A/N For clarity large sections in italics are flashbacks.
Apparating, even solo, after such a long time, felt incredibly strange, and Hermione was momentarily overcome by nausea, the like of which she hadn't experienced since she had been a learner, years before. But none of that was as bizarre as landing in their destination; the last time Hermione had scampered around the chocolate box Wizarding village of Hogsmeade, the world had been a very different place.
The feel of Luna's delicate hand pressing against her arm grounded her, bringing her back to the present, and the soft pop in the air after she had finally straightened out, indicated Harry and Ron had arrived as planned. At least that had gone off without a hitch, Hermione couldn't help agreeing with the nagging voice in her head, sniping that it was likely to be the last thing that would go to plan that day.
The town was almost totally deserted, and yet the atmosphere felt charged. Hermione couldn't be sure if she imagined the simmering tension, lost to her trepidation, or whether it really was the case that the whole town was holding its breath. Taking a last look around, the foursome began to walk silently to their journey's end. Hermione was heavily put in mind of the western style movies her grandad had insisted on watching over the Christmas holidays, so much so she was almost expecting to see a tumbleweed whizzing by as they cut across the high-street.
Keeping half an eye on their surroundings, ever conscious of the possibility of a surprise attack, they moved to The Hogs Head, as Professor Snape had arranged. They didn't make any effort to be subtle, this was it now, and during the planning sessions, they had made the conscious decision to be seen. Hermione had questioned the move, commenting that whoever was watching would be able to ascertain their intentions. Her professor had looked derisively at her, and given a 'No' that was a little more emphatic than strictly necessary, in her opinion, before going on to explain that their 'foolish Gryffindor' nature, and 'empirical lack of subtlety' would lead anyone that may be watching to conclude they were just being arrogant, and typically foolhardy.
They moved into the grimy pub to find it empty, and while the place was never exactly heaving, the unexpected stillness added to the prickling sensation, working its way up the short hairs at the base of Hermione's neck.
They were gruffly met, not welcomed, by Aberforth Dumbledore. Hermione realised, somewhat belatedly, that she had never met the man before, not properly at least. She wasn't exactly up on Wizarding customs, but she was fairly certain purchasing a drink while subtly cleaning the receptacle, didn't count as a formal introduction. As the boorish wizard came out from behind the bar, she observed that up close she could make out the resemblance he carried to his brother. Both favoured excessive facial hair, which made picking out their true features difficult, but it was there. It would have made her uneasy, if it wasn't for the definite absence of twinkle in his eyes. Aberforth's eyes were cold and assessing, his attitude was certainly not accommodating, but there was also no prevailing instinct that what he was about to say was total bullshit, so swings and roundabouts, Hermione thought.
The wizard appeared to be massively put out by their arrival in his dusty main room. Grousing and grumbling, he clattered about the room, making a show of moving things from place to place. Harry took the lead, explaining that they had been told he could get them access to the castle, the pause was unnecessary in Hermione's opinion, not that she voiced it, as the wizard must have already had this information from Professor Snape. Harry eventually got to the end of the instructions, and Aberforth eyed them all in turn before retreating into the backroom.
In the sudden silence Hermione could sense her fear beginning to ratchet, she did not have happy memories of the last time she was in the castle, and from what they had been told, the Hogwarts of this year was much, much worse than the one they remembered.
"The Carrows are indiscriminate and macabrely inventive in their punishments. Their reign within the school has driven most of the Gryffindor students, of all years, to living out of The Room of Requirement, though Alecto and Amycus are still unaware of their location. Mr Longbottom has been running something of a resistance movement, aided by the enterprising Miss Weasley. It would appear that he has taken the brunt of some of the more… creative ways, that have been added to the curriculum to… encourage compliance."
Hermione watched her professor's eye twitch slightly, though he maintained all other outward signs of total composure. She was sure no one else had detected it, Harry and Ron thought he was totally incapable of compassion, maybe she was just beginning to learn his tells? Professor Snape was struggling with his year as headmaster, Hermione was sure of it, he looked thinner than ever, his hair was lank, the dark circles under his eyes were now so pronounced they looked like bruising. He wasn't looking after himself, though whether it was a conscious or unconscious decision Hermione couldn't be sure, not that she would have ever had the courage to ask. Hermione wondered what percentage of his dwindling self-respect he had lost this year. How would he survive psychologically, even if they won?
They had been sat cloistered in the sun room for hours, herself, Antonin, Professor Snape, Luna, Harry and Ron as had been typical over the last week. Yaxley came in and out, depending on what else he needed to be doing. He could hardly account for his time anymore, Voldemort's increasing paranoia had led to drastic changes at the Ministry. Where before the Dark Lord had been happy to leave the Ministry to be run by his 'trusted' Death Eaters, he was now becoming more and more irrational. He demanded an increasing number of detailed reports on snatchings, bills being passed, comings and goings of key staff, and anything else he seemed to be able to dream up. The Northern wizard bore it all without much chat. Though, much like the dour headmaster, he looked as if he could benefit from one night's uninterrupted sleep, the number of empty whisky bottles that Hermione found hidden away indicated that he wasn't unaffected as he would like everyone to believe.
After the first couple of disastrous meetings the thrown together alliance had formed a shaky truce. As long as the conversation was focussed purely on strategy, the strange group could just about get by, overlooking the odd pointed look or derisive scoff, or Yaxley and Professor Snape in general, neither had much time for tact or pretence.
