A Pound of Flesh

Chapter Seventeen: The New Moon

The new moon loomed. The days leading up to the reenactment of the battle were exceptionally tense for Hermione. She still was not certain that she would be able to handle seeing the final battle again. Several times, she’d only just managed to stop herself from Flooing Luna and telling her that she’d changed her mind. She had trouble concentrating at work; she’d even snapped at her coworkers a few times.

Nothing alleviated the tension, not even a thorough shag with Draco. Afterward, she waited until he fell asleep, then she slipped out of the bed and went to the nearest pub for a large drink. But that did nothing except make her feel depressed as she silently observed the couples sharing the mostly empty bar with her.

She envied them their happiness. Their relationships were not built on the same precarious foundation of lies that was the basis of her relationship with Draco. She loved him and she had to admit that it was comforting – pleasant – to feel wanted, not rejected, nice to be with someone instead of spending her nights and weekends alone. And Draco kept her on her toes, as he’d once promised, and she was fascinated by the endless depths of his intelligence.

At the same time, though, her guilt about continuing to lie to him made it harder and harder to enjoy her time with him, and equally difficult to act as though there was nothing wrong. She suspected that Draco had picked up on her melancholy but was unsure how to broach the topic with her.

She also knew that Ginny wanted to say something; she had started more than once to bring it up, but had been interrupted each time. Hermione knew it was only a matter of time until Ginny finally said her piece.

So it was with slight trepidation that Hermione let Ginny into her flat the evening of the reenactment. Hermione had been expecting Luna, so she was surprised to see Ginny at her door, dressed in dark robes.

Hermione greeted Ginny with a weak smile and invited her in.

“Luna talked me into coming along with you two tonight. I know I’m a bit early,” Ginny excused as she stepped inside, “but I had to get out of our flat. Harry has the boys over and I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, closing the door once Ginny passed by. “It’s not a problem.” She was surprised that Luna had managed to convince Ginny to come along, but was comforted by the fact that the other girl would be there with her.

“There’s only so much information I need to know about certain parts of Lavender Brown’s anatomy,” Ginny continued. She flopped lazily onto Hermione’s couch.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Poor taste of Seamus to kiss and tell,” she said as she fetched two butterbeers from the kitchen.

“Not Seamus,” Ginny informed her. “My git of a brother. I thought Seamus was going to deck him.”

“Oh,” Hermione responded. “Then that was definitely poor taste.”

“Yeah,” Ginny agreed.

Crookshanks pulled himself up onto the couch and nuzzled his head under Ginny’s hand. Ginny bent and scratched his grizzled old head, and a moment of silence passed. Hermione sat down next to Ginny on the sofa and handed her a butterbeer.

When Ginny looked up, her face was determined, and Hermione stifled a sigh, knowing that the moment had come at last.

“Hermione – ” Ginny began.

“I don’t suppose we could just not do this?” Hermione interrupted.

“Listen, I don’t pretend to know what it’s been like for you these past few months – ”

“Ginny, please – ”

“Using Draco Malfoy like this is wrong, and you know it.”

“I’m not – I’m not using him.”

“Being alone sucks – ”

“Ginny, please!” Hermione begged. “It isn’t like that.”

“Well, explain it to me. Is it revenge, then?”

“Revenge?” Hermione asked, aghast. Initially, she admitted, it had been about revenge, but not any more.

“You figure this is a good way to get back at Ron by doing – whatever it is you’re doing with Draco – ”

“No!” Hermione protested.

“Well, what is it, then?” Ginny asked, folding her arms across her chest. Hermione stared at her blankly. She tried to think of a way to explain it that would make Ginny understand.

“Don’t say it’s for work, either,” Ginny added quickly. “I know you’re still working on his case on the side, but you don’t have to be shagging him to do it.”

“No,” Hermione agreed. She knew it had stopped being for work the night she’d fled the wedding, seeking out Draco for comfort.

“Well, at least we’re finished with that excuse.”

Feeling her ire rising, Hermione took a deep breath and reminded herself that Ginny was just trying to help. She shook her head, unable to articulate what she wanted to say.

“I tried, Ginny. I tried to keep it professional. I tried to stay away, but I just couldn’t. I got attached.”

“You got attached?” Ginny echoed.

“I tried to keep my distance. I thought I would be able to work his case without interacting with him, but I couldn’t. And the more time I spent with him, the more I… the more I grew to… care about him and enjoy his company.” Hermione lifted her head and stared at Ginny defiantly.

Ginny, for her part, appeared to be trying to understand. “So you got involved with him. Draco Malfoy. The sniveling git who made your life hell. Who was a Death Eater. Who helped kill Dumbledore. I can see how such a person would be a joy to spend time with.”

“He isn’t that person anymore.”

