And war it was.
Even after it was over, even as the quiet settled on her for the first time in days, she still flashed back to those defining moments when she knew. Hermione's lip quivered as she gripped the windowsill for support. Her eyes glazed over as they wandered out across the sight the glass allowed. It was so strange, this lack of finality. All her mind wanted to do was go back to the camp in the early evening, when the steps of the soldiers were so heavy through the ground that they shook her heart. Her thoughts wanted to take her back to the glow of the fire she sat next to with Ginny for that painful hour, before her decisiveness convinced her that staying behind was no longer an option. Hermione slid onto the pillowed shelf that accompanied the window and rested her bruised forehead against the pane. She was alive, though her mind would not let her fully realize it.
As her back relaxed against the wood paneling and her neck bent slightly so her chin brushed her chest, Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. Perhaps if she let the entire episode replay without interruption, she could come to some sort of conclusion that had previously been denied. Perhaps then she would be able to stop the aching of her chest and calm the weariness that resided in her limbs. The end was just as abstract as it had been when it had started as the beginning – something she knew would come and it did, but brought no real sense of resolution. Things were just as messy and there was no breaking point. She hadn't counted on the rest of her life catching up so quickly. Hermione let a harsh breath escape her mouth. She felt queasy as her head swam. She did not stop the whirlwind, but let it envelop her.
---
The wind whipped through the tops of the trees that provided what was left of the camp shelter from the frigid cold and brought nothing but the sound of breaking branches and scuttling foliage. She turned her face towards the direction the troop had set off in and grew uneasy when her ears no longer picked up the sound of them. Comforted earlier with the regular noises of rustling clothes and whispers, Hermione grimaced. She felt herself more on edge that ever before. Even with Ginny close by in the tent that Seamus lay in and her own not ten feet from her, Hermione could not grip the sense of group any longer. They had left without her. Viktor had taken her aside with a rough grip and hissed that fact in her face, warming her cheeks with his hot, insistent breath. Harry had been in the background wearing a somber visage and walked away without a word.
Ron, on the other hand, had drawn her quickly to his chest. Viktor's commands rang about the small camp and the imminence of it all echoed off their bodies and took seed in their minds. Yet, still, Ron wrapped his arms around her body and did not let go for a long time. He rested his nose on the top of her head and smelled her damp curls. Hermione clung to him, knowing all the while this would not be the very last time they would meet. Still, for his benefit, she pretended that it was. Tears filled her eyes as she played her part with more emotion than she expected.
Ron tipped her head back and held it in between his frozen hands firmly. His lips parted and remained silent, until another of Viktor's calls to action hit the couple like a tidal wave. Ron broke his gaze to look hurriedly over his shoulder and then returned to hers immediately. Now, his mouth was fully open and ready to speak.
"I love you," he gasped. "I always loved you, even when I didn't want to. I love you, Hermione. I love you. I love you." Ron's eyes searched her face for any sort of response, but knew he didn't need one. He was so bewildered with his admission that he could not stop repeating that one, simple fact. "I will always love you."
Hermione silenced him with a kiss. Her lips pressed hard against his and felt pain as they cracked in response to the pressure. She licked her lower lip and gasped softly when she met his tongue there. She was acutely aware of Ron in that moment – the way he stood hunched down to meet her, the insatiable movement of his fingers in her hair, the urgency of his mouth against hers – every inch of her skin knew him. She broke away only for a second to whisper, "I love you, too."
Ron pressed his forehead against hers and his eyes shut tight at her words. He cracked a nonplus smile with his teeth gnashed together. Hermione kissed his cheeks one after the other. He swallowed audibly. And then, when he found that no thought or word in his reach could ever define what he felt, Ron kissed Hermione again instead. His heart heaved and he thought that he might cease to exist. Everything about this spot in time was perfect, if not terribly so. It would come to an end soon enough and that was something Ron couldn't stand. His mouth burned across the skin of her throat. His hands were so tight against her body they might never have moved again. His knees buckled as she sighed.
Viktor's shouts barged in on their moment and eventually, Ron broke their embrace. His face conveyed the pain he felt at leaving, so they did not discuss their departure. Hermione instead kissed his palm and pressed it to her flushed cheek. She knew what Ron was going to do – fight, kill – and found that her ability to smile had vanished. He thought this may be the last time he would see her. It was tearing him apart. Hermione's tongue desperately wanted to tell him that she would be with him soon enough, but her mind knew enough to override the want. Instead, she let her tears of faith fall unabashedly.
Deftly, Ron smeared them away as best he could with the side of his thumb. He left streaks of dirt in their wake. Again, he broke a crooked smile and held his hands steady around her face.
"You have to go now," Hermione told him.
"I know," Ron spoke in a gravelly voice.
Hermione gently tugged on his arms. She sighed a great breath and smiled up to him. "Ron ," she whispered, "go."
