Cover Art created by yours truly on Canva.
Piano Composition:
Idea 1 - Gibran Alcocer
She knelt down and checked their pulse. Hermione knew they were dead, their dried bloody limbs splayed out around their body told as much. Even if there were potions or ingredients to make a potion to sage off a full bleed out, she was too late, there wasn’t a point, they were dead.
Healing potions were uniquely rare to come across, let alone the ingredients one would need to brew potions. Voldemort had enough foresight to know that nature would be the last hope in a deathly annihilation as this war turned out to be. So, he routinely collected what his side would need and burned fields and forests that contained flora known for its healing abilities, muggle and magical alike. Mother Nature put up a better fight than The Order this last year, but it was a pointless battle.
She held two fingers on the cold skin of their neck for much longer than she needed to, but her body wouldn’t let her rise just yet. Her body was silently pleading with her to mourn, mourn the loss in front of her, mourn everyone else she had lost, mourn the lives taken that she didn’t even know. But she had no tears left to shed. Still touching the deceased body, she looked up at the night sky, stars flickering millions and trillions of lightyears from her.
“What I would give to live amongst the stars,” she whispered to herself.
She gradually pulled her eyes away from the stars to look at the remnants of The Order she was touching.
As the years ticked by, The Order grew smaller and smaller. Muggles and Wizards alike were butchered like cattle. Food soon became scarce, creating a famine that wiped nearly all of the muggles out. The ones who remained were granted a life of slavery and torture.
Then. Then there was a curse placed on the spells that aided in preservation of food or enlargement of it. Should one attempt it, the word “Unworthy” would be magically carved onto their forehead. The dark magic engraved into the caster would slowly eat away at their lifeline and of course, only Voldemort possessed the countercurse for it. It gave the affected witch or wizard two options; call out “Salvatoris” which alerted the Death Eaters of someone choosing to be ‘saved’ or die an agonizing death.
Even if one were to survive long enough to examine the intricacies of the curse to understand how to counteract it, there weren’t any ingredients left to gather to save them or anyone remaining in the Wizarding World on their side who knew how to brew potions. Those individuals were either murdered or chose to be ‘saved.’
Hermione could now look back and applaud the monster for such a cunning way to gain one’s allegiance. Her first encounter with the curse was in the third year of the war. The tables had turned drastically, and they were on the losing end. Food wasn’t as difficult to come by as it was now, but the preservation of it was of the utmost importance.
Etched into her mind forever was the sight of the word “UNWORTHY” magically engraved onto Ronald’s forehead and accompanied by his screams of pain. The way crimson red drenched his face causing him to choke on his own blood was enough to pay head to such warnings. Another obstacle The Order had to navigate.
The magic within the hex was either new or so ancient that it couldn’t be identified with a diagnostic spell. Ron wailed in pain for an hour before succumbing to the dark magic causing his soul to leave his body. Afterwards Voldemort's voice had echoed throughout everyone’s mind in the room. “The Worthy are fed, Salvatoris can liberate you.” Then, letter by letter, the carving erased itself from Ron’s face, leaving only the bloody reminder on his lifeless corpse.
Metal scraping against metal in the distance made a high pitch sound that reminded her of a swing set. Memories of an innocent life flashed before her eyes, laughter and love flowing through the crisp October air as her parents chased her through the neighborhood park. Finding salvation from her parents' tickles by hopping on a swing. Now understanding magic, she knew that day was the first day she had ever performed magic.
As she pumped her legs back and forth to swing higher into the air, she took in a lungful of the autumn breeze, enjoying the array of brown, red and yellow crunchy leaves on the ground. In that moment in time, she felt powerful being so high, she wished for the leaves to dance in the wind towards her.
And so they did.
A gust of wind gathered the droplets of fall foliage, spinning it in a mesmerizing small cyclone of colors towards Hermione. Her smile grew as it drew nearer. Once the wind reached her, the leaves lightly dispersed and gracefully fluttered down onto her and the ground. Granting her the smell of fall and everything it had to offer.
Wanting to sooth a pain deep within her soul, she gripped a wand, that wasn't her own, tightly and apparated back to a place of innocence, leaving Pansy Parkinson‘s body to be cradled by Mother Nature.
CRACK
The playground was in the middle of the neighborhood that was now filled with emptiness. The last crumb of evidence of a once lively existence. Death Eaters had slaughtered everyone in a 6-kilometer radius, leaving crumbling bricks and bloodied corpses in their wake. Today was the 7th year anniversary of the massacre. Not realizing at the time that it was the first of many to come.
The world around her was bleak. She asked herself if she’s the only one left, then was she the embodiment of The Order? Or was that relative to the willingness to fight?
