Twenty-Nine
Day: 1463; Hour: 16
Hermione finally sleeps - it feels like one of those long nights of hard sleep where you dream nothing and wake up feeling awake rather than like you might pass back out if you stand. She couldn't have slept more than two hours after they had collapsed from the enthusiastic celebrations, but she still feels rested. Draco had taken his time claiming every bit of her body, and every sound she made, as part of his birthday present. If that's what she got on his birthday, she is honestly looking forward to her own for the first time in years.
She would have slept even longer had it not been for the knock at the door. There is a rustling of papers, taps against the floor, and then his hand brushes across her chest as he pulls the blanket up. Goosebumps are left in his wake before he walks away, and then the door creaks open, followed by whispers.
She opens her eyes, surprised to find twilight outside the window. She reaches up to rub the sleep from her eyes and looks toward the door when the whispering stops. Draco is looking back at her and she gives him a lazy smile. She feels content, sated, and just nice. Besides, it's his birthday and that calls for a little more than her typical morning moodiness.
His lips twitch and he looks distinctly like a satisfied male before turning back to the crack in the door. She can't deny him his role in her current mood, so she doesn't roll her eyes like she feels the need to do. He must have been up for awhile, already showered and dressed as he is. His- The door opens wider and her mood and current line of thought quickly vanish as Harry is revealed on the other side. Draco abandons her as he slides past Harry, and then it's just the two of them as he steps in and shuts the door. She can't say she's looking forward to anything that's about to happen.
He stands there for a moment, unsure. "I would sit on the bed but... ew."
Her face flames and she rolls her head to look up at the ceiling. "Harry-"
"I can't say I ever wanted to hear you shagging someone, let alone... But thankfully, Ginny was there to distract me." She knew she had been too loud, she just had not cared at the time.
"T-M-I, Harry."
"Imagine how I felt!" He laughs, and it actually sounds genuine. Then, after a short wait, "You and Malfoy, huh?"
"You should know that with me... Well, it says a lot about who he has become."
"I... You know, I've grown up, Hermione. I worked with Malfoy a couple times before this, and I heard a lot of things, some... some rumors about this, and I knew he had grown up too. It took a lot for me to accept the change in him, to maybe... to maybe forgive him. But after I killed Voldemort, I just... I wanted, I needed to be done. With the past, and that hate I felt inside. Malfoy has proved himself... especially to you. And you, I trust, even if I really don't get it..." He trails off at her watery smile, but his eyes take on a hard look. "If he fucks that up at all, I'll-"
"I know."
"Good. Back to the trust thing... I have something I have to do tonight, so I was wondering if you would lead Ginny and the new Phoenix on the team. It's just for tonight."
Hermione blinks up at him. Did he know that they gave her the 'easy' missions for years, that Harry himself didn't get her for the 'final battle', that she had led a team perhaps five times, and it hadn't always gone right? Usually - because usually they didn't have three leaders in charge, only one - they were split into groups on a mission, but no one actually led that group. Now here he was, trusting her with Ginny's life.
"You're sure about this?"
He shrugs and sits down next to her on the bed despite his previous "ew". She holds the blanket tighter to herself to prevent it from slipping down until he gets settled. "I heard stories, you know. I mean, no details of the missions, of course. But I heard stories about you from people who came through the Recovery Team."
"Well, I'm glad I was popular during story time." She's sarcastic, and perhaps a little bitter.
"They just knew you as my friend, so... But I was really worried, for a long time. We all have a coin to let us know if we're called for backup, or to meet at a preassigned spot at the location if something goes wrong, you know? Well, I had another one that I carried with me, always. I even wore my pants to sleep all the time so I could feel it if it got hot. I set it up with Moody... He was to activate it if anything went really wrong with you. Ron has one too."
Hermione could feel something come to life inside of her. The little girl from Hogwarts, perhaps, who had felt so isolated and deserted by her best friends. She had felt so disconnected from them the entire war, and there they had been, connected to her. "I didn't know."
