Chapter 1
Hermione didn’t know when it happened-- perhaps during that last school year when their lives became forever altered or the time they spent on the run-- but the grass beneath her trembling fingers felt lifeless. Then again, it could be the numbness of her fingers that caused the earth to feel such a way.
But, maybe-- just maybe… It was because even the earth wanted to wither at the way the lord of death stripped Harry down to the bone and found him lacking.
So many moments had led up to this one: the final battle-- the death that surrounded them all. Even nightmares couldn’t hold a flame to this horror that their lives had become.
Hermione would have never imagined this, nor could she foresee, school children fighting for their lives against adults. The ground basked in their blood-- in the blood of every person Hermione had once held dear. They had lost so much. So many innocents fell in this war.
This pointless fucking war.
Hermione watched as the Dark Wizard stood like a great shadow above The Boy Who Lived, ready to reap the life he had eagerly hunted for. Her honey eyes fell to the boy-- Harry Potter, the victim of outlandish tragedy-- that she had spent her childhood with, and realised that hope had shed itself of his skin. His eyes wrote words only his dark counterpart could understand… but, Hermione could recognize the look of someone ready to die when she saw it.
The Order of the Phoenix had won the battles but, somehow, they had lost the war. Harry had been defeated-- despite everything they had gone through to get there.
Harry’s death would mean everything she held dear-- her hopes, dreams, even the world itself-- would end. She could imagine the chaos that would reign in those few damning moments after Harry Potter's death: Muggles and Muggleborns would be helpless to the new reign of tyranny that would come crashing down upon them. Torture. Rape. Murder. These poor souls would be naught but the dirt beneath the monster’s feet and ashes in the wind.
Hermione couldn’t -- wouldn't allow this to happen. Harry was the only hope the wizarding world had left, to let him perish at the end of Voldemort’s wand would be the most unforgivable crime she could commit.
No.
For once she didn't think things out. There was no plan with every single detail sketched out on a fine paper, just pure instinct racing through her veins. With each thrum of her thunderous heartbeat, her fingers dug further into the earth, ignorant of the deathly crunch of grass until dirt lodged under her worn nails. It was grounding, steadying an unstable mind.
Balance was all she needed, because it had been impulse that motivated Hermione to her feet. Something inside her screamed at how illogical her tactic was, her chances of survival were low,the action was entirely suicidal, yet her feet carried her towards their deathly shadows.
Hermione didn't care, in fact, she could almost smile. A curl of forgiveness to a devastating reality of war. She would smile because the only thing that mattered was saving Harry. She had to maintain hope so that, one day, the light could defeat the darkness that consumed their world.
She reached the center of the courtyard and took witness to where Death itself stood. He towered over Harry and lowered the Elder Wand on the boy’s defeated form. So close and yet so far from his true desire: the life of young Harry Potter.
“Avada--”
The words hit Hermione like a ton of bricks, rocking against her skull until his words became meaningless. A chill washed over her bones as she witnessed green ignite from the Elder wand and took flight towards the only family she had left. That fear lit her blood aflame.
She welcomed this fear, it numbed her mind to the distant scream of fate descending like a fog across her skin. Her feet had left the ground before logic took hold and lept toward the boy on his knees. Their bodies cracked together, bone on bone before the earth embraced them both.
Her mind reeled back, racing over what led her to tackling Harry out of the way but the telltale sound of the spell whooshing by her head left her silent. It barely missed her.
Had she been a normal child, grown up when there was not a war, then she wouldn’t have pushed past the crippling wave that came with hitting the ground so hard, but she wasn’t a normal girl. Not anymore. No, Hermione Granger spent the last year on the run combatting for survival. She lived that year on borrowed time and spent those precious moments fighting for more.
Now it was simple muscle memory: hit the ground-- keep rolling.
She found herself back on her feet without hesitation while Bellatrix’s wand ignited in her hands. Welcoming. Hungry. Dark. War hardened Hermione didn't wait. She would not be giving the Dark Lord a chance to recover from the shock of denial she had just bestowed upon him.
“I won’t let you kill Harry!” Her voice rattled as she screamed at the creature which shed itself of a man’s skin. Hermione moved quickly, weaving out of the way of possible projectiles as she began casting non-verbally.
One after the other.
The monster did not speak, it simply watched her movements with malicious intent.
“You have caused enough pain and suffering-- stolen so many lives.” Her magic flared around her, dancing through her words and casting spells to her whim. Eager to please. “Killed.” The rage within her blood hummed, welcoming her magic with a fiery touch. “Tortured.”