And Hermione Jean Granger was no longer mentally or physically capable of fighting. For the past three years, she had been merely surviving. If she was honest with herself, she would say that ever since her capture during the first year of the war, that she had been merely surviving ever since.
Somehow, Voldemort managed to find her parents before she had the chance to. They were reunited only for Hermine to be Imperioed to kill them. Of course they had no intention of keeping her, after her execution of the people she loved most in the world by her own hand. The Death Eaters had Portkeyed her back to The Order to live with what she’d done.
At first, Harry offered to obliviate her, but she thought she could use the memory as a weapon, fueling the fire of hatred she felt for Voldemort. By Gods, was she dangerous that second year. But for every Death Eater they captured or killed, 4 times as many muggles perished in retaliation. Voldemort and his followers grew like fiendfyre, and nothing could extinguish the consistent new wave of recruits. Death and annihilation was their only goal, if you weren’t with them, then you were against them. No magical being had the comfort of waiting the war out. One either joined them or died.
The Order's true downfall was abiding by rules that only applied to them. Thought that fighting with morals would win them the war in the long run, but it cost them everything. By the dwindling days of this new world Voldemort had built, no one remained to live up to the morality standards The Order once stood by. Survival was the only means of existing, and clutching onto one’s own lifeline meant you didn’t have the luxury to live by those ideals anymore.
Hermione heard a crack of apparition in the distance behind her. Of course, they’d place wards around the massacre sites. Probably hoped to find wizards or witches empathetic to muggle deaths to either kill them for returning to muggle locations or ‘save’ them.
Hermione didn’t bother turning around, she came here to feel something. So, she fixated on the rusted metal of the swing set, conjuring memories of the life without magic she once knew. A time where life wasn’t complicated or meaningless. When she didn’t have to question her safety or other’s. When smiles were her default facial expression, when she was curious of the world around her. When she had people to love and be loved in return. When love surrounded her, when it cocooned her like a forcefield.
She stood there and stared at the plaything for what felt like a millennia before realizing that she had been allowed to do so undisturbed. Meaning they were watching her. She took in the earthly chill of the night and squared her shoulders. Hermione turned around to inevitably greet Death. However, what she saw didn’t offer a life amongst the stars, what she saw bolstered a sliver of curiosity.
Draco Malfoy stood in the distance, pristine black robes hinting at his athletic frame, polished Buggernaught wingtip shoes wrapped around his feet, slicked back platinum hair. She guessed that if she were to stand close enough to him, he would smell of sweets. All the signs of indulgent lifestyle. The stark opposite of Hermione.
They stood there, internally annotating what this war had offered the both of them.
After a long solemn silence, Draco steps forward. The sudden movement startled Hermione and she instinctively casts a crucio his way. Effortlessly deflecting the curse, she casted another.
Deflect
Bombarda
Deflect
Sectumsempra
Deflect
Avada Kedavra
Draco rapidly side stepped just in time to evade the deadly curse, he paused only slightly before he casted a spell her way. Not quick enough the spell hit her. Her hand flung to shoulder to alleviate the sting of the jinx. Noting that it was a simple Pinching Jinx . Now it was Hermione’s turn to be on the defensive.
Pinching Jinx
Deflect
Confundo
Deflect
Slugulus Erecto
Deflect
Already exhausted and knowing that this back and forth wouldn't stop, Hermione lowered her wand. She smothered her smile as she marveled at Malfoy while leveling her breaths. She watched him as a flicker of caution shined in his eyes. She carefully observed him as he clenched his jaw and hesitantly stepped closer to her, his wand still at the ready.
Draco Malfoy, now less than two meters from her, stared with a mixture of bewilderment and hopelessness. The eye contact was broken when he pivoted and grabbed the chains of the swing near him, plopping on the wet plastic seat. His wand nowhere in sight, replaced by a flicker of a flame. Hermione tilted her head to carefully examine and was taken back when she spotted the silver lighter in his hand then the cigarette.
She stood, holding the other swings chains, as her eyes were fixed on the flame of the lighter gracefully swaying back and forth while he took drags of the cigarette to properly light it. Displaying his contempt for the muggle thing, he clicked the lighter closed and took a long drag of his cigarette. He held his breath for a few moments before exhaling the smoke. The acrid stench wafted her way, but she didn't pull away from it.
“Got anymore?” She asked dully, then stepped closer to him.
He looked up at her and the light of the moon fully highlighted the hopelessness vibrating throughout his body. He quirked a half smirk as he dug into his robes without leaving her eyes and handed her one. Nodding her thanks, she wrapped her fingers around the stick and gestured for him to light it for her.
