The carnage was immediate. The protesters have been singing songs, and waving signs. Some had come as though they were going to a party and were passing food around. They had brought children with them. They hadn't expected any real trouble. Even when they saw the line of Aurors stretched out in front of the ministry building, wands at the ready, no one expected them to attack.

Certainly no one expected them to use Unforgivables.

When Hermione saw the first flare of green light shoot forth from the tip of an Auror's wand, she thought she had to be mistaken. There were other spells that flared green. There had to be. She couldn't think of any of them at the moment, but she was sure she was right. Then the young witch crumpled to the ground, dead, and for a brief moment, all she could do was look at the body and think, "That can't be right."

Then she drew her own wand and fired back.

Dolohov didn't hold back. She had to give him that. He might be an evil man, and a coward, and an opportunist, but he drew his own wand and began firing on the Aurors without hesitation. He knew a lot of spells, and a lot of them were nasty. He took down two Aurors almost at once, both of them staggering under the pain of the curses that hit them, and, as much as she didn't want to be, Hermione was impressed. If they lost, Yaxley might skin Dolohov alive for this. It was certainly cementing his status as one of the "good guys."

Whatever Ron and Harry had been doing in France, they hadn't lost their fighting edge. Ron had his wand out and his sights on an Auror even before Hermione did. He spun and twisted and shot, and men in front of the ministry fell. Others came to replace them, though. Yaxley had the numbers and for every man they killed, another one stepped out of the building, ready to take his place. There were screams all around, and people running, and what little order there had been to the march broke down. Hermione could see Draco fighting. His mouth was set in a grim line and, though his hands shook, the curses he uttered landed true. Ministry men fell as he willed them too.

And more came to take their places.

She, Ron, Harry, Draco - they were all good fighters, but most of the crowd was not. Most of these people had never experienced anything more dangerous than going to a slightly seditious art exhibition. They were unprepared and they were dying. She had to get them out. She turned and grabbed the nearest non-fighter she saw, a young wizard, and shook him. He looked at her with wide, scared eyes. "Can you apparate?" she demanded.

"I… I don't have my license," he began. The concern with rules made her want to scream. People were cursing them. Their own government had attacked them. This was not the time to worry too much about whether you had all the proper paperwork.

"Fuck the licenses," Hermione said. "Can you apparate? Can you side-along?"

When he nodded, she said, "Get as many people out if you can. Start an evacuation."

People begin to pop away as they gathered their wits. She saw the boy she had deputized and emboldened grab a child who had become separated from his parents and apparate him away to safety. She saw him come back and grab an elderly witch who had broken down and was crying. "How many times do we have to fight this battle?" she was asking as she disappeared with a crack.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw a flash of white light and twirled around, expecting to have to battle an Auror who had somehow worked his way down into the mass of protesters. Instead, she saw Percy Weasley's girlfriend, the little society photographer, her camera out.

She snapped a photo of a young woman falling to the ground as a curse struck her and lying there, still and lifeless.

She snapped a photo of an older wizard, dressed in robes so expensive you could tell at a glance he had never known want. He was putting his body between the Aurors and the fleeing protesters. He took a curse to his shoulder and stumbled, hand at the injury, before he pulled himself up to block two more curses and give more people time to escape. It took five shots to bring him down.

She snapped a photo of a toddler, alone and lost and crying, blood running down her cheek.

Even as Hermione watched, a stranger snatched the child up and apparated away. The people of Wizarding Britain were protecting their own. Part of her wanted to be outraged that this photographer – and why couldn't she remembered her name? - was making pictures instead of helping. She wanted to scream at her, you rescue that child. Don't take a photograph of her. Save her! But the revolution needed this. They needed proof that this was happening and photographs were one of the best ways to spread the word. They could have these printed and posted on the walls of every alley by the end of the day. Sometimes, having access to art galleries and magical printing systems came in handy. This afternoon the presses wouldn't be running off copies of Arabella's painting of Severus Snape. Today it would be endless editions of these photographs documenting government atrocities. The time for subtlety had ended.

The green curses continued to flare, and protesters continued to drop, and Hermione raged against her own stupidity. "Constant vigilance," Moody had always said. He had said it so many times it sometimes echoed in her sleep. And instead of being vigilant, she had marched with a bunch of innocents headlong into danger. She had trusted no one would attack a group like this in broad daylight, and what had Draco told her the very first night she had spent at Malfoy Manor?

Trust no one.

She should have listened.

She heard Rodolphus Lestrange let out a horrible wail. He was crouched over the body of the boy he'd called his son. Archibald still had one of Harry's frog cards in his fingers but Hermione could tell he wasn't going to get a chance to put it in whatever album he used for his treasures. She took a step toward Lestrange, ready to offer him solace. Even a monster didn't deserve to lose a child.

He sprang away from the body, snarling, and lunged toward the line of Aurors. He had his hands out, wand held loosely between two fingers, and it flicked back and forth with such fluidity she thought he was on the verge of dropping it. But every twitch of his hand resulted in an Auror falling, and she realized he was controlling every shot. "We were his chosen," Rodolphus said. The words were a keening elegy for a life he'd lost. "We were the faithful. We alone did not desert him."

A curse struck him, the light purple, streaked with yellow, but he kept going.