They had spent the morning discussing The Hallows, and it appeared that for once age and experience did not count for much, the assembled Death Eaters could provide little more concrete information than the trio had uncovered themselves. At some point conversation turned towards Grindelwald, and Dumbledore's association with him, Hermione felt like they were going round in circles, but she pressed her mouth shut. It didn't seem to matter what people's concerns were; Harry was determined to understand his former mentor, Rita Skeeter's unsurprisingly salacious book had wounded her friend deeply. Sadly, Hermione believed that the slanderous accusations, though repackaged and sexed up, were probably only the tip of the iceberg.
Hermione busied her hands, arranging some tea but as she looked up to pass Harry his cup she caught him looking pensive, he was assessing something. Harry holding onto information never ended well for anyone, but she decided against calling him out in front of the crowd, it definitely wouldn't get her anywhere. Plus, she had to give him some credit. He wasn't the boy that had run heart first head later into the Department of Mysteries, not anymore. He wasn't matured as such, but no one could live through what he had seen without changing.
Hermione became aware of a familiar nagging sensation; she hadn't often thought back to her time in the tent since she had been brought to Yaxley's townhouse, the memories were not of the kind that you would choose to go back to regularly, or fondly. But now they were returning to planning it was coming back again. It was like there was something just out of the corner of her vision, like reading a book that was out of focus, she was missing something. Hermione looked over at a quiet Harry, he contributed little to the session, picking at food and looking around himself, maybe he already knew what it was?
Hermione and the others instinctively stepped forward as a form appeared, a girl with soft blonde, no, strawberry blonde hair, emerging from the distance of the large portrait in the pub's back room. It took several seconds before they could identify that she wasn't alone, and that the tall, war-torn figure next to her was Neville. The picture swung open as he reached the foreground, and he stepped into the room; his face was bruised, his skin mottled with contusions in all stages of healing, he had a cut lip, he was dirty all over, and his clothes were in a bad state of repair.
None of that matched the broad grin on his face. "Blimey," he said in a familiar timbre that made Hermione's heart clench as he regarded them wide-eyed. "Am I glad to see you lot."
When they emerged into the Room of Requirement it looked nothing like the trio remembered. The walls were lined with hammocks and food stores were almost everywhere, it looked shockingly like a refugee camp.
When the four new additions were announced the place erupted, they moved around to speak to as many students as possible, briefly reacquainting themselves with classmates and friends, but there was one person they were all seeking, and it didn't take long to find her. As soon as the crowds had shifted, a red tinged blur shot past, launching straight at Harry, with his reflexes he thankfully caught her, and as she squeezed around his neck tightly, Ron and Hermione joined the hug from either side, taking comfort for the moment, while they still could.
When they reluctantly broke apart, Hermione noticed a nasty looking gash across Ginny's right cheek, stretching from the corner of her eye, cutting across her pale, freckled flesh, to almost meet her top lip. Hermione remained silent as she waited for Harry to catch it, and she saw the moment he did, his eyes flashed momentarily. She kept her mouth shut as they began a whispered, urgent toned conversation, but she heard all she needed to, Alecto Carrow.
Hermione had never considered herself a vengeful person, though she could admit she had acted in such ways before, only if the situation presented itself. She wouldn't go looking for anyone in particular, she was aware there wasn't the time. But if a situation fell in her lap, she wouldn't hesitate.
The reality of what they were facing began to sink in when they made it into the Great Hall; it was bizarre how much more ominous a place could feel when the typical noise was replaced by silence. Every slight shuffle of feet, or murmured word echoed around the hall; the tables swept aside for the last stand.
Hermione clenched her fists impotently as Professor McGonagall challenged the headmaster, her loud, vicious accusations tearing through the silence before bouncing off the walls. Hermione had to bite her tongue to hold back her shouts of protest, her former professor had, more than once, expressly commanded her to keep her mouth shut.
Hermione was stood in the back of the vast hall, hidden amongst the rows of robe-clad students, her borrowed Gryffindor cloak pulled over her hair, that was tied back tightly. It felt so foreign to her now, school and her life at Hogwarts seemed like a lifetime ago. She moved subtly, shifting until she could see the headmaster clearly, while remaining obscured. Hermione faced him and spotted exactly when he saw her, their eyes locked, and she was not the one to break the gaze, it was the least she could do. She continued resolutely staring forward in an attempt to offer what pathetically limited comfort she could, also to avoid looking anywhere near the snarling faces of the Carrows. Her time at the townhouse had taught her many things about her worldview, exposing how childlike it had been in its idealism before. People were not good or bad, everyone existed within a spectrum, pure people completed dark deeds and vice versa, even those that were bad, sometimes, when given the right reason, were capable of redemption. That was a lovely theory she supposed, but it did not apply to the hard-faced twins in front of her, adults that had tormented children, for nothing more than their amusement.
As soon as the first Curse was thrown, chaos reigned. Hermione found herself in a corner with her back pressed against Luna's, both of them instinctively moving into the stance that Yaxley had taught them while Antonin yelled drills.
The small part of her brain that was unoccupied by defending herself wondered where they both were; they must have been on their way by now. The thought provided her with no comfort, there were so many possible outcomes for this day, and none of them were wholly good.
Following the first meeting with Harry and Ron, Hermione had left her self-styled sanctuary to seek Antonin out. They had been at odds over the past few days, and although he had reached out to her that morning, she needed to speak to him, to clear the air properly. It could cost them both their lives if they went into battle even slightly distracted. After idly walking around the large home for a time, she found him in the garden, his frame stretched out on a stone bench, absently watching the elves scurry about. Hermione approached the bench, cautiously taking a seat next to him hesitantly, unsure of her welcome.
