Hermione Granger was many things. Brave. Driven. Resilient. Brilliant beyond her years. One thing she wasn't, was a monster. She hadn't allowed herself to become one, even after seeing Colin Creevey bludgeoned to death by trolls or Lavender Brown torn to shreds by werewolves. Not even after hearing the cries of Teddy Lupin for his mother.

She couldn't be a monster, because that's what they were. Horrific creatures with dark magic swirling all around them. Voldemort looked less of a wizard, and more of a ghoul from a muggle horror film. The students she had gone to Hogwarts with were wide-eyed and full of wonder, but now, their faces were distorted, hidden under Death Eater masks to hide their transformation.

She couldn't be a monster, because the Order needed her. Ron needed her. Harry needed her.

And despite the raging war, she seemed to have it all together. To most, she seemed level headed, like the war hadn't phased her one bit. There wasn't an ounce of sadness that she let escape from her eyes. Even after she had seen some of her closest friends die. And even after learning of her lover's betrayal.

"Mione, I'm sorry," Ron whispered as he held her close to his chest. He couldn't bear to look into her soft, brown eyes as tears spilled from them. He felt a coward for it, and he didn't let go when she pounded her fists against his shoulders and sobbed.

"Let me go, Ronald!" Her chest heaved, leaving her breathless. The beating of her heart felt erratic, irregular. Before this moment, she thought she and Ron's were in sync. In the nights where she couldn't sleep, Hermione would lay her head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat with hers. The same rhythm, together, as they had been inseparable for fifteen years. Fifteen years adventure, laughter, and heartbreak all down the drain for a few moments of selfishness. Fifteen years she had grown to know every part of him.

"It didn't mean anything, I swear it," he pleaded with her. "She means nothin' to me."

It felt irrational for her to be so undone by something as simple as Ron having sex with another woman. If anything, she felt guilty for sobbing so intensely. She didn't cry like this when Lupin and Tonks had died at the battle of Hogwarts six years previous. Not even after she Obliviated her own existence from her parent's minds had she felt a pain this deep. Surely, she thought, those were worst afflictions. Death, whether a literal or metaphorical sense, had to be worse than this.

But after years together, giving herself to him in every way possible, no book on grief or trauma she read could describe the feeling coiled in her heart, pumping into her veins, making her body shake in agony. Fifteen years. A Crucio would have been less painful than the searing feeling of betrayal and the thoughts flooding her mind.

How long has he been sleeping with her?

Did he take her to our bed?

Had they done it when they were sent on missions?

Did he kiss her ear as he ran his fingers through her beautiful, blonde hair?

So, after she removed her engagement ring and slipped it into his hand, all she could do was dry her eyes and walk away. There was more at stake than just them, she knew that better than anyone.

The Golden Trio could no longer be. They had spent most of the war on the battlefields, guarding one another from curses and hexes, treating each other's wounds. The trio would search for weeks on end for horcruxes, traveling the world, never leaving each other's side.

How could she trust someone to protect her life, if they couldn't even protect her heart?

Three years passed since then, but the fractures in their relationship never healed. They couldn't even go back to how it was when they just called each other friends. Ron and Harry went off to find the pieces of Voldemort's soul, while Hermione was left to lead the Order.

And she was good at it. She always knew she was smart, she valued her intelligence over all else. It shocked her when it translated so easily to warfare. The books she consumed on battles throughout wizard and muggle history made her adept at strategy and planning. Her deep studies into dueling made her a strong soldier, being able to best some of the high ranked Death Eaters with ease. While they became The Golden Duo, she became The Golden Girl.

With that, she ignited a fire in what seemed like a losing war. When all felt hopeless, Hermione stepped in and offered herself in every way she could. It seemed like anything she did, no matter how mundane or necessary it felt to her, was publicized. She complained about how frivolous it was to write about every small victory she led, but Kingsley assured her it was necessary for morale - that she had become just as much of a poster child for the war as Harry was.

She'd smile for pictures and give inspiring speeches before missions and battles, but at the end of the day, it was all a facade. After dodging hexes to the point her bones ached or spending hours in meetings where she spoke until her voice gave out, she would go to a cot at whatever safe house she was in. Alone.

