Blood and Broken Bones
The morning of the funeral was heavy with a somber silence, broken only by the sound of the wind rustling through the gnarled trees and the faint murmurs of people gathered outside Aunt Muriel's house. Hermione stood at the edge of the clearing, her hands clasped tightly together, her eyes fixed on the newest addition for the row of graves that stretched out before her.
Five graves. for five fallen heroes. Each one marked by a simple headstone, each name etched carefully into the stone: Sirius Black. Remus Lupin. Ronald Weasley. Hannah Abbott. Neville Longbottom.
They were all gone. All of them.
Her throat tightened as she glanced at the faces around her—the faces of those who were left. Harry stood closest to Ron's grave, his face pale and drawn. His eyes looked hollow, his gaze distant as he stared down at his best friend's final resting place. To his right, Tonks was barely holding herself together, her sobs echoing through the quiet morning air as she wrapped her arms around herself.
Luna gently placed flowers in front of Remus' grave, adding new ones in front of the older graves as well.
Hermione closed her eyes, the weight of it all pressing down on her chest like a suffocating blanket. She hadn't even had the chance toprocessthe loss of Ron, let alone the others. It felt like she was drowning, pulled under by wave after wave of grief and guilt.
She should have saved them. She should have been stronger, should have done more. Shouldn't she have been able to do something?
Her vision blurred, and she forced herself to look away, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. She couldn't cry now. Not here. Not when everyone else was barely holding on.
Instead, she focused on the letters tucked inside her pocket—the letters fromhim. The letters that had kept her sane in the days following Ron's death. Draco's handwriting, his urgent, pleading words, had been the one thing tethering her to reality.
She hadn't known why she'd reached out to him that first night. Maybe it was because he was the only one who seemed to understand, who didn't try to tell her that everything would be okay, who didn't offer false hope. Or maybe it was because she'd seen something in his letters—a vulnerability, a rawness that mirrored her own.
The thought made her chest tighten with something other than grief, something sharper and more dangerous. Something that scared her.
Because she was starting toneedhim. She was starting to rely on him in a way that went beyond the strange alliance they'd formed. His letters were no longer just a source of comfort—they were a lifeline. She found herself reading them over and over, tracing the lines of his handwriting, searching for hidden meanings in every word.
And more and more, she found herself wishing she could see him. Talk to him. Tell him how much his words meant.
But she couldn't do that. She couldn't let herself feel anything for Draco Malfoy. It was madness. They were on opposite sides of a war, separated by blood and history and everything in between. And yet…every time she read his letters, every time he begged her to keep fighting, to stay alive…she felt something stir inside her. Something that felt terrifyingly likehope.
Hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something more.
"Hermione?" Ginny's soft voice broke through her thoughts, and she turned to see the younger girl standing beside her, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. "They're about to start."
Hermione nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat as she turned back to the graves. The ceremony was simple, each person stepping forward to say a few words, to lay a flower on the headstone. Harry's voice cracked as he spoke about Lupin, his words faltering as he tried to convey the depth of his friendship with , the bond that had carried them through so much.
Mrs. Weasley couldn't speak at all. She just stood there, shaking, her hands clenched so tightly around a single daisy that the petals were crumpled and torn.
When it was Hermione's turn, she stepped forward slowly,
She placed the rose she'd been holding gently on the grave, her fingers lingering for a moment before she stepped back, her shoulders trembling. She couldn't do this. She couldn't stand here and pretend that it would get better, that any of this would ever be okay.
Because it wouldn't.
And she didn't know how much longer she could keep pretending.
That night, she found herself hunched over a piece of parchment, her hands shaking as she wrote out the words that had been echoing through her mind all day.
Draco,
It's getting harder. Today was the funeral. I—I don't know how I'm supposed to keep going. It feels like I'm breaking, like I'm falling apart. And all I can think is…what's the point? What's the point of fighting, of hoping, if it just ends like this?
Please, Draco. Please just tell me it's worth it. Tell me I'm not losing my mind.
His reply came almost immediately.
Hermione,
It is worth it. I know it feels hopeless, but you have to keep fighting. You have to. For them. For the ones we've lost. For the ones who are still here.
The words made her heart ache in a way that felt almost unbearable. She clutched the letter to her chest, the ink smudging beneath her fingers.
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7 Months Later:
a suddencrashechoed through the house, followed by shouts and the unmistakable frantic cries of Molly Weasley .
Panic shot through her. She jumped up, clutching her wand as she rushed to the door, her heart racing.
"Death Eaters in Safehouse 0731" someone screamed, and her blood ran cold.
They'd found them. The safehouse—the one filled with Hogwarts professors—was under attack.
