A/N: This chapter was revised on 7/3/23. See the notes ahead of Ch. 31 for more info.


March 7, 2003 (Hermione)

The loud crack of Apparition could barely be heard over the chaos of the triage area as wounded soldiers were carted about and nurses and doctors run past in all directions to tend to them. But all eyes quickly landed on the pair of witches that had appeared, quite literally, out of thin air before them, one of whom was bleeding profusely from the eye.

"Please, help us!" the other cried, struggling to hold up the weight of the redhead. "She needs immediate attention!"

"Lay her down on an empty cot," one of the lieutenants said dismissively, pointing towards a crowded tent full of people waiting to be assessed. "Our doctors are all busy—"

"She needs help now!" Hermione shrieked as Ginny swayed dangerously in her slackening grasp. "This can't wait!"

The lieutenant looked up and assessed the pair, eyes landing on the wand clutched in Hermione's free hand. "She's magical?" he asked with a distinct note of disdain. "Don't your people have doctors that can take her?"

"She'll be arrested, or worse!" Hermione protested. "We're on your side here!"

"As I said, all our doctors are busy," the lieutenant shrugged. "What would you have me do?"

Hermione was on the verge of panic and was contemplating exactly which spells she could use to get her way. She was not above utilizing the Imperius Curse to force one of the doctors to work on Ginny, and if she had to fight off armed guards to do so, so be it. But before she could formulate a plan, a stern voice interrupted them.

"What is going on here?" the voice demanded. Hermione turned to see a large and imposing man, dressed in military garb and flanked by several other intimidating-looking officials. The man's eyes landed on Hermione, then on the nearly-unconscious Ginny. "Is that Weasley?"

"Yes," Hermione said quickly. "You must be General Beckett, sir. She needs immediate attention, please!"

General Beckett seemed to agree from one look at Ginny's mangled face. He grabbed the arm of a doctor running past to halt his progress. "Attend to this woman at once," he barked.

"Apologies sir, but I'm on my way to assist with a leg amputation," the doctor said in a rushed tone. "Time is of the essence…"

"This woman is a higher priority," said Beckett. "That is a direct order."

The doctor looked at the general with a fearful expression, and finally gulped. "Yes, sir," he said meekly, before rushing over to help Hermione carry Ginny over to a nearby cot. Hermione could hear the shouts of protest from the injured nearby who had overheard the exchange, and she could sympathize with their arguments. Why should a witch be given priority over us normal folks? But she didn't have time to ponder this inequity. Quite frankly, Ginny was more important to the war effort than the entire tent full of people waiting to be seen.

The doctor laid Ginny flat on the cot and shined a flashlight into her mangled eye, wincing at the sight. "Looks like the bullet is lodged in the back of her eye socket," he grimaced. "She's lucky it didn't penetrate further, or she would have been killed immediately."

"So she's going to make it?" Hermione said hopefully.

"If we work quickly," the doctor sighed. "There is a risk of blood penetrating the cranium and essentially drowning the brain. We have to operate immediately."

Two more nurses appeared by the doctor's side soon after, no doubt ordered by the general to assist. As they begin strategizing for an emergency surgery, Hermione left Ginny's bedside to approach General Beckett once more.

"Sir, I should probably introduce myself," she said, extending a hand. "Hermione Granger. I'm...a friend of Miss Weasley's."

Beckett gave her an appraising look, but did not extend his hand in return. Hermione looked down and realized that her hand was coated in Ginny's blood. She hastily wiped it clean with a wave of her wand, which drew yet more looks of suspicion from those around them.

"I know who you are," Beckett sniffed. "According to Miss Weasley, you're the one calling the shots among your rebel group."

"Uh...yes, I suppose I am," Hermione agreed. She declined to mention that their rebel group consisted of fewer than ten people nowadays...what Beckett didn't know couldn't hurt him.

"I wondered when we might meet at last," said Beckett. "I assumed it would have happened prior to Operation Lightning Strike, but fortunately, we were ready at a moment's notice."

