April 26, 2003 (Hermione)

Hermione shivered, pulling the covers tight to her chest and curling herself into a ball. Had her office always been this cold? She tried her best to fall back to sleep, but found herself unable to, between the biting cold and the worried thoughts racing through her brain. She cast a wordless Tempus charm to check the time, seeing 4:37 flash above her head through blurry vision. Might as well start the day at this rate. She begrudgingly forced herself to her feet and shakily got dressed in the dark.

Harry had not been sleeping in her bed ever since Luna's incident a few days prior. They hadn't yet spoken about it, or attempted to decipher what it could mean. But whatever her 'prophecy' meant, it had spooked Harry, and clearly he had his own interpretation of its meaning. He will be doomed to lose his power to the one he loves. Did that mean Hermione? What 'power' was he doomed to lose to her?

It doesn't make any sense, Hermione thought bitterly. Why on earth would she want to take away any of Harry's power? He was their one, best chance at defeating Voldemort after all, and he'd spent the last five years building that power to face him. She had no intention of disrupting that; surely he must know that. If he only had the courage to speak to her directly about it, she would tell him as much and reassure him that the idea was ludicrous.

Hermione pondered the first half of the prophecy as she shuffled into the darkened kitchen to brew herself a cup of coffee. The Dark Lord's defeat is nigh...the one destined to defeat him will claim his hallowed prize. Was that a reference to the Deathly Hallows? She and Harry both knew that Voldemort had the Elder Wand. Did it mean Harry would take ownership of the wand? He already possessed the cloak and the ring; owning the wand would make him the proverbial Master of Death. Was that the 'power' that he was doomed to lose, perhaps? The Tale of the Three Brothers had always struck her as a cautionary tale – maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy after all, and Harry would draw more enemies in the future for his possession of such dangerous artifacts.

The enclave slowly came to life around Hermione as she sat sipping her coffee. The first early-morning risers trickled into the room; a few of the older children indulged in coffee of their own, while the younger ones sat around chatting aimlessly until breakfast was ready. Harry trudged in some time later, looking tired – though he often did these days. Hermione had no idea how often he slept, if at all – even when sharing her bed at night, she could often tell he lay wide awake, thinking about Merlin knows what. But he never complained; he went straight for the coffee pot, pouring himself a steaming cuppa before retreating to a quiet corner of the room, far away from Hermione.

But she would not let him avoid her all day. She approached him before heading into the kitchen to prepare breakfast, telling him, "Don't forget we're meeting General Beckett today at noon."

Harry groaned at this reminder. He clearly had little interest in coordinating efforts with the Muggle forces like Hermione and Ginny had been for months now. He didn't see the value in their support, no matter how much Hermione tried to convince him otherwise, believing his fight with Voldemort was a magical one alone. How can he so easily dismiss ninety-eight percent of the world's population? a frustrated Hermione often wondered. But to his credit, he did join Hermione and Ginny at twelve on the dot to Apparate to Beckett's secret hideout for the meeting.

General Beckett had taken his operation underground for safety reasons since the conflict began. He was easily the most hunted Muggle on the planet, with the fifty thousand Galleon reward for his capture rivaled only by Harry's or Hermione's own bounties. That alone should have been reason enough for Harry to see his value, but he remained just as skeptical and withdrawn as ever as they sat down with Beckett and his top advisors for the meeting.

"There is a magical prison, on an island in the North Sea, that houses political opponents of the Dark Lord," Hermione explained, laying out a map of Britain on the table between them and drawing a red X just off of its eastern shore. "We plan on assaulting it next Friday morning."

"I've never heard of it," Beckett frowned, squinting at the map. "I served in the British Royal Navy, and there are no such islands in that area."

"It's Unplottable," Hermione explained, ignoring the scoff of disbelief from Harry. "It means that Mugg- erm, that non-magical folk can't detect its presence. Your ships and planes won't be able to travel there."

"Great," Beckett said dryly. "So, what are we meant to do, swim?"

"We will need a distraction," Hermione went on, eliciting more groans from Beckett's advisors. "Something big, something that will keep the Ministry of Magic occupied for at least an hour."