"Get the professors!" Harry's voice rang out, filled with desperation. "We have to go now"
She grabbed onto Kingsley's arm and let him spin the two of them away towards the safehouse.
By the time Hermione landed in the main room, the scene before her was chaos. Spells flew in every direction, flashes of green and red lighting up the darkened space. She could see Professor McGonagall, her face twisted in fierce determination, deflecting curses with terrifying precision. Flitwick was beside her, his small frame darting between attackers with surprising speed.
The sound of shattering glass ripped her from her thoughts, followed by a blood-curdling scream that echoed through the house.
"Get the professors!" Harry shouted. "Protect them—"
But it was too late.
The first to fall was Professor Flitwick. One of the Death Eaters—a towering man with a face like a rabid dog—slashed his wand through the air, sending a jagged bolt of dark purple light directly at Flitwick's small frame. The tiny professor raised his wand, a shield flickering to life in front of him, but the curse tore through it as if it were paper.
Flitwick's scream was sharp and high-pitched, a sound that made Hermione's blood run cold. His entire body convulsed violently, his limbs twisting at unnatural angles as the curse spread through him. Then, with a sickening crunch, his spine snapped in half, his small body crumpling to the ground in a mangled heap, his eyes wide and staring, mouth open in a silent cry.
"No—no, no, no!" Hermione's voice was barely audible over the roar of battle. She tried to run toward him, but a flash of green light seared past her, forcing her to duck. When she looked up again, Flitwick's body was still. Blood pooled around his broken form, staining the floor a deep, glistening red. Bodies of professors were dropping with rapid speed.
"Minerva, look out!" Kingsley's warning came too late. Professor McGonagall was dueling fiercely with two Death Eaters, her wand slashing through the air with deadly precision. But another figure emerged from the shadows—a figure Hermione recognized instantly.
Rodolphus Lestrange.
His smile was a twisted snarl as he raised his wand, pointing it directly at the back of McGonagall's head. Before Hermione could even scream a warning, a jet of sickly yellow light shot out, striking the professor in the base of her skull.
McGonagall stiffened, her entire body going rigid. Then, to Hermione's horror, her flesh began tobubble. Blisters and boils erupted across her skin, her face contorting in agony as the curse warped her features into something grotesque and inhuman. Her bones seemed to bend and twist, cracking audibly as she screamed—a guttural, agonized sound that tore through the room.
"Stop it!" Hermione shrieked, her wand shaking violently in her grip. But there was nothing she could do. Nothing.
With a final, bloodcurdling scream, McGonagall's bodyexploded. Flesh and blood splattered across the walls, painting the room in a sickening crimson. The blast sent Hermione staggering backward, her eyes wide with shock as she stared at the place where McGonagall had been standing just moments before. Now, there was nothing left but a gruesome smear of gore.
"Minerva—!" Kingsley's roar was filled with anguish, but he barely had time to react before another Death Eater struck him from behind. He fell to his knees, gasping in pain as a blade sliced across his back, blood pouring down in rivulets.
Hermione turned, frantically searching for the others. Her gaze landed on Professor Sprout, her round face twisted in determination as she battled three Death Eaters at once. She was holding her own—until a fourth figure appeared behind her, a hulking brute of a man with a twisted grin.
Before Hermione could even scream a warning, the man grabbed Sprout by the hair and yanked her head back, exposing her throat. Then, with a savage, animalistic snarl, herippedher throat out with his bare hands.
Blood sprayed across the room, a gruesome arc of red that splattered across Hermione's face. She stumbled backward, bile rising in her throat as Sprout's body crumpled to the ground, her eyes still wide with shock.
"No!" Hermione's scream was raw, broken. She raised her wand, fury and despair boiling inside her. She barely noticed the tears streaming down her face, the way her hands shook as she hurled spell after spell at the Death Eaters.
But it was hopeless. There were too many of them. They were surrounded.
"Retreat!" Harry's voice rang out, desperation thick in his tone. "We have to fall back—get out of here, now!"
"But the professors—!" Ginny's voice broke on a sob, her eyes wide and horrified as she stared at the carnage around them.
"They're gone!" Harry shouted, his voice cracking. "We—we have to go!"
Hermione could barely hear him over the roar of blood in her ears. Her gaze was fixed on the broken, twisted bodies of her former teachers—the people who had shaped her, guided her, protected her.
Gone. All gone.
"Hermione!" Someone grabbed her arm—Harry, his eyes wild with fear and urgency. "We have to go, now!"
She turned, her vision blurred, her mind a haze of grief and horror. They couldn't just leave. They couldn't—
"NOW!"
And then they were running, stumbling through the chaos, spells flashing around them as they fled. Hermione's heart was pounding, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She didn't know how they made it out—didn't remember half the journey back to Muriel's.
