DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but this twisted so-called "plot".
Some of the dialogue here has been borrowed from DH.
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Professor Flitwick's leg was hanging on by a thread of skin. The poor man was lying on a mattress on the floor, breathing hard as a mediwizard tried to stick it back on. That was the first thing Hermione saw as she dithered by the large arched doorway during Voldemort's temporary ceasefire.
Beyond him was another mattress where Michael Corner was getting his swollen eye tended to. Next, on a stool, Parvati was sobbing inconsolably into her sister's shoulder. Hermione met Padma's eye with a question in her own... but all she got in lieu of a response was a heavy sigh.
The scene at the Great Hall was a compounded visual of the desolation of battle. It was a composite image of the consequence – Impression, War.
There were no tables, no chairs, no decorous candle stands; no air of splendour. Mattresses laid out in tidy lines all around the room accommodated the injured. The medical staff, in maroon robes, rushed around administering potions and aid.
But it was the sounds that truly drove the reality home. Sobs, wails, gasps, cries of pain...
It was enough to make Hermione want to cover her ears and run. She'd been standing like a statue for... well, who could say how long. Her heart was in her throat, and she couldn't cope with the amount of emotion surging through her. And she was... alone? Where had Harry and Ron gone? Really – how long had she been standing there?
"Miss?"
She shuddered and turned around. A kindly looking young mediwitch held up a jar of thick purple paste.
"Your back is bleeding, miss," she said, "May I?"
"No – no," Hermione stuttered, "I'm fine."
"Your shirt is soaked through."
"It's fine – I'm fine," she insisted shakily, "Please, there are people far worse off –"
"And they are being tended to," the mediwitch said gently, "Let me heal you, miss... it won't take long."
Hermione sighed, and nodded, finally forcing herself to enter the Hall. The mediwitch made her sit on a stool, and conjured a simple screen to cover them. "Shirt off, please."
Hermione obeyed, twisting her matted, knotted, singed hair into a tight bun. Even cool air stung against her exposed back, and she hissed and closed her eyes the moment it was touched.
"It'll be better in a mo," her healer assured her, "Dear me, I can't believe you were willing to ignore this, miss... And if you would let me tend to those burns on your arm as well..."
And it did get better. She could feel the harsh, throbbing pain recede, and the feeling of having something wet and oozy on her skin disappeared.
"There. All done."
"Thank you," Hermione whispered, and slipped her shirt back on.
She stepped out from behind the screen and nearly walked straight into Oliver Wood carrying a... a... body on his shoulder. He passed by, and she steeled herself to glance at the face hanging halfway down his back. She stopped breathing – it was Colin. Scrawny, sweet, overenthusiastic Colin Creevey. Dead.
Oliver carried Colin over to the middle of the hall. That was where the deceased lay in a line. Hermione swallowed, and her throat was so parched, it was painful.
She knew, even as the nausea and unbearable terror paralyzed her cognition, that that slow, hesitating walk to the row of dead people was something she'd remember forever. She measured every step, she counted every breath...
Next to Colin lay a young, bearded man whom she recognised to be the shop assistant at Honeydukes. There was a boy from Ravenclaw and his skull seemed to have caved in. There were men and women in Auror robes, faces she saw around Grimmauld place and the Burrow during Order meetings... and oh god... there was Diggle. Dead.
Another Ravenclaw, three Hufflepuffs, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor... Lying with a dried up gash across her throat was the girl Hermione had thought was probably called Martha.
Hufflepuff, Auror... Slytherin... Ravenclaw, and –
Hermione fell to her knees with a choking gasp. Lavender. No! She'd saved her! She'd blasted Greyback off her. No no no no no.
Her eyes were half open. There was blood all over her face, and matting her hair; Lavender would never have stood for that. Not her hair. Trembling, Hermione cast a cleaning charm. Free of blood, and with her eyes closed, she looked like she was sleeping.
