Trigger warning: Blood
Hermione came down to breakfast in somewhat of a stupor. She had made her way back to the Hospital Wing from the Astronomy Tower awash in emotion, the ghost of Draco's touches still haunting her skin. Something felt irrevocably changed, though she couldn't place her finger on what.
She entered the Great Hall and her eyes sought out their table, where it seemed everyone had beaten her to breakfast. Harry, Ron, and Neville were speaking animatedly, while Draco ate — properly ate — toast and eggs beside them. It occurred to her, then, what was missing.
She wanted them to know.
Perhaps they would be angry with her, but she was in too deep to keep it a secret any longer. And if there was war, she wanted them to know exactly what she was fighting for.
Within a moment, before she'd reached the vacant chair at Draco's left, her mind was made up: She would tell them.
"Morning, Hermione! Sleep well?"
Draco perked up at her name and turned to give her a small smile as she sat herself beside him and began to pile her plate with toast.
"Good morning, everyone. I slept fine, thank you. Could you pass the marmalade, please, Harry? Oh, thank y—"
Hermione was cut off by a low, earthy groaning which shook the room.
Harry's eyebrows rose, jar of marmalade still extended towards her. "What the —?"
Again — like a tremendously large footstep had struck the grounds, making the whole world tremble. Goblets and carafes of pumpkin juice wobbled on tables as the students looked to each other in fear. Hermione remembered that night in the lab, when they'd foolishly thought it was earthquakes, and felt cold dread coil in her stomach.
Then, that voice she had last heard before she was lost to pain, sounded with perfect clarity in her ear.
"Greetings, people of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Lord Voldemort has arrived for you. The Ministry of Magic is mine, and so too will the school be. Surrender. I am outside, and I will not wait long."
The Great Hall erupted in fearful screams. Hermione instinctually reached for those nearest to her — Harry and Draco. Her fingernails bit into their wrists as the noises of fear heightened around them and some students got up to run — to where, Hermione couldn't fathom. Perhaps neither could they.
The pandemonium was punctuated by an explosion of sparks above the tables. Younger students screamed louder, but McGonagall's magically amplified voice silenced them all.
"ENOUGH!"
All heads turned to the Head Table, where all the staff was on their feet, wands out and pointed at the doors, and where the headmistress stood surveying them all gravely.
"Fifth- and sixth-year prefects," she instructed, "you will escort your younger housemates to your respective dormitories where you will execute the safety drills we have practised. Do not forget there are extra security wards in place; once you enter your common room, no-one will be able to get in or out without a staff member. Take care not to be left behind.
"Seventh years, I advise you to follow the rest of your house, but seeing as you are of age, I cannot prevent you from staying to defend the school if you choose to —"
Ginny slammed her hands onto the table and stood. "No way! I want to fight, too!"
"Me too!" cried someone else across the Great Hall.
"And me!"
"Enough — ENOUGH! Ginevra Weasley!" fumed McGonagall. "You are sixteen! As headmistress of this institution, I have sworn an oath of protection for all underage pupils, of which you are one! You will follow your designated prefect back to your tower. I will not tolerate exceptions."
"But —!"
"No. Exceptions."
McGonagall's voice echoed coarsely off the high walls of the Great Hall. In the silence that followed, Hermione sensed the collective straining to hear sounds from outside which might signal Voldemort's approach. There was nothing but the whoosh of wind against the windows.
"I understand your feelings, Miss Weasley, as well as anyone else underage who may be tempted to stay. But you must understand this: The wizards who wish you harm know spells you've never heard of, and they will not wait for you to learn. This is not a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, this is war. Even if you got an 'O' on your O.W.L., even if you've read every page of every book… I cannot allow it.
"Now," said the headmistress more evenly, "Prefects: stand."
Scattered around the Great Hall, students stood, some looking timid, others defiant.
"Assemble yourselves in pairs by the doors. When I permit the rest of the students to follow, you will position two of you at the front of the line and two at the back. Remember, anyone you leave behind will not be able to enter."
The hollow sound of solitary footsteps hurrying to the door. The Great Hall held its breath as the frantic prefects organised themselves by house, before turning to McGonagall expectantly.
The headmistress nodded at them before scanning the remaining crowd over her spectacles. "Hogwarts will protect you," she told them solemnly. "Hogwarts is prepared. Now, the rest of you, please stand — quietly — and follow your prefects to your dormitories."
There was a terrible scraping sound as hundreds of chairs were pushed backwards at once and Hermione heard whimpers and cries as younger students were quickly overwhelmed by fear. Hermione didn't blame them; she wouldn't be surprised if she burst into tears herself. She still hadn't let go of Harry and Draco.
"I'm not going," growled Ginny.