All she knew was that when they finally burst through the door of the safehouse, covered in blood and sweat and tears, there was nothing left but silence.
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The air in Muriel's house was thick with grief. Every room was weighed down by the overwhelming silence—the kind that came after the carnage, when there was nothing left to say because everyone had seen too much. But amidst the silent mourning, a rage burned deep inside Hermione. It churned and bubbled, threatening to consume her entirely.
They'd lost everything tonight. The professors, the safehouse… the last semblance of security they had left. They were down to scraps now, dangling on a fraying thread with nowhere to go. And yet, amidst all the chaos, there was a single, glaring question tearing at her insides like a festering wound:
How had they known?
Her body moved on its own accord as she stormed through the dimly lit corridors of the safehouse, ignoring the concerned looks of the others as she shoved past them. She found Theo in one of the back rooms, slumped against the wall, his face buried in his hands.
"Theo!" she spat, and he jolted upright, eyes widening as he looked up at her.
"Hermione?" He blinked, confusion flickering across his features.
"How did this happen?" Her voice was raw, trembling with the weight of too many emotions. Anger. Grief. Fear. "Your contacts—they didn't warn us. They didn't say a word about this attack! How did the Death Eaters know about the safehouse?"
Theo stood up slowly, his face tightening. "I—Hermione, I don't know. I swear, I would never have let you go there if I thought—"
"No!" Her voice was a whipcrack, cutting through his words. "You don't get to say that! You promised—yousaid your informants could be trusted!"
"And they can!" he shot back, his own voice rising. "Blaise, Draco, Daphne—they're not traitors! They're risking their necks to give us information, just like you asked them to!"
"Then why were they silent?" Hermione's eyes were blazing, her hands trembling at her sides. "Why didn'tanyonewarn us? They had to have known, Theo. Someone had to have known!"
"Maybe they didn't," he insisted, stepping closer. "Maybe this attack was planned so quickly that no one could get word out in time. We don't know what kind of pressure the Death Eaters are putting on people. It's not that simple—"
"Itisthat simple!" She took a step forward, jabbing a finger into his chest. "We trusted your contacts. I trustedyou.And now—now everyone isdeadbecause we were blindsided!"
Theo recoiled as if she'd slapped him, pain flashing across his face. "You think this is my fault?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "You think I'd knowingly send you and the others into a trap?"
"No," she snapped. "I think your friends are either lying or they're too scared to tell you the truth. Either way, we need to find out who knew what—and we're going to use Veritaserum to do it."
"What?" Theo's face twisted with shock. "You—you want to interrogate them withVeritaserum? They're risking their lives for us, Hermione!"
"I don't care!" she cried, her voice breaking. "I don't care anymore! If we don't figure this out, more people will die! More people we care about!"
"People I care about are already dying!" Theo roared, his face flushed with anger. "I've lost friends too, Hermione! Don't you think I'm scared? Don't you think I want to make them pay?"
"Then help me," she pleaded, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Help me find out what happened. We have to be sure. Wehaveto."
Theo's chest was heaving, his eyes wild and full of anguish as he stared at her. The room seemed to buzz with the electric tension between them, a clash of emotions too raw and too painful to contain.
"I—" He faltered, looking away, his jaw clenched tight. "Fine. Fine. But—only with their consent. And I'm going with you. You're not doing this alone."
Hermione felt a twisted mix of relief and frustration settle in her chest. "Fine," she said, her voice still trembling. "But we start with Malfoy."
Theo's eyes snapped back to hers, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. "Malfoy? Why him?"
"Because Ineedto know," she whispered, her voice breaking. "If he's playing both sides… if he—if he betrayed us, I need to know."
Theo looked at her for a long moment, his expression softening slightly. "Hermione," he murmured, stepping closer. "I know you think… but he's—he wouldn't—"
"He would," she whispered, pain tightening her chest. "If it meant saving his own skin, he would."
Theo hesitated, then sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Alright," he muttered. "Alright. We'll start with Malfoy. But Hermione… promise me you won't do something you'll regret. Please."
Hermione closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions—anger, grief, fear, and something else, something deeper that she didn't want to look at too closely.
"I just want the truth," she whispered, her voice small and broken. "That's all."
Theo nodded slowly, his gaze searching her face. "Then let's go find it," he said quietly. "Together."
And for the first time since the attack, a tiny, fragile spark of hope flared in Hermione's chest. Maybe, just maybe, they could find the answers they needed.
Maybe they could still turn this around.
But as she followed Theo out of the room, her mind was already racing ahead, filled with thoughts of Veritaserum and betrayal and a blond-haired boy with stormy eyes and too many secrets.