"I'm so, so sorry," Hermione whispered.
Then she stood up and walked on. Hufflepuff, a man with hair exactly like dad's, Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw.
Why the hell didn't she know all their names? There were so many that were just faces to her. Dead faces.
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
She walked by six other unknown bodies. And then there were two familiar bodies. Very, very familiar bodies. Hermione's hands flew up to her mouth. Her vision swam. She wanted to scream, but she'd been hollowed out and filled with cement because her feet were stuck to the ground and her ears had closed up. All she could hear was a dull rushing sound. All she could see through her surging tunnel vision were Lupin and Tonks. Lupin and Tonks lying side by side... ashen, still, quiet, and dead. Dead.
Lupin. Tonks.
Tonks' hair was mousy brown... the way she wore it when at her lowest. The lines and shadows on Lupin's face seemed so much more prominent than usual.
Hermione couldn't bring herself to move. Maybe if she stood long enough they'd take pity on her and wake up. Oh, come on Tonks. And Lupin had always been so reliable.
Wake up, she urged, please, please, PLEASE wake up.
Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please –
A wail that was the very soul of pathos sounded in her head.
No; not in her head.
The Weasleys were gathered around Fred's body a few metres away. Mrs Weasley, the source of that piercing wail, was lying across her fallen son's chest. Mr. Weasley sat close beside her, holding his fist against his mouth as he cried. Bill and Fleur were crying, Charlie was hiding behind his hands, Percy had his arm around Ron, Ginny stood a little apart mopping her blotchy face with a handkerchief.
And kneeling by Fred's head was George... Hermione couldn't look at him for more than a fraction of a second. But even in that tiny fragment of time, she registered the mask of shock, discomposure, and agony that his face had become. It reflected the kind of pain that was savage, that was unrivalled in its intensity.
Their grief was what finally unglued Hermione's feet.
She promptly strode towards Ginny, who looked up at her nearly as soon as she'd taken the first step. Her face creased, like all at once, she'd lost the ability to keep herself together. Hermione ran.
She hugged her distraught friend tightly, and she pinched her own lips between her teeth to hold back her whimpers as Ginny sobbed, "Fred... Fred... Fred..." into her shoulder.
xxx
Trapped in a purgatory, she almost found herself craving the brutal chaos of battle, the turbulent heat of a raging fire, the all-consuming adrenaline rush experienced during a violent duel...
She was sitting now, on a bench she'd conjured once holding Ginny up had gotten too difficult. Ginny's head was in her lap, and Hermione stroked the short, damp strands away from her face. She wasn't crying anymore.
Mrs. Weasley, too, had stopped weeping. Instead, she seemed to have appropriated George's look of devastation, and that of course, was infinitely worse. Hermione cast her eyes around the hall, searching for the smallest spark of something good to cauterise the giant, gaping open wound that was her soul. By the door, Neville and Seamus were carrying more bodies inside. She felt the force of a thousand knives twisting in her gut as she saw that one of them had dirty blond hair... But then she noticed the Hufflepuff robes and hated herself for the immense relief that surged through her.
She looked at the crumbling walls, at the shattered floor. She watched the healers scuttling about like wind-up toys. She glanced at Slughorn comforting the dozen or so students of his house who'd opted to stay and fight. She glimpsed Professors McGonagall and Sprout whispering closely as the former got a cut across her cheek mended.
But no matter how hard she tried, her eyes sought Fred. She didn't know how it was possible for him to look the way he looked – he'd always been packed with life enough for a hundred people – and now...
Her eyes sought Lupin and Tonks – she gasped, softly, for they were no longer alone. Luna was sitting by Tonks' side, with one of her hands between both of hers. Next to her was Theo, with his eyes mournfully downcast. Malfoy knelt in the space between Lupin and Tonks' heads, looking from one to the other to the other to the other...
His hair that used to always look so neat, was falling messily into his eyes and hiding them from the world. Or perhaps hiding the world from him?
