought to the mortuary of the Ministry of Magic. Thus, with a heavy heart, she followed Viktor to the Great Hall, their fingers entwined all the way.

They entered the hall and Hermione studied her lover. For the first time today she did not let herself get distracted by his presence and truly looked at him as he walked next to her. Viktor's features seemed to have hardened during their time apart, or maybe it was the gloom in the air that shadowed her lover's face. Yet his expression did not betray anything. He had always been able to school his features into a neutral, noncommittal expression; something he had had to learn at a young age since journalists and fans always wanted photos. In situations like this his skill came in handy, but when Hermione had first met him in the library it had unnerved her. It was during the times that he had joined her at her study table which followed thereafter, that Viktor showed more and more emotion. His English had been so awkward, that she had asked him if he could teach her Bulgarian so that they could both be awkward in each other's language. It had surprised him, then he had grinned like a fool and done as she had asked. That was how they had truly started to talk and get acquainted.

The Muggle-born remembered it with fondness. On a whim, she pulled Viktor with their entwined hands to the side and wrapped her arms around him. In their embrace, she hid her face in the crook of his neck. This successfully broke his expressionless features; from surprise to a tender smile. She breathed in deeply and loved how his scent washed all over her. Months had passed in which she had not heard nor known anything about Viktor's wellbeing; a thought she had cried over in bed often enough.

"What is the matter, my girl?" There was no worry in his voice. Another aspect of Viktor she loved, he did not unnecessarily worry about her, knew what she was capable of and believed in her. That did not mean he would not be there for her if she did break down. After all, he had been there in the summer wherein she had taken a rush course through her NEWTS, just before the trio had disappeared after Bill and Fleur's wedding.

"I am sorry for being like this," she muttered against his skin and felt his grip tighten around her ever so slightly, it made her smile and she kissed the sensitive spot before continuing, "I was so scared of losing you, and now that you are here with me... I think that I am just a tad bit clingy. It will fade away, I promise."

She felt him press his nose into her hair and kiss her forehead, "One can barely call you 'clingy', Hermione. Besides I would be quite disconcerted if you were not, after all our time apart." Normally Viktor would have fooled around, to try and make her laugh, but, apparently, with all that had happened today, they both just needed to have these sincere moments.

For a few more seconds they stood like this, then Hermione leaned back to look Viktor in the eyes. She could not say anything due to the lump in her throat, even as she tried to swallow it away. When that did not work she nodded, steeled herself again and let go of her lover. He did the same and together they joined the Weasleys. Some of the members made their way to them and welcomed Viktor, others - George and Molly - had sunk too far in their grief. Unable to care, even if they had prefered otherwise.

Hermione smiled a broken smile at Luna, who looked lost, even with her father beside her. Once he had been a proud man, with his Quibbler and other eccentricities, now he looked almost as haggard and shaken as when his daughter had been kidnapped. It was not for the first time that Hermione wondered if it was Luna who held Xenophilius' together and going. During the few times Hermione had seen the man, he had always looked as if one of the most important sprockets of his machine - this being his deceased wife, Pandora - was missing, despite him trying his hardest to recreate and fill up whatever was gone. He always seemed to fail somehow.

With a caress over Viktor's upper arm, Hermione let him know that she would leave his side for a bit. For a moment he held her hand on his skin with his hand over hers, but he let it go with a smile when she looked up questioningly. Then he turned his full attention back to William, who wanted to know how the organization had gone of the Bulgarian army.

When she sat down beside her friend she was relieved to see that the Ravenclaw was still very much aware of her surroundings, for Luna scooted closer and laid her head on Hermione's shoulder. They did not say anything. Noises from all around washed over them, made their silence that much more prominent.

Not far from Luna Harry sat against Ginny and with the wall at their back, he was fast asleep. A blanket was wrapped over and around his body, his figure slumped, mouth slightly agape. Though even asleep the exhaustion oozed off of him. Luckily, no one had nor would bother him with the Weasleys around. Hermione was glad to see that he finally got some sort of rest, even though his neck and back muscles would very likely be sour and stiff once he awakened.