"Ginny —"
"No, Ron. You're not Mum and Dad. You can't tell me what to do. Actually, neither can they. So I'm not going."
"Bu—"
"You too, Harry! I'm serious!" There were furious tears in Ginny's eyes now. "I'm staying with you! You're really going to tell me that Malfoy gets to fight with you, but I can't?"
"Malfoy's seventeen —"
"I fought with you at the Ministry, Harry!"
"And I'm telling you, this is different!"
"Give me your Invisibility Cloak, Harry."
"No, I won't."
"Harry!"
"Hey."
They all turned at once to find Luna standing there, somehow still so patient amidst the escalating chaos around them. Luna reached for Ginny's hand, which was trembling, and took it in her own.
"Don't tell me you're going to tell me off, too," snapped Ginny defiantly, but the effect was tempered by the tears in her eyes. "So I can be stuck in my tower, not even able to talk to you —"
"Wait." Hermione froze, blinking foolishly as the Great Hall buzzed with barely restrained anxiety around them. "Ginny — hang on —" she reached for her bag and said, "Accio diaries!"
Matching bound books flew from her schoolbag and Draco's.
"Hey!" he protested, but Hermione was too busy undoing the privacy charms she'd carefully imbued in them so long ago.
"You should be able to read them now — here. They mirror one another. You'll be able to talk to each other from your towers, keep each other safe. Especially if — if things don't go to plan."
Ginny and Luna each took one of the diaries, Luna examining hers with curiosity whilst Ginny shoved her own in her bag.
Around them, the Great Hall was devolving into organised chaos. Ginny sniffed, not quite meeting anybody's eyes, and pulled Luna to her in a bruising kiss. Hermione felt the instinct to look away but found she couldn't; the pure desperation of their passion was transfixing. Around them, the uproar of terrified children hurrying for the doors grew louder.
Eventually, Ginny pulled away, her face streaked with tears, leaving Luna looking a little stunned.
"Fine," conceded Ginny with a thick voice. "But if something goes wrong — if you need me — I'm coming."
Luna gave her one solemn nod and Ginny held her gaze for a long moment before glancing once at the rest of them who stood watching. Then her jaw set and, with Luna's hand in hers, she set off in the direction the headmistress had ordered. Hermione watched them move through the crowd, unmistakable, until they parted to line up with their respective Houses. The thought of their hands separating — possibly for the last time — made her throat tighten.
With a nod from McGonagall, the long lines of pupils began their march into the Entrance Hall, the syncopated thundering of their footsteps momentarily drowning out all other noise. The remaining staff and of-age students watched them go without moving, their steps echoing off the stone outside the Great Hall until it was a distant shadow of sound.
Those left numbered around two dozen, plus the teachers who had already mobilised in an orchestrated defensive pattern around the Great Hall. Hermione spotted Flitwick enchanting the doors when another tremor shook the castle.
Still standing behind the Head Table, the headmistress and drawn her wand. She surveyed each of her remaining pupils — and ex-pupils — one by one; when her hard gaze landed on Hermione, Hermione felt some of the older witch's strength pass through the connection into her. There was fear there, to be sure, but so much bravery and pride.
She felt movement to her right and saw Draco take a step nearer. Once her eyes caught his, she couldn't look away, and he gave her a solemn nod which reaffirmed his promise on the Astronomy Tower.
I won't let anything happen to you, Granger.
If only it were that easy.
The castle shook again and Hermione swore the temperature of the Great Hall dropped several degrees.
She waited for Minerva to speak, because surely she would, but before the headmistress could open her mouth there was a tremendous roar and a banging on the doors in the Entrance Hall. The group of students-turned-fighters collectively made for the Entrance Hall, wands drawn, and Hermione felt that same leap of adrenaline as her body and mind prepared for battle.
"I've activated the protective wards, Minerva," shouted Professor Flitwick over the noise, "but I'm not sure how well they'll hold!"
"The rest of the Order is on their way," intoned Minerva gravely. "We'll just have to make do until they arrive."
"Grawp'll keep 'em busy for a bit," growled Hagrid. Hermione wondered if that was what the inhuman roars were — giants.
She swallowed. There were some creatures magic didn't work well against. Her scar twinged with a flutter of fear.
The doors continued to tremble as they were assaulted by God-knew-what outside, and Hermione's grip on her wand tightened, ready to cast a shield the second the heavy wood gave way. Suddenly, there was a rush of heavy footsteps, but not from outside. It was the Weasleys, hurrying into the Entrance Hall, having Flooed in somewhere else in the castle.
"Mum!" cried Ron, his voice breaking. "Dad!"
Behind them, Bill, Fleur, Charlie, and the twins aimed their wands at the shuddering doors.