"When I come back," he tried to say without his voice breaking, "we're going to go away together. For real this time." He pressed his forehead against hers again and struggled to say aloud the rest of his sentence. "A place nobody knows," he insisted. "A place you don't have to worry about a single, goddamned thing. A place where I can love you all the time, without any interruptions. This is our second chance. I promise I'm going to sweep you off your feet this time. When I come back, things are going to be different."
Her eyes fell for a moment and her head shook softly, uncontrollably.
"What is it?" Ron was at arm's length now, still grasping her hands tightly. He was quickly being drawn away with the tide of people scrambling to get into rank. He was needed, now, but could not go just yet. He paid no attention to the grandeur of the proposal that had just slipped from his mouth – that didn't matter. He had said it truthfully and would not dwell on it any further. Now, in the precious seconds left, Ron would worry only about the way Hermione's mouth twisted downwards.
"Nothing," Hermione replied quickly, the words wrenched from her lips too fast to be fully amplified by her voice. Instead, it was a harsh gasp of noise that sounded rushed and worried. Tears began to fall in a steady stream now as her eyes gazed upwards. "Nothing at all."
"Ron!" Harry's voice was so loud that the couple jumped in unison. The tall, black-haired man appeared at Ron's side in an instant with a frown on his face and a wand clutched in his hand. "It's time to go." Harry turned to Hermione and nodded. "See you later."
Ron's fingers slipped none too gently from her grasp as he was led away by Harry, who paused for only a moment. He turned back and said, "Look after Ginny." He turned his face and that was it. Hermione stayed stone still as she watched them hurry along the path that was forming in the mud. The dark of the night swallowed their bodies, but did not muffle the sound of their footsteps or Viktor's pressing shouts.
"I love you."
---
Hermione knew the promises Ron made in the camp were to keep hope alive. Not just for her, but something that would reside in his mind as a reminder that he could not lose his life tonight or any other night forever. She twisted her burned hands together and pressed the lump of flesh and bones against the cooling sensation of the window. It stung her fists, but she only pressed harder.
---
"Where are you going?" Ginny frowned.
Hermione's entire body stiffened. Her ears perked at the sound of human voice. She was unsure at the moment if the question was meant for her or for someone else who had been left behind around the dying glow of the campfire. Quickly, though, when no one else responded, Hermione pocketed her wand and turned to face her accuser.
Ginny drew back the tent flap fully and ducked out into the chilly, night air. She shivered involuntarily and that helped to shake out the ache in her knees and shoulders. She had spent over an hour in the same, cramped position by Seamus' cot inside. Of course, he was not awake – no one predicted he would be for quite a while – but Ginny insisted on bathing his face with warm cloths and tucking in his blankets. Horrendous guilt hounded her and this was her self-defined penance.
"Well?" she demanded, not all too keen on being nice.
"Out there," Hermione replied coolly.
Ginny brushed her hands against her hips and straightened her hair as she approached the circle around the fire. "Out where?"
Hermione cleared her throat. "You know where. Out there. To them."
"What are you talking about?" Ginny took a seat on the bench closest to the embers and held out her hands. The cold was increasing as the hours took them into the early morning. She felt incredibly tired as her eyebrows furrowed. "Who is them?"
"Ginny-"
"Oh," Ginny's head jerked up, "oh, you mean them as in Harry, Ron, and Viktor. You mean the Aurors that are going into the dead of night to slaughter the group that almost put you in the ground. No wait, they did that already. You're going to help them fight – is that it? By stealing away by yourself in hopes you can pick up their tracks and maybe, just maybe, if you run fast enough you can catch the end of the fight and feel some sort of accomplishment as you step over dead bodies and cast a few hexes? Is that what you mean, Hermione? What else could you possibly be doing? Isn't that right?"
Ginny was making the escape easier than expected. She had not yet gotten to the scolding – the part where she threatened to tell someone, like most of their fights ended up – and Hermione was glad to cut her off. "Yes, Gin, I am going out there. I want to go. It's final. Go back to bed." Her words were clipped and taught, enough to keep Ginny at a distance.
"Go ahead." Ginny's eyes glinted viciously through the darkness. "Go get yourself killed. Go ruin everything my brother tried to keep you from. Disregard what Harry told you. Go ahead. I don't care anymore."
---
The stillness of the room provided her mind to drift every way imaginable. Instead of skipping ahead a few hours to the part where, in fact, Hermione did catch their trail; Hermione's thoughts played on all the different things she could have told Ginny in that moment. Instead of leaving, Hermione could have said, "I love you, Ginny," or, "This is for the best," or even better, "Nothing you say could stop me."
But… Hermione had left Ginny all alone with no words to mull over, hate, or cherish. Hermione had nodded – much like Harry had done – and crept back into the secret world of night with her lips drawn tight.