Hermione's makeshift bench creaked. Ron eased himself down on Ginny's other side, and blinked at Hermione, once, with faded, red-rimmed eyes. He squeezed his sister's shoulder, and she immediately lifted off Hermione's lap and curled into his side. He put an arm around her and laid his head on hers.
Feeling like an intruder, Hermione quietly slipped away. She wished Harry was around, but by his marked absence, she'd deduced that he was in Dumbledore's old office, swimming around in Snape's memories.
So she sidled up to Theo and Luna, and as unobtrusively as possible, sat down next to them. They didn't speak at all; rather, they communicated through expressive looks and subtle nods. It didn't feel right to say anything that wasn't profoundly, divinely meaningful. And nobody had anything meaningful to say. Malfoy didn't look up even once.
xxx
Wasn't the hour up yet? Hermione's watch had broken.
xxx
"Oh, thank you, thank you! Ah, I'm just orl over t' place..."
On her way to see Flitwick, Hermione stopped to help a portly mediwitch who'd spilled all her supplies while rushing from one patient to the next.
She kept her vision trained straight ahead as she passed the dead for the second time. At the far end of the hall, Kingsley had gathered the remaining Aurors. Parvati was still crying all over Padma, and now she knew why. Her best friend had died, and Hermione had not a single word to say to her. Like a coward, she bowed her head and walked on.
But alas, the Charms' professor was no longer lying on his mattress.
"There are still lots of people buried under the rubble, he went to look for them," Michael Corner said from the next mattress. His eye looked much better. "They told him to rest, and he said nothing doing," he added proudly.
"How are you?" Hermione asked.
"Not bad. Pomfrey says the blindness is most likely temporary..."
She swallowed, "Oh... um..."
"Hermione!"
She spun around with alacrity to see Neville waving her over as he helped a young boy with an injured leg. She bid Michael a hasty farewell and joined Neville just as he handed his charge over to a mediwizard. He looked so much more than merely exhausted.
"Why don't you sit down, Neville?" she offered softly, "Let me take over for a while."
"Nah, s'alright," he said, rubbing his eyes tiredly; clearly the weakness of his flesh was nothing when compared to the willingness of his spirit. "I'm okay. Why aren't you with Harry?"
"He... there was something he had to do..."
"Yeah. That's what he told me, and –"
A small man carrying a tray loaded with goblets of water stopped to offer them a drink. Hermione felt a slow uneasiness build up inside her.
"Oh, Merlin, yes," Neville sighed, and chugged his lot in one go. "Ooof. That's better."
"Right. Neville. What did Harry tell you exactly?"
"Just that he has to do something. It's part of the plan. And he told me to kill the snake. You-Know-Who's snake, that is, in case you or Ron were bus–"
"Where was he going?" Hermione demanded, her hands closing into fists.
"He didn't say..."
"Which way then, Neville!" she exclaimed impatiently, "The headmaster's office, or...?"
"Er, no. He went outside. Into the grounds – Oi, where are you off to?!"
Hermione tore across the Hall, sped past the dead, and skidded to a stop before Ron, who was still cradling Ginny.
"Ron – shit – Harry – he's –" she panted.
"What?" Ron asked hoarsely.
"Harry – Harry's GONE!"
"What do you mean?" Ginny spluttered, "Where's he gone?"
"Aah!" Hermione was furious with herself for taking so long to get the fucking point across. "He's GONE. To the forest! To turn himself in!"
"WHAT?"
"What?! WHAT?"
Ron and Ginny were on their feet in a flash. Ron took both their hands and began pulling them ahead, but they'd barely made any progress when Voldemort's all-pervading voice swelled around them.
"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while 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 of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There will be no more war. Anybody who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, 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."
The last syllable of that announcement echoed for an inconceivable stretch of time.
'...ther ...ther ...ther ...ther...'