"I know things you've never dreamed of. I've cast spells you can't begin to fathom," he said as he stalked relentlessly toward the Ministry building. The Aurors turned their fire on him and him alone as he swept his arm along their line and a dozen men fell. "We were like gods." He was almost screaming now, spittle flying from his mouth.

He fell to his knees as another curse hit him. "We were like gods," he said softly this time, and then he folded in on himself. Hermione thought she might have been the only one who heard him add, "And the god-slayer will strike you all down," before he died.

"Mad to the end," Ron said, suddenly beside her and waking her back to the dangers around them. "You know how to pick them, Hermione."

She supposed she did. She turned her back on the fallen man, a tool she'd used and fired her curses. She tuned out the screams, and she pushed the crowd back as they retreated from the firing arm of the ministry. When the crowd thinned and they were down to the sorts of people who knew how to handle themselves, people with scars and eyes that weren't surprised by any of this, Hermione looked at Harry. What did he want to do? In the end, it was always his show.

"That safe-house in the woods," he said shortly. "Where we played Exploding Snap that time with Luna. Up north."

Hermione nodded. She knew the place. She grabbed Draco by the arm and apparated away to a sanctuary she hoped was still there.

For a wonder, it was. Safe, empty, and dusty. Hermione popped into existence on the porch, Draco in her grasp, and turned to him at once., "Are you okay?" she asked urgently. She ran her eyes over the parts of him that she could see. No cuts, no bleeding, no obvious bruising. That was reassuring. There were worse curses, though. Things that didn't show any sign of injury but they killed you just the same. "Did you get hit?"

He shook his head. "How about you?" he asked.

She was fine, but before she could answer, Ron appeared, Harry right behind him.

"So," Harry said, "Does this mean the offer for biscuits over at Draco's is no good?"

Hermione tried not to choke on the laugh that wanted to come up.

"Well," Ron said. "I didn't trust Narcissa Malfoy's cooking anyway."

There was a moment of shocked silence, and Hermione worried that Draco would be offended, but instead he laughed. The laughter might have been changed with a little hysteria but there was no resentment. "She sometimes over does it with the butter," Draco said. "Makes them a bit greasy."

He and Ron looked at one another and then Ron said, "Well, I do like biscuits with a lot of butter. Maybe we can try again another day."

"Put your dirty feet all over her rugs," Harry said. "Be silver plate at her. Not truly precious metal, or whatever her thing is."

"Oh, I'm a pureblood," Ron said. "I'm super precious." He pushed open the door of the small cottage and flicked on a light. A dull table still sat in the corner, chairs neatly tucked in. The Exploding Snap cards were stacked in the center of the table, a radio next to them.

Hermione was fixing up a pot of tea from leaves so old they should've been thrown away before anyone spoke again.

"How long do you think it will take Percy and his girlfriend to get those photographs up?" she asked.

Harry gave her a perplexed look and Ron busied himself with finding sugar for the tea. He's always done things like that when he didn't want to admit he wasn't following a conversation. Seeing him peer into the cupboards, trying to look busy, gave Hermione a brief and painful flash of nostalgia mixed with gratitude they'd both found happiness elsewhere. She opened her mouth to explain, but before she could say anything Draco let out a tense laugh.

"Couple of hours would be my guess," he said. "At least. She's got to develop the film, and that takes time even with magic."

"Percy'll take care of it," Hermione said. He would, too. She could trust Percy absolutely to make sure that film got developed, got printed, that those images were spread to every corner of the country. Yaxley hadn't liked one peaceful protest? That had made him afraid? Now he'd be facing riots. You didn't like Aurors up and tell them it was fine to shoot Unforgivable curses at children and the elderly. You just didn't. Not if you wanted to stay in power.

"What do you think he'll do?" Ron asked, clearly meaning Yaxley. He found the sugar and, for a mercy, there were no ants in it. Magical preservation techniques never cease to impress Hermione. Dust could accumulate in a neglected safe house, but food in the cupboards stayed fresh.

"He'll run," Draco said.

Ron looked doubtful and Harry's mouth twisted until Draco added, the words so soft it was almost impossible to hear them, "Death eaters always run."

"Voldemort did tend to recruit the cowards," Harry said. "He had a type."

Draco began to scoop sugar into his tea and the clank of his spoon against the porcelain was very loud. So loud that Hermione could hardly believe she heard the next thing Harry said correctly. "He made a few mistakes, though."

"Snape turned out to be not that bad," Ron said. "A massive asshole, of course. But I have to admit he turned out to be fighting for the right side after all. In the end."

"Sometimes, the assholes turn out to be braver than you thought," Harry said. He looked at Draco a little too steadily. "And sometimes, maybe, they were never cowards to begin with."

"And sometimes, they're Corban Yaxley," Hermione said. She absolutely didn't want to sit through anymore of this touchy-feely reunion. If she let them go on much longer, they might start singing heartwarming songs together and she needed to act. To do things. They were over their schoolboy rivalry. That was great. But maybe everyone could focus on work they had to do. "I think we can safely slot Yaxley into the category of perfectly regular Death Eater."

"Coward," Ron said.

"Bully," Harry said.

"And thus, probably planning to run right now," Draco said. "Off to some small town in a wizarding country that doesn't have an extradition treaty, half of Britain's galleons tucked away in international goblin bank he can snatch later."

"So what do we do?" Ron asked.

Hermione took a sip of her tea and then set the cup down. "We do what we always do," she said. "We stop him."