They sat in companionable silence for a while, and Hermione almost sighed into the comfort that the lack of tension in the air between them afforded. She watched the sky as it began to fade into the sunset, waiting until she could put it off no longer. "I have to see this through," she stated delicately, looking straight ahead to where Antonin was watching one of the smallest elves furiously repotting crocuses.
"I know," he supplied eventually, in a muted voice, reaching out he pulled her hand into his. "I… I would have preferred that you stay somewhere safe," he admitted as his calloused fingers ran small circles over all of her much smaller digits, his moves unhurried, before he linked his hand with hers.
"Nowhere is safe Antonin, not anymore. If he wins, I'm dead anyway." He made to open his mouth, to interrupt her, and Hermione gently placed her free hand over his mouth, relishing in the sensation of his rough stubble against her palm. "Maybe not straight away, but eventually. I know you would do everything you could to protect me, but there would be limitations on that… there would be no more guarantees," she explained softly, willing him to understand.
Antonin exhaled roughly before tugging on their joined hands and hauling her into his side, unfastening their hands to wrap an arm around her shoulder, and pulling her against his chest. After an indeterminable amount of time, Hermione felt a subdued nod against the top of her head. Tears welled in her eyes and fell before she could stop them, she turned into his embrace, to wrap her arms around his middle.
"Thank you, for understanding," she whispered.
"I don't understand… not really, but I can't fight with you, not before… I can't fight with you," Antonin answered, defeated.
It was Hermione's turn to nod wordlessly, and she did so against the crinkled fabric of his shirt, praying this wouldn't be the last time they would sit in a garden, watching the sunset together.
After his reluctant accession to her desire to be at the battle Antonin had insisted on running through training with her and Luna. Though they would never move with the almost symbiotic anticipation that Yaxley and Antonin had, they had done enough to improve the limited abilities they had. Hermione had been blown away when the wizards demonstrated an exercise together, having never seen them operate as a unit before, it was almost like a ballet, they both exuded such raw power it was captivating and more than a little arousing. When they had gone to bed that night Antonin had been affectionate, holding her tighter than before, each caress a pledge that he cared for her, each lingering touch a beseeching her to stay safe
Before long the numbers in the room dramatically increased, as both the Order and a sea of masked figures began to move amongst the fighting. Some of the Order knew there was a faction of Death Eaters that had switched loyalties, Kingsley had been contacted, and had spread the word to several of other senior members. It had been suggested that they reveal their allegiances from the start, and lend firepower to the light, but Antonin had insisted they play along. He felt they would be more valuable staying amongst the Death Eater forces, operating as a sleeper cell, targeting their brothers without being detected. If the remaining inner circle knew there were traitors the entire place was likely to become a bloodbath. No matter the validity of the opposing arguments Antonin would not be swayed, this was not a game to him, lives were at stake, he had told Hermione repeatedly that the only thing he cared about was getting her and Yaxley out safely. She had questioned him about his staunch position, and after much prodding, he reluctantly conceded that while his plan would have been what he would have advocated, either way, he wanted to ensure they had an out with any eventuality. 'I refuse to have no way to protect you should the Dark Lord prevail,' he had stated firmly. Hermione had protested, but Antonin was done making allowances.
Caught up in the fighting, or more shielding in her case, Hermione almost missed the sight of a familiar dark figure moving in the distance. Her stomach tightened, and without further thought, she turned and whispered urgently at Luna. "He's going; I have to follow." Luna nodded gravely and gripped Hermione's arm tightly for just a moment before she sped across to Neville's side, leaving Hermione to exit the hall.
Hermione ran towards the largely disused boathouse, following in the direction Professor Snape had moved in. He had made her promise not to come to his defence when he would be labelled a traitor, and she had, in turn, made him swear that he would not attempt to make a martyr of himself. He hadn't appreciated the charcterisation, that much had been evident from his heated glower, but he had reluctantly agreed all the same. And now here he was, advancing to a secluded spot during open battle. Hermione had no doubt he had been summoned, and though her idea to hasten after him without a plan was completely reckless, and likely to get her into trouble with just about everyone, she didn't feel she had a choice. What was her alternative? She couldn't let him die, a tiny tug at her heart urged her feet forwards, she didn't know what state he was in mentally right now, he hadn't been coping for months, what if he didn't try to fight?
Hermione's much shorter stature worked against her, and her panicked sprint was no match for his determined strides. By the time she made it into the rickety structure, remaining within the shadows, she was just in time to see Voldemort raise his wand.
"Bombarda Maxima," she screamed immediately. A testament to not having thought her actions through Hermione lost her footing as the old boathouse caved in on itself from the strength of her spell, no doubt helped along by her panic, and Hermione was deposited into the lake. She couldn't see Voldemort, and as best as she could she remained shielded by the various bits of debris all around until she heard him hiss loudly, taking the opportunity to peak Hermione watched dumbfounded as he... Well, it looked like he floated away, he wasn't wet, so she assumed he had never been dropped in the lake in the first place.
Once Voldemort had mercifully disappeared from the skyline Hermione searched all around her, the wooden remains of the boathouse were beginning to spread into deeper waters, she couldn't stay there much longer. Who knew what side the creatures within the murky waters below were on, or whether they even cared about the events in the Wizarding world, they would probably kill her purely for being within easy reach. Suddenly there was the sound of water surging, and she was grabbed from behind, a rough grip banding around her shoulders and sending her legs into panicked kicking. Hermione's mind went to the fearsome merpeople, and she couldn't hold back a scream, she'd had enough experience of the Black Lake to assume she was in severe trouble.
"Hermione," a commanding voice barked.