"Do you realize how many men we lost during the last 'distraction'?" Becket demanded of her. "We managed to destroy those fireplaces you sent us after, but at what cost? It was a suicide mission, and the place was repaired within twenty-four hours anyway."

"But that's what your people are good for, right?" Harry drawled impatiently. "You outnumber us fifty to one, so losing a few thousand people isn't that big of a deal for your community, is it?"

"My men are not mindless numbers to be sent into slaughter!" Beckett roared indignantly. "They have families to go home to, as do I! We cannot ask them to keep sacrificing themselves for no apparent gain!"

"The last distraction allowed for a successful infiltration mission in the Black Tower," Hermione said softly, attempting to restore the peace. "This one will give us an even greater advantage, if successful. It will allow us to build up a proper wizarding army to take on the Dark Lord and defeat him for good."

"But must we send more foot soldiers in to die?" Beckett said in a slightly softer tone. "We have considerable technological tools at our disposal, especially now that the American military has joined the fight. We can send remote drone strikes, plant explosives—"

"There are magical ways to render such tactics ineffective," Ginny cut in. "We need to keep constant pressure on the Ministry until we are able to complete our mission."

Harry gave Ginny a grateful nod at this, which did not go unnoticed by Hermione. She had been increasingly taking Harry's side in disputes and acting more affectionate towards him, ever since he stopped sleeping in Hermione's office and spending every waking moment with her. Harry had even gifted Ginny with a magical eye recently, similar to the one Mad-Eye Moody once wore, which she wore proudly in her empty socket, disconcerting all the Muggles around her. Whether Harry had made it himself or stolen it from somewhere, Hermione did not know, but she couldn't help but feel uneasy about the closer bond the two had formed recently.

Beckett also did not look happy with the direction the conversation was headed, though for very different reasons. He sighed heavily and sat back in his seat, rubbing his eyes. "Once this 'Dark Lord' of yours is finished," he said, spitting out the moniker with disdain, "I hope we normal folk will be fairly compensated for our efforts in the fight."

"I'll see to that personally," Hermione said hastily, covering up Harry's snort of amusement. "Your contributions will not be forgotten, General Beckett." She wasn't sure if Beckett believed her, especially with the look of derision on Harry's face, but it quelled his protests for the time being.

So the plan was set. Beckett would lead his men on yet another pointless assault on the Ministry entrance downtown, timed precisely for Harry's attack squad's arrival at Azkaban Prison. Another Order meeting was called to finalize the attack strategy, though to Hermione's frustration, the plan was entirely vague and dependent on Harry's lead. Any attempts at developing contingencies or alternate angles of attack were shut down by his insistence that everyone just "stay behind me and cover my back". Hermione hated going into anything under-prepared, yet Harry seemed determined to do as little prep work as possible.

So to assuage her feelings of inadequacy, she set about arranging the affairs of the enclave network in case of disaster. She made a quick journey to Cambridge to meet up with George, who (to Harry's chagrin) had elected to stay behind and watch the children during the attacks. She marveled at the ingenuity of the twins' enclave, which felt far more homely and spacious than her own underground bunker in London. Over a hundred children roamed free from room to room, laughing and playing without a care in the world. Many had been absorbed from several satellite enclaves, but there seemed to be no issue of overcrowding or starvation here – not with the successful joke shop providing ample resources for their young wards.

"Well, if it isn't Wildcat herself, in the flesh," a voice quipped. Hermione turned to see a beaming George approaching, hand entwined with a pretty young woman. She introduced herself as Marianne, the mother of one of the children roaming free throughout the space.

"You're not a witch, then?" Hermione asked politely.

"Not a magical bone in my body," Marianne smiled sheepishly. "My husband threw me and my daughter out when she showed signs of it. Fred and George have been so kind and understanding throughout all of this." And she and George shared a tender kiss, surprising Hermione but sending a warm feeling throughout her body. Such young, budding love was rare in times like these.

"Well, I'm glad you found each other," Hermione smiled at her. "George, shall we talk logistics?"

Marianne left them as George led the way into his office. "So I take it Fred filled you in on the plan?" Hermione asked as soon as the door shut behind them.

