The Battle of Hogwarts Part 9
Harry leaving her behind at Hogwarts to face Voldemort alone was a seminal moment in Hermione's life. Over the last six-and-a-half years, she'd researched for him, she'd sacrificed for him, she'd erased her own existence from her parents' minds for him, and she'd risked her life time and time again for him.
And now he'd left her.
She'd begged him to take her, to let her stay with him and help him. And he'd left her.
She knew deep down that this was not about her, that it was not a rejection of her care for Harry or a commentary on the value of their friendship, but it still hurt to be left behind, especially when she knew that Lucius was in the forest somewhere with the Dark Lord and the rest of the Death Eaters, and she was alone.
She did not know what to do with herself.
The stillness of the halt in the fighting was still deeply disconcerting after the deafening sounds of battle. It was quiet, too quiet, even with the hushed murmurs of people around her.
Everyone on their side had retreated into the relative safety of the castle, congregating in and around the Great Hall. Hermione followed suit as she left the headmaster's office, stopping to aid others as they helped the injured or attended to the dead.
The Great Hall had been turned into a makeshift hospital and morgue. There were faces there, silent and still, that she recognised. Colin Creevey, who'd made himself such a nuisance with his magical camera, was frozen in death. Lavender Brown, her mangled face and body partially covered by a sheet, had not survived her encounter with the werewolf, and Hermione swallowed the bile in her throat at the memory of the gruesome attack and the werewolf's equally gruesome end at her wand, as well as memories of her once vivacious, giggly dormmate. She used her wand to ease the sheet all the way over the girl's face.
A flash of red hair caught her eye then, and she turned to see Percy Weasley run by. Percy… when had he arrived, she wondered to herself. Ron's older brother had always been a bit of a stick in the mud and had been estranged from his family for quite some time, so it was a shock to see him in the castle.
An agonised cry tore through the hush and she whirled on the spot to see Sirius Black clutching the body of his dear friend Remus Lupin. August Longbottom and another woman she did not recognise rushed to Sirius's side to offer comfort. Hermione wanted to go to him, to console him in some way, as she knew it was what Harry would have done, but she did not know what to say. She'd liked and respected her former Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, but she had not known him as Harry had, as Sirius had. Somehow she found herself rooted to the floor and could not seem to move her feet.
It occurred to her then that someone would have to tell Tonks, that somewhere in England, Remus's heavily pregnant wife was tucked away in a safehouse with her mother, and she was unaware that her husband was dead. Hermione knew how she felt about Lucius, knew her love for him, and knew that to lose him would be akin to being cast into a pit of black despair, of nothingness. She did not think she could cope if she lost Lucius, and she could not help but feel pain at the thought of Tonks's loss, a loss made all the more tragic at the idea that Remus would never meet the child she carried. Hermione wiped bitter tears from her cheeks, silently cursing her own weakness.
A rumble of self-pity ripped through her as she watched from a distance as Sirius sobbed brokenly over his friend's body. If she lost Lucius on this night, if the wizard she loved breathed his last breath on the field of battle, she would be left with nothing. None of her friends knew of their love affair. Did his? Had he confided in anyone other than his son? It was possible he'd told Severus Snape, but her former professor had already died, a victim of Voldemort's snake. Did anyone else know? She had the books he'd given her, the bracelet, and… and that was it. Memories. Mostly just memories, memories that she knew she would cherish for the rest of her life if Lucius was taken from her.
She backed slowly away, no longer able to stand the sight of bodies around her.
In the eerie hush of the castle, and with far too much fear and worry swirling in her mind, it was all too easy to picture a horrific future without Lucius in it: if Draco and Narcissa both survived, they would bury him. Narcissa would be the grieving widow, in public at least. A mudblood would surely not be welcome at his funeral, and her ability to say goodbye, to press a kiss to his coffin, to trace her fingers along the letters of his headstone would be a grace offered her only if Draco acquiesced. Given that his tolerance of her seemed tied largely to Lucius's orders, she could not imagine that lasting if Lucius did not survive the battle.