She recognised the sound and her body immediately sagged against Professor Snape as he dragged her from the dense water to the bank. He had a strength that his thin form would have you believing wasn't possible as he swam on his back, pulling her limp body as if she weighed nothing. He had only just dropped her on the ground when he began shaking her roughly. "What were you thinking girl? Were you trying to kill one of the most powerful wizards of all time?" he growled at her, he was on his knees, his face inches from hers as he seemed to try to dislodge the truth from her.
Hermione fought to break free of his hold, and stumbled to get to her feet, still panting. "No," she snarled back at him, "I'm not quite as arrogant as you continue to think I am... I was just trying to stop you getting killed."
"Well I…" he snapped, but Hermione interrupted, pulling her wet hair off her face.
"No," she shouted, "You promised!"
Professor Snape regarded her, he looked… surprised, his dark, wet hair clung to his hollow face making him look paler than ever. "You stupid, dunderheaded child," he said almost affectionately, as he stepped up to his feet. His warm tone shocked her, but it was nothing to the feeling or being dragged towards him as he kissed the very top of her head. "Thank you, Hermione," he breathed against her hair.
Unable to formulate any other response she whispered, "You're welcome, Professor."
"Oh bloody hell girl, call me Severus, I haven't been your Professor in over a year, and I'm never likely to be again."
Feeling somewhat comforted by the return to his more characteristic tone of address Hermione stepped back from the bank, and the two parted ways, she was eager to get back to Luna, she had left her for too long already.
As soon as Hermione made her way back into the castle, her run came to an abrupt stop. She seriously questioned if she had somehow been outside for days, rather than the minutes it had felt like. The castle looked ruined in places, thick curses scared the walls, and there were signs of rubble everywhere. Pulling herself together she quickened her step, pausing to silence her shoes, doing everything she could to be inconspicuous. She wasn't quick enough. Hermione felt the firm hand around her throat before she had even heard the smallest indication that she wasn't alone in the corridor. The fingers at her pulse tightened their grip savagely, and she was pushed roughly against the corridor wall. She felt the back of her head collide with something sharp on the uneven brickwork, as she met the cold grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy.
"Miss Granger, delighted to see you again," he said, his voice a study in over flounced etiquette and thinly veiled contempt. She tried to offer some response, feeble as it may have been, but she could not force anything passed the grip on her throat. "You see, you left us last time under the impression that your time under our hospitality had been, well, the death of you."
He sneered at her, lifting her body, and shifting her higher against the wall till her feet involuntarily peddled in an attempt to retain purchase of the ground. "It took weeks to get the smell of you out of the carpets, we had to burn them in the end, precious as they were they were, not worth the taint," Lucius spat the last word so forcefully Hermione flinched, causing him to smile widely at her.
As he squeezed her neck again, Hermione became aware of a trickling sensation at the top of her head, a warm sticky feeling that was travelling through her scalp. Just as panic began to set in she suddenly crashed to the floor, the abrupt movement jolted her, and she blinked twice, attempting to make sense of how she was now on the ground, with a cloud of the palest blonde hair strewn out in front of her.
While staring blankly ahead a pair of firm arms secured around her. Hermione wondered why she didn't panic but somewhere, in some currently inaccessible part of her brain, she must have recognised the smell, his smell. Belatedly she realised he was talking into her hair, "...you're okay now, it's going to be okay…"
While Antonin was attempting to offer comfort there was clearly a note of question in his voice; Hermione raised her eyes to meet his stormy dark brown ones. "I'm okay Antonin, I just," she squinted as the pain in her head made itself known, and raising her hand to check for a lump she felt Antonin still as it came away bloody. Seeking to reassure him she grasped one of the arms that were holding her up. "It's just a flesh wound; I will be fine."
"You better be Granger," she looked up to find Yaxley staring at her from the other side of the corridor, he smiled when their eyes met.
Antonin tore his face away from the red liquid coating her fingers, not looking convinced by her words, Lucius made a sound beneath them, and Hermione started. Antonin looked down at the blonde dispassionately, "You should go Hermione."
She nodded against his chest but didn't move from his arms, he squeezed her tighter for a moment before dropping his arms completely, "Go now," he turned to face his friend, "You to Yax, we will accomplish more separately."
Reuben nodded and tore down the corridor in the same direction as Hermione, when they were out of Antonin's earshot she spoke, "Keep him safe?" she whispered urgently.
"Always," he smirked at her.
"And one more thing," she asked, suddenly, realising what fate had thrown in her path, he halted his progress. "Alecto Carrow," she said firmly.
Yaxley's face split into the broadest grin she had ever seen, if she didn't feel certain he wasn't a danger to her, she would have been terrified. "Oh little duck, you always offer the nicest gifts."
Antonin had made himself scarce one afternoon, letting her know that Yaxley needed to talk to her, that was how Hermione found herself ensconced in the man's study again, though this time she had forgone the offered drink. She was quiet as he told her about what happened to Umbridge, he gave ample detail, more than she would have ever needed and yet still somehow she felt like he was holding something back. She tilted her head regarding him and then it hit her.
"You enjoyed it," she said, interrupting his flow of words.
Yaxley's lips quirked a little, and he sat further back in his chair. "I am not sure 'enjoy' would be the word I would use," he said measuredly, too measuredly.
"Then what?" Hermione pressed.
He shrugged though she didn't believe his reticence, he always knew what he was doing. She couldn't believe that the very word he wanted wasn't resting on the tip of his tongue, he just didn't want to use it.