"Friday, right?" George confirmed. "Ginny gave me this contraption to communicate with Beckett so I can give you lot the signal. I dunno how it works, but Marianne promised to help me." He showed Hermione the small object in his palm – a cell phone – and she stifled a laugh. The idea of a pure-blood like George dating a Muggle seemed like a disaster waiting to unfold, but she could see how it might do him some good all the same.

"How long has that been going on, anyway?" Hermione asked with a smile.

"A few weeks now," George said, unable to hide the giddy smile on his face. "We've been trying to keep it quiet, for the kids' sake you know. But it's moving fast...can't afford to waste time when tomorrow isn't guaranteed, eh?"

The sobering reminder of their dire situation brought them both quickly back down to earth, and Hermione cleared her throat. "You know where all the other enclaves are, correct?" she asked. When George nodded, she reached into her robes pocket and withdrew five bundles of rope, setting each on the desk beside them. "I've coded these Portkeys to take the children here in case of emergency. If we don't...make it, you'll need to gather all the children here, then find some way to get them out of the country."

"Roger that," George said cheerily, again ignoring the bleak reality of what Hermione was suggesting. If she, Harry and the rest failed to return from Azkaban, they would have far worse problems than caring for the Muggle-born children left behind. But it gave them both a sense of purpose, a glimmer of hope that there would still be a chance at victory someday in the future – as unlikely as that was.

The rest of the week was spent fretfully going over the plan and attempting to wheedle more information out of Harry. The only things Hermione had gathered about their plan was the meeting point and time of the assault. "Won't we need broomsticks?" Hermione asked during one planning session, but Harry just laughed and shook his head no. She didn't know what that meant, but Harry was confident, which was good enough for everyone else. Was Hermione just being needlessly paranoid, or was there merit to her cautious approach?

Thursday evening came far too quickly, and the last-minute preparations were made. After forcing herself to eat something with the other children, Hermione headed down the hallway towards her office to get some shut-eye. But before she disappeared around the corner, she caught the tail-end of a hushed conversation between Ginny and Harry, pausing briefly to listen in.

"...can always come and stay in my room if you'd like," Ginny was saying, running an affectionate hand up Harry's arm. "You don't have to sleep on that dirty floor any longer."

But Harry did not appear receptive to this idea. "The floor is just fine, but thanks for the offer," he said coolly. He gently pulled himself out of her grasp and walked away, leaving the redhead looking quite put-out. Ginny's mismatched eyes wandered and narrowed upon Hermione, who flushed with embarrassment; she'd been caught staring. She retreated down the hall in shame, but could not help but feel some measure of satisfaction at the witnessed exchange.


Hermione awoke early on the day of the planned attack, still feeling woefully under-prepared but oddly at peace with the situation. They needed Harry to win the war anyway, so why not trust that he knew what he was doing? He was the true leader of the resistance now, not her, and she needed to learn how to let go of her anxiety. So she pushed her doubts to the back of her mind and committed herself to the task at hand – Harry needed her at her A-game today.

At precisely eight-fifteen, Hermione and Ginny Apparated to the designated rendezvous point on the eastern coast of the isle. Neville, Luna, Sadie and George were already there waiting for them, shivering in the brisk morning air. Hermione wordlessly cast Warming Charms on everyone, earning their silent gratitude, though Ginny continued to give Hermione the cold shoulder. Just focus on the task at hand, Hermione told herself irritably.

"No sign of Harry?" she asked aloud, glancing up and down the coastline for any sign of him. The others shook their head. He had another five minutes before they planned to depart, but he ought to have been here by now. Hermione checked her watch compulsively every thirty seconds; eight-twenty arrived and there was still no sign of him.

"Got the signal," Fred announced, revealing his vibrating arm band to the group. Presumably George wore an identical one, back in the enclave, communicating with the Muggle forces preparing to assault the Ministry. In ten minutes they would open fire, and their window of opportunity would be open while Voldemort's forces were preoccupied. But where on Earth was Harry?