"It's not something you tell someone, I don't think. But... I was really surprised. I had thought you would be like... a beast," he laughs, "in fighting. You're smart, you know about a billion spells, and you always figure things out so quickly. But you also didn't have much practice in actually dueling outside of seeing it or reading about it. I know you must have been really scared and... and we weren't there, were we?"
"We all played our part."
"You keep saying that. I just did what I thought was best... maybe what other people thought was best too, and I'm sorry for that. Anyway, before I ramble on more because I have to go, I just wanted to say that... I almost don't believe the stories. You're a strong fighter, and I have a lot of faith in you leading tonight, that's why I asked. So?"
She smiles, and though a part of her is happy, there is a place where she doesn't think it's good enough. Maybe it never would be. Maybe she is selfish. "Of course."
Day: 1463; Hour: 20
Hermione grabs his chin, tilting his head back to look into eyes that do not see her. She can feel his pulse, weak in his neck, under the pressure of her fingertips. She speaks in low, soothing tones, though she doesn't know what she says and doesn't think he can hear her.
I saw him in the Graveyard, Dean, the new Phoenix on the team, had said when they broke through the door. Graveyard was what they had named the battle where Harry defeated Voldemort. Hermione had asked if it took place at a graveyard, and Dean had told her no and refused to say anything else. His eyes had looked too deep, his cheeks too shallow for her to push for details. She already knew.
I saw him in the Graveyard, again through her mind, because the man must have been captured there. Nearly dead, no sign of life behind his glazed eyes. She looks at him and all she can see is Ron.
Day: 1466; Hour: 4
Harry does not come back for three nights.
She doesn't think she's been asleep for more than five minutes when she is forced back to awareness, Draco's hand clenching so hard into her hip that later she will find it bruised. She doesn't even have time to open her eyes before she is jerked off of him and onto her side, so little of her body on the edge of the bed that if he were to unwrap his arm from around her she would crash to the floor. Her look is accusing, but his head is turned away, and she follows the line of his outstretched arm, his wand out and unwavering.
"Potter."
Her eyes snap up to Harry in the doorway, and she raises the hand not currently squeezing Draco's arm like a vice, and hugs the sheet to her chest to make sure she is covered. Draco's hand eases its death grip on her hip but his arm is still tensed and steady under her - more from her weight than the expectation of an attack now, she is guessing.
Harry looks wild, his hair messier than usual, clothes wrinkled, and his eyes wide and focused on her. "Hermione, come to my room when... you're ready."
He steps out of the doorway and closes the door, and she and Draco both stare at it for three startled seconds. He yanks her back and onto his chest, his arm pulling away from her as she pushes herself to her knees. "I thought you were going to drop me," because she doesn't know what to say about Harry.
"Not unless I had to." She can hear the rasp in his voice that tells her he had been sleeping as well.
She wonders if she should say thank you for protecting her like that, but it feels like it would be out of place. She still feels an odd sort of happiness that he bothered to, so she bends to kiss him briefly. He is still under her, from the fading panic of someone barging into the room or the oddness of it, she doesn't know.
She doesn't meet his eyes as she rolls and stumbles out of the bed, grabbing her pants and pulling them on. She finds his shirt next, and she's too worried about Harry to not put it on instead of looking for hers. Draco had a bad habit of throwing her clothes all over the bedroom. She thinks he secretly likes to watch her walk around trying to find them all in the morning.
"I'll be right back."
He doesn't say anything but she doesn't expect him to, closing the door softly behind her. She finds Harry's door ajar down the hall, and opens it to find a meeting that reminds her of when they went against the Order to find Ron the first time. Harry, Ginny, Justin, Lavender, Angelina, Seamus, and Dean stare up at her in their silence, and she closes the door behind her because she knows Draco, Rogers, and the new Auror weren't invited.
She has a very bad feeling about this that just grows bigger when Seamus brushes past her and out the door, his stance when he closes it proving that he left to stand watch. Hermione stays where she is until Harry beckons her over with an impatient wave to his hand. Ginny smiles at her, and she sees hope.