Hermione made her way around the castle slowly, trying to account for all of those she needed to. She had run into Harry and Ron, both of whom seemed exhilarated by the ensuing battle, though they had scratches and scrapes aplenty between them, neither had any serious injuries, and she parted with them quickly after ascertaining they had no news on Luna. She had found Neville not long after, and his story was the same, having not seen her for at least thirty minutes. A sickly feeling began in Hermione's stomach; she wondered if it was attributable to the time she spent with her little Ravenclaw friend, maybe she was becoming sensitive to premonitions, or more likely, it was simply gut instinct, either way, something was wrong. You shouldn't have left her, her mind screamed, but Hermione tuned out the noise, there would be plenty of time for guilt later. She increased her pace to search the eastern part of the castle, up towards the classrooms that once held her beloved Transfiguration lessons.
As Hermione was rushing down yet another corridor, a sudden high pitch scream ripped through the air and Hermione snapped her neck towards the sound. At the far end of the passage was the crouched form of Fenrir Greyback, his face split into a feral grin as he regarded the floor in front of himself. As he moved to straighten out, Hermione slipped noiselessly to the side, hoping not be caught in his line of sight, and praying he wouldn't detect her smell. Her mind moved passed the initial surge of fear, and that was when she noticed the slumped form of Lavender Brown at his feet. Hermione involuntarily gasped as she took in the mess he had made of her throat and face, the girl's wide eyes were held open but unseeing, an expression of terror still pinched into her face. Hermione felt bile rise in her throat.
She looked away, back into the monster's face. His mouth was covered in blood, Lavender's blood, it dripped from his unnaturally sharp teeth and was smeared all over his jaw. He turned his body to the side to look over his shoulder, and Hermione saw something that made her heart stop, he wasn't alone, tucked behind him, secured by savage looking binding was Luna. Neither saw her as he stepped forward to kick Lavender's motionless body, before he secured her friend over his shoulder and stepped into a classroom, just beyond the turmoil he had left.
As soon as the door closed Hermione forced her legs to cooperate with her brain, rushing forward she fell to her knees at Lavender's side, placing her fingers against the still girl's wrist to check for a pulse that she already knew wouldn't be there. When the limb remained static Hermione placed it back down carefully, ripping a piece of her tattered jumper and Transfiguring it into a larger piece of fabric. Before she covered her she paused to use the gentlest cleansing charms she could think of on Lavender's hair and face, no parent needed to see their child like that, and the exuberant girl would have hated the blood in her hair. Hermione reached forward to close Lavender's eyes and softly levitated her to next to the wall. "You deserved so much more than this," she breathed.
Hermione wanted to brace herself for the upcoming fight but there was no time, any entrance she made was unlikely to intimidate the wolf in any case, so without a second thought she crashed the classroom door open.
Greyback had Luna pinned against the wall, and he grinned at her as she entered. "I wondered when you would get here," he said with a feral growl. He acted as if she was no threat at all and continued wiping his bloody muzzle all over Luna's neck as he smelt her hair, he went to lift his wand in his dirty hand almost absently. Hermione made eye contact with her friend, her face looked serene but her eyes… Hermione knew she was terrified.
People associate anger with heat, Hermione thought absently, those that were overcome by rage were said to 'see red', but her vision was tinged white. She felt nothing of the hot fury she had experienced in the past, the rage that had compelled her to break Antonin's arm or lead Umbridge into the Forbidden Forest. She didn't feel hot at all, she felt cold, cold and calculating, and a dim nagging at the back of her mind seemed to be whispering that her limits were gone.
Hermione looked back at Luna's wide eyes and raised her wand. "Sectumsempra."
'You have to mean it,' echoed in her mind, and though this wasn't an Unforgivable, it should have been. The wolf immediately slumped to the floor, and Hermione observed him dispassionately as she began to make out the series of cuts that were littered all over his huge body, the blood pooling in a steady trickle into his clothes revealing a morbid pattern. She levitated him from where he was pinning Luna's feet and flicked her wand to ensure his body hit the opposite wall with bone-cracking force.
As soon as Greyback fell again, Luna slumped down the wall and was overcome by tears, her entire torso shaking with the force of them. Hermione knelt in front of her, pulling her into her chest. "It's okay, it's okay," she soothed, "I'm going to take care of it, just don't move ok?" Luna nodded weakly, and Hermione made her way to the other side of the room.
Everything was still tinged white; it felt good this not caring, was this how the Death Eaters felt? Hermione could almost understand it if this is what they got out of it. She didn't feel any more powerful just... Limitless.
She didn't want to kill Fenrir, though she didn't care if he died, she wanted him to be in pain, to realise what it felt like to be at the mercy of someone who viewed you as less than human. As she approached him, she discovered he was still lifeless, well that wouldn't do.
"Reneverate."
The werewolf rolled onto his back, sputtering and snarling as he looked up at her, his fierce eyes wide and tinged amber, the movement caused a fresh wave of blood to pool to the floor from his litany of cuts. As he went to speak Hermione kicked him, her small foot making contact with his exposed throat, she had never kicked anyone before, she was convinced it would have made little impact but it wasn't about that, he was already incapacitated by the myriad of cuts transforming his clothing into a Rorschach painting. No, this was for Lavender, who he had booted even after she was dead, he had given her no dignity, and she would spare none for him.
Hermione conjured binds, thick heavy ropes that snaked around Greyback's broad form and held him to the floor, and then she was lost. Totally lost. In the years that followed she would never be able to recount exactly what happened next, she was aware of her wand and even her limbs, moving and even distantly Luna screaming, but nothing else, nothing until a broad chest blocked her view.
