Thank you for all of the kind feedback! I hadn't thought to expand this beyond a one-shot, but your reactions to it really inspired me. I hope you enjoy it.

Note: Content is the same, just reposted to amend some spelling and grammar mistakes.

She had never put too much thought into where the belief came from. It just was, and for all her inquisitiveness in other areas of life, it never occurred to her to think more deeply about it. It was something as ingrained into her mind as the multiplication tables, or as second nature as brushing her teeth three times a day. It was how she was raised, and it was what she believed; there were no alternatives offered or weighed, because there were none. Simple.

Nothing is simple now, in this maze of debris and screams. Curses emit showers of light like the fireworks she remembers seeing from her father's shoulders in a place where there were spinning teacups and days of sun.

She started by incapacitating, jinxing and Stupefying; as the hours wore on and children fell in waves, she killed. Her first was cast as she knelt over Lupin, one hand fisted in his robes and the other guided by hate. His were the only eyes she had the time to close.

She hadn't wanted to separate from Harry or Ron, but when the stone beneath their feet erupted and Death Eaters flowed out like an angry tide, she was driven away and deeper into the dungeons. She grew colder with fear each moment, but her feet still lead her to where the trio had been heading.

Lying on her back, she can see the undersides of the desks, and the dull wink of the vials lining the shelves. He back is cold, but her chest is ablaze with agony; A slowly widening, deepening gash expands across her chest. The Death Eater's curse is meant to work slowly, to work painfully, and to work well. One river of blood flows smoothly across her ribcage, while the other gathers in the hollow of her throat and rolls down her neck. It will finish her.

This was not how it was supposed to be. There were certain things that were meant to happen. Good was supposed to win, because it was good. That was the way it was always told to her when she was small, and she has accepted it as true. Why wouldn't she? No stories were ever told where the prince and the princess didn't fall in love, where the witch gobbled the children or Jack's bones were ground to make bread. Hermione had always assumed that was because they had picked the right side, that their hearts were pure and their quests true. They were not good because they had won; they had won because they were good, because they were on the right side. She hadn't, in her heart of hearts, really ever believed that it would ever be any other way.

When the castle blazed with green light and Voldemort's screams rang in her ears, Hermione had not stopped. She hadn't truly believed then, in her soul, that Harry was dead. When the Death Eater threw a curse at her that caused her chest to erupt in a grid of pain as he dueled another student, Hermione had a flickering thought that she would die as she collapsed. When she realized she was still alive, she pulled herself to her feet and and killed the masked man as her shirt grew wet and sticky.

Gasping in pain, she clutched a handful of her robes to herself to staunch the blood flow. She didn't try to to heal herself-the way the wounds deepened themselves with every step told her the spells she knew wouldn't matter. Ahead of her, purple light spilled through the open doorway of a classroom. There.

The magic it took to close the wall was still tingling in her veins as she allowed herself to sink to the ground. There was no more light, no more screaming. The dungeon was as quiet and cool as it was during exams, she dimly thought as her head rolled, cushioned by her mass of hair. A pain sharper than the rest left her breathless, and her eyelids fluttered shut. Harry. Harry and Ron. Ginny and Luna. Neville. Fred and George, the Weasleys, her professors.

Harry and Ron, Harry and Ron and her parents-

Hermione moaned, feeling the pain that had been lessening intensify into agony. She could see a red light through her eyelids, and heard an explosion. She moaned again, and thought she heard something. If she could open her eyes...she struggled, her eyelids had become so heavy.

The first thing she saw was gold, light gold that became hair as her eyes slowly focused. It was only for a moment, for the next thing she knew the gold blurred again as the tears came. She knew who this was, she knew him-

"Draco."

His name came out slowly, so slowly.

"Yeah Hermione," how softly he was speaking, how far away he sounded. She felt his hands on her face and reached for one-when had her fingers become so sluggish? "I'm here. I'm going to try to help you, but I don't know what to-"

Her fingers touched his, and she saw grey. She had hated those eyes for so long, how proud and cold they had been, before she knew how human they could be. His palm slid into her own.

"Was this where they were getting in?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. She felt so tired.

He nodded and smiled at her, so sadly. "You closed it on one of them. That's powerful magic." She tightened her fingers around his. "And you managed to kill a few to top it off-always had to go above and beyond, Granger." His voice broke, but his eyes never left hers. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she watched Draco Malfoy cry for the first time. This boy, this beautiful boy whose face she hadn't been able to look away from even as venom poured from his lips, was crying for her. How determined she had been to beat him in every class, with every paper, to show him that her blood was just as good as his. How badly his words tore into her, how cruel his insults were. And how quickly that all seemed to fade when he was just a boy, afraid and alone, and how her determination became to show him just how good he could really be?

How long ago it seemed, as those grey eyes gazed into hers and told her everything. If she had been able to, if she had more time, she might have sobbed and screamed, had time to be afraid or angry. Now, she only felt tired, tired and infinitely sad. It was over, even though this wasn't how it was supposed to be.

"I'm sorry." She twitched her fingers. "I'm so sorry, Hermione." She grasped at his hand again, and tried to speak.

"I'm glad," how much effort it was to speak! "...you...found," she couldn't go on.

She stirred, and he understood. His arms wrapped around her, and her cold cheek rested against the warmth of his body.

Found me, she had wanted to say. That you found me, and that you are here. Because the world is getting darker, and because I didn't want to be afraid. And because now I'm not alone.

Hermione closed her eyes.