Please note that while this chapter is in Hermione's POV, the majority will be from Draco's. This chapter is unbeta'd and any mistakes are my own.
Six months prior
Beat-up trainers slapping against the stone floor of Hogwarts, Hermione ran through the corridors on a mission to take out the viaduct. It was sturdy and had been standing so long, but it could be replaced.
The lives taken by the enemy charging the stone bridge and breaching the protective wards could not.
It wasn't much of a plan, but there was no time to defer or consult with a member of the Order, not amid the gruesome, bitter battle for the well-being of the wizarding world.
When the wizard in a grotesquely beautiful mask finally fell to her wand after an extended duel, Hermione used the moment to slip out of the courtyard and bring down one mode of entrance still allowing passage into the castle grounds.
Longbottom had already taken out the wooden bridge early on in the fighting; he'd brought it down with a blast, sending snatchers to their deaths in the rocky chasm below.
The viaduct entrance remained unprotected, and the balustrade on either side of the walkway was destroyed in some places, smashed to bits by the invading giants. She tried to focus and keep her mind on her mission, but the image of Fred Weasley's body lying in the rubble just a few minutes earlier was forever seared into her memory.
There had been no time to grieve, no time to comfort his distraught family. She had to move, had to keep fighting.
As she passed a group of students drawing protection wards, a flash of fair hair caught her eye and her heart squeezed for a moment as she slowed, only to plummet when the student tipped their head back and revealed their face.
She shouldn't have wasted time even on the thought, and she shook herself as she ran through an archway that led outside, nearly to the viaduct courtyard. Coming to a screeching halt, Hermione's heart dropped at the sight before her.
Figures in billowing black robes poured from the bridge, swarming the courtyard and swiftly cutting down the remaining line of defence in front of the castle. Bodies dropped to the ground with sickening thuds, and she couldn't look away, stuck staring at the carnage as precious moments slipped by.
The one-hour armistice Voldemort had announced clearly didn't mean a thing to his soldiers,who kept fighting, kept throwing curses and pushing forward, leaving a trail of broken bodies behind them.
Hermione's chest tightened, breathing speeding up in uneven bursts and unshed tears burning her eyes as she fought to stay calm, to keep from allowing panic to overtake her and render useless.
Mind rapidly turning her options over in her head, she worked out her next move.
She could still take down the viaduct, but she'd have to get close to the fresh wave of Death Eaters storming the castle, and with so many already having crossed over, it would do little to help.
Making a split-second decision, she turned back the way she came, flying down the halls she knew to be the most unused, ducking into alcoves and hiding behind statues whenever the glint of a silver mask or a jet of green spellfire caught her eye.
The smoke she'd seen earlier wasn't going away; Hogwarts was burning. The scent of charred flesh sharp in the air, screams shortly following. It had to be Fiendfyre.
Falling apart over the witches and wizards—some mere children—she could hear screaming in agony was a luxury she did not have. Onward she went, roughly swiping at the tears that slipped free to stain her face with rivers of mud from the grime covering her skin.
Harry.
She needed to get to Harry, needed to see him and assure herself he was still all right, but duty drowned out the desire of her heart, and she knew she had to find the snake. There was one last chance to cut Voldemort off at the knees, and she had to ensure it was taken.
The sound of heavy boots on stone preceded two wizards coming around the corner ahead of Hermione. Planting her feet and pressing herself against the stone wall, she cast a whispered disillusionment charm over herself and held her breath, not daring to move an inch as the Death Eaters passed by. When they disappeared into the next corridor, all the breath rushed out of her, momentary relief flooding her.
The middle of the fray was close now; she could hear Voldemort's silky voice waxing poetic about his greatness. Hermione exited the winding corridor and carefully crept towards the archway that spilt into one of the courtyards.
Before she could peer out into the fray, a heartrending shout from Professor McGonagall split the air, rising the fine hairs on Hermione's arms. Dashing forward, she took in the scene before her.
A scream ripped itself from her throat, and though she'd not been hit with the Cruciatus, every muscle in her body contorted in agony and her vision became a tunnel fixed on a single point: Harry's limp body in Hagrid's arms.
The smallest sliver of hope she'd still been clutching with ragged, bloody fingers shattered; that was it. Harry was dead.
Harry is dead.
Time slowed down to a crawl and it heightened every sense; she felt the drag of her eyelashes through the air on each blink, heard every exhale leave her mouth like a rush of wind.
Harry is dead.
She stumbled forward, catching herself on the wall. With the thwack of her palm against the rock, the world snapped back to life, everything happening all at once.
There was Neville trapped by a binding curse as Voldemort lit the sorting hat aflame on the poor boy's head, but he broke free, and there was a disturbance as Neville lifted the sword of Gryffindor above his head and swung, the metallic swish of the weapon unmistakable as it beheaded that gods awful snake, slaying the beast and destroying another Horcrux.
Hagrid's voice was frantic, shouting for Harry, asking where he'd gone. Her gaze flew to the ground where his body had been lying; there was no one there.