Hermione was shifted backwards; bodily moved to the other side of the room until her eyes focused on Luna. Rabastan was crouched in front of her friend's slumped form, his eyes almost glowing, she could hear a soft muttering, "I'm fine, it's not my blood, it's not mine, I'm fine…" as Luna attempted to talk him down from the brink. He wiped tear tracks from the blonde's cheeks more delicately than she would have imagined him capable of.
Hermione made to speak but her vocal cords wouldn't cooperate, she looked up to find Rodolphus peering down at her, his eyes conveying concern. He must have been the one to move her away. A lump formed in her throat and Hermione moved to sheath her wand, becoming aware of the blisters that had formed on her hand from the death grip she had held it in. Her hands shook as she looked down, she was covered in blood.
It wasn't hers.
She made a choking noise, and Rodolphus mechanically raised his arms and placed them around her. Unable to overthink in her state Hermione leant forward against his solid chest soaking up the support that he was offering.
Rodolphus had insisted on being present at all of the planning meetings they had at the townhouse, and despite her initial hesitations, Hermione had agreed. Of the five Death Eaters she had contact with, he was at least temperate, most of the time, she hoped him being there would promote a more civil atmosphere, or at least not make it worse.
The Lestranges had arrived and handed over the cup that had been, as she had suspected, located in their family vault. Hermione wasted no time in handing the 'artefact' straight over to Professor Snape, who had taken the cup away into another room dispose of it with the basilisk venom he had procured; she didn't ask from where he got it from, it was mostly likely a connection with a person she would not like to know.
Rabastan had high-tailed it out of there to see Luna, and though Hermione didn't doubt he was desirous to see her friend, she was sensible enough to perceive that there might have been an element of pre-planning that left her in her present situation, alone in the room with Rodolphus. Resigned to this conversation having to happen at some point Hermione sat back in a comfortable chair and waited for him to begin. When she risked a quick glance from under her lashes at him, Rodolphus had settled into another chair, thought he sat on the edge of its cushioning. If she had to guess she would have said he looked nervous. Though his posture did seem a little more natural now he didn't have much of an audience when away from others he held himself a little less rigidly, he was far from slouching, but he didn't look uncomfortable.
"Hermione when you asked for the cup, I requested a condition to its procurement that I would apply later, do you remember?" he asked gently, he wasn't rubbing it in, in fact, she thought he was possibly trying to build to it, so as to avoid an argument.
"Yes," she was hesitant and slightly afraid of what this would be, but Hermione wouldn't lie, she had entered into the agreement with her eyes open.
Rodolphus cleared his throat, "You will spend time with me when this is all over, enough time to see if there is a possibility that we might be able to establish some form of relationship. Whatever guise that may take. I understand you may never see me as a parent, but if you can get past some of my… undesirable past, we might be able to be... friends, at least."
Hermione was silent as she tried to order her thoughts, he wanted time with her? One part of her mind was screaming about how untenable it was while the other was stuck in a loop of 'is that all?'
"If the light win, and I think they will, you'll be in Azkaban," she said at last, and Rodolphus nodded.
"Yes I am aware of that," he replied faintly.
"Then how do you imagine this will happen?" she asked bemusedly.
He sighed, "I can't see us being in prison forever, I know that sounds idealistic, but tougher minds were in charge of the Ministry when we were imprisoned before. Your Order can be ruthless when they want to be, but Kingsley Shacklebolt is no Bartemius Crouch Sr. I believe that there will be some parole scheme eventually."
Hermione refreshed the tea as she leant back to mull over his words, maybe that was true, she hadn't allowed herself to think of the after, it had been too bleak, too frightening, even in the abstract.
Rodolphus shifted and broke her train of thought. "Is it a bad thing to say I always wanted a daughter?" She looked up to find him regarding her carefully, his fingers clenched around his cup. "My whole life I was surrounded by boys, both women that I loved, loved someone else," his cheeks flushed, and he averted his eyes. "I never wanted Meda like that... but... you know what I mean."
"Daughters always idolise their fathers, don't they? And I think rather selfishly I wanted that too."
Hermione set her cup down as she arranged and rearranged her fingers in her lap, "I idolise mine," she said finally, and tried to ignore how Rodolphus winced at her choice of words.
"I know you are struggling to come to terms with all of this, it's not easy for me either, but I think it's important for you to know that if I had known you existed, I would have brokered no argument, baulked at no obstruction, I would have had you in my life some way."
His voice cracked as his eyes glazed and Hermione's throat dried out. "And now?"
"And now that I know who you are, well," he rubbed a hand over his beard, "you're already the purest thing in my life. I would welcome an opportunity, any opportunity, for you to find a place for me in yours."
Hermione felt tears pool in her eyes, and she looked at the floor, he didn't push, he had said what he wanted to say and seemed to respect that she would need time to assimilate. After a painful silence Hermione nodded, just one tilt of the head, she would think about it, she couldn't offer anymore.
With the tension lifted Rodolphus apparently wanted to try for some conversation and Hermione didn't have the heart to cut him off. "So, Antonin," he said with a slight cough and Hermione fought down the urge to roll her eyes, though she welcomed the change in subject, and the lighter tone he was using, though possibly not the choice of theme. She managed to give him something of a watery smile. "He is old enough to be your father," he continued.
Hermione faltered, it would always come back to that. "He's younger than my Dad... and… and I suppose you as well," she finished a little lamely.
Rodolphus leant forward, his elbows resting on the tops of his knees. "I'm not looking to replace him you know, your father." Hermione nodded but kept her eyes averted. "Is he, has he been a good father to you?"
Hermione felt the pain she had come to associate with any talk of David and Jean Granger, her father had been nothing more or less than the perfect father, for her. "Yes," she replied, her mind once again lingering on wiry curls and an easy going smile. "He's the best; I love him very much."