The wind suddenly picked up, causing the whole group to shift their weight to avoid being swept off their feet. It was like a hurricane had suddenly descended upon them, threatening to blow them all out to sea. Everyone looked around wildly in alarm. Only Hermione thought to look straight up, and there she saw them: a small army of Patronuses, crackling with dangerous electricity, flying out towards the heart of the North Sea. And flying among them was Harry, looking down upon them, beckoning them upwards…

"Jump!" Hermione exclaimed. And before anyone could question her, she leapt off her feet; a gust of wind caught her and carried her up, up into the sky. After a brief moment of fear, she steadied herself and found that she could maneuver within the pocket of wind enveloping her in midair. She rose some hundred feet up to draw level with Harry, who was looking bemused at her shaky approach.

"We're a minute behind schedule," he chastised her, though the twinkle in his eye told Hermione that he was joking.

"Always with the flair for the dramatic," Hermione huffed with a grin. Soon after, the other five attack squad members rose to meet them, looking variously terrified.

"All set?" Harry asked, as if it mattered. "Let's go!" And he shot off ahead of the pack, flying among his Patronuses at high speeds, towards open water. The others were swept along in his slipstream, each swearing and groaning loudly at the unnatural sensation of being carried by the wind itself. Hermione settled into a position that made sense to her – head forward, knees bent at a slight angle, as though she was riding a broomstick. If she didn't look down, maybe she could trick her brain into believing it too.

The British coast swiftly disappeared behind them, leaving them surrounded by water on all sides. Both the water and the air grew more choppy; gusts of wind and rain pelted them from all sides, so that even through the Warming Charm Hermione felt as though her face was about to freeze off. Harry had promised that Azkaban was only a short flight from shore, which she was quietly grateful for as this method of transportation was far from comfortable.

Hermione tried to distract herself by activating her Sight and examining the Patronuses more closely. They bore the same magical signature as a regular Patronus, though with several additional symbols floating among the currents. She recognized one of them from the Sectumsempra curse – the symbol that separated it from a standard Cutting Curse. Did that indicate malice of some kind? Had Harry summoned these by drawing on emotions of hatred and anger, rather than happiness? He had alluded to as much previously, but it was disconcerting nonetheless…

The sky grew increasingly darker and more ominous the closer they got to the prison. Black storm clouds gathered all around them, and the waves of the sea far below grew stronger, as though drawing upon some dark source of energy nearby. And sure enough, soon the high, black walls of Azkaban emerged through the darkness, sending a shiver down Hermione's spine. She'd seen images of the place plenty of times before, but they paled in comparison to the horrific sight before her eyes – a hellish structure on a barren rock in the middle of nowhere, containing untold horrors within.

"Got the signal from George!" Fred bellowed over the whipping winds from somewhere behind Hermione. "The attack has begun!"

"Good, because they're about to know we're coming," Harry shouted back grimly. And seconds later, Hermione felt as though she'd passed through an invisible waterfall as they crossed the ward boundary of the prison. That would surely tip off the Ministry that intruders had arrived, and would undoubtedly prevent them from Apparating away if anything went wrong. No turning back now...Hermione just had to hope the Muggle forces would be able to distract the Ministry long enough for their mission to succeed.

"Get ready!" Hermione bellowed; they were beginning to descend towards the rocky island. They had designated the southeastern corner of the prison to begin their assault; it was the farthest away from the main entrance and therefore the least likely spot to be defended. Harry's Patronuses swept them down towards the rock; Hermione braced herself for a hard impact, wand drawn, ready to fight. The wind deposited her roughly on the rock; she tucked into a roll, righted herself, aimed, and—

Nothing. All six attackers crouched, just feet from the prison walls, wands drawn. But it was eerily quiet, save for the whipping wind and crashing waves below them. There didn't seem to be a soul around, not even a lone Dementor standing between them and the prison. Homenum Revelio, Hermione thought; her pulse of magic confirmed that there were no guards patrolling the rock nearby. Was this some kind of a trick?

Harry frowned, stepping to the front of the pack. "Bombarda," he muttered; a crackling jet of red light erupted from his wand at the prison wall, but it was absorbed at once, leaving no visible damage. "Wards?" he wondered aloud, examining the untouched granite edifice.