If Lucius died, how long would her bracelet continue to work? It was obviously his preferred method of escape for her, so presumably the portkey would still work even if he perished, at least long enough for her to leave the castle. It hit her then that she had no idea where the lodge was actually located as she'd only ever portkeyed there. If she didn't leave Hogwarts for the lodge shortly after he died, would she be able to go back there? To walk the dark-paneled hallways and cry herself to sleep in the curtained bed piled high with plaid flannels where Lucius had taken her virginity and made love to her over and over again as the war progressed?
She had known, of course, somewhere in the back of her oh-so-logical mind that death was always a possibility in war, that death could come for them all. She had never allowed herself to truly imagine Lucius dying before this night, to picture herself living the rest of her life without him existing, and the idea was a ragged, gaping wound in her heart. She did not want to imagine a world where she would never again feel the touch of his hands on her body, never again hear the silky smoothness of his voice or see the spark in his silvery grey eyes.
A tear slipped down her cheek, first one, and then another as she stood frozen.
"Hermione?"
A voice calling out to her broke her from her paralysed state.
Neville.
She marveled silently at how he'd matured in the time they'd been away from Hogwarts, how he'd come into his own with Harry's absence, rising to the occasion to try to protect his fellow students.
He apprised her for a moment and seemed to know at least some of what had transpired.
"Harry left didn't he? He went off to face that noseless bastard."
She nodded and wiped at her face again with her sleeves.
"I figured he wouldn't have left you alone otherwise. Have you seen Ron?"
Her eyes widened at the name.
"Ron's here? Where? Did you speak with him? Where the devil has he been all this time?" she demanded, suddenly drawn from her pity party. "Because if we all make it through the night, he has one hell of a hex coming from me for just up and leaving like he did!"
Neville held up his hands defensively. "You're right scary, you know that? And no, I haven't seen him, but I've heard four or five people say they did see him."
"I've not seen or heard from him in ages, but Fred and George told us earlier that they'd heard he was here and were going to find him."
Neville's face fell then.
"Fred…" his voice trailed off.
"What? Neville, what about Fred?" she demanded. Perhaps some part of her knew then, knew that the news was bad, but she didn't want to go there, didn't want to acknowledge that it was a possibility.
"A wall toppled behind him," he said hoarsely, "and he was...it happened so fast. There wasn't time to cast arresto momentum or try to cushion the blow."
"No," she whispered.
Her mind was filled then of images of the twins, of Fred and George stirring up trouble in the Gryffindor dormitory, of them experimenting with new inventions and joke toys, of sitting with them on the floor at Grimmauld Place, using an extendable ear to listen in on Order meetings Mrs. Weasley wouldn't permit them to attend.
Fred and George. Always, it was always Fred and George. She'd never seen them alone. They were always together, always finishing each other's sentences or switching places to deliberately confuse everyone. It was incomprehensible to her that Fred was gone, that George had lost his other half.
"I'm so sorry. The Weasleys...they're in the alcove round the corner. It's why… I was trying to find Ron. If he's here, he needs to know, and his parents...they don't need to worry about him as well."
She reached out then and squeezed his forearm, suddenly needing physical contact with another living, breathing human being.
"You're a good man, Neville Longbottom."
He shook his head. "I'm just doing what I have to do. That's all. Harry's the real hero."
The reminder of Harry brought back the horror of what he was likely walking into the forest, and the harsh reminder that Harry might not survive this night.
How long ago had it been, she wondered, that she'd stood in the forest with Harry, shaking with fear and anguish as he turned her away? It was not so very long ago that the horcrux had spilled her secrets, taunting her with images of Lucius and Narcissa, provoking Harry to cast her out of their camp and away from their mission. She'd made her choice that night to strip Harry of his memories of the horcrux, to use dark magic against her best friend. The guilt of her actions still weighed heavily upon her, but she'd had no choice. Finding and destroying the remaining horcruxes trumped everything.