Rodolphus looked anguished, and she felt sorry for him, but it was in the abstract, she couldn't even express how much she missed her dad, to say anything else would be a bald face lie, and she was just about at her quota for those.
Rodolphus coughed to clear his throat and began in the same lighter tone, if it sounded a little false neither of them mentioned it." Anyway, Antonin maybe a few years younger than me but he's older than your uncle."
"Who is in love with a girl younger than me?" Hermione pressed back.
"About that," Rodolphus shifted in his seat, "she is your friend, yes?"
"Yes," Hermione tensed at the mention of Luna, Rodolphus might have some claim on her now, but Luna was her family by choice, and she was very protective of her.
"Do you think she seems a little," he began, and then seemed to spot her stiffened form, he raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture, "don't take offence, I only meant she is a little… different."
"Rabastan can be... Somewhat intense," Hermione countered, raising her own concern.
"I... I don't want to make this situation any harder than it is. You don't need another reason to hate us. I don't want him to hurt her," he explained.
"Luna will be fine," Hermione said, waving an arm dismissively.
"She seems a little delicate," Rodolphus responded incredulously.
"I honestly believe, if properly motivated, Luna could kill us all, with ease, and probably with a serene look on her face. I would be much more concerned about Rabastan if I were you."
Rodolphus raised her an eyebrow at her before barking out a laugh that sounded like it had been repressed for the longest time.
Hermione's breath was coming out in painful gasps, and her fists were clenching, Rodolphus petted her hair awkwardly, trying for soothing words but seeming to struggle. As uncomfortable as he was Hermione didn't care about his hesitations, she needed someone, and he was there, that was enough for now.
Hermione was covered in Greyback's blood and barely coherent when she dropped down next to Fred's body. She put a dirty hand on George's back and said nothing while it began to vibrate with his choked sobs. Fred's face was pulled into an almost smile; there was something poetic in that Hermione thought bitterly, he would have been amused by it, facing death with a grin, Hermione couldn't bring herself to feel anything other than numb. George leant into her neck, and she wrapped her arms around him, pouring everything she couldn't verbalise into the tight grip of her arms.
Hermione was with Ron and Luna when the snake-like, rasping hiss of Voldemort could be heard reverberating around the vaulted ceilings; their time was up. His taunting rhetoric ignited the ever-present panic inside her, and it was a rough abrasive to the pain and devastation inside the castle walls.
When the voice finally ended Hermione whipped her head around, realisation coming too late. "Where the fuck is Harry?" she screeched, and Ron's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "Yes, I fucking swore Ronald, where is he?"
A dark blur moved towards the front of the hall, and the three bedraggled students moved after their friend on instinct.
"Harry James Potter," she called, and he stopped dead, turning round to face them. She knew tears were falling again, just like she knew where he was going, they didn't have to ask, they all knew.
"Please Harry, let me come with you," she pleaded, stepping forward. He couldn't do this alone.
"We both will," Ron said, firmly stepping forward next to her, wrapping his arm around her waist securely. "We said we would stick together, till the end right?"
"Not this time," Harry said flatly, his eyes pleading for their understanding. Hermione moved to step forward, and Luna gripped her arm, preventing her from getting any further, Harry turned round once more. "I... I love you, both you."
Ron moved his arm to Hermione's shoulders, "We know mate, we know."
"Harry is a Horcrux."
The ornate plate Hermione was carrying dropped to the floor, she watched it as it fell, almost in slow motion, and didn't even flinch as the sound of the smash rang out in the largely empty space. "What?" she replied, her voice barely there.
The Potions Master wiped a hand over his face. "Miss Granger sit down," he commanded, and Hermione moved at a crawling pace to the nearest chair, more falling back than sitting down. "Dumbledore told me before he died," he continued and Hermione shot him a sharp look, which he returned. "Fine, before I killed him, satisfied? We don't have all bloody day Granger," he snapped.
"Fine, carry on."
"You're too kind," he sneered. "He believed there was a good chance that the night Voldemort went to Godric's Hollow, when he tried to kill Potter he inserted a piece of his soul into him, not intentionally of course. There is no way to be certain, but it makes a twisted sort of sense."
"You believe it's true?" Hermione asked tentatively, dreading his response.
"Yes."
She felt the last shred of hope leave her at his declaration, Severus Snape was many things but nearly at the top of that list was smart, if he believed it, there was no reason for her to doubt it. Then the nagging feeling that had been chewing away at her for months came to mind, and she knew, it was true, all of this, all of this hoop jumping for this.
"So this is what it has all been about, everything he has had to go through, everything we have all had to go through, all so he could die at the end?"
Professor Snape was silent for a long time. "Yes."
Hermione felt anger course through her blood, so many lies, so much betrayal, Harry might never even have known. "And I suppose you've tried to look for another solution have you? I expect you've been working day and night to find an alternative, we all know how much you love Harry I bet-"
"THAT IS ENOUGH," he bellowed at her so loudly the chandelier shook, it was enough to stop her vitriolic stream but not enough to ease her glower, Hermione was enraged, and Dumbledore wasn't here anymore only the man in front of her was, he was her only outlet.
The room grew silent; even the distant birdsong seemed to have paused in the face of the simmering tension. All that could be heard was the slowing of her panting breath, Hermione willed herself to calm down, she needed to think, she couldn't do that angry.
"When I was ten, I met a little girl of the same age called Lily Evans, and that day, that pure, innocent day, changed my whole life. There were many others that followed, decisions that were made that changed the course I was on, but that was the very beginning." Hermione felt her face slip from anger to bafflement, Professor Snape's demeanour had changed, he had forced himself back into the chair and was staring off into the middle distance like he could somehow see some ghost of his memories in the space beyond her chair.