"Mad-Eye and Kingsley will be here any minute, and Tonks is bringing up a fleet from Hogsmeade, as discussed," reported Mr Weasley seriously.
Minerva nodded. "When Hogwarts is breached," she began, and Hermione went cold at when, not if, "keep them away from the dormitories. We will have to separate, but do not let them catch you alone!"
They all nodded as the door shook again; this time, she saw the wood fracture.
"Wands ready! And today, let's just say I'm willing to overlook any Unforgivables."
The doors parted, just an inch, but it was enough for that familiar chill to seep through. Hermione choked on her breath as a blackened appendage curled around the edge of the door and the cold — unnatural, not like the winter breeze outside — brushed against her.
She was going to die.
Another hand appeared — how many Dementors had Voldemort brought?
Her scar shivered in anticipation of the despair, the Dark Magic lurking nearby, and she squeezed her wand, searching for something to make into a Patronus.
Lupin had cast one already; its wolfen shape was charging at the doors, flanked by a stag and a pair of weasels. The visible parts of the Dementors were cringing away from the magic, but the doors were still creeping open, inch by inch.
There was no hope.
A warm hand encircled her wrist. She felt Draco pull her close, breathe her in, and then cry, "Expecto patronum!"
She saw his wand in her periphery, the way the pure white magic surged through the tip, stronger than she'd ever seen it. This time, there was no fog or vague silhouettes. A swan, clear and defined, flew forth from his wand, elegant and majestic as it surged toward the Dementors, wings outstretched. It joined the growing crowd of Patronuses guarding the door and Hermione gaped at its beauty.
Draco's hand squeezed her wrist, so strong and reassured, and Hermione raised her wand. "Expecto patronum!"
Her otter emerged, curious and alert, and quickly joined its brethren at the door.
It was just enough.
The doors swung open and the Patronuses lunged for the crowd of Dementors waiting at the threshold. Beyond them, Hermione saw giants battling centaurs in the winter daylight, and a seemingly endless army of black-clad Death Eaters. None of them bothered to wear masks. Not anymore. Not when they'd come to win.
She saw their wicked smiles widen when they laid eyes on her, their eyebrows raise when they spotted Draco beside her.
And then they were coming.
Even with the Patronuses keeping her despairing thoughts at bay, Hermione's rational mind knew that they were severely outnumbered. They couldn't take on that many Death Eaters at once — their best hope would be to drag them deeper into the castle, split them up, pick them off one by one —
The rest of the Order seemed to have the same thought. Someone screamed, "Run!" and then the crowd broke into fragments — pairs and trios — backing toward the stairwell as the spellfire began. Draco's hand tightened on her wrist and then they were moving, casting jinxes and hexes over their shoulders and ducking vicious bolts of magic as they went.
They picked a corridor at random and Hermione realised they were alone with three Death Eaters in pursuit. She flung Stunners in their direction, noting with satisfaction when one hit its mark. There was a thud as a second wizard hit the ground, thanks to a curse from Draco, and then they were approaching a dead end.
Hermione whirled around before they could be cornered and aimed her wand squarely at the remaining Death Eater who'd followed them.
"Sectumsempra!"
He screamed and fell backwards, incapacitated by his wounds, and Hermione took Draco's hand and dragged him back the way they'd come, to where they could make a right-hand turn and find a stairwell that would take them deeper within the castle.
They were halfway up a staircase, the sound of magical fighting echoing in the distance, when Draco cried out. Hermione turned, ready to fight this surprise attacker, but found nobody there. Draco was bent at the waist, gripping his forearm.
"Draco?" She placed a hand on his shoulder, a pointless effort to steady him or soothe the apparent agony he was in. "Is it burning?"
He nodded jerkily, jaw clenched, tears clear in his eyes as he swallowed a scream. Hermione looked to his arm and felt sick at the sight: There was blood at the end of his sleeve, running onto his clenched hand. His Mark was bleeding.
"He's found me," Draco gasped, and Hermione didn't ask how he knew. He looked up at her, that same fearful certainty she'd seen in his eyes at the Ministry. Before he'd asked the worst of her. "You have to go."
"What?!" Hermione shrieked. "I'm not leaving you!"
"Hermione," he tried to implore through the pain, "he knows I'm here. And now he's come to punish me for defecting. It's why" — he jerked his head at his forearm — "he's incapacitating me. So I can't fight back."
"Then I'll fight for you," she swore. "For both of us."
His breaths were coming in heavy gasps, the blood still dripping from where it dribbled down his hand. This was Dark Magic — murtlap might help, but she wasn't sure how much. Could she get them to their lab?
"Hermione," he tried again. The sound of battle was now joined by the groan and screech of stone being destroyed; Hogwarts itself was under attack.