Everything but Lucius.
She'd witnessed death and destruction, and she'd let Harry walk away from her on this awful night, but that was where she drew the line. She realised then with stark clarity that she was unwilling to put herself in the place of the Weasleys or Sirius or Tonks. In this moment, nothing mattered to Hermione more than Lucius. She needed him, needed to see him, to touch him, to hold him. She needed to see him safely through battle, regardless of how it ended.
Perhaps, she rationalised, she'd truly made the choice long ago, in a dark room in the Department of Mysteries, when she handed the prophecy to Lucius. Perhaps she'd set herself upon this chosen path then.
One thing was certain though in her mind: whether or not she found Lucius, whether or not they both survived this night, someone else needed to know about the last piece of Harry's mission. Dumbledore had left the weight of the world on Harry's shoulders but failed to provide them with the information they needed to succeed. He'd left them alone to somehow make sense of the clues and piece together what had to happen. She would not make that mistake.
In a halting voice, she told Neville about the horcruxes, about Dumbledore's belief that Harry was a horcrux, and about their final task.
"If you get a chance, if you see the snake outside of a protective magical bubble, kill it. Use the sword and kill it," she said as she pressed the Sword of Gryffindor into his hands much as Harry had given it to her. She could tell that he understood the enormity, the importance of this task, even as he stared in shock at her tale and the sword he now held.
"What about you?" he asked with concern.
"I'm going to see to the Weasleys, and to Sirius, and then...I have someone I need to find."
~oOo~
Fred's body was laid out on the floor in a sheltered alcove just off the Great Hall, and in death just as in life, he was surrounded by family. She hugged Ginny, who to Hermione's immense relief was too upset about Fred to ask about Harry. She didn't think Ginny could handle knowing the truth about Harry, about the horcrux, about Dumbledore's plan right now.
She offered comfort where she could and hated that she had to tell a distraught Molly Weasley that no, she'd not seen Ron. She silently prayed that Neville could find Ron and that he was alive and well.
By the time she left the Weasleys and made her way to where a distraught Sirius was still seated by the body of Remus Lupin, she felt numb.
"Sirius?" she asked quietly, realising after his name left her mouth that she'd only whispered it.
He did not hear her, and for that she was thankful. She was suddenly, painfully aware that she had no words to comfort Harry's godfather. He'd lost James and Lily years before, was betrayed by Peter Pettigrew, lost 12 years of his life in Azkaban, and had now lost his last surviving close friend. His head was bowed as he sat beside his friend, mumbling something quietly to himself, or to Remus's body.
What could she possibly say that would ease his loss, his pain? It had been a mistake to even approach him, she rationalised as she backed away slowly, for if he saw her then he'd surely know that Harry had gone off alone to face Voldemort. He'd know that she let him leave, and he'd blame her for it. He'd blown up once at her before, back at Grimmauld Place when he'd caught her sneaking back in after an illicit rendezvous with Lucius, when Harry wasn't even in any danger. She was numb, yes, at the sight of so much death and destruction around her, but she felt a strong pull of self-preservation as well, a little voice in her head reminding her that she was not - could not be - responsible for Harry's choice to walk into the forest. As much as she loved him and valued his friendship, she could not control him, and if he was bound and determined to face Voldemort now, she would not permit herself to take the blame for that.
She made her way from the Great Hall, still unnoticed by Sirius and literally collided with Draco Malfoy as she rounded the corner. He caught her by the elbow.
"So you're still here," he said evenly.
"As are you."
"Much to my father's dismay."
"Yes. He's not happy with me either."
"Where is Potter?"
She opened her mouth to speak but couldn't make the words come. She didn't want to have to rehash yet again what had happened in Dumbledore's office.
"He went out there, didn't he?" Malfoy nodded in the general direction of the Forbidden Forest.
At the look on her face, he swore under his breath.