"They caught one of the Death Eaters in the leader circle about an hour ago. I got into the observation room when Lupin was interrogating him. We know where Ron is - it's a big place in Italy, one of the main places they're working from. They have some prisoners there, new Death Eaters they're training, and probably a lot of well trained ones too. I left the room when McGonagall came in to finish up the interrogation and get the layout of the place, so I only know it's big. Sounds like a mansion or something."
Hermione's heart had started a strange beat and adrenaline had swept through her the moment she heard Ron's name. "Is Lupin putting a team together?"
"I talked to Lupin after, pretended I only knew he caught one of the new leaders. He said they have some information, but it's going to take them until at least tomorrow night to get a team together, get details, and come up with the most efficient plan. We don't have that, Hermione. It won't be long until they know he was captured by us, if they don't know already. As soon as they do they will be packing up. We have to move tonight."
"I'm telling you, this isn't going to work." Angelina's tone suggests she's been trying to tell him this for at least five hours straight. "It's going to be light out in two hours, max. We have no idea what the layout is , so we can't even come up with a plan. We're going to go in far too short on people, with no darkness to help cloak us, with no idea what the place looks like, and with no plan. It's a suicide mission!"
"It's not a suicide mission," Ginny snaps.
"There are going to be dozens of them, to our what? Ten? Eight! Eight people with no idea what's going on! We don't know the layout - exits, where they will be sleeping, where the prisoners are, the rooms they will most likely be in-" Angelina starts.
"So we go in as one unit. We circle the grounds if there are any, make sure they are clear, and then-" Justin cuts her off only to be cut off himself.
"What? Burst through the front door, yell surprise, and fire off the Killing Curse as they come?" Lavender is sarcastic.
"Basically." Harry is completely serious.
"Look, you know I want to find Ron, you know I want to finish this war. But I know what it feels like to almost die, and... And maybe we should wait until tomorrow night. Lupin will put on-" Lavender starts.
"No."
"-many people as possible, we'll know what the place looks-"
"No."
"-and we will have a plan that-"
"I said no, Lavender." Harry's expression is so vicious that even Hermione leans away from him. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to. I am. Ginny is. Whoever doesn't want to can leave the room now. If we wait until tomorrow, Ron will be hidden in another list of locations that mostly turn up abandoned. The longer we wait the closer to death he comes. He's been waiting long enough. I'm saving my best friend, and I'm doing it tonight. There is no time left."
"Harry," Angelina whispers quietly, desperately. "You're asking us to die."
The red of anger in his face goes pale. Hermione is suddenly reminded of the Muggle world, of Terminator - I would die for John Connor. They would die for Harry Potter. So many already had. That's why Harry's face is pale. Because Harry no longer carries the weight of his destiny, but the weight of his past. People had died to win the war, but people had also died for Harry Potter to live. From his parents through to Fred, who stood in front of Harry and took the Killing Curse so Harry could deliver his own.
"I'm not asking anything of you," his voice comes out broken, but she doesn't think he knows this. "I'm just asking you if you want to go. I will not hate you if you walk out the door, and if I die tonight, I won't blame you. I'm asking if you want to save Ron, to save the others, and bring down Death Eaters. I'm asking you if you're willing to die for that. I'm asking if you feel the need to do this.
"I know this is going to be hard. I know the chance of us making it out is smaller than it might have ever been. But my best friend would die for me, and I'm going to make sure he doesn't. If you don't want any part of this, I understand. But I'm leaving tonight."
The room is silent, Hermione feels sick and excited and scared. When they leave a minute later, all eight of them agree to meet on the front porch in an hour. Hermione doesn't feel like she has a choice. Maybe none of them did.
She would not let Harry go alone, even if Ron was not there. But now it is both of her best friends' lives. Would she die for that? Yes, and that is where she lacks the choice. Hermione could never turn her back to this. Hermione had never fought in this war just to get rid of the Death Eaters. She had almost died so many times for the lives of her and her friends. That didn't change no matter how dangerous the situation or how scared she was.