"I'm not leaving you behind," she promised again.
"You have to, you —" Draco blinked. His hand relaxed, and he straightened, looking puzzled.
"Draco?" she asked hesitantly.
"It's… stopped."
"Stopped?"
"The pain." Looking at his bloodied hand, he flexed his fingers. "It's fine now."
Hermione didn't know what that might mean, but decided they couldn't afford to dwell on it. Draco was fine. She would take it.
"Come on, then," she reached for his hand, uncaring of the blood. "Let's keep going."
Before she made it three steps up, a deep hiss stopped her cold in her tracks.
Sick with dread and knowing exactly what she would find waiting for her, she turned to look behind her and met Nagini's hungry eyes.
"That's why — why my Mark —" Draco swallowed. "She's found me."
Nagini's forked tongue darted out, scenting Draco's blood in the air.
Hermione's chest tightened, her muscles coiling in anticipation of the hunt. None of them moved.
"Run," she breathed.
Then she turned and sprinted up the stairs, hearing Draco close behind and Nagini's delighted hissing not far off. She reached the top of the staircase and darted around the first corner she found, hoping that Nagini's heavy body was not as agile as their human legs.
It seemed her hope was in vain.
Hermione's footsteps smacked against the flagstones, but she wasn't fast enough. The slithering — the heavy drag of scales against stone was catching up, and she knew she would not be able to escape. As though it were Fate herself mocking her, her toe caught on a piece of rubble and sent her flying, skinning her palms on the floor and winding her with a sharp thud to her chest as she landed on the ground.
Behind her, she heard a delighted hissing and the heavy, uneven footfalls of Draco. Her vision blurred; she tried to push herself back up and turned in time to see Draco raise his wand at the rearing snake and cry, "Avada kedavra!"
Nothing happened; there was no flash of green. Nagini hissed furiously, emboldened by the failed attempt to kill her.
Draco made a strangled noise of terror, his wand visibly trembling in his grip as he tried to aim.
"S-sectumsempra!"
Scales tore as deep gashes opened across Nagini's thick body, dark blood spilling onto the flagstones. The snake let out a furious, anguished hiss as it swayed and then collapsed on the floor, twitching faintly as its life oozed out.
Draco came to Hermione's side and knelt there, panting, eyes wild with fear.
"Granger? Are you alright?"
She nodded, though she was still too winded to speak properly. Draco's shaking hands came to her shoulders to prop her up. Hermione winced as she used her hands on the stone floor to support herself. All pain was forgotten, however, when the snake's corpse distinctly shifted amongst the rubble.
It twitched more intensely, its long, bloody body spasming, sending small rocks rolling down the steps with a low rumble.
Hermione and Draco froze, petrified, waiting. Perhaps she'd imagined it — but no, the snake was moving, but this time it was different. It flinched and jerked unnaturally, like a marionette controlled by a poor puppeteer. Its head rose up, wobbly and distinctly un-snakelike, and when its eyes opened, they were red.
It hissed, though it was more of a snarl, and approached them.
There was no time to stand and run — Hermione could only scramble backwards on the floor, Draco beside her, wand frantically aimed at the oncoming snake.
"Avada kedavra!" he called again. "Imperio!"
"It won't work," Hermione realised. "It's not — Oh, God, it's the Horcrux in control now — You-Know-Who's soul —"
"That's what a Horcrux is?!" shouted Draco. "Fucking —"
He was cut off by another coarse hiss. His bloodied hand clamped around her wrist, practically crushing the delicate bones there, but she hardly felt it. The snake was advancing in uneven jerks and starts, snarling and looking at them with its almost-human eyes, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.
Hermione was bracing herself for the pain, for whatever evil-infused venom awaited them in those glistening fangs. How would the presence of Voldemort — of him and nothing else — within the snake affect how it chose to kill them?
Hermione could not look away from those scarlet eyes, not even when the flash of silver came crashing down, skewering the snake to the floor as it cried out, black smoke emanating from all its orifices and wounds as it flailed and then collapsed in an undignified heap with a dull, heavy thud.
The Sword of Gryffindor was yanked from the dead snake; Hermione saw black blood slide off the blade. Her eyes followed to the hilt, where Minerva McGonagall gripped the ruby-encrusted silver with a put-out expression on her worn face. "Are you two alright?"
Hermione could barely move; it was Draco who finally nodded. "Yes, headmistress."
"Hmph. Good. Potter had said you might be in need of this." She gestured her head to the sword, now hanging elegantly at her side, as though it belonged there. "Come. We have much to discuss, and not enough time to do it."
Draco helped Hermione to standing and they hurried after McGonagall, wands out and ready.