"Right," said Hermione awkwardly. She too had intended that to be the case, but time had not been on her side. Ginny had been in contact with the mounting Muggle rebellion forces for months, attempting to coordinate a plan of attack, but Hermione hadn't had time to get away from her children to meet Beckett herself. She also did not want to admit that Operation Lightning Strike had been invoked out of desperation, not due to any overarching plan.

"Well, I hope the operation had the intended effect on your world," Beckett said, sounding tired. "Because by all accounts, we lost far more men than the other side did."

"The Muggle...I mean, your population far outnumbers theirs as well," Hermione pointed out. "Believe me when I say we dealt them a substantial blow today."

"Good to hear," said Beckett. "I take it there are efforts in motion for a follow-up assault?"

"Yes," Hermione lied. "I...we have some planning to do on our end, but our next target will be the Black Tower itself."

Beckett's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but is that not the Dark Lord's central base of operations?" he asked. "Are we truly prepared to take them on?"

"Your people will not be assaulting the Tower directly," Hermione explained. "That will be my...our job. We just need a distraction in order to divert attention away from the Tower so that we can complete our operation."

"And what might that be?" asked Beckett.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, General," Hermione said apologetically. "But I assure you, it is an important step towards winning this war."

Beckett examined Hermione's face, clearly not happy with what he was hearing. "This is a peculiar arrangement, Miss Granger," he sighed. "I do not like sending my men in to die on blind faith alone."

Hermione didn't like it one bit either. She didn't have the heart to tell Beckett that she again had selfish motives – that her one purpose in breaching the Black Tower was to find the surviving children from the Manchester Enclave. But perhaps she could also use the incursion to learn more about the defenses put in place around Voldemort's headquarters. They would have to assault the Tower again in order to confront him anyway, so as a reconnaissance mission, at least there was some value to be gained. But she would keep that information to herself.

"I understand your concern," Hermione said in a practiced tone of calm. "I promise I will share with you as much as I can. But these first few steps are crucial towards the success of this war."

"Very well," Beckett sighed. "I suppose I will be communicating with you directly from now on, given Miss Weasley's...condition?"

"For now, yes," said Hermione. "The next stage of the attack will have to happen soon, perhaps in the next week or so."

"Might want to work faster than that," Beckett said warningly. "We've received reports of other uprisings around the globe. The American magical government was attacked by rebels just half an hour ago, and there are rumblings of uprising at other major population centers throughout Britain."

"Can you call them off?" Hermione asked, horrified at the bloodshed that could be happening at this very moment.

Beckett actually laughed at this suggestion. "You think I control every non-magical person with a firearm?" he asked. "We were simply the first domino to fall. Our people have been itching to fight back for years, and this is the first sign of the winds changing in our direction. I couldn't stop the revolution if I tried."

Hermione considered this. Perhaps it was a good thing that the magical community would be under attack from all sides, even if these attacks were uncoordinated and largely unplanned. It meant their resources would be spread thin; their defenses unfocused. But Hermione did see Beckett's point: the longer these unconnected attacks went on, the more non-magical blood would be spilled, and the more brutal Voldemort's regime would become in quelling these attacks. The Tower assault would have to happen sooner than she planned.

Just then, there were several faint pops of Apparition nearby. "Your people are back," Beckett hissed at Hermione, shifting himself to block her from view. "They came through earlier looking for injured magicals. If they find that we've sheltered Weasley here—"

"Understood," Hermione said at once. "I'll make sure she isn't discovered."

Beckett nodded, and Hermione quickly cast a Disillusionment Charm over herself and crept back over towards Ginny's cot. The doctor and nurses had briefly paused to turn and watch the oncoming group of Ferrymen searching the rows. "Keep working," Hermione hissed in the doctor's ear, causing him to jump. "I'll protect us."