It had been that way ever since they were young, and it remains that way no matter how much of time and war rages between them now. The odds were against them, and Hermione, in that dark part of herself that she tries to ignore, knows it isn't likely they will all make it out alive. But there was still a chance they would, still a chance she could save Ron, and so she would go.
The doorknob rattles under her hand, and she notices that she is shaking. She pushes open the door and clenches her fists. She would not be afraid. Even if she were to die tonight, she would do as much as she could before it. To die for her friends was far better than dying of old age in her sleep. This is what she tries to tell herself.
Draco is awake, standing in the middle of the room. His hair looks like he might have been yanking on it, and his eyes are wide and alert on hers. It reminds her of Harry just minutes ago, when he had been standing in the doorway that she is in now - except Harry hadn't been naked. She hadn't bothered to ask Harry if she should tell Draco about the mission. He would have invited the blond himself. Hermione knows, even looking at him now, that she will not tell him anyway. Not because she doesn't think he should know, or that she doesn't trust him to not tell, or that she doesn't think they can use him. It's because he has no obligation to go, but she thinks he might anyway because of his boulder, because of his need to right his wrongs. Hermione thinks he has redeemed himself enough, and she cannot ask him to go because he doesn't think so himself. If he died tonight it would not be for the future, but for the past. She cannot allow that.
She is thinking of an excuse when he speaks. "Leave the shirt, take off the rest."
Normally she would huff, or glare, or not do it for the sake of letting him know she doesn't follow his orders. But tonight she feels like maybe she owes it to him, because she suddenly feels guilty. Like he deserves to know she might not ever come back, but she's not telling him anyway. Like he deserves the chance to make the choice for himself, but she's making it anyway. She feels selfish, so she reminds herself that it's for him.
She might need this too, she thinks, and unbuttons her pants. In fact, she knows she needs this. When Harry had told her they were leaving in an hour, this is what she thought of doing. This is why she had been hoping he was still awake. She needed for him to be awake. She needed to be with him just in case - for him to make life pound through her veins, to make her forget, to make her not think about anything but him, and feeling, and what it is to be alive. She doesn't want to think about what that might mean.
She's looking at him rather shyly, standing there in nothing but his T-shirt, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "I just wanted to see what that might look like."
It feels odd that he confesses this. He almost always left her to guess at his reasoning. He inhales deeply and then exhales quickly, his gaze making one last slow climb from her toes to her eyes. He walks forward and grabs the hem of the shirt between his ring and middle fingers at each side of her outer thighs. Pressing his palms against her skin he slides them up her sides, taking the shirt with him. He hasn't looked away from her eyes since he started walking over, and she knows that he knows. Not all of it, as Seamus had seen to it that no one could eavesdrop, but she's pretty sure he knows enough. Harry had looked too crazed, she had come back shaking.
She lifts her arms and his palms carry on up the length of them until the shirt clears her hands. "You wear it for ten minutes and it already smells like you," he mutters as he bundles up the cloth, tossing it to the top of his trunk. "Your scent is everywhere."
She doesn't know what to say to this, but he stops her from having to speak, pulling her against him and pressing his face to her neck. She reaches out to his shoulders, his chest and stomach expanding and contracting against hers as he breathes her in. At least she knows it wasn't a bad smell then, and her head drops back when he starts kissing her neck. His lips move along her jaw, her cheek, and she lowers her face toward him as he pauses in front of her mouth.
She opens her eyes to look at him, and this seems to be what he had been waiting for. He reaches up, the pads of his fingertips tracing her face from her forehead to her chin. He cups her neck and slides his hands up and back, burying his fingers in her hair. She slides her own along his shoulders and then around his neck, pushing herself into him as much as she can without the ability to sink inside of him. He kisses her then, and they alternate the aggression from a slow burn that almost feels like hesitancy to a sort of mad ravaging of one another's mouths.