Hermione thought she could get through this war without resorting to extreme violence. Simple, non-lethal hexes and curses, that's all. They made it about a year before she had to use her first Avada. Luna was about to have her throat slit by a Death Eater in an alleyway. When Hermione saw the blade press into her neck, drawing blood, she had no choice. All she remembered was rushing over to her right after and throwing up all over their shoes. No other way out, but the reasoning didn't make it easier.

Sleep rarely came easy after that. It seemed the only antidote for her restlessness was Ron's arms. It was safe and warm. Though it didn't stop the nightmares, she would be soothed by his touch and his whispers of assurance.

But since that was taken from her, she had to resort to other means. Sleeping draughts started to lose their potency over time and use, so she read. Read and read until her eyes became heavy and finally closed.

"Hermione?" A gentle voice woke her. The sun was barely peeking through the window, casting orange rays through the thin curtain.

"Harry?" she asked sleepily, seeing familiar green eyes behind glasses. She often wondered what he'd look like, what they'd all look like, without the strain of the war. He seemed so much older, stress lines tugged at his once boyish face, and more than just that lightning bolt scar was carved into his skin. "Did you just get back?"

He sat on the floor against the cot, resting his head on his knees for a brief moment. "Yeah, went to go see Gin, but James and Albus are in bed with her. Looked so peaceful I didn't want to wake them."

"Any luck?"

Harry shook his head with a small scoff. "No, that intel we got was a dud. Can't strike gold every time I suppose. Ron nearly lost his arm to a cursed chest. Started snapping at him like a feral dog. Wish you were there, you would've loved that."

They both laughed quietly until they heard a shushing from a few beds away. It was reminiscent of when they'd stay up too late in the Gryffindor common room, joking the night away until a first-year came stomping down the stairs to tell them off.

"You know I can't, Harry. Ron and I would just fight. I would have probably taken his arm off if the chest didn't."

"I just miss how things used to be," he said with a sigh and his eyes downturned. That was Harry, always nostalgic for times that felt like another world. Constantly bringing up their glory days at Hogwarts or points in the war where it felt like the Order was close to ending it for good. He was convinced that once they finally killed Voldemort, they'd all be chummy again, and things would fall into place. The positivity was nice, but it grated on Hermione over the years.

She was practical, she knew things could never be the same. They'd gone too far, had done too much to ever return to normal. Every time she cast an Unforgivable, she felt a little more chip away at her own soul. Though her hands were clean after scrubbing them for what seemed like hours in the bath, she still imagined them soaked in blood.

Hermione couldn't look at Harry without seeing the people she's killed to keep him safe, and she couldn't look at Ron without feeling rage.

"You should be telling him that, not me," Hermione curtly replied before sitting up and pulling on a wool jumper.

"Hermione, where are you going?" His voice was so soft, it felt heartbreakingly sad.

Immediately, she regretted her tone. It wasn't his fault that any of this happened. But the fact that he chose Ron over her to continue searching for horcruxes made it clear to her where she stood. Not his best friend, but his second best friend.

He had even tried to reason with her and make excuses for Ron's behavior, trying to get the trio together again.

He loves you, Hermione.

The war has been hard on him.

He's lost his brother.

It was a lapse in judgment.

They had all lost people. And every day, they would lose more. A lapse in judgment would insinuate that it was just once that he had fucked Hannah Abbott. But by all accounts, it happened numerous times over several months. And it was Hannah fucking Abbott. The blonde bombshell with perfect tits and a smile that could warm a heart quicker than a hot butterbeer. The girl Hermione used to stare at in potions class, envious of the honey colored hair that fell straight down her back.

"Supply run, I have to go soon. I'll catch you later, yeah?" She quickly got to her feet, pulling the curly mess on her head into a tight braid.

"Yeah," Harry replied, still looking down at the ground. "Catch ya later."

Most of the muggles in England had been driven out of the country by Volemort. With major cities collapsing around them, damaged by magical warfare, Hermione could barely recognize the streets of London. Her family had taken many trips to the city, and she always remembered seeing cars and people walking about the bustling capital. But now, it was desolate, and as she exited 12 Grimmauld Place, it seemed not even the sound of a songbird could be heard.