The doctor reluctantly turned to continue work on Ginny. She was unconscious now, a mask over her nose and mouth pumping her full of anesthesia, her eye socket pulled open and exposed to open air – not a pretty sight. Hermione did her best to ignore it as she backed into the corner, crouching behind the cot to remain out of sight.

"I cannot save the eyeball," the doctor said in a hushed tone as the Ferrymen continued to force their way through the crowds. "The damage to the optical nerve is too severe—"

"Just focus on saving her life," Hermione whispered back. "The eyeball doesn't matter."

The doctor shrugged and continued his work, occasionally giving instructions to the two nurses assisting him. The Ferrymen drew closer, pausing occasionally at a cot to ask questions or make snide remarks about the injured Muggles lying there. Hermione quickly waved her wand over Ginny to change her hair color to blonde and cover up her many freckles under a paler complexion; the doctor and nurses flinched at the sudden change, but thankfully said nothing.

The Ferrymen reached Ginny's cot, passing by without so much as a cursory glance at the gruesome scene. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief that they did not pause to investigate closer, but as soon as she did so, one of them doubled back to squint his eyes at her. "Ay, Mulciber, come check this out," the Ferryman said with a sadistic grin on his face. "How 'bout that for a nasty injury?"

The Ferryman named Mulciber guffawed at the sight. "Hit with a bit of friendly fire, eh?" he sneered. "Hey doc, let me get a closer look." And he roughly pushed the doctor aside to lean over Ginny and peer directly into her exposed eye socket. Hermione stood stock-still, not even daring to breathe; her Disillusionment Charm was strong, she knew, but the charm was not infallible and movement could give her away. She also worried that the glamour on Ginny's face would not hold up to close scrutiny for long...

"She needs urgent care to survive," the doctor protested meekly. "I cannot allow the blood to pool—"

"Y'know, I reckon a Healer at St. Mungo's could patch this up with one wave of the wand," Mulciber laughed, not paying the doctor any mind as he roughly grabbed Ginny by the jaw and jostled her head around. "You poor Muggles and your medieval tools."

"Feel free to help her yourself if you know magic that could save her," the doctor said with an icy tone. Hermione grimaced internally at this, knowing the retort would not be taken well.

"Oho, someone sounds bitter!" Mulciber laughed. "Sad that we don't share our magic with you filthy mongrels? Y'know, I could wave my wand and take all her pain away right now, if you really wish…" The other Ferrymen chuckled at this thought, and Hermione knew what he was insinuating. Luckily the doctor seemed to realize the implication as well.

"Not looking for trouble," he muttered. "May I please attend to my patient, sir?"

Mulciber considered the doctor for a moment, his head bowed and slight figure shaking as the Ferrymen gloated over him with their wands drawn. Hermione watched on, terrified, certain that something bad was about to happen. But thankfully, they seemed to take his weak demeanor as the correct response.

"Go on then," Mulciber spat, turning to go. "You lot aren't worth the single breath it would take to kill you." And the Ferrymen continued on down the rows, making further snide remarks about the Muggles they passed by. Hermione exhaled slowly, her heart rate slowly returning to normal. She still didn't dare move a muscle until she heard the pops of Apparition nearby that indicated the Ferrymen had gone.

"I have to get going," said Hermione, rising to her feet and removing the charm from herself. "Can I leave her here overnight and return in the morning?"

"She'll be here one way or another," the doctor shrugged. "I think the danger of immediate death has passed, but she could have complications moving forward."

"Understood," Hermione nodded. And with a quick glance around for any nearby Ferrymen, she turned on the spot and Disapparated.


"This is Otter calling from the London enclave. Any and all Order members are urgently needed for an immediate mission. Please respond as soon as possible."

Hermione sighed and leaned back in her chair. She had transmitted the same message every night at exactly ten P.M. over the airwaves, hoping to hear back from anybody. Part of her had hoped that the recent attacks would call any former Order members to action, that they would realize the fight was back on. But perhaps they didn't realize the significance of the Muggle-led rebellion, that they shared the same fight. Ginny had been the only person in years to respond over the secured Order channel, and now it lay as maddeningly silent as ever.