Nobody moved, and silence was total and all-encompassing. Stillness and quiet so intense, that Hermione imagined she could actually see the minute disturbances in the air that the last traces of Voldemort's voice was causing. They were just words – no, arbitrary sounds that had the semblance of words. It had been an empty speech. A ruse.
Because Harry could not be dead.
Ron's hand was still in hers and clammy with sweat. She pulled free of his increasingly tightening grip; her mouth opened and closed around half-formed thoughts that would never materialise vocally, because just then, a horrifying, nerve-jangling scream sounded from outside.
Like Hokusai's Great Wave, the entire population of the Great Hall rose and surged forward en-masse, frothing with anxiety, churning with terror.
At the forefront, Hermione, Ron and Ginny were the first to walk out of the castle. The first thing Hermione saw was McGonagall, crumpled by the main doors. She was entirely bloodless... shaking...
They walked down the front steps...
Hermione barely noted the Death Eaters, Voldemort, his vile fucking snake, Bellatrix... Because there was Hagrid – Oh, he was alive! – and – in his arms – limp and motionless –
"No!" she shrieked, stumbling, catching herself on her knees. "NO!" she choked, as bile bubbled up her throat.
"Harry!"
"No!"
She heard Ron and Ginny mirror her devastating anguish... then the entire crowd behind them blew up. It was all muted though, as Hermione's ears clogged up again. The ferocious roaring she could hear was her own blood gushing about.
Harry's head was resting against Hagrid's enormous forearm. His eyes were closed. Forever.
"Oh," she groaned, wanting to curl up right there on the ground – to hell with Voldemort and his fucking war. To hell with everything.
"SILENCE!" Voldemort boomed, and there was a shot of lightening, followed by a thunderclap, that forced the multitude to comply. "It is over! Set him down, Hagrid, at my feet, where he belongs!"
Hagrid obeyed, though with a look of pure torture on his face, and he placed Harry gently on the grass, straight on his back.
"You see? Voldemort hissed victoriously, "Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones?"
(Surely Hermione was deluded, and her tired eyes were playing mean tricks, for she was ready to swear that Harry's left eye had just... twitched.)
"He was nothing, ever, but a boy..."
(Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry.)
"...who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!"
"He beat you!" Ron yelled, taking a bold step forward. The throng cheered raucously, till another thunderclap reinforced silence.
"He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds," Voldemort cried, "Killed while trying to save himself –"
That's when a hundred simultaneous motions and sounds erupted, getting streamlined into one blazing torrent of action –
A thick burst of arrows came flying out of the Forbidden Forest and rained down on the Death Eaters, and as they scattered, Grawp emerged from around the side of the castle, crying for Hagrid. In retaliation, Voldemort's army of giants roared... But then! A squawk from above! It was Dumbledore's phoenix, a burst of brilliant red against the dark sky, and he dropped a misshapen looking lump right into the middle of the crowd –
Hermione lost track of things when centaurs charged out of the forest, brandishing bows and swords. Death Eaters swarmed forward to meet them. Thestrals descended from high above, their hooves lashing out at the Giants who were trying to tear Grawp apart. They were all forced to skitter back as one of the largest giants keeled over when Buckbeak went for his face with his impressive talons. A mushroom cloud of dust erupted...
...There was sure to be a giant stampede imminently...
And in the midst of this mad chaos, when Death Eaters and Hogwart's defenders were all being forced to retreat back into the castle, Neville let out a fierce cry like an enraged Berserker. He had the sword of Gryffindor in his hand as he leapt forward and sliced Nagini's head right off.
It occurred to Hermione that she might die.
Of course, it had been a distinct possibility all year, but somehow, being locked in a duel with Bellatrix Lestrange, while using the deranged witch's own wand doubled the probability of that outcome.
Hermione was as scared as she'd ever been.
"Impudent little mudblood," Bellatrix growled, "I should have finished you off when I had a chance. Did you miss me? Crucio!"