The crowd erupted into chaos. The sound of great, beating wings drew her eyes to the sky where Thestrals flew above, attacking the unprotected heads of Voldemort's rampaging giants.
As she watched, transfixed for one heartbeat, then two, everyone outside surged into the Great Hall, and Hermione was swept up, suddenly finding herself battling her enemy in the very same place she'd come for breakfast and pumpkin juice most of her youth.
It was bizarre, this neutral space turned into a battlefield. There were Order members all around, sprinkled throughout the hall, and the sight of them bolstered her. They were still there, and they were still fighting despite exhaustion and grief; she could too.
As minutes passed by in a blur, Hermione duelled and fought, breaking every move down into parts: the wand motion, the words, the stance needed to cast properly. She hyper-focused on these things, her body following orders and her mind ignoring all else but the there and now.
Enormous chunks of the walls were now missing, spells being shot in every direction, and smoke filled the air as parts of the castle burned on. Bodies fell from higher levels, sickening crunches accompanying them as they hit the ground, and in the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Voldemort roar with rage and aim his wand at Mrs. Weasley.
Her stomach flipped, and it distracted her enough for the wizard she was battling to get the upper hand, hitting her dead-on with a blasting spell, and she flew backwards, head cracking against the floor. Blinding pain made her head throb, and she fought the wave of nausea, struggling to sit up. Through the sea of legs around her, she saw with blurry eyes as a curse went flying from Voldemort's wand to strike Molly, but it never came.
It melted into nothing, a powerful shield surrounding the Weasley matriarch as the entire room erupted into cheers.
She couldn't figure out why. Shit. She had to stand, had to see what was going on. Rising to her knees, she managed to get herself up, eyes frantically searching the mass of people when she spotted a head of particularly dishevelled inky black hair, and her knees buckled.
Harry?
She ran forward, pushing her way through the crush of people to get closer, throwing elbows in her desperation. Breaking free of the bulk of the crowd, she tripped, stumbling as the people in the hall formed a circle, leaving the centre free for two wizards slowly circling each other.
Voldemort and…
Harry.
He was okay. He was whole and well and standing on his own, locked in a verbal spar and face to face with the person who had destroyed his family, forever altering his life.
A passing thought of admiration for him flitted through Hermione's brain. Harry was handling things exceptionally well. If put in his place, she wasn't sure she'd have the fortitude to converse with the wretched wizard; only violence and revenge would be on her mind.
Trying to keep her ears tuned in, she glanced around, noting fewer recognizably friendly faces. Realization rocketed through her; their numbers had dwindled.
More dead to mourn, and more wounded to tend to.
In the last few days, it had felt like each passing hour ripped away another part of her heart, leaving a gaping hole. It was all loss and destruction and pain, unimaginable pain, and the weight of it came finally crashing down upon her shoulders until it was all she could do to hold herself up.
Across the way, she finally spotted him, his pale hair catching in the rays of sun pouring through the broken walls. There was a smudge of dirt on his right cheekbone, his face set in stone and eyes trained on his supposed master.
For a split second, his gaze rested on her face, something flickering across his expression. Despite everything around them, she felt him reach out to her through their mated bond like a cord stretching between them, and she mentally yanked her side back, closing herself off and ripping her gaze away. She couldn't bear to look at him, even though her heart ached for him, their connection still strong through everything that had happened.
Something touched her hand, and she startled. She looked to the left to see Dean Thomas beside her, his bigger, warmer hand engulfing hers. It grounded her, and she squeezed her fingers around his own in appreciation, her attention brought back to the present as a burst of sunlight streamed in through the windows, washing the room in a fiery glow and making spots dance in her vision from the bright light.
Before she could fully see again, a piercing hiss reached her ears as Voldemort threw the killing curse at Harry, and she braced herself to see him crumple to the floor, eyes glued to where he stood, unable to look away,
He didn't.
Instead, he roared a simple spell, and a deafening bang followed it. Hermione watched as flames burst from the centre of the circle, licking the air between the duellers locked in a vicious standstill, contrasting beams of light shooting from each wand to meet in the middle.
It was like everyone in the room took one collective deep breath, silence permeating as they watched the evil drain from the Dark Lord's body and he fell in a heap to the floor, his face dull and lifeless.
For but a moment, victorious shouts from the remaining members of the light echoed through the room, and Hermione finally let relief take over as she was jostled when everyone headed for Harry.
A smile was halfway on her lips when another boom sounded, sudden and frightening. The entire back wall of the Great Hall came crashing down. Grim figures emerged from the smoke and dust, Death Eaters and those supporting them streaming in like a flood.
No!
Fighting began again in earnest, the greater numbers of the enemy swiftly taking over, and she watched as people she knew, people she loved were struck down around her, and Dean's hand was ripped from hers as he was thrown back.
With a battle cry that pulled from the very depths of her soul, her fingers tightened on her wand and she rushed into the melee, slinging every curse and hex she could think of while trying to take out as many foes as she could, spinning through the room like a storm system to destroy everything in her path.