---
It took two hours to find the valley again. Hermione's ankles felt the burn of the snow and wind, her knees the ache of overuse and old injury, and her face the sting of morning dew. Her fingers became so numb she had to tuck away her wand, so that she would not accidentally drop it. She played a game as she walked – pretending that Ron's hair shone so bright under the stars it became a beacon for her to follow. In actuality, the footprints were a dead giveaway, but the loneliness could only be cured with thoughts of Ron.
Then, in the last half hour of walking, Hermione heard noises. She heard far-off shrieks and screams. She paused for a second, shocked by the new appearance of sound. It was haunting. However, it was also progress. The shouting only made Hermione recite in her head I will be strong. I will overcome. I will be strong. I will overcome. I must. I must. As she drew nearer, the voices became more distinct, harsh.
---
Hermione cringed. She could have drawn back at that point. She could have realized how much danger she was about to incur. She could have done so many things differently. Hermione rocked herself slowly, trying to stop the next images from washing over her. It was no use – the most important part of the process had begun.
There was a knock on the door. It was so soft it barely stirred Hermione from her daydream. "Are you in there, love?" A matronly voice carried from the hallway as a weary eye peaked in through the slot between door and frame. "Do you need anything?"
Hermione shook her head dazedly. Her stomach squirmed beneath her rigid arms as she was jerked from the war. She could feel a stare of pity on her back, but did nothing to acknowledge it. Instead, she waited for the other to leave. It took a few moments. Then, there were heavy footsteps that faded into nothing. She was left to history again.
---
"Accio vase!" Harry shouted fiercely, keeping the middle-aged man who was trying to attack at bay with nothing more than a few slugs to the gut.
The man rose as the group of people teemed throughout the room and deluded Harry's perception of space. Again, this man lunged with teeth bared and snapped wand still clutched in his hand. Luckily, the vase was securely in Harry's hand by the time he reached his feet. Harry watched the man's mouth open and vaguely heard him shout something, but the roar of the crowd enveloped the crucial consonants and vowels contained in the threat. Instead of caring, Harry grabbed the robes of the man and gave them a jerk. The man tripped and fell towards Harry's chest. At the last second, Harry brought the vase down as hard as he could on the skull of his attacker.
Without bothering to watch him fall, Harry shrugged off the sickening sound of breaking bone and turned his back to find another opponent. His body was on the fritz – resorting to physical combat in the place of carefully placed spells – and the only thing that could cure him was to rid his body of the adrenaline that coursed like electricity through his veins. Harry quite enjoyed letting himself go to the moment, making himself part of something bigger and better, dangerous and enticing. He relished the demise of the monsters.
Harry caught sight of a flash of red hair as he grabbed the collar of a woman's work shirt. Her hair twisted around his fingers and he pulled it as tight as he could, drawing a gnarled scream. The woman struggled to turn around. Harry kicked out the back of her knees. She fell easily, surprised the attack had not been magical. She had only been trained in combat that used hexes and curses, not fists and feet. Again, Harry took hold of the crown of her head and tilted her head back so far that her pale neck stood out against the bleak surroundings.
"Tell me where he is," Harry hissed, his wand dug deep into the skin behind her ear. "Tell me, or I swear to God I'll kill you."
The woman's chest moved up and down violently as her teeth gnashed together from the pain. "Never," she spat. It was fear that inspired loyalty around the Shop – something Harry was beginning to understand now that he had murdered four people already with the same question. There was no jest involved, no game about who he could be. These people would simply not give up anything.
"Fine." Harry released her hair and pushed her so she landed face-down on the ground. She only had a second to wriggle onto her back before Harry snapped, "Avada Kedavra."
Again, he turned away as not to see the end result. He no longer cared, though his eyes stung with the sharpness of green light. Harry's new mission was to find that red hair again, to join forces, and find Hidalgo Skillen. He would not go alone – Ron would not allow it. Harry fought his way through the milling of people, clawing his way to fresh air. It was an evenly-matched fight. The element of surprise had worked well. He was still alive and so was Ron. That's all he needed for now.
Then, Harry collided with another body entirely. The impact knocked the air from his lungs and the shock made his reflexes faster. He snatched up an arm and pulled it close. He raised his fist with every intention of smashing it into whichever face accompanied the body, but stopped when this person said his name in a startlingly familiar voice.
"Harry!" Hermione screamed at the top of her lungs. "Harry!" Her eyes were wide with fear as she stared into blank, empty ones that reflected only her face. "It's me!" her shrieks were hoarse and scared. She had never seen Harry act like this. "Harry!"
"Hermione?" his voice was distant.
"Yes!"
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Harry's grip did not slip away, but remained steel-like. "You're supposed to be with Ginny! What the fuck are you doing? What happened? Fuck, Hermione, we don't have time for this!" Harry pushed her away roughly.
Hermione stumbled and reached for her wand with her good arm. She tried not to appear shaken, but it took too much self-control. "Everything is fine – I'm here to help."