"I don't suppose it's worth my time to try to convince you to head off to wherever father's portkey will take you, is it?" he asked in a weary voice.
She shook her head.
"Did Lucius have information to share with you?"
"I couldn't get it to Black - they brought in the werewolf," he said, rolling his eyes as she glared at him over the casual slur to Remus Lupin.
"Black was a right mess. Longbottom told me to give it to Shacklebolt. Said he was an Auror and had taken charge," he continued. "So I did. Not sure he believes that any of its worthwhile information since it came from a Malfoy, but it's done."
"Thank you, for that. I'll have you know that werewolf was your family, Malfoy," she spat back at him, relishing the look of confusion on his face.
"You didn't know did you? Professor Lupin married your cousin, Nymphadora Tonks."
"MY cousin?"
"Yes, yours. Oh I know Andromeda was essentially erased from the Black family, but her daughter is your cousin, nevertheless."
He frowned. "Is she here?"
"No, she's… elsewhere. She's not in a condition to fight."
He opened his mouth and then closed it without saying anything.
"Tell me nothing further. It's just something else to have to occlude, especially if Potter...well. You know what I mean," he said stiffly.
She nodded tersely, hoping to avoid the horrific mental pictures that would surely come if she thought too much about Voldemort winning.
"So why are you still here?" she asked. "Never took you for a brave soul, Malfoy."
He glared at her then. "I'm not leaving without my mother."
"Never took you for a mummy's boy either, given all of that 'my father will hear about this' drivel you always spouted."
"Maybe that was before I found out my father was fucking a mudblood," he hissed quietly, leaning in toward her. "My mother is worth 10 of you."
"So you've said," she said coolly, not really sure why she was provoking him when they were both under so much stress already.
"Nothing matters to a Malfoy more than family."
She raised an eyebrow at that, knowing what it said about how Lucius thought of her if he'd provided her with the means to escape tonight, knowing that as Harry Potter's best friend, she'd surely be hunted by a victorious Dark Lord and his Death Eaters.
It was on the tip of her tongue to provoke him further, to point out that her bracelet and Lucius's instructions to stay with Draco or to portkey to the lodge were indeed proof that he valued her, that he thusly considered her as important to him as his family. She even opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by shouts in the distance.
She and Draco both turned toward the noise, and in seconds, her wand was in hand, a hair-trigger response to the fighting she'd already experienced.
"What the hell…" she heard Draco mutter under his breath as the indeterminate shouting got louder.
Several people ran past them, headed toward the courtyard, and Hermione automatically followed. It was, perhaps, not the wisest decision but it was certainly a Gryffindor response. She did not realise as she moved swiftly but carefully over rubble and the detritus of battle and into the open air of the courtyard that the younger Malfoy was no longer behind her.
"What is that?" she heard someone ask.
Through the darkness, she could barely make out a black mass moving toward Hogwarts castle, amorphous and shifting, a rumbling sound emanating from its depth.
As it approached, pinpricks of light sparked from within the dark, glowing brighter as it came toward them.
"Blimey! Is that…" a voice beside her trailed off and the space around her filled with battle-weary wizards and witches, wands drawn.
Her heart caught in her throat as the black mass moved toward them and she realised to her horror that she was witnessing the full approach of the Dark Lord's army. What she'd seen before, the dark wizards who'd invaded the castle earlier on this night, were but a portion of Voldemort's black-robed followers. Their approach was a sight meant to inspire terror, and it was effective.
Where is Harry? Where is Lucius? Thoughts of the two wizards she held most dear tumbled frantically in her head.
Someone bumped into her from behind as more people shouted and a crowd began to assemble.
Slowly the people around her began to notice the coming wave of Death Eaters, and she heard frantic whispers, rising in volume to shouts: Where is Harry Potter? Where is Harry? Where is Potter?
She wished she had an answer for them.
Someone must have lit torches within the castle, as the courtyard was suddenly touched by the warm light of fire.