And when Hermione thought she'd done all she could do, when her arms and legs felt encased in cement and each breath was a chore, she fell to her knees, her wand still firing indiscriminately until it all stopped like it had died in her hand. Her addled mind tried to make sense of it as she stared down at the useless wood resting on her palms.
Before she could react, a hand caught in her hair, yanking her up and back with so much force her teeth snapped together and caught the tip of her tongue.
With the tang of copper filling her mouth, she lashed out, putting to use the physical defence moves her father had taught her as a child and bringing her wand up at the same time, hoping against hope that it might be miraculously working again. Not a single spark flew from it before it was snatched from her, ripped out of her fingers with brute force.
Wandless magic took great concentration, a clear mind and steady hand; she had neither in that moment, so she didn't even try, kicking and clawing and biting at anything she could reach, filled with satisfaction when her captor grunted in pain.
Vision obscured by her filthy, matted hair, she moved on pure instinct, slamming her skull into the face of the person holding her and loosening their grip, giving her a minuscule window of time to jerk herself free.
A murmur of victory escaped her as she pulled loose, exhausted body somehow still heeding her commands as her legs carried her away and then—
Dull pain jolted through her as something stepped in her way, the impact as she bounced off the solid object making her ears ring.
While she attempted to shake the disorientation, a hand grabbed her by the collar, lifting her up rather effortlessly like a kitten caught by the scruff, holding her far enough away from their body that her blows were all infuriatingly ineffectual.
"Not so fast, Mudblood." The raspy, inhuman voice was like nails down her spine, her entire body shuddering with revulsion. Understanding that physically fighting right then would get her nowhere, she let herself slump in defeat, for now, as her feet touched the floor and she was dragged outside. Scanning the area despite her pounding head, it dismayed her to see Death Eaters and dark creatures everywhere she looked.
Where was the rest of the Order? Where was Harry? Were they all dead?
Throwing up a steel barrier around that dangerous line of thinking, she blocked it and focused on the scene unfolding in the rubble of the destroyed courtyard.
There were so many of them: wizards and witches in shining silver masks, giants, werewolves. The sheer numbers stole her breath. Greyback shoved her forward and stood just behind her, his claws curling around the back of her neck as bile stung her throat.
Her wand was gone, her friends were gone, and for the first time since the fighting started, she felt genuine fear for herself.
She had nothing.
They were positioned on the outskirts, farthest away from where a wizard with long, dark hair stood on a broken piece of stone, addressing the crowd. Hermione only caught every few words, the information coming to her in snippets.
Control of the Ministry… Rise in rightful power… Voldemort, the weak fool…
Gods, she was witnessing a coup, the only difference being that the leader in question was already dead, the minions he had once commanded thirsty for control of their own and taking advantage of the vacuum of power he left behind.
She faded in and out of focus, strength sapped, her body only held up by the hands of her captor. The speech seemed to be over as those gathered talked quietly amongst themselves.
"Greyback."
The new voice was familiar, and a tremor of relief shook her. Before today, the last time she had seen him, she'd been being tortured on the drawing-room floor of his family home. This moment felt eerily reminiscent to that, except this time, she prayed to whatever gods were listening that he stood up for her.
She understood why he couldn't then, why he played the coward as she screamed beneath his aunt's hand, but that didn't mean she forgave him. Her still-fresh wound stung at the memory, and there was no way she could pretend the entire thing hadn't irrevocably changed their connection. Trust was something he'd have to earn back.
Still holding Hermione like a rag doll, Greyback turned to face Draco.
Though she couldn't see his face, the sneer twisting the werewolf's expression was evident from his tone as he said, "What do you want, boy?"
Draco's stance was casual, one hand in his pocket and his wand held loosely in the other. "Her."
The cruelty in his eyes was a facade, she knew.
She hoped.
His free hand clenched into a tight fist as if holding himself back from snatching her out of the arms imprisoning her, though the rest of him perfectly played the part of the heartless, vengeful Death Eater.
Barking out a laugh, Greyback tightened his hold on Hermione and she felt his chest rise behind her as he opened his mouth to respond only to be cut off by a smooth voice.
"Come now, Fenrir. Let the boy have his plaything." The man she'd seen speaking earlier stood before them, an amused smile on his handsome face.
A menacing growl rolled through the body at her back.
Harsher this time, the unknown man said, "Now."
With more force than necessary, Greyback shoved her at Draco's feet, turning with a grumble to follow the man who'd just brought him to heel like a dog.
Large hands caught her elbows, pulling her up, and she fell against Draco's chest. He used his wand to bind her hands in front of her, pretending to lean over and tighten them so he could speak directly into her ear.
"Please, Hermione. Do as I say and don't fight me."
She wasn't stupid. He was her only hope of survival right now, and despite the bone-deep need to jerk away from him, to no longer be touched by his hands that had already done so much damage to her trust, she let him tug her behind him deeper into the castle.
A/N: Thanks so much for reading! What do you think happened to the Order? How do you feel about the current dynamic between Hermione and Draco? I'd love to know any and all thoughts 3
Many thanks to my love, QuinTalon, for pre-reading this!
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