Harry stared at her incredulously for a moment. His hair was sticking out in fantastic directions and there were smears of blood across his neck and robes. He looked like a madman. "Fuck!" he declared. "Let's just shoot this whole thing to hell, why don't we!" He bent down in Hermione's face, knowing he was wasting precious time, and hissed, "Get the fuck out of the way and stay quiet. Follow me."
Hermione bobbed her head and ducked to avoid a chair being tossed across the lawn. She had only just arrived, wading through the throng, and Harry had fallen upon her like a gift. She had expected a better introduction, but she would take what she could get. She watched Harry run a hand through his hair and across his face. She heard him mutter, "Ron is going to fucking slaughter me. Shit. Shit, shit, shit."
The pair found their way in what was left of the front door – it had been an obvious blasting point – and wormed their way past friend and foe for several feet. Hermione recognized the dining room and the kitchen, but said nothing. It wouldn't be of use anyway. She nearly tripped over a pile of corpses in her attempt to follow Harry's quick gait. Bile rose in her belly, but she said nothing still. Hermione realized she had not fully thought through her introduction to Ron. If meeting Harry had been bad, she shuddered to think what Ron might to do her – or Harry.
Shit is right she thought sickeningly. Still, it was too late to leave.
Harry paused only to aid Viktor in smashing a body into the nearest wall. Panting, Viktor threw Hermione a deadly look, but said nothing. Blinking back the hatred, Hermione found that he had vanished. Harry was already many steps ahead and she knew she was over her head. A man fell on her with wide, unseeing eyes. She shrieked, "Confringo!" at the body and immediately, the skin began to boil and peel.
---
Merlin cried. Hermione shut her eyes and winced at the memory. That man was already dead. That man was innocent – he was not part of the Shop. It took several hours before the horror of that second-long incident hit her. She would never forgive herself for disgracing a body like that. Just another mistake in a long line of errors made that night, by all estimations, but never to be forgotten.
---
"What the fuck is she doing here?" Ron screamed, dropping the man who was already unconscious in favor of Harry's collar. His eyes were blazing. His lips were cracked. Half of his face was badly burned. "Who the fuck are you to bring her here?" His fists shook with rage as his eyes darted from Harry's stern face to Hermione's.
"Put him down!" Hermione shouted, appearing at his arm. "It was my decision. I'm sorry!"
Ron gave Harry and extra throttle and then threw him to the ground. He rounded on Hermione with a terrible expression. "What are you doing here?" Ron stepped aside to throw a punch.
"Help," Hermione gasped. "I'm here to help you!"
"A shitload of help you're doing now!" Ron shouted in reply. "Avada Kedavra," he hissed, pointing his wand over her shoulder. Hermione turned just in time to watch a woman fall to the ground, just in time to feel the aftershock of the curse.
"You killed her," the words were shaky and foreign as they passed over her lips. Hermione whipped back around to stare at Ron.
"That's what we do, or have you forgotten?" Ron shot back. The room was relatively clear of Shop by now. Harry had gone without comment. Viktor was in the front room. He took up Hermione's arm in his hand and dragged her into a darkened corner. She would be safest in the shadows. The commotion all around was so confusing and fast that no one would take the time to peek about until much later. He could not bothered to be hurt by the look on her face as she allowed herself to be dragged about. "Now," he growled, "you stay in here. I don't care if you're trained and willing. I won't let you go out there and kill yourself. You let me deal with this."
"No!" Hermione insisted. "I want the Shop dead just as much as any one of you." Courage was racing with the new burst of adrenaline that shot through her body. Her stubbornness was good for something.
"Fuck, Hermione," Ron gasped, pressing his hand to his temple. "I just killed a woman and you looked like you might throw up. You can't handle this right now. It's understandable. So stay here."
Ron turned without hesitation. Of course she wasn't going to listen to him. Fuck. Fuck! He kicked an outstretched arm as he ran into the squabble. He had to find Skillen immediately. This had been his plan all along, but now it was the sole factor of the whole mission. Find Skillen, kill him, and leave. Let the rest of the Aurors – the trained soldiers brought here to specifically fight the Shop – deal with the lot of sons of bitches. He just wanted to get the hell out of Russia.
---
The sunset was nothing special. Clouds drifted heavily across the sky and cast large, lazy shadows throughout the empty room. Hermione curled further into herself as she was blanketed in darkness. There was a red haze that seemed to glow from the ground up. She stared at the unfinished scene until her eyes dried and hurt.
That moment spent in the corner was the last she saw of Ron for a long while. Hermione wished she had followed him, instead of avoiding him.
---
Hermione only waited until Ron was out of sight to dip away from her appointed hideout. The sound of his voice was still fresh in her ears, but the message had been lost. This was no time to wait – she had heard enough of that. She was going to prove the boys wrong again. It happened so often that it was almost commonplace. Her stubbornness overrode most of her fear, enabling her to search out a first target. She slipped from the kitchen, careful of her feet, and immersed into the fight.
