The heavy pulsing of her heart hammered in her ears as she ran through the halls. She had been in the library when the blast had shaken the castle to its foundations. Books had been thrown from the shelves. And now she was running, faster and more desperately than she had ever run in her life. Fear surged through her veins, strengthening her legs while stripping her of physical sensation. She felt stronger than humanly possible and more fragile than she'd ever felt before.

They had expected this for days. Professor Snape had apparently returned from a night with the Death Eaters having witnessed a new Prophecy. Voldemort had a seer by the name of Mithrael, and nearly a week ago he had foretold that the fate of the Dark Lord would be determined in seven days time. Paranoid as he was, Lord Voldemort had immediately made plans to be the deciding factor.

The castle shook again as Hermione leapt down a short flight of stairs, and she crumpled to the floor, nearly twisting her ankle. "Shite!" She needed to be more careful! Screams came from up ahead in the Entrance Hall. The younger students had been evacuated days ago, leaving only those willing to fight.

Suddenly an icy voice was echoing through the halls. "Ssend out the boy!" Hermione stumbled to a halt at the top of the marble stairs as terror sent a freezing knife down the length of her spine. For a moment her breath wouldn't come, and she pressed a hand against her chest. This was it. It was really happening. She had to find Harry!

Just then, a dark silhouette appeared in the corner of her eye. Professor Snape strode out of the entrance to the dungeons and hurried toward the double doors. Her heart nearly stopped. The dark professor had outed himself to Lord Voldemort by bringing them news of the Prophecy. They couldn't hide their preparations without keeping the students at school, and Dumbledore had decided that they no longer needed a spy. That made Snape a prime target for the Death Eaters now outside their gates.

"Wait!" she heard herself shout. Her legs gave a jolt and she was running down the stairs. "Professor!"

And he stopped, swinging around so quickly that she nearly collided with him. The sudden proximity took her breath away. She had been wanting to tell him the truth all week, knowing that the end was near. And she hadn't been able to. But now was her chance! They might be dead by the end of the day! If he was ever going to know, it would have to be now.

And yet the words wouldn't come. And he stood staring down at her, his mouth agape, his eyes alert, his breathing rapid and deep. It was a wonder he didn't shout at her to say she was wasting his time. And she knew she couldn't tell him right now. She couldn't distract him with thoughts about her as they charged out into a War. Was she really so selfish? No. More than anything, she wanted this man to be safe, to survive to hear her confess. She'd rather him live than know the truth, and this was her best chance of getting them both. "Please," she said instead, wanting to put into words her desperation for him to stay alive, "be careful."

He froze, his eyes suddenly blank, his lips parted, his posture tense, and she realized that if she stayed another second she'd have to tell him the truth. So she ran. She ran past him and into the sunlight, toward the crowd of students and professors who were pointing their wands toward the sky. The wards of the school were visibly cracking above them and the gods only knew what sort of hell would break in.

Thirty-three minutes. That was how long it took them. Thousands of years of layer upon layer of magic was cracked in just thirty-three minutes. The following chaos was like nothing she could have anticipated. They had giants and werewolves and vampire bats, but worst of all were the wizards, themselves. Death Eater masks glinted at her from every angle as they slashed with their wands and charged toward the castle. She had never realized how hard it would be to aim at a moving target.

Professor McGonagall was standing to her right with Neville and Parvati on her left. They did not speak to one another, but silently agreed to watch each other's backs. Somewhere she could hear Kingsley Shacklebolt shouting, "Aim for Death Eaters! Werewolves don't have wands!" And so they did. They held their ground as the dark wizards charged toward them shooting hexes of different colors. They fell into a rhythm, each pair taking turns to attack and block hexes. They were keeping the Death Eaters back!

The giants were slower. Their steady, unstoppable advance was like an omen on the horizon. It was only a matter of time before they got close enough to do damage. And how could they possibly be stopped? "Arthur, Remus, guard Filius!" Kingsley shouted. The small Charms professor was standing strong with his wand still pointed at the sky. But he was no longer holding the wards together. Now, he appeared to Conjuring clouds. Spirals of icy blue swirled through the air ten feet above their heads, spiraling outward across the expanse of the lawn. When it touched the skin of the advancing giants, at the level of their chests, they began to groan, collapsing onto their knees and attempting to breathe. It was horrible.

Then, through the screaming, that voice rang out again, "Come to me Potter!" She hoped that Harry was safe within the school; that Dumbledore had thought to confine him. And then she saw the old Headmaster, himself. He had gone farther into the melee than anyone else and appeared to be wielding a whip of fire. The bodies of those foolish enough to approach him lay scattered in a circle all around.

Suddenly a stream of black smoke streaked across the sky, honing in on Dumbledore. Hermione's breath caught in her throat and her heart skipped a beat as she expected to see the Headmaster engulfed in an explosion. But the explosion did not come. The smoke settled easily to the ground before him and materialized as Lord Voldemort, himself.

Hermione had never seen the man in person before and was struck by horror at the knowledge that this was him. As much as she had attempted to train herself out of her petrifying fear of the man, he still managed to evoke that response. And his image only made matters worse. How could she persuade herself to remember that he was a mortal man when his serpentine features and bright red eyes were the vision of a monster from the nightmares of her childhood? A monster… she suddenly remembered… who dwelled in the dreams of Severus Snape as well.

A flash of red and a buzzing in her ear sent Hermione reeling as the side of her face burst into pain. She cursed and quickly oriented herself toward her attacker as a new panic stabbed into her. That momentary distraction could have cost her her life.

She could have died!

McGonagall gave her the most cursory of glances, her eyes alight with terror for the briefest of passing thoughts. And then both witches returned to their casting. Deflecting attacks was easy at this distance, but that worked in both directions. As a team, they sent out attacks immediately after shields, following the reflection back to its origin.

But the Death Eaters were advancing faster than they could hold them back. For every body thrown backward, there was another hurtling toward them out of nowhere. And for every one they got, they were farther and farther behind. They couldn't keep them back much longer. They were coming! They were getting close! They were breaking past them and running toward the school!

All hell broke loose. With enemies on either side, Hermione turned her back toward her professor, whipping her head from side to side to judge the most immediate threats and stop them advancing. Neville and Parvati had done much the same thing, and she could see the panic in Neville's wide, green eyes.

They were going to lose.

As soon as the thought occurred to her, a sudden lull rippled through the cacophony, as if everyone had taken a simultaneous breath. Her gaze caught upon the image of the Headmaster falling, as if in slow motion, as shards of glass danced in the air around the dueling wizards. A cruel laugh wrought the air as she assessed their situation. It was over. Dumbledore was dead. They were surrounded.

"No!" Harry's voice broke out across the lawn. She turned in time to see him running through the battling yard, pulling out his wand. No! Her eyes darted to Voldemort as his wand arced through the air and a jet of green erupted from the tip.

"No!" she heard herself scream, mindlessly running toward her friend as an answering jet of red connected with the killing curse mid-air. Time seemed to stand still as the two curses fought against each other, battling to be the one to make contact with its target. She had never seen anything like it! Suddenly, from between the two jets of light erupted a fountain of sparks, enveloping the two wizards in a sort of force-field of light. And then what felt like a train slammed into her in a flash of light and there was a feeling of nothingness before everything went black.