Hermione dived to the side frantically, and just then, a tiny little House-Elf scuttled right over to Bellatrix and stabbed her leg with a fork. She howled in agony and aimed a kick at the House-Elf.
"HOW DARE YOU?" she bellowed.
Hermione couldn't revel in the wonder of Bellatrix being battered by a House-Elf for the second time for long.
"Avada Kedavra," and the poor, valiant Elf fell; its large globular eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling.
Hermione lost it.
"Diffendo, Eviscero, SECTUMSEMPRA!"
Bellatrix only cackled, delighted by her unhinged fury. "Oo-er! The mudblood's got a bit of fire! I'm almost impressed – Crucio!"
"I'll show you fire... INCENDIO!"
With a wave of her wand, Bellatrix's wiped out the giant ball of flames.
"Flagello!" Hermione roared.
Bellatrix spun out of the way, but the ends of her robes got shredded. She glared at Hermione with furious disbelief; "I am officially sick of you. Avada Ked –"
Bellatrix stumbled, and fell flat on her arse – a jelly-legs curse by the looks of it – revealing a panting and wild-eyed Theo standing behind her.
"Nott Jr.!?" she screeched, "Oh you – you – well your father will just have to deal with not being the one who kills you!"
She lifted her wand, primed and determined. Her eyes narrowed... her mouth opened... And Hermione acted.
Without a thought, without a single misgiving or doubt, she levitated an enormous chunk of fallen rock and mortar, (possibly the size of a jeep,) and dropped it on Bellatrix. Unceremoniously, undramatically; Bellatrix didn't even realise...
And now she never would.
What – what had she done?
Theo stepped around the boulder, gaping at her in awe. She swayed uncertainly towards him.
"NO!" A vehement roar of utmost ferocity had Hermione spinning around... What she saw left her both light headed and ossified: Lord Voldemort with his teeth bared, pointing his want directly at her. Well now... now she really was going to die.
"STOP!"
It was a powerful, commanding exclamation, in a voice she knew too well... but that simply was not possible! Everybody – Voldemort included – looked this way and that witlessly...
At first it was just a subtle warping of light.
Then an audible flourish.
Then, what was once empty air was suddenly occupied.
Looking very much alive, Harry Potter walked calmly up to Voldemort, unarmed, unruffled, and firmly announced to all the shocked bystanders: "I don't want anyone else to help. It's got to be like this. It's got to be me."
xxx
The sky had begun to faintly lighten, as though in sync with what seemed to be the last showdown of the battle. In the centre of the Great Hall, Harry and Voldemort stood facing each other. The distance between them – some ten metres or so – fizzled with tempered electricity... electricity that radiated outwards and ran into a giant ring of speechless spectators.
Hermione was sandwiched between Theo and Ron, and perhaps it was only their fortifying presence that was keeping her from suffering a spontaneous brain haemorrhage. Straight across the hall, beyond the fated rivals, she saw Ginny clinging desperately onto Charlie's arm, Neville, (who was still holding the sword,) and Malfoy.
Voldemort raised his wand, and with his awful red eyes fixed on Harry hissed, "Who are you going to use as a shield today, Potter?"
Harry met his stare unflinchingly. "Nobody. There are no more Horcruxes. It's just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good."
"One of us?" Voldemort taunted with a laugh, "You think it will be you, do you, the boy who has survived by accident, and because Dumbledore was pulling the strings? You don't even have a wand! I am going to kill you, Harry Potter, and then I will kill every last one of your friends."
"You won't be killing anyone else tonight," Harry countered boldly, "You won't be able to kill any of them ever again. Don't you get it? I was ready to die to stop you from hurting these people –"
"But you did not!"
"– I meant to, and that's what did it. I've done what my mother did. They're protected from you. You don't learn from your mistakes, Riddle, do you?"
"You dare –"
"Yes, I dare," said Harry, "I know things you don't know, Tom Riddle. I know lots of important things that you don't. Want to hear some, before you make another big mistake?"