Seamus met her shortly after, he had already altered his appearance to look like an old man in tattered clothes. Hermione followed in suit, transfiguring herself into an equally old woman with graying hair. She had thought that he barely needed to change his appearance though, as he looked so much different since their school days.

The war was physically demanding, and Seamus had put on a considerable amount of muscle mass. Across his new physique, his body was littered with tattoos. "One for every fallen friend," he told Hermione one night when she traced her fingers over them curiously.

They pulled their hoods up, still wary of wandering Death Eaters patrolling the city.

"Mornin' gorgeous," he said as they linked arms and walked down the street towards their travel point. Anti-Apparition charms had been set in city centers to prevent Order members from sending quick-aid, which forced them to travel through checkpoints to reach their destinations.

"Good morning," Hermione replied with a bright smile. There was something about him that made her feel empowered. He was so carefree and brash, and she felt the more time she had spent with him, the more she took on those traits she admired. When he heard what Ron had done, he told her to fill a sock with soap and beat him over the head with it.

Everyone had their way with coping with the burdens of war, Hermione's happened to be Seamus, on and off, for the past two years. In no way were they dating or falling for each other, they were just good friends, trying to distract each other during a time of turmoil. She knew that she wasn't the only one distracting Seamus either, but she didn't mind. He wasn't hers. And after she had broken it off with Ron, she hadn't realized how much she craved the comfort of another.

But even then, it still felt empty being wrapped in Seamus' arms. She'd leave the bed they were sharing and find somewhere else to rest. Alone.

"Hey, you two there," a masked Death Eater said as he approached them. Though she had killed many who wore the masks, the sight of it still made her stomach sink. Even after nine years of war, some things were harder to get used to. "Papers."

Hermione and Seamus pulled out a piece of parchment and identification card, a routine they were all too familiar with by this point. The papers contained false information and identities, the Order had worked endlessly to create perfect replicas of the ones issued by the Ministry.

"Where are you off to?" The Death Eater asked, taping his foot impatiently.

"Ah, me and my dear Maggie here are off to see our niece. She's been sick, ya see," Seamus said in a rickety voice. "Needs some company. Last times we seen her was, what? A month ago?"

Hermione nodded, the Death Eater appeared more and more uninterested by the second.

"She's an ugly thing really, now she's got boils everywhere. Makes it even harder for her to find a husband." Seamus shook his head in disappointment, but then looked up to the masked man. "Say, you wouldn't happen to be married, would ya?"

The Death Eater scoffed before handing the papers back. They walked away slowly, but when he was out of earshot, Seamus couldn't help but to chuckle to himself.

"Dim as all hell, they are," he said, nudging Hermione gently. "You got any plans tonight, Granger?"

"Maybe, depends on what you have in mind." She nudged him back with a small laugh as they stepped outside of the range of the charm, finally able to Apparate to the safe house in Wales. It was much larger than Grimmauld Place, and had plenty of room for potion crafting. After the last scuffle with Death Eaters attempting to raid an Order base in Oxford, most of all of their potions at Grimmauld had been depleted in the aftermath.

With a resounding crack, the pair were at the gates of an old school house. From the outside, it looked dilapidated with broken windows and unkempt grass in the middle of a large field, but as they passed the entrance to the grounds, it changed completely. Colorful herbs were flourishing in flower beds in the garden, the yellow paint on the building looked freshly coated, and Hermione could see familiar faces in the pristine windows.

A pair of big, silver eyes met Hermione's through one of the panes. The curly haired, blonde witch ran to the front doors to meet them.

"Hermione! Seamus!" Luna's voice broke through the spring air, almost sounding like music with the way she enunciated each syllable. "Well, come along now. I've just made some pudding."

Seeing Luna always made Hermione feel warm, and the familiarity gave her a sense of solace. Usually, she preferred to be lost in a room full of people and observe those around her. However, since becoming a beacon of hope for the Order, she had become the center of attention to her dismay. Those who she didn't know very well would treat her like some sort of celebrity. It made her skin crawl, but she smiled and got through the uncomfortableness.