The kitchen became the living room, but there was a door by the stove that led into a study. Hermione's bearings came back quickly – she had, after all, lived in the house for a while. The study was under the stairs, so it was shaky ground for a battle. She doubted anyone would be in the small room, but checked anyway. Bursting through the doors without much attention to the racket she made, Hermione drew her wand and widened her eyes.
The study was darkened and empty. No one had bothered with it. There were groaning noises that came from the ceiling as the staircase was being eradicated and dust flying through the air, but nothing moved. Relief flushed embarrassingly through her. Hermione slumped against the closed door and took a shaky breath. Her hardheadedness had only lasted for so long.
"Sectumsempra," a whisper hissed through the dark.
There was a bright flash of red light and Hermione felt her body go rigid against the doorframe. Shock took the place of pain, but only for an instant. As warm blood covered her hands, Hermione clutched at her leg as she crumpled to the floor. She shrieked loudly.
"Shut up," the same voice hissed. A woman scrambled out from underneath the desk across the room. "Or I'll kill you right now."
"How do you know that spell?" Hermione snapped as soon as she saw the familiar face. "How could you possibly-?"
"I read your notes," the woman replied, hurriedly brushing dirt from her pants. There was no time for real talk. Her sanctuary was underneath that table. She didn't care if Skillen or any other agents found her underneath there after the whole ordeal had passed – survival was top priority. However, survival within the Shop meant leverage. Hermione Granger would save her life. "For enemies, am I correct?"
Hermione growled as her teeth ground hard against each other. Why her leg? God, the pain was making her dizzy. The scent of salt was so heavy in the air it made her nauseous. Heather – or whatever her name was now, it didn't matter – was coming in and out of focus. She had grown pale and withered in the months she had been at the Shop, very different from the affable social worker sent from the Ministry. Her eyes raked across the room nervously as the wand in her hand shook. Heather did her best to tuck away her hair, but the erratic way she snapped her neck prevented any real change.
"Yes," Hermione hissed through the spots in her vision, trying to buy herself time. Talking took up the time, precious time. "That's right. Ron had notebooks lying all across his room. I didn't know he let you snoop through them."
Felicity didn't notice the remark. Instead, she spent her precious time pacing. What was she going to do with the body? She had to hide it somewhere for safe keeping, just until Skillen called on her for abandoning the fight. Her excuse would be simple – that the death of Granger would have been an all-consuming task. But even the small frame wouldn't fit underneath the desk. Could she afford to abandon her place? "Shut up."
Hermione gingerly felt her leg. As her fingers pressed lightly against the flesh, she felt the curt surface of her wand. It hadn't broken in the fall. Her eyes flashed upwards in thanks, but quickly returned to watch her opponent. This was a fight now – possible endings rushed through her mind at an astonishing pace. The only way to return to the others would be through killing Heather. She cringed as the curse's words shone brightly behind her lids, but tried to shake them off professionally. She needed Ron's mindset. How fast could she draw her wand? How long would it take for Heather to notice? To fall? Sweat ran down her face as the air in the study warmed.
The next moment flashed by, blurring so fast that Hermione reacted purely on instinct.
"Levicorpus," Felicity hissed, flicking her wrist without warning.
Hermione felt a jerk at her navel suddenly, and watched as her feet swung up over her head. She was drifting towards the ceiling as she reached out with the hand not occupied with her wand to grab Heather's arm. She bit it as hard as she could, almost vomiting at the taste of warm blood. The dizziness threatened to take her away from consciousness. Faintly, she heard Heather scream in paranoia. Hermione was jerked to the side as Heather snatched her wounded arm away, her mouth open in shock.
"Avada Kedavra!" Hermione spat, blood flaking across Heather's cheeks. The flash was blinding, but the pain that accompanied it was excruciating. The women fell at the same time, crumpling into a heap. Hermione landed hard on her shoulder and yelped. Heather said nothing at all.
Hermione let her head settle against the carpet for a moment. She let her body collect itself – take a mental inventory – before attempting to move again. She heard her breath come in a constant pattern through her teeth. She could feel the blood pumping through her neck. Her face was hot in result of the smoky air that swarmed around the ceiling. Her arms were taught, trying to hold her off of the body below while trying to protect her tender shoulder. Her leg wound was still fresh and stinging. In a fluid motion, she rolled herself off of Heather and onto her back. Hermione found her wand and sat up, hands wrapped around her bloodied pant leg.
"SPELL HERE," she said aloud, startled by the sound of her own voice. With all the din going on in the other rooms, being alone was strange enough. To hear an echo off polished wood and silver was simply unimaginable.
Hermione rolled her shoulders and began to figure out her next step. She picked herself up off the floor with a small amount of difficulty. She could find a place to hide – just as Ron had asked – if there were any available. However, the smoke (now very visibly) billowing in through the windows was an indication that the space left for hiding would be gone soon, along with the rest of the structure. The stench of burning was heavy in the air. Perhaps the field outside would have plenty of spaces to conceal her for the rest of the ordeal. Ginny's words rang clear through her mind and she felt ashamed. She shouldn't have come to this place.