"Perhaps," said Hermione, stepping forward. She had detected no active enchantments surrounding the prison, and when she reached out towards the wall, she found that she could touch it, run her hand along the rock face. Any preventative wards would have likely kept them from making contact with the prison itself. "Or maybe runes, built into the wall itself?"

Harry groaned; clearly he had not kept up on his Ancient Runes theory. "Can you decode them?" he asked, impatient.

"Specialis revelio," Hermione whispered with a flourish of her wand. At once, the wall of the prison lit up with hundreds, if not thousands of symbols inset into the granite. She swore under her breath; it was a far more complicated rune network than she'd ever encountered. It would take a team of expert rune-breakers days, if not weeks to break through, by which time the Ministry would no doubt be breathing down their necks.

"Well?" asked Harry. "Can you get around them?"

"One second," Hermione groaned, irritated. She closed her eyes and activated her Sight, marveling at the complex web of magic stitched together in the wall. She still could not make heads or tails of what each individual rune did, much less what they all accomplished in conjunction with one another. But she could now identify several key choke points in the network – runes pulsing with more vibrant magic than the others, key cogs in the complex machine, connected to many more around it. She could not hope to deactivate every rune. But maybe, if she selected the right few…

Hermione began pulling with her magic, testing the threads of magic inter-stitched along the wall, seeing which ones could be budged and which resisted her touch. She focused on the thickest clusters of connections, breaking apart loose threads, slowly untangling the vast golden web before her. As each connection was severed, the rest seemed to fall apart more easily; the complexity of the runes became a weakness as much as a strength, too inter-dependent on one another. Hermione continued deactivating the key choke points, watching as the entire network began to fail, until suddenly she was able to completely clear away a stretch of wall just to their right. It would do for now.

"There," she panted, pointing at the exposed section of wall. Harry did not hesitate. He waved his wand and send another Blasting Hex, which carved a massive hole into the granite, granting them access. Hermione released her magic with a great sigh, nearly toppling over with the effort.

"You alright, Granger?" asked Harry delicately.

"Yeah," Hermione nodded. She reached into her robes and withdrew a small vial of Invigoration Draught she'd brewed in case of emergency; she tossed it back into her throat, feeling her magic slowly returning to her as the bubbling liquid settled into her stomach.

"Let's go, then," Harry announced. And he led the way through the hole in the wall, his five cohorts close behind.

The interior of the prison was just as eerily quiet as the exterior was. The high vaulted ceilings amplified their footsteps, echoing eerily through the cavernous space. They passed by row after row of empty cells, collecting dust, looking as though they hadn't been occupied in years. Have we come for nothing? Hermione wonders, beginning to panic. Is there nobody here after all?

"Where are all the guards?" Neville whispers, voicing aloud what they were all thinking.

"The dementors have all been relocated to London, presumably," Harry muses aloud. "As for human guards? Well, I suppose we'll find out. Homenum Revelio." A rush of Harry's magic pulses through the space, briefly illuminating the dark interior before plunging them back into near-total darkness. "Northeast wing," Harry announces, changing course to lead them in the right direction.

Thank Merlin, there are people here, Hermione breathes a sigh of relief. But people meant conflict, so she tightened her grip on her wand, ready for action, hoping the Invigoration Draught continued to work quickly in her system….

The entire group flinched as they rounded a corner and were met with a great roar of anger. Two hulking security trolls stood in their path, brandishing clubs, leering down at them with malicious expressions. Hermione raised her wand, a Stunning Spell on the tip of her tongue, but Harry slashed his wand fiercely, and the two trolls instantly fell to the floor. The group cautiously approached; a rancid smell entered Hermione's nose, and she saw blood pooling around the trolls' bodies from whatever curse Harry had killed them with.

"Outgrown your Expelliarmus days, have you, Potter?" Hermione quipped in an attempt to clear the air, but she could not hide the mild disgust in her tone at the gruesome sight.

"We're at war, Hermione," Harry admonished her without a trace of humor. "Start acting like it." And he led the way further into the prison; the others followed, careful not to get troll blood on their shoes.