"Is this all you have?" Hermione asked Luna as she looked over the shelves of potions. She counted every vial twice over. Calculations were running through her mind.

Two hundred and twenty-three vials of Wiggenweld, one hundred and three blood replenishing potions, seventy-six tubes of burn paste, and only eighty-eight wound-cleaning potions. Injury rates have been higher than late, with about 40% of those on the field needing to use at least one potion. With thirty-two Order members at Grimmauld Place, seventy-six at the school house, we would need to divide between just these two locations. Not to mention the frequency at which we are called to…

"Yes. We are running low on a lot of the ingredients. Angelina and Katie went to gather some additional dittany and sloth brain mucus yesterday… but they haven't returned." Luna looked at her feet, shuffling her pink canvas sneakers against the wooden floor.

"Fucking hell, Luna. Why didn't you tell us?" Seamus barked, looking closely out the windows. "Seems like the first thing you should mention before the pudding!"

She played with her hair nervously, looping it around her thin fingers. "We sent word to Kingsley last night, I assumed he told ya."

Hermione ran through the possible scenarios. They could still be foraging, and with just two people, harvesting sloth brain mucus is a bit time consuming. Or, they could be at another safe house, but why hadn't they contacted anyone yet?

As much as she hated to admit the truth, she knew the most likely scenario was that they had been caught by Death Eaters. And in a situation that had them outnumbered and unable to escape, they would have no choice but to die. If Voldemort got his decrepit hands on them, no one would be safe.

The Order had done what it could to evade Voldemort's Legilimency. Harry had tried his best to teach Occlumancy to members, but some weren't as adept as others. If Order members moved safe houses, their memory of the previous one would be extracted or altered, but those methods were resources and time consuming. Only those who could definitively cover their tracks knew of all of the safe house, stronghold, and base locations.

Hermione recalled that Angelina was quite proficient at occluding her memories, Katie on the other hand left more to be desired.

"The school is charmed, so no one can see it unless they're an Order member. And Angelina and Katie, they're quick, ya know? Fastest quidditch players I've ever seen. They're okay," Luna tried to reassure herself, pulling on her hair.

"We've gotta go look for them, Hermione." Seamus' voice was serious, which was rare.

"This safe house may be compromised, we need to get the kids out of here first. Luna, can you get them to the Burrow?" Hermione kept her voice calm and level, racing through a mental checklist of what needed to be done to secure the area.

"Right, the Burrow. Kids to the Burrow. Molly's gonna have a right handful," Luna murmured as she rushed out of the room.

Hermione and Seamus altered the other Order members, hoping that Angelina and Katie would turn up to tell them they were silly for overreacting. But as the minutes passed, it seemed less and less likely.

"They're okay, Seamus. They come back, they always do," Hermione said as she rubbed his shoulder over his orange jumper. It felt soft, and looked new despite him wearing it consistently for years now. He must've used charms on it weekly to keep it from fraying. They sat on a bench in the garden, watching the horizon, waiting to see two witches giggling with jars of sloth brain mucus in hand.

He had played on the Gryffindor quidditch team with them for years, and they held each other for days after Dean Thomas was killed in action. To say he was close to the two of them was an understatement.

Seamus took a long drag of a cigarette and tossed it on the ground, stamping it out with the heel of his boot. His brow was furrowed and he held his wand so tightly, his knuckles were white.

A figure Apparated in the field about fifty meters away from the school house. From the tall, slim silhouette, Hermione knew it was Angelina. The two sprinted towards her, and she collapsed seconds after arriving.

"Fuck, Hermione! She's bleeding everywhere!" Seamus cried out as he held his hands against her abdomen. Hermione recognized that a Diffindo charm had been thrown at Angelina, slashing deep into her stomach, likely moments before she Apparated. She pulled out a healing and blood-replenishing potion, pouring the vials down Angelina's mouth and holding it closed. Angelina began to spit up blood over Hermione's hands and face, thrashing about in pain.