There was hunger behind Voldemort's cold, waxy facade. He kept his wand raised, but it was clear he wouldn't strike till Harry had revealed his secrets.
"Is it love again?" he hissed, "Dumbledore's favourite solution. But nobody seems to love you enough to run forward this time and take my curse. So what will stop you dying now when I strike?"
"Just one thing."
Voldemort laughed a horrible, unhinged, metallic laugh. "Surely you don't believe that you have magic that I do not, or else a weapon more powerful than mine?"
"I believe both," said Harry, and quite suddenly, Voldemort's laughter died down.
"You think you know more magic than I do?" he spat, "Than I, than Lord Voldemort? I brought about the death of Albus Dumbledore!"
"You thought you did. But you were wrong."
Hermione gasped, and she wasn't the only one. Shocked murmurs spread around the room.
"Dumbledore is dead!" Voldemort bellowed.
Complete silence was reinstated.
"Yes," Harry agreed, "Dumbledore is dead. But you didn't have him killed. He chose his own manner of dying, chose it months before he died. Severus Snape wasn't yours. Snape was Dumbledore's. Dumbledore's from the moment you started hunting down my mother. And you never realized it, because of the thing you can't understand. You never saw Snape cast a Patronus, did you, Riddle? Snape's Patronus was a doe... the same as my mother's, because he loved her for nearly all of his life, from the time when they were children."
("Merlin," Ron breathed.)
"None of that matters!" thundered Voldemort, "Dumbledore is still dead, and I killed Severus Snape three hours ago. The Elder Wand – the Wand of Destiny – is truly mine! Dumbledore's last plan went wrong, Harry Potter! And now I will end you."
Harry nodded calmly, his empty hands resting easily at his sides. "Before you try to kill me, I'd advise you think what you've done ... Think, and try for some remorse, Riddle..."
"What is this?"
Really – what was that? Hermione had never heard Harry speak like that. He had a plan, didn't he? He had to have a plan. Had he a wand stashed under his jumper?
"It's your one last chance," Harry went on, "it's all you've got left... I've seen what you'll be otherwise... Be a man... try... Try for some remorse..."
"You DARE –?"
"Yes, I dare. Because Dumbledore's last plan hasn't backfired on me at all. It's backfired on you, Riddle..."
(The electric charge between them intensified. The tension grew more taught, more severe, more nerve-wrecking... water forming a dome above the brim of a goblet, just seconds away from spilling over...)
"...That wand still isn't working properly for you because you murdered the wrong person. Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. He never defeated Dumbledore."
"He killed –"
"Aren't you listening? Snape never beat Dumbledore! Dumbledore's death was planned between them! Dumbledore intended to die, undefeated, the wand's last true master! If all had gone as planned, the wand's power would have died with him, because it had never been won from him!"
"But then, Potter, Dumbledore as good as gave me the wand!" Voldemort said with explicit glee, "I stole the wand from its last master's tomb! Its power is mine!"
"You still don't get it, Riddle, do you? Possessing the wand isn't enough! The wand chooses the wizard... The Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he had done, or that the world's most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance. The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy."
Another series of gasps broke out around her. Theo jerked involuntarily. Hermione's eyes flickered past Harry and Voldemort to look at Malfoy – he was astonished. Eyes round, lips parted –
"But what does it matter? Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You don't even have a wand anymore – I saw to that in the forest. After I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy..."
(Theo twitched again. Across the room, Malfoy came back to himself; he glowered at Voldemort.)
"You're too late, you've missed your chance," said Harry, "I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took his wand from him. So it all comes down to this, doesn't it? Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does... I am the true master of the Elder Wand."
Voldemort hissed. His stance changed to a combative one. And Harry – like he had all those months ago in Perkin's tent – raised his empty hand and shouted, "Accio Elder Wand!"