They met their first human guards not long after. A shout of alarm was met by another flick of Harry's wand, sending a blast of magic down the corridor that made Hermione's neck hairs stand up on end. Two guards lay crumpled in a heap on the floor; fortunately they did not bleed quite so much as the trolls. Dead, or simply Stunned? Hermione wondered if Harry had spared them such a gory fate for her benefit.

"We're getting closer," Harry whispered as they crept forward. They were approaching the northeast corner of the prison, and still it was quiet and still. Why was the prison so empty? There were no sounds of distant footsteps marching towards them, no alarms sounding despite the broken runes and blasted wall. Something was definitely off about this whole experience…

They reached the end of the corridor, with only a single cell door closed at the very end of the row. They could hear hushed voices inside, which went silent as the group approached. Harry crept forward and leapt in front of the cell, wand pointed inside...which he promptly lowered to the floor, looking perplexed. Hermione crept alongside Harry and peered into the cell. It contained only two occupants, perhaps the most unlikely pair Hermione could imagine: Viktor Krum and Rubeus Hagrid.

"Hagrid?" Harry asked incredulously as Hermione silently unlocked and opened the cell door.

"Harry!" the great half-giant bellowed in jubilation. Hagrid lumbered out of the cell and enveloped Harry in a bone-crushing hug. "I knew yeh would return, I just knew it!"

"About damn time," Krum snarled, casually exiting the cell behind Hagrid. "Thanks, Potter, Granger." He nodded cordially to them both; Hermione returned the gesture, as did the other four stunned attackers.

"Where is everyone?" asked Harry as soon as Hagrid put him down. "Where are all the guards, all the prisoners?"

"We're it," Hagrid shrugged. "They've been emptying the place fer months now, 'til it was just us two left. Reckon them put us together ter keep a closer eye on us."

"But...but why you, Hagrid?" Hermione asked, dumbfounded. She could understand why Krum was still alive, but Hagrid of all people made no sense. She had been certain that all of the old guard of the Order had been killed long ago.

"I s'pose they needed my expertise on the Forbidden Forest," Hagrid chuckled. "Once the Carrows took over, the centaurs and the acromantulas and everything else...well, they ain't been happy, let's put it that way. Keep askin' me for advice on how ter calm 'em."

"So why not let you keep your job at Hogwarts?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Cuz I bloody well couldn't work for the Carrows, that's why!" Hagrid protested. "They been torturin' students for steppin' out of line, they 'ave. I couldn' stand by and watch it happen."

"Right," Harry said slowly, glancing around the prison, looking somewhat deflated. "So you two are the only prisoners here? And those two guards were the only ones watching you?"

"Indeed," Krum nodded. "Nice blokes, they vere. Ve used to play Gobstones to pass the time. I hope you did not kill them."

Harry did not answer this question directly, which told Hermione all she needed to know about the guards' fates. "Well, I suppose we'd better get out of here," said Harry. "I think the main entrance is nearby. Hermione, can you check for any more runes or traps while we do one last sweep of the cells?"

"Erm...sure," Hermione agreed. She turned left down the last remaining corridor, where she could see light streaming in through the high windows of the prison's main foyer. The anxiety bubbling in her stomach was slowly starting to subside as she realized just how little security (and importance) Azkaban held. She'd long suspected that the Black Tower had become the more crucial prison center, and this distant slab of rock was clearly being phased out of use entirely. The mission would only net them two allies, but at least they could get in and out cleanly. Now how are we going to justify this to Beckett? Hermione wondered to herself, as she rounded the corner and pushed open the main front doors of the prison—

—and found herself face to face with several dozen armed Ministry employees, wands drawn and pointed directly at her face.

"We have you surrounded, Granger!" snarled an Auror near the front of the pack. "We know Potter is with you! Drop your wand and surrender immediately!"

Hermione surveyed the scene. There was no way she could defeat this many witches and wizards at once, even with her enhanced affinity to magic. But she could attempt a large burst of magic to knock everyone off-guard, then make a run for it back into the prison and lead the way back to the southeast corner. Hopefully the Invigoration Draught had restored enough of her magic to succeed. She flexed her fingers on her wand, drawing her magic inwards, preparing to lash out with one great force—

"Hermione, no!"