Hermione wanted to scream. None of her spells were hitting him. Voldemort weaved through them as if he could predict her every movement. The few that did come close enough only met the harsh barrier of his shield and rebounded. Her only advantage was that it kept him from attacking.
“All in the name of blood purity.” Hermione could feel the mockery slip from her tongue like venom. She was provoking his wrath, willing to draw in the anger so that she might slip poison into his veins. “You think you are better the us?” She sniffed back her laughter. “Us... weaklings who are not of pureblood descent. We who have grown up with muggles-- respect muggles and muggleborns?”
“You may hate muggles, but you are no different than me.” It left her lips with a low growl, like a lone wolf who dared to challenge an alfa. “You can never change the fact that your own father was a muggle, Riddle.” Each word she spoke drove her spells further into the realm of darkness, but it wasn’t entirely surprising.
She was but a rock on the ocean shore, each wave washing over her surface, eroding the top layers, stripping away the light until specks of darkness shone through. Given enough time, the water would etch its presence in the rock, making it forever mutated, forever marked. The young witch had become a force fueled by rage and hatred, and all of it was created because of the monster who stood before her.
“You, Tom Marvolo Riddle, are nothing but a filthy lie."
Stating that Voldemort was angry would never truly explain the reality of his wrath. His snake-like face twisted with an ugly sneer and his powerful aura spread out like smoke across the battlefield. She should have felt fear, in fact, years ago she would have been terrified of this exact situation, but Hermione was lost to her own malice. Fury bubbled in the pit of her stomach devouring all the acts of bigotry that had been branded to her sanity throughout the years.
Unworthy. Unwelcomed.
Why?
Because, of her ancestry and this man. This man who did nothing but sweet talk the ‘pure’ into feeding a racist agenda. This man, who had stolen her childhood from her. He who forced her hand in erasing her parents memories so that they would be safe. He who had killed her friends-- destroied thousands of innocent lives.
Rage had met its boiling point and Hermione exploded. “How does it feel--” Hermione did not waste time, nor did she realise that light no longer passed from her wand. The Dark Lord did, he absorbed the knowledge with a mocking quirk of his lips: her darkness met no barriers. “--To know, that a mudblood is holding her own against you?”
“Crucio”
She should have expected the pain but any logical thought seemed be drowned out by her fury. Her mind had become so focused on the sickly pale man that her surroundings had become nothing but a blur that muted Antonin Dolohov’s decent. Casting distance… he managed to get in casting distance and she had not even realized.
She had almost forgot anyone else was on this battlefield and, even worse, she forgot how dirty they played.
She had felt this agony before, back in Malfoy Manor. A time when she was tortured, defiled and ra— she bit that thought short with one curt scream that blistered her vocal cords. Her body arched off the ground, seeking sanctuary where none could be found.
The curse did not last long, not nearly as long as it had the first time, but the relief was instantaneous. Hermione remained laid out on the damp soil while her fingers scraped against the base of the earth below. It felt sticky and clung onto her flesh until it itched. Hermione’s brows pinched together, her mind searching for a clairvoyant answer.
She looked down but quickly realized that she didn’t like what she saw.
The image was slick in a grayscale reflection of their world. It wasn’t just earth, but blood. So much blood. How many souls had perished here… was it a friend— a foe?
For all of the bullshite she had heard throughout the years about how her blood was less than others-- that purebloods were superior to her-- She could almost laugh, unable to tell whose blood it was.
Voldemort’s approach fell on numb ears, but the soft whisper that came from his throat crept up her skin like a cold shiver.
“Crucio”
Hermione had expected pain this time, expected to collapse into the sickly mud that painted the label on her arm. Only agony could come from those words and she was positive the Dark Lord wanted her to suffer for interrupting Harry’s defeat.
What she was not expecting, was the shrill cries that ripped from Dolohov’s throat. The Death eater had fallen to the distant ground. His body quaked beneath the spell until his blood began to pool from his mouth.
Hermione grimaced at the image, the Russian must have bit his tongue during the convolutions. Slowly she peeled her honey eyes from the fallen man instead choosing to take in his attacker. Voldemort stood tall, towing above them all, with an expression that could turn the bravest men into corwards.
“Do You think I, Your Lord,” He spoke slow, but somehow Hermione could only picture the tone like the calm before a storm. “needs interference to defeat a mudblood?”