Hermione's only other option was to call on the other enclave members for assistance. Luna, Hannah, Sadie, the twins... But she couldn't risk any of them getting hurt or killed during the operation and orphaning the children under their care. Hell, she herself was taking a significant risk by going herself. But there was little alternative: no cavalry was coming, no backup in sight. This was Hermione's war now, and she would have to find some way to single-handedly topple Voldemort's regime.

Every time she returned to check on Ginny at the triage center, General Beckett pestered her for information about the upcoming attack. Hermione always deflected his questions, stalling for time to find anyone who could back her up in the Tower. But by now it was clear that she was alone in this mission. So on the fourth day, when she arrived to take Ginny back to the London enclave, she finally solidified her plan.

"We will attack in two days' time," she told Beckett. "The Ministry atrium should be an ideal location for a diversion. Send your men in at 0915...by then, most of the magical employees will be out of the way."

"And what should our objectives be?" asked Beckett. "Provided we do manage to breach the atrium, of course?"

Hermione considered this. "Destroy the fireplaces," she finally said. It was a reasonable goal: disrupting the Floo Network would not be a critical blow to the Ministry, but it would suffice as a cover story for the attack. It would also be a fairly simple task for the Muggle rebels to complete before getting out of harm's way. Beckett gave her an odd look, clearly not understanding the significance of these fireplaces, but he eventually nodded.

Hermione returned to the enclave with Ginny in tow, as her fearful underlings listened intently to her instructions. "If she wakes up while I'm gone," Hermione told her brood, "tell her that I've gone on a mission and will return shortly. But she will likely remain unconscious until then."

"But what if you don't come back?" asked a frightened seven-year-old in response. Hermione knelt before the trembling girl and gave her a reassuring hug.

"I will come back," she said firmly. "I always do, don't I?" The girl nodded reluctantly at this, but the kids still looked worried. Hermione didn't blame them – Ginny's very visible injury was a reminder of the dangers that lay outside these walls. And if Hermione didn't return, they would be left to fend for themselves. But if I don't return, the war is lost anyway, Hermione reminded herself. It was the only thought that kept her resolve strong as she prepared for the impossible task ahead of her.

She had performed reconnaissance on the Black Tower before, and every indication was that its defenses were daunting. By using her Sight, she could see the thick enchantments layering the outside of the castle, preventing any kind of damage to its exterior – whether by spell or bullet. She could only imagine the intricate wards on the inside preventing incursions. And yet, the Tower hosted hundreds of workers, coming in and out every day – surely there was some mechanism allowing ordinary workers to pass in and out freely. She wouldn't be able to pass as an ordinary worker for long, but she figured she could find a way in and improvise from there.

On the morning of the planned attack, Hermione positioned herself a few blocks south, watching workers walk by on their way to either the Ministry or the Tower. She sat disillusioned, crouched behind a bench, silently waiting. There was little point in disguising herself as a nondescript Muggle today; Muggles could not pass through the area unmolested any longer. Ferrymen lined the streets, clearly on-edge from the constant acts of rebellion from armed Muggles, and anyone who appeared out of place would be apprehended at once.

Hermione had no contact with General Beckett and had no way of knowing how he planned to attack the Ministry atrium. The streets were locked down all over town; surely Voldemort's people would be able to detect mass movements of fighters and weapons. But she knew the British military was involved in this rebellion (what was left of the military, anyway) and they must have had ways of traveling and transporting goods undetected. At least, she hoped that was the case.

Hermione didn't dare use a Tempus charm to check the time, but the crowd of workers was beginning to thin and their pace was quickening, indicating that it was past nine o' clock. All she could do was wait and hope that Beckett was able to mount his attack successfully without disruption or notice…

It was not difficult to tell when the assault began. A cacophony of gunfire, explosions and raucous war cries rose from seemingly nowhere, overwhelming the once-quiet boulevard with chaotic noise. The reaction was slow at first; concerned workers looked at one another while the Ferrymen nervously shifted in their positions, unsure on how to react. Then, a deafening boom rattled the very street itself and a visible explosion shot smoke and flames into the air just down the road. That opened the floodgates of chaos as everyone scrambled to react.