But there was little time to mull it over – plenty of time for regrets afterward. The door was opening as the windows spider webbed in their frames. The heat was too much for them to withstand. Hermione stood completely still, eyes darting from the body to the door with too many thoughts to act on any one in particular.
"What the fuck are you doing in here?" Harry's voice was sharp through the haze. He squinted his eyes through the smog, eyebrows creasing at the sight of Hermione. His cheeks burned as he quickly made his way across the room. He nudged Heather's side with the tip of his foot. "And who the fuck is this?"
"Doesn't matter," Hermione gasped. Her breath blistered all the way down. "Let's get out of here."
Harry didn't reply. Instead, he turned quickly, taking up her arm with a tight fist, and led them both out the doorframe. "Good God," he muttered to himself, practically throwing himself and Hermione down the hallway. They picked their way carefully over potholes and piles of bodies, leaving behind bloodied footprints to mark their path. Rot reeked in the air. Everyone else had the common sense to evacuate a good few minutes before – but there had been the shadow of a body in the window. Damn his hero complex, Harry thought sarcastically.
Outside, Hermione fell to her knees as soon as Harry let go of her arm. The air was sweet and cool as it filled her mouth. The confusion seemed manageable in a larger space. She was glad to be rid of the cramped, smoky study. People milled about still – but their calls were more for aid and assistance, instead of spells and hexes. There were bright flashes of purple and green appearing through the darkness on the other side of the house – the central location for fighting. The Order and the Shop had informally declared their bases behind various bits of debris that rained from the flaming house. Though the snow chilled her, Hermione pressed her leg further into a drift. The marks were no longer visible, but the pain was a dull thud. She watched the house burn red and black.
Harry stood next to her, agitated. He felt like he was babysitting, but couldn't leave to calm his anxiousness. Those feelings were quelled as there was a great crashing noise. It sounded like trees being thrashed, their trunks cracking as they fell. The vibration blanketed the valley. It reverberated against the snow and shook the bodies that lay on top of the banks. Before Harry and Hermione's eyes, the house began to crumble. Well, at least the portion facing them. The stairs had caved in as the fire disintegrated the support beams – taking the study room and the kitchen down with it. Hermione's mouth opened upon feeling the heat waves crash against her cool skin. Her back arched against the rolls of fire.
Again, they had to move backwards. Harry abandoned her soon after in favor of fighting – it wasn't over, after all. His duty was to finish, not stand around. He didn't care to share this reasoning and fled the scene in silence. Another man came to Hermione's side soon after, identifying himself as an Auror and offering help with an open palm. Hermione shook him off distractedly – she, too, was busy. Ron was still missing.
"Look out!" the man shouted, grabbing her shoulder jarringly. She screamed in pain before landing face-down in the snow. Only a second later did a body land with a loud crunch beside her. Bits of broken glass showered the trio.
There was a brief pause, allowing the both of them to contemplate the crash. The man helped Hermione roll onto her back. He shook glass out of his hair before focusing on the body next to her. Hermione withdrew her arm as it grazed the hideous lump of flesh. His eyes widened. "Jesus Christ," he murmured, turning his attention back to Hermione. "You got lucky. I'll be around."
Hermione's mouth twisted painfully downward as she glanced quickly at the body. Fear slashed at her heart as she realized it could be Ron. The skin – though charred and bruised – was far too dark for Ron's freckly complexion. Before she could breathe the sigh of relief pent up hours ago in her body, Hermione realized something else: she still recognized the victim. Ulysses Nash's eyebrows were a distinguishing feature over eyes sockets that had been gouged terribly. Blood crept slowly from the shards that sprinkled his neck in thin, worm-like trails. Her heart began to beat faster as she tried to rid herself of the sight. Vomit came quickly.
Brushing her lips with the back of a shaking hand, Hermione's eyes flashed towards the window that Nash had fallen from. Smoke poured from the blackened hole that used to hold glass. There were bodies still up there, circling and darting from sight. The shadows were large, illuminated by the dull undertones of flame. Hermione pushed herself to her feet and staggered closer to the house – close enough to catch a glimpse of whoever it was that dared still inhabit the bedrooms. She had to know if Ron was still up there. It was conceivable – she was thinking of the infamous hardheadedness that dominated his personality.
If Nash had been up on the second story, chances were that Shale and Rivers were up there as well. The Heads functioned as a group most of the time. Perhaps Skillen was up there leading them. Hermione swallowed the hope that they were the only ones left - that they would burn surrounded by only their failed plans and shame. And yet, the body by the hole did not look a thing like any of the men she had previously thought of. Viktor Krum's nose was a giveaway.
Hermione let out a strangled sigh. Viktor was up there.