Hermione doesn't know how long they stand there just kissing one another. She doesn't know how he managed to get both of them on the bed without pausing. She doesn't know why he takes it slow, why he stares at her when he isn't kissing her, why he's pressed and sliding against her skin when he's thrusting into her instead of raising up on his arms. She doesn't know why she starts crying, why he stops for several seconds and presses his forehead to hers when she does, why he kisses her until she stops without asking why. She only knows that it's beautiful, so beautiful it hurts, and that it makes her feel more than she could have wished for.
There was a moment, when he had been kissing her before they made it to the bed, where she thought she should pretend they were in love. But it was gone after a second - not from lack of imagination, but because she didn't need that for this to mean something. They were just who they were, together, whatever that made. It was her and Draco, it is them, and that has always been good enough for her.
It is perfect. Tonight he has been all the things she wants and needs, and she is so filled up with him it somehow makes it harder for her to leave now. There is a sad, scared part of her that wishes she could just stay with the safety she feels in his arms. That she can forget the world and it can forget her. The two of them could stay in this room, and he could keep yanking her to the edge of the bed and aiming his wand at the door until the world got the point.
But that is the weak part of her, the part of her now that refuses to lift her forehead from the steady, hard thump of his heart in his chest. The part of her that has always been afraid. That part is small though, and unimportant. All humans had their weaknesses, but Hermione had never given in to hers. It was simply a flashing green light in that consuming hot whiteness that made up the rest of her. That hot white that was the force of Hermione Granger.
Draco's hand buries itself deeper into her hair and he pulls her head up for her, leaning down to kiss her again. Her lips are sore and swollen, but she doesn't mind at all. There is a hard ball growing inside her throat when she remembers that this might be the last time she ever does this. She recalls another moment then, the night before Draco left for the Graveyard Battle. She wonders if he had felt these same things, and if that is how he knew what she needed so well.
It is an odd thing, the time spent before a big battle. The ones where you knew there was only a slim chance of making it out alright. Hermione had found herself in this situation before - contemplating the possibility of her death. But she had never gone on a mission this risky, this half-assed and blind. They were going to a nest of Death Eaters, and even with a large team of people, a map, and a damn good plan, it was still likely that not everyone would make it out alive. You still spent the time before it wondering if it was going to be you that didn't.
But the sad part, the part that had the fear bubbling inside her, was that this was a Very Bad Idea and she doesn't even know if any of them are going to make it out alive. She hadn't been looking toward a situation and knowing it would be this bad in all of war. She hasn't given up on herself or her friends, but she can feel the change within her that she hoped to never make. Hermione has now accepted her death. She would fight as hard as she could to live, but the truth is that she does not expect to.
It is terrifying, but in a strange way, calming. If she were to die, than that is what will happen. She does not want to, she is not ready to, but if that is the outcome, she accepts it. If it had been for any reason other than her friends, than for someone she loves, she never could have. But it's part of her nature, perhaps part of human nature, to want death to take you in place of someone you love. She might die for going tonight, but she couldn't live knowing she didn't go.
Everything is a wonder again, when you feel your time running out. The oxygen in her lungs, Draco's hand up her back, in her hair, his tongue in her mouth. The feel of his breath on her face, his hair on her forehead, the tension of his muscles, the movement of his jaw. All her senses, her gifts, her ability to feel, hear, see, smell, taste. He is new again to her - life is new again. Then, in her mind, a billion memories to remind her of her life, of what she will be losing, of what she has gained.
It is in this moment that she truly appreciates life, without reserve. Because no matter how many times she has tried to keep remembering the beauty of it throughout the war and just her life, it isn't until something tries to take it away that she is thankful for it again. That she can truly look, and know, and feel it thrum inside and around her.
"What time?"
"What?" she whispers, and he pulls his head back to look at her fully.
"What time, Hermione?"