There were nearby pops of Disapparation as the Ferrymen lining the street headed towards the source of the disturbance several blocks away. The workers began to run, fearful of the echoing gunfire coming from all directions and clearly fearful of an imminent attack. There wouldn't be a better opening than this one, and Hermione didn't waste a moment. She removed her Disillusionment Charm and rushed forward to join the throngs of running workers, now disguised under a glamour and wearing an official uniform she'd seen all Tower workers in.

There was nobody running in the direction of the Ministry today; everyone was attempting to force entry into the Black Tower. Hermione shoved her way through the crowd, using light pulses of magic to aid in her efforts. Finally she found herself through the bottleneck of the front door and inside the ornate lobby of the Tower.

The vaulted ceiling and opulent decor barely registered for her amidst the crowd of fearful employees, all fighting and clawing to get as far away from the sound of conflict as possible. At the far end of the lobby, Hermione could see a row of fireplaces, similar to the ones in the Ministry atrium a few blocks away, as workers sought access to them. But she could see that the grates were currently slammed shut, and a row of guards stood between them and the escape they all desired.

"Everyone please remain calm!" a voice shouted over the din. Hermione could hear the fear in the tone of the Ferryman trying to contain the swell of people attempting to push forward towards the fireplaces. Behind them, distant booms and the constant rattle of gunfire told them that the rebels were near.

"Let us through!" a Tower employee wailed. "We'll be safe on the other side of the Floo!"

"The Tower is under lockdown until further notice!" the nervous Ferryman said. "P-please remain where you are; we are perfectly s—"

CRASH! A window at the front of the lobby shattered, spraying broken glass inwards as the sound of chaos built outside. The workers continued to shout at the Ferrymen standing in their way, begging, pleading to be let through…

Hermione seized the opportunity. She forced her way towards the front of the crowd, quietly raised her concealed wand at the nearest Ferrymen, and whispered, "Imperio."

The Ferryman momentarily went slack, then abruptly straightened again. "Let them pass!" he barked at the guard nearest him. "We can seal the Floo behind them."

"But the bossman said—" the other guard protested, but the first Ferryman was already waving his wand to unseal the grates.

"Go, go, now!" he directed the crowd. That was all the permission the desperate workers needed; they surged forward in a mad scramble to get to the safety of the other side. The other Ferrymen were helpless to stop them; they eventually gave up on trying to stop people from entering and dove out of the way of the mass of moving bodies. Hermione squeezed herself through the tight bottleneck of people, fighting for the nearest fireplace, eventually reaching it and diving forward into the spinning green flames…

She emerged atop a heap of people on a nearly identical level of the Tower. She quickly spun off the pile to prevent being flattened by the next person(s) coming through the other side, then got to her feet. People were scurrying off in all directions as alarmed Ferrymen attempted to contain them. Hermione joined the scramble, ducking underneath the outstretched arm of one guard towards a winding staircase leading upward. It wouldn't be long before the Ferryman in the lobby realized what had happened and raised the alarm. They would know there was an intruder on the loose…

Hermione rapidly ascended the stairs, passing several other workers who had also made it clear of the guards. She passed by a tall window and did a double-take, pausing to peer outside. The sky was bright and sunny, moreso than she had seen in many years. She almost believed she'd been transported to an alternate reality where London was no longer shrouded beneath a black cloud layer. But when she looked down and saw that same cloud layer laid out beneath her, she realized that the fireplace must have taken her up to the top half of the Tower. I wonder if there's anything in between here and the ground floor? she wondered. But she didn't see anyone else heading down the stairs, and she didn't want to stand out from the crowd, so she continued to follow the other workers.