"We went to Hogwarts together; she was the first magical child I met, the first... The first anything."
"What happened?" she asked hesitantly.
"A lot, and nothing much at all, depending on whose side you view the story from. Ultimately we began to drift apart, we… I said something stupid, we quarrelled, and our friendship never recovered from that argument," he said blankly.
"Surely you could have put it right if it was important to you Sir," she blurted and Hermione felt her hand reflective jump up to cover her mouth, she had spoken completely without thinking.
The headmaster glared daggers at her, but a moment later he dropped the expression with a sigh, "I tried, she wasn't… she didn't believe that it was a forgivable situation."
"I can't imagine Harry doing something that I wouldn't forgive him for," Hermione muttered, more to herself than to her audience, but he heard her.
Professor Snape fixed her with a steady gaze, "Miss Granger," he said, in the softest tone she had ever heard him use, "I am inclined to believe that is completely true."
Their eyes locked for a moment and she tried in vain to work out the emotion lingering at the corners of his expression though eventually, the purpose of their conversation came back to the front of her mind. "I'm sorry Sir, I don't understand what this has to do with Harry."
"Lily Evans fell in… she went on to marry James Potter," he raised his eyes to smirk at her, but there was no fire behind his eyes.
"You were… Harry's mum?"
He nodded, "I owe her something, so I will do my best for Potter, not that he deserves it. He needs to know about this before the battle, but he is very unlikely to listen to me, as much as everyone says he may have his mother's eyes he would have been better off inheriting her common sense."
Hermione agreed, too stunned to do anything else; she wondered whether she would always associate Yaxley's home with some of the most painful conversations of her life. She would have thought that the Death Eater would have grown annoyed with all of the shouting and dramatic revelations under his roof, though that did not seem to be the case. When she tried to subtly feel him out over dinner the week before, he said he was having the best time of his life and she believed him, the nutcase.
As they were wrapping up their conversation he seemed to get nervous, not in any way that would have indicated anxiety in a normal person. Severus Snape was the most emotionally repressed person Hermione had ever known, but he was gripping his knees and sucking in air through his crooked teeth, he seemed almost to radiate tension.
Steeling herself for his ire she attempted to put him out of his apparent misery, "professor, was there something else?"
"Yes," he replied looking at the floor. "Yaxley mentioned that you have a scar on your arm following... After Malfoy Manor. I wondered if I might take a look at it."
Hermione stiffened immediately, but managed to bite back the urge to ask him what he was about, he wasn't the type to want to gawk at her, and he was hardly in a position to comment on physical imperfections. Falteringly she rolled up her jumper and moved the bandage that Luna had helped her with.
He stepped forward and grasped her wrist with the lightest possible touch, she saw his eyes widen he took it all in, "It would have to be that word," he said as barely a whisper.
"Professor?" she asked bemused by his response.
"Nothing, Miss Granger, nothing at all."
Hermione stood on the front steps of Hogwarts, the vast doors wide open behind them as she stared into the mouth of hell. Her friends were beaten and bloodied; they were all too young for this fight. She watched the black procession of Death Eaters heading towards the school with Voldemort at its helm, a weeping Hagrid caught the attention of the broken child army, cradled within the gamekeeper's arms was a lifeless Harry.
By this point Hermione felt she had a little experience of the worst kind of pains; emotional pains, like when friends shunned you for not fitting in, physical pains like being attacked by all manner of creatures, fighting Death Eaters. Pains that were something of both Obliviating her parents, Ron leaving, finding out Luna was missing, Malfoy Manor… the list went on and on.
All of that was nothing, entirely nothing, to the great chasm that opened in her heart at the sight in front of her. She dropped to her knees, her legs no longer able to support her weight. Harry, like Luna, was family, her chosen family. He had been the sibling she had never had, a brother in all but name and now he was... Dead.
What did any of it matter now?
Voldemort began to taunt them, but she barely listened to one word in five, she had long lost the taste for his pontificating address, let him gloat, she wouldn't do him the courtesy of listening.
Staring across the great divide, she spotted the Death Eaters, her friends, the rest of her family. Antonin was staring at her so intently his gaze felt like it was brushing against her skin. Hermione watched struck still as he gritted his teeth before his eyes narrowed, they flashed, a movement she only just caught before he looked as if he would take a step, Yaxley gripped his arm, just as Luna had done to her earlier. She could see the Northern wizard talking frantically into his friend's ear, but Antonin never broke eye contact with her, by the set of his mouth she knew he had already made up his mind on whatever planned action he had come up with.
He began mouthing something, over and over, but Hermione could barely concentrate to work it out, she could see his mounting desperation, but the words wouldn't come. As she began to feel blood collect on her knees, she was suddenly dragged from the floor, pulled upright, and stood in front of Ron, who wrapped his arms around her middle to keep her up. He moved his mouth to her ear, "He is saying he will keep you safe, just stay strong," he whispered.
It took everything she had left to nod at him across the divide.
From the jaws of despair to the weight of disbelief, Hermione stood back, no longer trusting her sanity as Harry suddenly jumped from Hagrid's grasp.
He was alive?
Voldemort and Harry moved into the middle of the no man's land, circling each other like prowling cats.
Considering the length of the battle, the length of the war, the amount of lives lost, families destroyed, and people ruined, it all ended rather quickly, unbelievably quickly. Harry's curse prevailed, and Voldemort fell to the dirty stone floor, with a dull thud, like any other wizard, at any other time.
But the nightmare wasn't over.