She blushes, though she doesn't know why. Her guilt or shame, maybe. If he asks too much, she won't be able to tell him. She hopes he can forgive her for that. For not being able to find the words for goodbye, because it sounded too much like giving up. "An hour from when I walked through the door."
He looks over her head and his arm squeezes her tighter as he leans forward, swiping his watch off the empty box that served as a bedside table. "You should get dressed."
She looks at him, and this time he is slow to bring his eyes back to her. She doesn't move from the bed, and it's not just because of his arm that hasn't stopped squeezing to keep her in place. "I'll see you soon."
"Right." He doesn't believe her. She realizes that she might be the only thing Draco has left, besides his mother. But the only thing he could call a friend. She hopes this doesn't remind him of Pansy. That he's not looking at her and remembering how he couldn't do anything for her, how he couldn't save either of them. She would like to tell him he won't be alone, that other people will find the Draco she has. But it sounds too final, so she doesn't. She has not given up hope. "I don't..."
"What?" She prompts.
He waits, searching for something in her face, maybe the words he can't say. His arm loosens and then drops away, his face shutting down. Maybe he knew she had made her choice, and that it wasn't him. Maybe that is just her imagination. "You have three minutes."
She kisses him, hard and frantic, and he kisses her back, that hard blankness crumbled under the fierce press of his mouth. He squeezes her so hard her back cracks, kisses her until her head is light from lack of breath. She's almost afraid he won't let go, she's afraid that he will, and her arms burn from the force she holds him to her with. It feels impossible to leave him here, and it is impossible to stay.
She can feel him watching her as she gets dressed, and knows he can spot the trembling of her body. He's standing behind her when she turns to look at him again, and he reaches out, tying the Phoenix band around her arm.
"Potter's the hero... be smart." She doesn't know if he's telling her to stay or just being offensive. "Don't fuck this one up, Granger."
He kisses her, briefly, and her chest collapses and she can't breathe again.
Day: 1466; Hour: 5
The moment their feet hit the ground they begin to run. The woods are thick and it's still dark out, save the bouncing light of Harry's flashlight he told them to follow. They still stumble over holes, bang into trees, and the branches and bushes smack and scratch their skin. They all fly through it without caring, hardly noticing it past their determination. It's an assault from nature, but it smells like summer, and she has to keep herself from thinking of better things.
Whoever is behind her steps on the back of her shoes and she falls forward, grabbing someone's shirt on instinct and all three of them crash to the ground. It must have been raining earlier, because the twigs and leaves that stick to her hand and cheek are wet. The person she pulled down is male, judging by the way they so easily push her up and off of them. The person behind her is female, judging by the light touch of apology to her shoulder and the soft pants for air.
She realizes two things upon standing: Harry's flashlight has gone out, and they are still in the wizarding world. She can feel the strength of the wards ahead of them, radiating magic. She isn't sure if they are that strong or if it's just because she hadn't been expecting the feel of it to tingle along her skin. She knows they are in Italy, one of the few countries where Muggle and Half-bloods are extreme rarities, but she never thought they would turn a blind eye to Death Eaters. And they had to have been - in the country, surrounded by wards, and as a training camp no doubt filled with Unforgivables, the government had to know. She didn't know much about what had been going on at the Ministry of Magic, though she had heard Italy wanted no part in the war. But they had to have known that ignoring the presence of Death Eaters in your country would cause problems.
They were probably hoping someone else took care of it. They probably had their bank accounts full and Death Eater puppet strings attached to their joints. As a nation filled with Purebloods, if they were to take a side, it wouldn't likely be hers. These are things Hermione has either learned about the world or has imagined through the eyes of cynicism. She doesn't care either way, she just knows that she is angry. If the government had done something about it, maybe Ron would already be home. Maybe she wouldn't be throwing her life down and hoping she could fight hard enough and be lucky enough to take it back.
"We're going to have to take the wards down," Harry's voice is so low it's almost lost in their breath and the creaking of branches in the wind. "As soon as we start trying, they will be on to us."