The staircase eventually deposited her on a new floor, which was flooded with light thanks to the numerous floor-to-ceiling windows lining the circular walls. She hadn't expected such a bright and vibrant setting atop the headquarters of the literal Dark Lord. The floor was laid out like a traditional office, with dozens of workers sitting at their desks, conversing in low tones. It appeared that nobody was working very hard; word had reached the floor about the rebellion raging far below, and Hermione saw worried looks on nearly every face. A placard on a nearby wall sent shivers down her spine: MUDBLOOD PROCESSING DEPARTMENT.

"Back to work!" an eerily familiar voice trilled. Hermione's heart dropped as she saw the woman pacing the aisles, wearing a smartly-fastened managerial uniform, hair neatly tucked beneath an ugly, pink beret. Dolores Umbridge.

Hermione froze; her instinct was to run in the opposite direction, to not be seen. But she remembered that she was disguised, that she was here for answers. So she put on her most confident expression and marched forward purposely towards the vile woman.

"Director Umbridge," she greeted coolly, noting the position title on her nameplate at the last moment. "A moment of your time."

"Make it quick," Umbridge snarled.

"I...I was sent from the Department of Magical Youth Registration at the Ministry," Hermione said quickly. "Weasley requests a status update on the Manchester case."

"Ugh, can't he mind his own business?" Umbridge sighed dramatically. "You're talking about the Mudblood kids that we caught, yes? I think their execution was yesterday."

Hermione's heart leapt into her throat at this news, but she fought to remain composed. "A-are you sure?" she asked. "He s-says he's missing the paperwork—"

"I don't know; maybe it's later today, who cares?" Umbridge groaned. "Point is, they're booked and sentenced. So go tell Mr. Weasley to shut up and let us do our job."

"I will," Hermione nodded. "And the execution...it's being held at…?"

"The pit, naturally," Umbridge scoffed. "Level sixty-six. Honestly, can't they send people who actually know what's going on around here?"

"Thank you, Director," Hermione said hastily with a little bow before retreating. She didn't care to spend another moment in Umbridge's presence. She returned to the staircase, noting the small placard on the wall stating "Level 78". So there are more levels in between, Hermione thought as she quickly descended. I wonder why the Floo skips so many floors?

Hermione skirted around the edge of the upper lobby, where Ferrymen continued to shout orders at the workers tumbling through the fireplaces. She continued down the stairs, finding herself all alone now, her footsteps echoing through the cavernous space. The light level significantly decreased as Hermione descended into the thick black cloud layer just outside these walls, and she felt a chill in the air that signaled Dementors were nearby. This was more of what she'd expected to find in the Tower: gloomy, spooky spaces befitting a Dark Lord.

As she continued down towards Level 66, she passed by several seemingly-empty floors, full of narrow corridors stretching towards the interior of the tower. She noted grated bars in these more cramped spaces, and wondered if these were temporary holding areas for prisoners. Azkaban remained the primary wizarding prison under Voldemort's control, but perhaps this was where they were transported for...execution. The mere thought of the word threatened to overtake Hermione with fear and despair, but she forced the feeling away and pressed onward.

Somewhere in the distance above her, Hermione heard the blaring of an alarm. The Ferryman far below must have come to his senses and alerted the Tower to the presence of an intruder. No time to waste now. Ahead of her she began to hear voices, so she hastily Disillusioned herself and crept forward.

The staircase ended at Level 66, and she found herself on yet another wide-open floor. There were no floor-to-ceiling windows here – not that the cloud layer would have allowed in any light anyway – and the only light came from a series of torches lit along the perimeter of the room. A crowd of people stood towards the center of the space, and the sight once again caused Hermione's heart to seize with fear.