The Muggle-born's eyes travelled over the family members, she wondered where Charlie was and if he was on his way to Hogwarts or if he would go straight to the Burrow, did he even know yet? She had to inform him about the Ukraine Ironbelly, maybe he could find a place for the creature to stay and live its life in freedom and safety once the dragon was traced. Yet she did not move to ask about Charlie; in all honesty, Hermione did not know how to ask such a question. Charlie's absence had always been a thorn in Molly's eye, it pained the matriarch, and Hermione did not want to be the bringer of more struggles. Thus, she decided that she would wait and if no one mentioned him before they departed to the Burrow she would corner William and ask him sometime.

From her seat, Hermione watched as Fleur made her entrance. She was ashamed to admit that she felt discomfort rise in her stomach, yet it confused her as well. She reasoned that it was because of the way they had parted; if one could call it that for they had not even seen one another when the trio had taken their leave from Shell Cottage. It had been an uncomfortable and awkward situation. Not knowing if they would actually ever see each other again, yet neither brave enough or willing to reach out.

The French woman approached Arthur, shook his hand and gave him a hug, then she did the same with Percy, who stood next to his father. And the three of them fell in an easy conversation of subdued whispers.

As Hermione observed the three converse she bit her lower lip. A frown on her face. The Muggle-born did not know what to do, she could hardly walk up to her and reach out to hug Fleur like she wanted to. What would the quarter-Veela think? Would she push her away?

As if the older woman had heard her inner musings she let her blue eyes wander and land upon brown ones. For a few seconds they just stared at one another, then they both nodded. Hermione showed an uncertain smile. Fleur returned it, albeit stiffly, and then returned to her conversation.

The Muggle-born did not dare look Fleur in the eyes again in the hour that followed, too afraid that her smile meant that the French woman no longer considered her a friend.

George still clutched his dead brother's garments, his forehead rested on the lifeless chest of his twin. His heartfelt sobs no longer wrecked his body, but his silence was, if possible, worse. If it were not for his steady breathing Hermione would have feared the worst. Not a word reached the young man, one could try to console him, but he did not respond one way or another. He was in shock, that much was clear to anyone. And Fred would never again be the one to make him smile.

Molly had shifted in the hours Hermione had been gone. She was seated beside George, trying to be some sort of comfort, if only so he knew that he was not alone. There came a soft melody from between her lips, she sang to her son, whilst she made calming circles over his back with her hand. However, the song not only reached George, but it also reached the whole group, the family. It was soothing in its lonesomeness. A melody that brought everyone together, for it created a desire to be close to one another and made the otherwise depressing and suffocating sadness bearable.

When the bell of Hogwarts began to peal, people knew it was time to move the dead. The fallen would be brought to their families or the safety of the Ministry. In the weeks to come, one after the other would be given one last farewell. Some families had (long-standing) burial traditions, others preferred a regular burial ceremony, there were even families that burned their dead in the open air. Needless to say, there could not be a mass funeral. Though Hermione doubted that many, if anyone, would want that.

Hermione could not do anything but watch as bodies were levitated in the air, with people walking slowly behind them. It was a surreal sight, one that she did not enjoy in the slightest. Her eyes shifted to Harry, he was still asleep; she was glad he did not have to witness it. Knowing that it would weight on his feelings of responsibility.

The Weasley family too started to gather, Molly took hold of George and for the first time, he let himself be separated from Fred. In the meantime, Arthur approached Hermione. He tried to smile through his sadness, but it did not work. When he spoke, his voice was soft and broken, "Hermione, you and Harry are more than welcome to come and live with us, for any amount of time. You don't have to stay in the castle."

It sounded as if Arthur had given the invitations earlier to them, probably to Harry, when he had still been awake. However, Harry had likely declined and explained that they wanted to help with the reconstructions of the castle.

The Muggle-born nodded and thanked them for their generosity, promised to write and visit soon. She watched the family gather and levitate Fred, Remus, and Nymphadora and decided that she would not bother them about Charlie, not yet.