Hermione is suddenly struck with the dire urge to turn and run away. She thought she stopped being such a coward a long time ago. Then, Harry's hand at the side of her neck, and she remembers why she came. "Are we going to go in groups?"
"No. There's not enough of us, we stay together, take 'em out as they come. I'm putting up anti-Apparition wards if I can, we don't need another Dalin fiasco." Harry sounds bitter, and she has no idea what the Dalin fiasco is. "Remember, the prisoners are probably underground, so if we see stairs leading down, that's where we're going. As soon as we get them, we all take my Portkey out. We'll find and fight the rest of them another day, with a bigger team."
"Alright. Everyone ready?" Ginny's voice, sounding scared but brave. They were all fools, Hermione thinks, Draco was right. But Ron, Ron, Ron.
"Hermione, Justin - take the wards when we get there."
The Death Eaters are the ones who break them. The wards are far too intricate of magic for Hermione and Justin, untrained, to not take at least hours trying to break them. Nothing is allowed past the wards, not even spells - they find that out when five men come running at them through the dusk. They seem confused until four others join them, three of them dismantling the wards while the other six hold aim. Hermione can hear shouting in the direction of the large grey building that towers halfway through the field in front of them, and at least ten silhouettes appear out of its shadow.
This is it, she thinks. We didn't even make it past the wards.
They can feel the wards break the moment they do, a sort of relief in pressure. Spells are cast simultaneously from both sides - all green from theirs, and an array of colors from the Death Eaters. Harry flings himself out of the way of the Killing Curse, and a man screams something in Italian. Hermione isn't sure if he's finished his sentence before he falls, laying with the other six they had managed to hit before that.
All of them but two are new recruits. They had found that out from captured Death Eaters. New recruits were dressed in more shabby clothing until they earned proper treatment. The ones who were especially quick to learn, talented in Death Eater obedience and society misconduct, "earned" the mask of other fallen Death Eaters. It was some sort of honor for them. Pansy's father's mask is now buried in the mud again. Hermione knows this because of the strange blue crack down the cheek, because it had been the first time she had seen Draco kill someone she knew he knew. Because she had never gotten the hatred that twisted Draco's face out of her mind. There wasn't any not believing in that.
The other two fall before they even get a spell off. Justin and Seamus bind them and Angelina shoves a Portkey to the Ministry on them. They were all going to have to be careful with their spells tonight. Magic in abundance is extremely draining, and they all know they will have to do it in abundance tonight anyway. But spells like the Killing Curse took so much away that if they used it too often they would find themselves unable to lift an arm let alone summon magic.
They yell Stunning spells at the approaching figures as soon as they seem close enough, their voices mingling into a jumble of noise. Someone throws up a blocking spell but it's pointless, the distance proving too great, and giving too much time to move out of the way. It only takes three seconds of each side charging at the other before they all cast again.
Hermione can see the light of her Stunning spell before a body blocks her view. She only has enough time to register that it's one of the Death Eater corpses and that there are two more that fly out in front of them. Then there is just the explosion of green against the lifeless forms, and then blood. Blood, and limbs, and all parts of the body she has never wanted to know in such a way. The fragments of life scatter in the field between the two lines of enemies, coloring the grass in streaks and pools of red. Someone is gagging, and she knows she's not the only one. It's not the blood that bothers her so much anymore - it's the pieces.
The corpses were not their friends, and they were not people they knew. So it is them who take advantage of the pause in shock, and it isn't until seven of the Death Eaters are Stunned that the other four remember what this is. Justin hits the ground, but she can just barely tell who he is from the raw sound of his screaming. Another voice joins his, a woman's, and then Angelina's blood slashes across Hermione's cheek.
She does not have time to look, but the panic hitches higher in her heart, and her breathing comes in and goes out in tiny little huffs and gasps. She throws up a shield, this one not too late, as colors fly past her. Two of them drop, more come out of the building, Hermione's foot slides in blood, and Justin begins screaming again.