Half a dozen Ferrymen stood in a circle around a group of children, about two dozen in number, ranging in age from six to thirteen or so. They cowered close together, standing at the very center of the space, fearfully eyeing the surrounding Ferrymen. One of the men was saying something, and Hermione quickened her pace as she crept forward to listen…

"...have been found guilty of the crime of theft of magic from another magical being," the Ferryman said in a bored drone, reading impassively from a parchment. "You are all hereby sentenced to death. In accordance with Ministry policy on the removal of Mudblood children—"

"Please!" one of the older children cried out. "We haven't stolen anyone's magic! We were born with it!"

"Silence, you filthy Muggle!" another Ferryman snapped. The children continued to cower close together, surrounding on all sides by the imposing adults. Hermione lurked in the shadows, watching, waiting for an opportunity.

"—you shall face death in the pit," the first Ferryman continued. "Any attempts at escape shall be met with the Dementor's Kiss. Glory to the Dark Lord."

"Glory to the Dark Lord," recited the other Ferrymen. Hermione frowned, confused; there was no 'pit' she could see in this room, and none of the Ferrymen looked poised to attack. What was this place, exactly?

She realized the truth a split second before it happened. One of the Ferrymen yanked a lever on the wall, resulting in a loud clunk. Then, the floor beneath the children's feet abruptly vanished, and they fell, screaming, into the echoing expanse below.

Hermione acted without thinking. She rushed forward, weaving past the nearest Ferrymen, diving headfirst into the pit after the children. There were no Levels 2 through 65 in the Tower – it was just empty space, sentencing the damned to death by the simplest of methods: gravity. The significance was not lost on Hermione...clearly Voldemort believed that Mudbloods were so beneath him that they weren't even worth using magical means to destroy. The imposing height of the Tower was not merely an intimidation tactic – it was a means to a nefarious end.

Hermione could barely see through the dim light rushing in through windows as she fell past. She closed her eyes and flared her magic outward with a Revealing Charm, illuminating the tumbling children for her. Arresto Momentum, she thought, reaching out with tendrils of magic towards the falling bodies. One by one they slowed and eventually stopped in midair, many still crying, others frozen in shock and fear. Hermione slowed herself beside them, feeling the exertion of magic quickly draining her stamina as she fought to keep all twenty-plus of them afloat.

"Quickly, now!" she hissed, reaching down to her waist and withdrawing a thin hairbrush. "Everyone grab part of this!" She suspended the small object at the center of the levitating bodies, and everyone flailed wildly through the air to grab hold of whatever piece they could touch.

Far above them, shrouded in darkness, Hermione could hear the voices of the Ferrymen peering down after them. "What's goin' on down there?" one of them asked aloud. "I didn't hear no bodies landing!"

Hermione was shunted aside as every child grasped to get at least a finger on the brush. There was barely room for all of them; Hermione didn't dare attempt to touch it herself, lest someone accidentally get bumped off and left behind. She cursed the fact that the magic she was about to attempt was so limited in nature – that she could not have chosen a larger object, for fear of the spell failing. But it fortunately appeared that every child had managed to get a piece of the brush.

Hermione aimed her wand at the small object and muttered, "Portus." The comb glowed bright blue as it was transformed into a Portkey; a moment later, the children disappeared in a rush of magic, safely on their way back to the London enclave.

Now it was a matter of getting herself out. Hermione reached out again with her magic, examining the wards in place around her. The anti-Apparition wards would prevent her from direct escape, and she doubted she had the energy to fight her way out from the top down – she needed to get out of the Tower as quickly as possible. She examined the nearest window and found, to her surprise, that the layered wards were all on the opposite side of the wall. Voldemort had clearly accounted for someone trying to break in; he hadn't planned on anyone trying to break out.

Hermione pointed her wand at the window and yelled, "Bombarda!" It shattered with great force, glass spraying outwards and tumbling down along the side of the Tower. She forced herself through the narrow opening, passing through the wards with a silent shiver of magic passing over her. Her magic was just about depleted, and she spun in midair to return home…

Nothing happened. Hermione looked all around her; she could vaguely make out the streets of London far below her, as she was just below the black cloud layer a couple hundred feet in the air. She didn't sense any more wards holding her in place, and yet she was unable to Disapparate. Some unseen force was holding her in place; she realized that she was not even falling, despite releasing the Arresting Charm that had previously held her in place.