"You're okay Angie, relax," Hermione said, trying to ease the panic in her chest. She observed the wound on Angelica's stomach closely, watching the skin stitch itself back together. It wasn't perfect, and won't close all the way, but it was a temporary fix until they could bring her inside.

Seamus picked her up and rushed her to the infirmary after she'd become stable. Hermione stood in the same spot, looking at the patch of yellow grass stained red with blood, waiting for Katie to appear. She paced back and forth, biting her nails, muttering to herself in desperation.

"Please Katie… please… please… please… FUCK!" Hermione screamed into the open air.

Though she did not wish for it, she knew that death was the best fate that would befall Katie Bell. It pained Hermione to think like this, to hope that her friend was dead because it would be been a more merciful outcome than torture or whatever else Voldemort had planned. She hated how she knew that if Katie had died, others would survive.

Was that really worth it?

She hoped that Angelina had the strength to pull the contingency plan. A plan that they formed only a few years ago after bases became compromised due to Voledmort's mind reading and torture methods. They couldn't let any more of the Order be captured alive.

If you saw a comrade being taken, you'd end it for them before they could. On our terms, not on theirs.

Monsters.

Hermione had grown up alongside Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell. The two were Gryffindor chasers. So in sync, they'd finish each other's sentences without missing a beat. When they dueled together, it was incredible how powerful they were. Hermione had even noticed the matching bracelets on their wrists that hadn't taken off since their early days at Hogwarts.

How could you ask someone to kill their own sister? Their soulmate?

As Hermione walked towards the school house, she hoped she would hear the familiar noise of an Apparition behind her. Instead, she was met with silence all the way to the infirmary, where she found Padma Patil hovering over Angelina.

"Merlin," Padma grumbled as she looked over her vitals. "She's lucky she wasn't splinched."

Seamus, leaning against the wall behind her, looked over to Hermione. Their eyes met, and she shook her head with disappointment. His face went pale, much paler than normal. His freckles almost disappeared along with the color in his cheeks. And like any good soldier, a machine for the greater good, he went to the window, flicking his wand to cast a silvery fox that danced away.

Patronuses used to be a sign of hope for Hermione at one point, but quickly, they became a messenger of death and destruction.

Angelina's eyes fluttered open, and she coughed as Padma finished a healing charm. Hermione, another machine of war, went to the bedside of the wounded witch without wasting a second.

"Angie, you need to tell us what happened."

"Seriously, Hermione? She just barely opened her…"

Hermione cut off Padma. They couldn't delay any further. They were on borrowed time now, and they needed to be prepared. "Angie, you need to tell us."

Angelina's bottom lip started to tremble. Her big brown eyes stared straight at the ceiling, tears flooding them. The way her jaw was cinched closed made Hermione think that she might break her teeth. She didn't have to say another word, they all understood.

"Angie," Hermione softly said again. "Were you able to…"

"Fuck, Hermione!" Angelina screamed out. "Would you be able to?! If it were Harry or Ron?!"

She had thought about it numerous times in her head. Hermione pictured it over and over again. Ron or Harry being torn from her arms by a masked assailant, Stupefied and dragged away.

Green light would shoot from the tip of her wand, straight into their chest. Life would drain from their eyes, and she'd yell that she was sorry or that she loved them. She would make sure that her face would be the last thing they saw, because it would be better than seeing a monster behind a soulless mask.

Hermione would want to see them before she died.

Before she could open her mouth to respond to Angelina, several cracks sounded from outside the school. Without a second thought, Seamus and Hermione ran along with several dozen other Order members to the noise. She immediately began barking commands, giving instructions, hoping that Luna got the children away safely.

The ground rumbled, and the charms that were cast upon the schoolhouse to keep it out of view from danger were dissipating. Hexes and curses were being flung all around them, crashing into the new yellow paint, barely scraping some of them in the process.

And from the wall of black cloaks and silver masks in the swaying grass, an impossibly tall figure loomed in the center, wearing a mask covering only the top half of their face. The emerald gems embedded into the silver metal set over their eyes, but left their mouth exposed as a warning. An omen of death. Pale pink lips curled into a sick smile, revealing a set of impossibly white fangs.

Draco fucking Malfoy, the monster itself.