The spell ended just as abruptly as it began… at least for them. She knew the true effect of the torture curse, seconds felt like ages. She could only imagine the extent of Dolohov’s injuries from being tortured by the devil himself, but she wasn’t surprised that the man was a whimpering mess.
It was fitting that, for someone ‘so pure’, he was being drowned by the blood soaked earth.
Her muscles spasmed in protest when she lifted her head and observed the surrounding area. The pain seeped into her very bones but she couldn’t let it stop her. She needed to know that her efforts had at least let Harry escape. Her stomach sank when her search came to an abrupt end.
Harry was there, lying motionless as the cruel earth brushed against his pale skin.
Her world began to crash around her like an unforgiving wave. She failed. They lost. The anxiety began to build under her skin and her heart thundered within the cage of her chest. No... no!
Amidst her panic one thing caught her eyes, returning with a bloom of hope. The simple rise and fall of his chest-- He was Alive. She realised a slow breath and gave herself a minute to think clearly. She had to save Harry.
No matter what the cost.
“Tell me girl, do you believe that your feeble existence will make a difference?” The wicked purr that came dancing from his thin lips made Hermione’s nerves flare to life. She pushed herself to her knees, uncaring that her fears painted her actions in clear strokes. “That the great ‘Boy who Lived’ can save the wizarding world?”
Hermione reared back as the demonic man closed in on her position. Too close. She needed to run. She needed to get to-
A yelp fell from her tongue when her hair snagged on his fingers mid run. The Dark Lord hauled her closer, using her long stands much like a puppeteer would it’s toys. Her hands closed around his wrist, clawing for a freedom she knew would never be granted.
“You are nothing,” His words transformed smoothly into dark laughter. “Mere mud and filth beneath the world’s feet.”
Hermione dug her heels into the ground, pulling back against his hold despite the pain it brought her. It did nothing against his hold except make the man tug it further. “Do you think your... ‘friends’... cared about you?” This time his words thundered against a raw spot in her heart. A fear she harbored but never spoke. “You are nothing but a know-it-all to them, a filthy joke those idiots dragged around because they knew your pathetic need for friendship would make you do anything they wanted.”
Cold red eyes bore down on her,the malicious words shredding apart her soul in ways the cruciatus curse never could. “Their homework,” He spoke her deepest fears like they held no meaning, but they meant everything to her. “Your body.” Hermione shut her eyes quickly, forcing her mind into the place she kept locked away-- a place where no one could see her weaknesses.
“Your life.”
Tears began sleek ripples down her cheeks, chasing her nightmares until it solidified deep inside her mind. He smiled at her, his lips pulling in a sickly manner until her stomach rose into her throat. “You fought so hard so your ‘friend’ could escape. It must be devastating to realise you couldn’t even accomplish that.”
His cold humourless laughter began to echo in her ears, a dull ring that wouldn’t go away. He tossed her away, his ghoulish eyes focused elsewhere to ensure she knew how little her presence meant to him.
“You are a failure, Hermione Granger.”
Hermione watched in muted horror as his pale fingers lifted the elder wand. There was no words for how Voldemort’s lips twisted with a murderous grin. No words for the glee rippling through his magic as his wand found it’s next target --
“Harry…” Her voice was a hollow whisper, to a point where she was uncertain she spoke at all.
She didn't hear the words, but she felt them-- right down to her very core. Everything slowed as that familiar green flash ignited the surrounding area. It reminded her of the time turner in reverse, the world standing still as her body sped around them. Hermione knew it was probably the adrenaline currently being flushed through her veins, driving her to react, but that distant jingle of gold dancing below her shirt gave her reason to pause.
No, there was no time. Consequences be damned!
With every ounce of strength she had left, Hermione jolted to her feet and raced towards that horrid green glow. Her eyes screwed tight as her knees skidded across the earth. She knew she was going to stop dead center of the oncoming attack but she didn’t have the courage to watch it steal her life.
There was a chance that her device would work, but the odds were detrimental. Her death could be the power they needed to make this contraption work. She could only hope-- for his sake, that she hadn’t failed at this too.
Hermione sucked in a breath as the curse hit her square in the chest and slipped into her skin like acid. She could see the chilling green flash behind her eyelids, she could feel the way her body went limp-- falling backwards into Harry's unconscious embrace.
Pain devoured her, radiating from where the spell hit. A burn that slipped into her lungs until all she could breath was smoke. Soon enough, the green began to fade to black and her mind slipped into a still state.
The darkness consumed her.