----
"I'd call it a draw," Skillen conceded without emotion. His arm was still rigid, as if his wand weighed ten pounds. His aim was dead-on and unwavering, allowing him to look away from his target with complete confidence. Skillen was not a man to be caught unawares, no matter the situation. "Ready to compromise?"
"Never," Ron spat, running his tongue over his lip. He tasted the heavy salt of sweat. His arm, too, was pointed rigorously at another.
"Good," Skillen hissed. "I wasn't, either." Without a moment's hesitation, he turned quickly to Krum and bellowed, "Pello!" He had little time to feel the satisfaction that should have accompanied the moment. Skillen turned just in time to watch Shale crumple to the ground.
Viktor's feet left the ground as he grunted. The weight on his chest was like a fist driving him backward. Skillen had cornered him where the floor had fallen away during the staircase crash. Below was the fire, feeding off the freshly dead and rotting wood. The weight had gone, to be replaced with a stinging, floating feeling. The heat on his back was immense. Viktor opened his eyes as wide as they could go through the thick ash and wind, scared this might be the last thing he would ever see. His only reward was the ceiling.
"Viktor!" Ron shouted, turning his attention away from the dead man lying by the foot of the bed. He searched the ledge where his partner – his means of escape – had been standing only seconds ago. All he found was the dismal, fiery scene that Viktor had been a part of for only a short while.
His nostrils flared, his hand clenched his wand, his eyes slanted, and his teeth gnashed together – all in preparation. This new development left only Ron and Skillen to duel over who won and who lost, who lived and who perished.
"Avada Kedavra," Ron snarled in a feral tone. His body went rigid as the incantation swiftly left his body and wrapped around his wand. It exploded off the tip in a burst of green light. There was a sick satisfaction in watching it dart towards Skillen.
Skillen ducked artfully, rolling away from the flash. They both watched the bolt continue out the shattered window frame and disappear into the night. Skillen was unruffled. He rolled his eyes and rounded on Ron, wand drawn. "That's not fair, Mr. Weasley," he sniffed, "you aren't the gentleman I thought you to be."
"You killed him," Ron spat through his teeth, uncaring of the spit that dripped off his lips. The moisture was soothing, if anything else. "And now I'm going to kill you." He positioned his feet far apart to give the rest of his body the strength it would need. Tunnel vision overtook his frame of mind. A dangerous thing to happen, but Ron knew there was no way to counteract his own body.
"Now, you don't know that he's dead, do you? Krum just took a tumble. Can't we talk this over?" Skillen smiled.
Ron spat on the floor as his rage intensified. Skillen didn't want to talk about anything; he was just putting off the inevitable. By waiting to fight, the fire would grow and consume the rest of the house and increase the chances of floor rotting through. "Hermione Granger. Seamus Finnigan. Viktor Krum." It was a struggle just to form sentences when the urge to destroy was so powerful.
"Yes, your friends," Skillen replied. He paced the room as Ron began to advance. There would always be a safe distance between them.
"No," Ron returned, "the people who brought me here."
"Brought you here," Skillen turned the words over in his mouth mirthfully. "The people who sentenced you to death, to be absolutely correct."
Ron took a lunge forward and screamed the Killing Curse a second time, the spell rippling off his wand in quick succession. Skillen had to drop to the floor to miss. The air left his lungs and for the first time in a long time, Hidalgo was surprised. Again, the curse was aimed at him and he was forced to roll towards the pit Krum was in.
"Stop it." The words ripped from Skillen's lips viciously. He pushed against the floor and found himself on his knees. "Avada Kedavra!" he shrieked. It was in insult to be attacked in such a manner – the glorious mudblood lovers were such… animals. Degrading – that was what it felt like to have to fight Ron Weasley.
Ron found that once the spell left his lips, there was another one waiting to be said. Blindly, he shot off the curse in multiple directions. They would escape through the window and walls or land on Skillen, he figured. The strategy was crude, but hopefully effective. His anger – coupled with the intense heat and smog - would not allow higher thinking.
Skillen was dancing through flashes, swearing and screaming while trying to hold onto his wand. Weasley would not give him time to calculate much. It was extremely frustrating. "Protego!" he kept shouting, throwing his wand over his face. He couldn't understand why the shield was not up to par – something was drastically wrong. No longer did he have the footing he was accustomed to, making his heart pump ridiculously. "Protego!"
The bed began to catch fire. It crackled and sparked, finding interest into the body of David Shale and the floorboards beneath him. Ron could feel it on the back of his legs and knew his position would be gone in a matter of moments. His gaze flashed around the room and found no possibilities anywhere. He was surprised that the room still stood. The only option was to try to escape through the window, but prevent Skillen from accessing it as well.
Skillen stood and huffed in the brief moment Weasley allowed him in the rampage of spells. "Protego!" he bellowed with all the force still left in his body. With a billowing arm movement, he was placed securely behind a wall of glowing purple. His defense set up cleanly, Skillen felt more assured of his victory. Of course, with his yelling, he also attracted Weasley's attention once more.