Ginny made sure to not wake Harry as she stood up. She walked towards Ron who waited for her. He glanced at Hermione and Luna, at Harry's sleeping form and then looked at them again and tried to smile. Hermione waved at him, whilst Luna smiled back. Then he and Ginny followed their family out of the Hall.

Viktor and Fleur stayed behind, deep in conversation with one another. Hermione watched them without really seeing anything, she was absentmindedly staring into oblivion, exhaustion started to set in. At some point, Hermione had begun to lean back against Luna. The Muggle-born could not deny that closing her eyes sounded sublime if only there would not be the nightmares to haunt her. Instead, her eyes sought out the other slumped figure again; Harry was almost completely covered by his blanket now, only a small part of his face was still visible.

Hermione's eyes widened in a sudden realisation, her eyes flitted from one person to the other. From sleeping Harry to conversing Fleur and Viktor, to Luna who still sat beside her but who was quietly talking to her father. The people dearest to her, except for her parents, were all here, safe and alive. Nothing from the Horcrux' disturbing images had come true.

She looked down at her hands and bit down on her lower lip, she would not cry. She blinked away the blurriness; breathed in deep and out again. There was too much sadness already, tears of gratefulness and relieve would not help anyone. Though in the hours that followed Hermione mentally thanked whatever God over and over again.

---

That evening she sat with Harry at the campfire in the Bulgarian side of the camp, though all nationalities were mingled. A hearty feast was going on. People laughed, told stories, Butterbeer and Firewiskey was passed through the circles around the campfires. Sometimes songs were sung by most of the people in the camp, but generally, people kept the volume relatively normal. In order to grand those who did not feel like celebrating some rest.

The Muggle-born sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, her chin propped on one of them and a blanket clutched around her. With it, she kept away the cold of the night, the little bit that the heath of the fire could not reach. Her eyes scanned the people around the campfire, whilst she listened to whatever conversation reached her ears.

Earlier, soup had been served and her now empty bowl sat beside her on the ground, piled on top of Harry's. Who sat on the other side of the bowls and was currently in a conversation with a Bulgarian and two French persons. Their subjects varied, but none were really that interesting, at least not to Hermione.

She had been silent since Luna had gone home with her father. The Muggle-born had asked her to stay, liked it to have all her loved ones near. But the Ravenclaw had shaken her head, saying that she and her father had a lot of work to do on the repairs of their house and the proper resurrection of The Quibbler. Though Luna had promised to visit Hogwarts the following day. Hermione wondered if she could go with Luna to her house in a few days' time, to help with whatever needed to be done and to stay for several nights. Since she did not think that staying at Hogwarts all summer was what she wanted.

Her eyes were drawn to a new appearance in the circle of the fire's light, it was Viktor who talked in rapid Bulgarian with one of the other leading figures of their band. He saw her and smiled, whilst he still listened to his companion. When Viktor made his way towards her, leaving the other Bulgarian after a few more shared words, he sat down.

"You look ready to sleep for a day or two," he said, nudged her with his shoulder, whilst he stared at the fire.

"I would love to."

He nodded, "I enlarged the tent wherein I was going to sleep, I made room for two more beds. So that each of us has our own bed. I thought that maybe you and Harry would like to stay together for now."

"Thank you," Hermione smiled a small smile and laid her cheek on her knee so that she could watch her lover's profile. She was flooded with grateful endearment; she did not have any experience with being in other romantic relationships, but she was willing to bet that not many men were as insightful as hers. "For now I would like that very much."

He tore his eyes from the flames and looked at her face, after a moment he whispered with a smile of his own, "Good, I want you to sleep well."

"I will, I have a few bottles of Dreamless Sleep Draught in my bag."

"Oh, I had put a bottle on one of the bedside tables as well."

"Have you also gotten me the complete series of 'Languages of the Old and Lost' reprinted?" A sparkle of humour appeared in her eyes.

Viktor shook his head as a grin appeared, glad that his girl could still joke, despite her fatigue. "Unfortunately, no. But I won't rest until I have found them."

Hermione nodded and said in all seriousness, "I would be grateful." It made her lover chuckle softly. Then leaned closer and kissed him.