It slipped right out of Voldemort's cadaverous fingers, spun across the space in between, and landed neatly in Harry's grasp.
Voldemort stumbled back in horror, in blind terror, "What – no – NO –"
Harry didn't waste any more time. He pointed the most powerful wand at the most evil wizard and crisply intoned, "Avada Kedavra!"
There was nothing graceful about the way Tom Riddle fell. One moment he was standing, petrified with fear, and the next he was an inglorious heap on the ground, his vacant, expressionless face drenched in the orange glow of dawn.
In the shocked silence that followed, the faint swish of air that sounded when Harry lowered his hand was clearly audible – as was the soft expulsion of air that escaped from his lungs.
Then the Great Hall exploded. Cheers rang all around and burst out into the illusory sky above.
"YES!" – "YEAH!" – "HARRY...!" – "HE DID IT!" –
Jubilant cries echoed endlessly; people abandoned the circle formation and dashed ahead to pounce on Harry.
Hermione found herself being lifted off the ground...
Ron spun her around in circles – "It's over! We did it!" – And then he was charging towards Harry, too...
Theo pressed her to his side... she felt him kiss the top of her head... but soon he was off too, dashing through the crowd in search of Luna.
Another set of arms hugged Hermione from behind. She only figured out who it was when he let go and ran ahead, whooping with delight: Seamus.
"Oh Merlin!" – "Yes!" – "YES!"
The unbridled frenzy of joy bordered on madness. She was being pushed around, knocked aside by bodies rushing ahead, and pulled into random embraces.
Grawp's celebratory roars were, of course, the loudest. House-Elves were banging their pots and pans with forks and ladles. Aurors were rushing to and fro, apprehending Death Eaters before they could escape...
It was all over. It really was over.
Hermione knew she ought to go to Harry. She thought that she might be one of the few people he'd actually want to be with at the moment... but she simply couldn't bring herself to fight through the mob.
Instead, she walked backwards; back, back, back, until she'd broken free of the mass entirely. Then she turned around and ran.
On the fifth floor there was an exquisite tapestry depicting a forest full of frolicking nymphs and unicorns, in a style strongly redolent of Botticelli. The battle had left it in tatters. The Nymphs were hiding behind trees, and the unicorns wandered about the blank landscape forlornly.
Right next to the tapestry there was a giant hole in the wall. Hermione walked towards it, stepping over piles of rubble and debris. She could see the new day breaking outside, all around the wrecked castle walls, over the placid lake...
It turned everything a brilliant, saturated orange; it was reprehensibly beautiful. Oh, the merciless cosmic consistency of the world at large... it could go bugger itself.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Where was her cheer, you ask? Where was her relief and optimism? – It had gone the way of Fred Weasley. Her mind, which always insisted on jumping ten steps ahead, thought about tiny Teddy Lupin, now an orphan.
It just wasn't fair. They had been fighting the good fight, doing the right thing... why did they have to pay the ultimate price? It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.
Voldemort was dead, and that wasn't enough. Bellatrix was dead – because of her – and even that wasn't enough. Nothing would ever be enough. "We won," they'd shouted downstairs... but had they really? Was this victory? Burying the cold, stiff corpses of good, brave, well-loved people... was that really a victory?
As she gazed at the blazing Noldean sky and the bloody perspective it was trying to shove down her throat, she felt an uncontainable rage. It speared through her like a shockwave, making her eyes tear up and her teeth gnash together.
Jesus Christ, she wanted to maul something. Her skin was prickling. Her nerves were sizzling. She wanted to – wanted to – wanted to –
There were footsteps from behind, and as much as she hungered to incinerate the intruders... she took a breath, clenched her fists, and peered over her shoulder.
It was Theo. And Luna. And Malfoy.
And right then, she found her outlet.
She turned her back to the shimmering red-yellow, spinning around to glare at Malfoy. He stopped dead in his tracks, looking back at her in a way that was almost... stunned.