"I finally have you, Hermione Granger."

The chilling voice came from both inside and all around Hermione, and she felt sheer dread creeping in from all sides. The black clouds above seemed to be parting, and she was frozen in place, forced to watch in silent terror as a cloaked figure descended from above, dementors swirling all around him.

"You have been a thorn in my side all these years," Voldemort said from all directions, swooping in towards his prey. "You must be severely punished. Death will come for you, but not until you have seen every child in your care slaughtered…"

Hermione struggled to break free of her unseen binds. She could see the magic holding her in place, but it was too powerful, would require far more effort to break free of than she currently possessed. She watched as Voldemort came down to her level, his menacing red eyes boring into her terrified brown ones.

"None shall defy the might of the great Lord Voldemort without consequence," Voldemort said, a malevolent smile on his pale white face. "You will be made an example of, Granger. All shall know what becomes of those who—"

Voldemort paused, a flicker of confusion registering in his expression. For a moment Hermione did not know what had caused it. But a moment later, a streak of purest white flashed by from the dark clouds above, with a loud crash like thunder. Voldemort wheeled about towards the source of the disturbance. Streaks of brilliant white light were piercing the dark cloud layer, even dissipating it in spots with the sheer force of their energy.

Hermione watched as another streak flew past; this one had a distinct shape. It was some kind of animal – a wildcat perhaps, or a leopard? More animals of pure white light shot past in all directions, some falling in between Voldemort and Hermione, causing the dementors to scatter in all directions. Lions, bears, eagles, wolves, stags… Patronuses? Hermione thought. But she had never seen so many patronuses in one place before, and none that crackled with fierce energy like a lightning bolt. Voldemort raised his wand towards these apparitions, but appeared unsure of how to deal with them.

From high above, even through the dark clouds, Hermione saw a new streak of light approaching. This one larger and brighter than the rest, like a blazing comet of pure light scorching down towards the earth. This streak curved around the Tower and appeared to lock onto Voldemort, who snarled and raised his wand once more. But the sheer energy racing towards him was apparently too much. With a scream of rage, Voldemort turned on the spot and disappeared, just as the bolt of light passed through the spot he'd occupied a split second before.

Hermione was only vaguely aware in her weak and frightened state that she was falling. Tumbling, crashing, cascading down towards the streets far below. She had no more energy left; she could barely keep her eyes open as she plummeted towards her death. The fate she'd spared the children from, but not herself.

She saw a figure in her peripherals racing towards her; friend or foe she could not tell. Not that it mattered much: she had no strength left to fight. She saw the figure streaking like a bullet, lightning crackling at his feet, as he extended a hand towards her. Hermione forced her arm forward to meet his touch, and he Apparated them away.

Hermione felt herself being squeezed into the uncomfortable sensation of Apparition. She didn't know where the mysterious figure would take her, but she needed to get back to her children – to make sure that they would be cared for. So with one last great effort she pulled at his hand, trying to signal that she wanted to take the lead. She felt his brief hesitance, but he relented, allowing her to guide their journey. She twisted them in the opposite direction, and a moment later they landed roughly in her office, safely back in the enclave.

Somewhere, as though a great distance away, Hermione could hear screams of fright and surprise from the children at their sudden reappearance. The man raised his wand in surprise, and Hermione, no longer supported by his grasp, swayed and crumpled to the ground. The man dropped to a knee at her side, and she fought to stay awake as her vision blurred and began to go dark…fought to stay focused on those piercing green eyes…

"Rest, Hermione," said Harry in a soothing voice, stroking her face affectionately. "I'll take care of you."

A wave of relief washed over Hermione, as she gave in to her exhaustion and slipped into unconsciousness.

He came back.

He actually came back.