The voice rang out from the crowd, causing Hermione to freeze. A figure in a sharp purple uniform pushed forward to the front of the pack, looking frightened. He had his wand pointed directly at her, but his hand was shaking; he clearly did not want to be here.

"P-please just surrender, Hermione," Ron pleaded with her. "They'll kill you otherwise, and everyone else inside."

"Can't do that, Weasley," Hermione said, spitting his last name as though it were a slur. He flinched at the sound. "You're on the wrong side here."

"The Dark Lord is more powerful than you can imagine!" said Ron, terrified. "You can't possibly expect to beat him!"

"Harry can, and he will," Hermione insisted.

"We shouldn't be fighting any more," Ron said, sounding tired. "You've seen what the Muggle savages are like. We magical folk have to stick together—"

"Together?!" Hermione laughed. "As you continue to hunt down the children in my care? Why aren't you sticking with them?"

Ron opened his mouth to respond, but another, growling voice interrupted them both.

"You."

The voice sent chills down Hermione's spine. She turned to see Harry approaching from the prison, glaring daggers at Ron. She hadn't seen such an expression on his face before – a look of utter revulsion.

"Potter," muttered Ron, in a tone approaching awe. Before Hermione could register what was happening, Ron stepped in front of Hermione, as though to shield her from Harry – as though he were the bigger threat to them both.

"H-Harry Potter," Ron said in a shakier tone now, leveling his wand at Harry. "Y-you are under arrest, by the orders of the Ministry of Magic. Submit yourself peacefully, or we will use force."

"Oh, will you?" Harry laughed; it was clear to everyone that he was mocking Ron. "Are you gonna lunge after me again, Ronniekins, like you did at the wedding? Are you gonna beg me to remain your friend?"

Hermione studied Harry closely; he looked murderous, but he didn't dare attack while Hermione stood in the line of fire. She activated her Sight, and she saw the dangerous tendrils of Dark magic swirling around Harry, menacing, waiting to strike.

"Enough!" Ron bellowed, but he lacked the conviction to sound intimidating. "The war is over, Harry. These acts of terror will get you nowhere—"

"Some of us never stopped fighting the war, Ron," Harry retorted. "Some of us never forgot what side they were on."

"There are no more sides!" Ron protested. "The Order is finished! You two are the only thing standing between us and a peaceful society. Can't you just end this and let the rest of us move on?"

Hermione could see the shock in Harry's expression at this, at hearing his once-best friend buy in so easily to Voldemort's promises of peace and prosperity. Surely he must realize what a lie it was? How brutal and violent the Dark Lord's reign was and would continue to be, even if Harry and Hermione were killed? A look of resignation crossed Harry's face as he realized, at long last, that his former friend had made his decision. There was no more redeeming Ron Weasley in Harry's eyes.

"So be it," Harry muttered.

Hermione saw it before she felt it. A single tendril of magic branching out towards her, past Ron's surprised form, wrapping itself around her and yanking her back towards the prison. Hermione struggled to remain upright, but the wordless spell tossed her to the ground unceremoniously. She reeled, looking up towards Harry, realizing what he was about to do. "Harry, don't—" she tried to shout.

But it was too late. The second she was out of the way, Harry's magic exploded with a force Hermione had never seen before. He sent waves of white-hot fire across the crowd, engulfing dozens of witches and wizards in scorching flames. Some managed to Portkey away or dive backwards into the sea before they got hit by the blast. Some screamed in terror and succumbed to the blazing heat, torching their bodies to a crisp in seconds. Others, like Ron, never knew what hit them; one moment they stared dumbfounded at the Boy Who Lived, the next they were simply gone. Not even a trace of ash left behind by the greedy, voracious maw of the Fiendfyre.

Hermione stared in shock at the spot where, not ten seconds ago, her once-best friend and girlhood crush had stood. Now he was gone, faster than she could blink or even comprehend what had happened. Harry extinguished the flames as fast as he'd conjured them and turned back to the group.

"Time to go," he announced. And before Hermione could let even exhale in shock, Harry grabbed her arm and whisked her away into the air, with Neville, Ginny, Sadie, Fred, Krum and Hagrid close behind.