Hermione looked frantically around her for familiar faces. Where had Malfoy gone? Where was Kingsley? Sirius? Neville? The tension in the assembled cadre of Order members and Hogwarts students was palpable.
Where is Harry? Where is Harry? The words echoed around the courtyard and in her mind, as a growing sense of nausea and fear twisted inside her.
Was he gone from this world already? Had the vibrant fire and life in his green eyes been forever dulled by the green of an avada kedavra? Had he sacrificed himself, given his life to destroy the horcrux within his beautiful, brilliant mind?
Perhaps others were organising a plan of attack. Perhaps the Aurors amongst them were directing others to battle stations. Perhaps someone was even calling for her, needing her aid in some sort of backup plan for what they would do if Harry failed.
If so, she could not hear them. The noise of the assembled crowd blended together in a dull roar, almost entirely blocked out by the sound of her own blood rushing in her ears.
The Death Eaters would not be approaching like this if Harry had struck down their leader in the Forbidden Forest, she rationalised. They would have scattered, gone into hiding, wouldn't they? Given the Dark Lord's abrupt disappearance on Halloween all those years ago, surely his defeat would have spurred the surviving Death Eaters to flee.
That could only mean… Hermione shook her head, as if she could somehow force the awful thought from her mind.
Voldemort's cold, hissing voice magically echoed through the night:
"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself whilst you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone. The battle is won. You have lost half your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished.
"There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as well every member of their family.
"Come out of the castle now, kneel before him, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."
There were shrieks and shouts of terror around her as the words reverberated in Hermione's ears. They were horrible words and pretty lies, designed to lure the light into submission.
There would be no forgiveness, this she knew. Years ago, when she was but a small child, Voldemort had bound Lucius to him, forcing him to kill, threatening the lives of those he held most dear. Despite his forced servitude and his apparent high rank in the inner circle, Lucius was unable to keep Draco from being forced into taking the Dark Mark. If that was how Voldemort valued his most trusted followers, there would be no refuge, no peace, no quarter given to the Order who fought against him. To believe otherwise was folly.
The Light would have to flee or die fighting.
She was reminded abruptly then of a line in a poem she'd once read in her mother's collection of poetry: Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
A sense of despair and rage washed over her. Had it all been for naught? All their sacrifice for nothing?
She reached for her wrist, touching the metal of her bracelet. It was warm, but she dared not tear her eyes away from the approaching army to look for a message from Lucius. He was surely telling her to leave, but she could not go. Not yet.
As the Death Eaters made their way into Hogwarts, the Dark Lord himself led the procession with the hated snake Nagini draped over his shoulders. His appearance was dreadful, the sort of creature to slink forth from the darkest of nightmares. Harry's previous descriptions of the Dark Lord did not accurately convey the awfulness of looking upon him: shockingly white skin stretched over bone and sinew, claw-like hands stroking the snake, and the eyes - blood red, cold, and inhuman.
And then she spotted him.
Harry.
Her best friend. The boy she loved like a brother.
His body was limp, cradled in a sobbing Hagrid's arms.
When Harry pressed the sword into her hands and left her behind - Merlin, but it seemed like a lifetime ago - something inside of her broke. She wondered in that moment in the courtyard how much of her was left to break, to fight, for something inside of her died in that moment when she saw Harry's body with her own eyes.
She was only vaguely conscious of tears streaming down her cheeks.
This was it then. Harry was gone. He'd well and truly done it - sacrificed himself to save them all.
~oOo~
Don't kill me! I know, that's a cruel place to end the chapter. I'm hopeful I can get the next chapter finished soon, so I don't think you'll have to wait too long.
A few brief notes: Voldemort's remarks to the assembled crowd are directly quoted from "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows." The poem that Hermione thought of in the courtyard is "Do no go gentle into that good night" by Dylan Thomas. Many thanks to Margot Le Faye for talking me through the outline of the Battle of Hogwarts, and many thanks to all of you for continuing to read and comment on this crazy little story of mine.
Cheers,
Elle