It was not much later that Harry and Hermione decided to call it a night. Viktor escorted them, one of his hands entwined with Hermione's. He gave her a goodnight kiss when Harry had entered the tent and promised to be there when she woke up.

The duo were soon familiar with the tent, for they wanted to know all the corners and crannies of the place before they could even think about relaxing and, ultimately, sleeping in it. They pointed things out to each other, commented on the trinkets and good quality of the place, despite the fact that all had obviously been used on a daily basis for some time.

At seeing this Hermione felt a surge of urgent curiosity come to life once more. She had yet to hear Viktor's story, but they had not had time for themselves yet to tell each other their war experiences. However, neither would she have the energy to listen to his stories and be an actual attentive listener, even though she wanted nothing more than that right now.

"Harry," the Muggle-born said, successfully keeping toothpaste bubbles and spit from flying out of her mouth as she talked, "have you any idea where we are going to stay over the summer?"

They looked at each other in the bathroom mirror and she watched him shrug and shake his head at the same time. Yet, when he had spat everything out in the sink and had rinsed his mouth with water, he said, "I would like to go back to Grimmauld Place."

She nodded, then Hermione spit and rinsed as well, and finally, she said, "We can do that, but it is dangerous, we shouldn't go there alone. God knows how many Death Eaters and other followers know of the place. Maybe they even have taken refuge in the house, or set all kinds of booby-traps."

"Yeah, I have been thinking about that too," Harry's voice was slightly muffled as he pulled his sweater over his head. When he was in nothing more but his boxer shorts and shirt, he sat down on his bed and regarded his companion closely. "Have you got any ideas? We could make a visit to Australia? To see if we can find your parents?"

She shook her head whilst she stepped out of Fleur's trousers, "Far too dangerous, they are saver if I don't know where they are. Not until all of the most important followers of Voldemort are captured. Besides, their memories are wiped, they wouldn't recognize me. And I..." Hermione sighed as she shagged her shoulders ever so slightly and looked over at Harry, "I don't know if I can handle that."

"We'll find a way, Hermione," Harry's voice was full of determination, he believed in their success.

Hermione did not say anything to that and instead prepared them each a glass of water with a healthy dose of the draught in it. Just before she gave Harry his glass she announced, "I want to go into therapy and I want it as soon as possible."

Harry laid down under his covers, his still full glass and eyeglasses on his bedside table, "Yeah, I guess that is something we all should consider." He was silent for a few moments. Then he asked, "Where could we find a good therapist? Are there any wizarding ones?" He rolled on his side to watch a blurry Hermione make herself comfortable as well.

Without the sleeve of Fleur's sweater to cover her forearm the red on her bandages was clearly visible and it made Hermione's awareness of the throbbing of her flesh against the restraining cloth grow. She sighed as she traced the letters of the insult, even without seeing it she knew exactly where the cuts had been made. After doing this a few times she answered Harry's question, "The wizarding version of a Muggle therapist has gotten several different terms over the ages: Mind or Core Healers, Mental Herbalists, Shamans, Soul Cleansers, etcetera, etcetera.

"Yet, their official title nowadays is Healers of the Psyche. Though they are generally still called Mind Healers. There are a few renowned for their successes with traumatized Aurors, I have read about them. However, I would like to look into it a bit more before I make my choice to visit any of them."

"Alright, I will wait for your judgment on their work files."

There was silence between them for a long time.

It was weird for them both to think that the war was finally over. Voldemort was dead and they could think about the future without fearing to be confronted with their own death, or that of each other, before the end of the day. Suddenly getting degrees and masters in all kinds of subjects was a lot more plausible than it had been before. There was still a danger, too many of Voldemort's followers had not been captured or killed, but even if they had all been captured there would always be a danger for them. From now on they were part of The Golden Trio, everyone knew them, wrongdoers could easily target them.

Before they picked up their glasses Harry and Hermione set up several wards on the door of their room, the ones Viktor had agreed to use. Then they both drank their Dreamless Sleep Draught.

---

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