Ron actually smirked through the simmering air and muffled breathing. Sweat poured down his body and his clothes clung to him uncomfortably. There were disconcerting crackling noises behind him, typical of breaking boards. His nose stung with the smoke that he was breathing in heavily. Perhaps there would be no way out of this now, but he would remain until he saw Skillen's body burn. He could barely see where Skillen stood, if not for his shield. Skillen was… just standing there. As if defiant? Did this fool not realize that Protego did nothing against dark spells? It was a simple spell – childish, almost – that would bring about his downfall? It was too easy.
"Avada Kedavra!"
---
The sun had vanished completely, leaving the room uncomfortably cold. She had already slipped off the shelf and was now venturing down the hallway. Already having listened patiently for sounds of activity and already having found none, Hermione found it safe to retire herself to bed. Dinner was a luxury that she did not want, which was not so surprising anymore. It was strange – having everything at her disposal again, knowing that it was just in reach.
The bathroom was small and dimly lit, but held a sink and bath. The medicine cabinet held various bandages and poultices. That was all she needed, really. Hermione let the water from the tap flow over her stinging hands. Her bandages grew soggy, so she unwrapped them gingerly. A bath would have been nice, but it was also a mysterious treat she could go without for a while. Hermione ran a warmed, wet towel over her face and neck. She barely glanced at her reflection in the mirror that hung over the sink – it wasn't worth the panic. There were large gashes around her forehead from the glass and bruises that flowered around her chin from crashing so hard on the floor.
Her fingers ran across the metal handle that controlled the cool water. Her thoughts were lost in other places now, not anything of the battle remained. There was a drained feeling in her limbs as she finally gave the tap a jerk. Hermione let herself settle on the edge of the tub and pulled up her pant legs. It was weird to feel her own fingers doing the tasks that Ron otherwise took care of – it had been so normative for so long, it felt almost wrong to be doing it herself. Her face warmed with the reflection of his name. God, he had babied her.
Hermione put her face between her hands and willed her heart to stop hurting. It would be useless to cry now, having just washed her face. She took a great breath in sometime after that and smelled faintly the scent of ash. It was too much. Hurriedly, Hermione rolled fresh gauze over her wounds and exited the bathroom.
Her bedroom was only a few feet away. Ginny's door was closed, darkness spilling out from under the door. She and Harry had been spending a lot of their time behind closed doors – yelling, crying, screaming, and groaning. No one blamed them. Seamus' condition wasn't improving and caused Ginny more sadness than anyone else. Harry couldn't understand why she was so lax towards him, while her own brother was…
Hermione shook her head. They were asleep. The whole house probably was by now. She opened the door to find herself encompassed in blackness. Though wholly unfamiliar, the dark was comforting. It allowed her to be invisible to everything and everyone else that existed. That's all she wished for in the past two days. Some looked on her with contempt, with anger, and others with pity. Equal ground no longer existed, not even amongst her friends and family. Everyone had an opinion and not many held her in high respects. To Hermione Granger, that was devastating. Mrs. Weasley told her to being the process of moving on the day before, but she could not fathom how to go about enacting the first step – what was that, anyway?
Tears pricked at her eyes. Hermione could not help the urge to sigh aloud and frowned when it sounded watery. She slipped into bed, but could not appreciate the heat it offered. Again, a gasp escaped her lips.
"Don't cry," a stony voice mumbled.
Quickly, Hermione wiped away her tears. "What are you doing up?" she snapped, catching the shine of Ron's open eyes in the dark. "Go to sleep. You need to rest."
Ron tried to smile wearily, but the feeling in his face had not all returned. He had spent a great while lying in the snow after having jumped from the window and broken several of his bones in the fall. It was a pain to blink, but consciousness was a commodity too precious to waste now. He realized he had been fading in and out for a while, but he could not ignore Hermione.
"Will you kiss me?" he mumbled again, unable to use reflection or humor in his tone.
Hermione swiped at her eyes again and rolled onto her side. "Only if you promise to go to sleep promptly afterwards," she muttered.
"Ok," was all that Ron could muster. He was glad that someone had rolled him onto his side to face the empty side of the bed. Once he wondered why no one had taken him to a hospital, but figured Hermione knew best – he had, after all, taught her how.
Hermione pressed her lips against Ron's scabby mouth. She felt his gentle sigh against her cheek and fought the urge to cry. "Now," she said, laying a hand on his shoulder, "go to sleep."
"I love you."
She watched him fall asleep – it didn't take very long. "I love you, too," Hermione whispered, running the tips of her fingers down his reddened cheek. In a matter of hours, she would have to apply a draught, but for now… everything was fine. Her state of depression was inexplicable and she knew that it was shock. She had escaped. She had conquered. Granted, at the expense of countless others – that was where the tight chest and teary eyes came from – but Hermione was free.
"I love you, too."