"You," she fumed, "What are you doing here?"
The change in his face was instantaneous. "What?" he scowled.
"What. Are. You. Doing. Here." She took three furious steps ahead, "Why the hell are you here?"
"Have you lost your mind?" Malfoy growled.
"Hermione..." Theo murmured.
"Shouldn't you be down in the Great Hall, basking in the glory of your triumph? Shouldn't you be demanding that people thank you for all your contributions? Kiss your fucking boots? Or have you come to collect mine? It's what... thrice... you've saved my life now, right? Oh, THANK YOU, Malfoy," she kicked a stone by her feet, and it skittered across the floor and hit the top of Malfoy's shoe, "Thank you, and thank you."
Malfoy's hair and eyes had soaked up the orange light terrifically. He looked daggers at her, and began in a menacing snarl – "Listen, you fucking –"
"No, you listen," she bayed, "Who do you think you are? Asking people to thank you like you aren't a total piece of shit... Sitting by Tonks and Lupin like you fucking knew them. You didn't. You wouldn't even accept them as human, let alone a part of your family. You arsehole. You smug... you... you charlatan."
"Fucking BITCH," Malfoy roared, and made to charge towards her. Theo jumped in front of him just in time.
"Let's go, Draco. Please, leave it. Let's –"
"Who do you think YOU are?" Malfoy yelled, struggling against Theo, "Let me go, Theo... someone needs to shove that cunting shrew off her high horse –"
"Go to hell, Malfoy," Hermione spat, "You're the one on a high horse. Mighty proud of yourself, aren't you? Think you've made up for – for – everything. God, if you spend even the rest of your life apologising to the world, it wouldn't be enough."
Theo put all his strength into pushing Malfoy away, even as the latter fought to shake him off. Not for a second did his flashing eyes move away from Hermione.
"I have nothing to apologise for!"
Hermione laughed. It was bitter, incredulous, and ugly. "You tormented people. You made their lives hell. Harry, Ron... Neville –"
"Are you fucking ser– GROW UP –"
"– And you can't exactly ask for Dumbledore's forgiveness now, can –"
Theo had managed to drag Malfoy halfway down the corridor. "HE should be apologising to ME!"
Hermione laughed again – her harsh, ugly laugh – "Of course, he should. Nothing's ever on you, is it? Everybody owes you something. Such an entitled bloo–"
"Shut the fuck up!"
But that was the last thing that could be said. Theo and Malfoy disappeared around the corner at the end of the corridor.
"AARGH!" Hermione shrieked, and her cry echoed, drowning out the dwindling scuffling noise of Malfoy's forced retreat.
Then there was utter silence, except for the mellowed twittering of birds. Luna was watching her cautiously as though scared to come close.
"Oh god," Hermione gasped. Her arms wrapped around her waist as she tried to hold herself together. "Oh god," and she crumpled.
"Oh god, oh god, oh god."
.
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A/N:
First, I would like to tender an apology to ElleMartin for the fate of poor Lavender. I know how you feel about her. I am not quite as sorry for depriving Molly Weasley of her moment of glory, nor for not letting Harry's hands stay squeaky clean.
Well - This is it then. I have put away the Deathly Hallows, and we're well done with canon. (I'm sure we all feel the same way about the epilogue.)
There's just one thing I'd like to address, since there has been some talk about slow-burns of late: I really hadn't planned on it being THIS SLOW. The original story was going to be a post-war fic, where I'd have explained the minor deviations via flashbacks and introspective paragraphs.
But then... I didn't want to write about just one relationship. I wanted to write about struggle, and growth, and friendship... and then Theo popped up, and I couldn't not give him his time in the spotlight. I love you all for loving him.
And I love you all for staying with this story. What comes next is hurt and anguish... for a bit. Then rehabilitation and healing. More growth and friendship. And yes... love.
So, stick with me, kid. We'll go... somewhere or the other.
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