His laugh reached his eyes and his body, but not his lips. Draco lifted himself from his seat and brought the lighter close to her face. The spark ignited more than just the lighter. A soft wind howled, and he instinctively cupped his hand for the flame to remain whole. Hermione dipped the cigarette into the flame and breathed in deep, the cancerous smoke filling her lungs. She held Draco’s gray eyes as she did the vapor in her chest. Exhaling, she laxly blew the smoke in his face. But to her surprise Draco breathed in her smoke as if he’s desperate for oxygen regardless of how polluted it is.
He clicked the lighter closed, and stepped back to sit onto the swing. Taking a drag of his cigarette, he blew it towards her and gestured for her to sit down. Hermione took one more drag of hers before she did as suggested, disregarding the damp seat. In unison, they break eye contact and look up at the twinkling stars. Small ashen clouds interrupting the celestial artwork in the sky.
“You know, I was offered the chance to become an informant for The Order.”
“I know,” Hermione stated, taking another long drag of her cigarette. “I was the one who suggested it.”
Pansy was the first to become an informant, it was sometime during the second year of the war. To everyone’s shock her and Neville had had a complicated love affair going on all throughout their years at Hogwarts, and she was willing to fight for them. Once Neville died on a rescue mission for Harry that 4th year, she surmised Pansy would slither back to Voldemort's side, but she didn’t. She lingered in the background of the diminishing Order.
She could feel his gaze on her, but she kept her eyes on the masterpiece of the heavens she didn't believe in. Expelling the smoke in her lungs, she briefly closed her eyes, forcing the multitude of scenarios of the good it would have done for Draco to turn on Voldemort out of her mind. Thinking of such nonsense wouldn't change their current reality. Nothing would at this point.
She opened her eyes and turned to him, “Why?”
Draco didn’t need context; he knew that she meant why didn’t he join when he had the chance.
“My mother.”
Hermione was aware of the fact that Lucius and Bellatrix were both dead, Voldemort killed them in front of everyone to display his indifference towards even his most loyal followers. It silently screamed that their lives only mattered when they were winning and at that time they hadn't been. Narcissa was the only family he had left.
“She wasn’t going to leave the manor unless it was in a casket, so I stayed.” Draco took in a deep breath before quickly exhaling.
“I think a part of him wondered what unconditional and unwavering love was like, so he kept us around. Maybe a part of him is desperate to feel it, but he doesn’t truly understand it.”
“With the world he’s now built, no one will.” Hermione stated before taking another drag.
“I told myself that once she was dead, I’d leave and fight for The Order. But she held in there without my father for longer than I thought she could.”
Hermione nodded absentmindedly as she took a drag before she spoke, “Heard you put her down like a dog.”
He exhausted a humorless laugh then took the last drag of his cigarette before flicking it away from him.
“She asked me to end her suffering.”
“And so, you did,” Hermione nodded again and turned to look at him.
Harry had asked her the very same thing after he was rescued. He never spoke about the things he saw or was forced to do while in captivity, but seeing how Ginny’s body has never been found, she could imagine such horror. He couldn’t live with himself and so Hermione granted him mercy.
Draco and Hermione locked eyes, sharing burdens of small mercies they've offered and casualties they’ve caused. Eyes focused on the other, they mourn the lives of everyone they’ve known and all the souls they didn’t.
An eternity passes before Draco pulls his gaze from hers to admire the dwindling minutes of the night sky.
“What I would give to live amongst the stars,” Draco whispered to her.
A profound understanding of words she’d spoken hours earlier.
“Want to go together?” She asked as she stomped her cigarette into the ground.
Draco didn’t turn to her as he lifted himself from the swing, his eyes still gazing at the Heavens above as he moved to her. Slowly rising from the damped swing seat, her eyes never left his face. Overshadowed by the cigarette smell was an overabundance of the sweetest aroma of jaffa cakes.
Needing to taste notions of a simpler life, Hermione pulled Draco into her. Unphased by abrupt movement, he leaned down and delicately pressed his soft lips to hers. Their kiss was innocent. Their exchange was everything it needed to be in the moment. Nothing more nothing less.
“Meet me in the afterlife?”
“I’ll meet you in any life that’s not this one.”
Their eyes met again, and everything around them grew warm and silent.
They nodded to one another and took a single step back, still connected to each other by holding onto the other’s forearm. They took in the scent of a new day, feeling the sun rising and inhaling deeply only to exhale. Their free hands gripped tightly around their wands, and they lifted them, wand tips at each other's hearts.
In unison, they spoke, “Avada Kedavra.”