“Yes, he is Hermione. He just can’t remember – ”

“You are just going to have to accept the fact that you aren’t going to understand,” Hermione interjected. After all, it was difficult for even Hermione to understand. The only way she could explain it was that the heart wanted what it wanted, and her heart wanted Draco. And how was she to say that to Ginny?

“What about your job?” Ginny tried again, frustrated. “As part of the MLE, it’s your duty to report located criminals.”

Hermione stood and began to pace in agitation. “He isn’t doing anybody any harm. He doesn’t know who he is or what he might have done – ” Ginny made a disbelieving noise “ – and like Harry once said, he was coerced into doing everything he did.”

“But it isn’t your job to judge him innocent or guilty!” Ginny exclaimed. She jumped from her seat and stood in Hermione’s way. “And if anyone else finds out you’re harboring him, you’ll lose your job, and you might end up sharing a cell with him in Azkaban.”

Her anger just beneath the surface, Hermione bit back a scathing retort and said in a barely controlled voice, “I’m not ready to lose him yet, Ginny. Please don’t ask me to give him up. I love him.”

“What?” The shock on Ginny’s face would have been comical if the situation wasn’t so serious. “Hermione – ”

At that moment, however, the Floo flared with green flames. Hermione stepped back from Ginny, and turned away to swipe at the tears quivering in her eyes. She turned back to watch as Luna sedately exited the fireplace and dusted soot from her colorful robes. As she fluffed her limp blonde hair, Hermione spied the radish earrings, looking worse for wear these days.

“Oh, you’re here, Ginny!” she said with a serene smile. “Am I late again?”

“No,” Ginny answered, her voice strained. “I just came early because Harry is having all his mates over and I needed to get out of the flat.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Luna said, looking less unfocused than usual. “Dean mentioned something about a boys’ night at Harry’s. I’m glad you’re coming. It’ll be fun.”

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. Only Luna would think such a thing could be fun. Well, she amended, Luna and everyone else who participated in the miserable charade every month.

Luna stared at Hermione, then, looking confused. “Are you going as a member of the MLE tonight, Hermione? The Hit Wizard Squad wasn’t there, you know, so I don’t know that this will work.”

Hermione glanced down, belatedly realizing she was still in her work robes. “Er… no, I’m just going to watch.”

Luna shook her head, which caused the radish earrings to sway wildly. “You can’t just watch. You have to participate.”

This news alarmed Hermione, and she glanced at Ginny, who refused to meet her eye.

“Luna, I – ”

“She’s going as an Auror. She just hasn’t changed yet, since we’re early,” Ginny broke in, her tone stiff. “Go change, Hermione.”

She shot a renewed glare of annoyance at Ginny before she ducked into her bedroom, where she shed her work robes. In the cool darkness of her bedroom, she searched around for something an Auror would wear, anxiety crawling just beneath her skin. She paused as her eyes skimmed across her school trunk, covered in dust in the corner where it had been ignored for years.

Buried within the confines of the trunk with her school robes, Transfiguration books, and scrolls of old assignments, the perfect outfit awaited her – the robes suited for battle: thin leather and charmed with protective spells, courtesy Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. She’d worn them the day of the final confrontation. Afterwards, she’d discarded them wearily before sinking into her bed at Grimmauld Place. When she awoke, she discovered that Mrs. Weasley had retrieved them, cleaned the blood from them, and folded them into a neat pile at the foot of her bed.

She’d tried to throw them away, but somehow, they’d made it into her school trunk. She’d left them there, not wanting to touch them again. Then she’d closed the trunk and locked away the robes with everything else she didn’t want to remember. She imagined that by now the robes had sifted down to the bottom of her trunk with the broken quills and empty ink bottles.

Her feet pulled her forward; now that she’d remembered the robes were there, she felt a burning desire to see them again, to remember what it felt like to be the girl who had worn them.

She knelt and undid the latches, and hesitated only a moment before lifting the lid. She took a deep breath; her trunk still smelled like Gryffindor Tower. Pasted to the inside of the lid with Spello-tape was her Hogwarts letter, a picture of her with Harry and Ron after their third year, and the schedule for her seventh year N.E.W.T. level courses, which she’d never gotten to take.

She reached out, hesitant, and skimmed her fingertips over the picture. She watched the younger image of herself wave out at her, flanked by her two best friends. Had she ever been this young? She felt like this picture had been taken a lifetime ago.

With a sigh, Hermione looked down into the trunk and lifted a pile of Hogwarts robes out of the way. As she shifted a pile of wrinkled scrolls to the side, she wrinkled her nose at how disorganized her trunk had become.

Then her knuckles brushed against the leather cloak, and an electric shock rushed down her spine. Past the point of turning back, she closed her fingers around the weathered robes and lifted them from the trunk.

She stood and held the robes up in front of her, and allowed herself a brief moment to remember how it had been – how she had been – on the battlefield as she fended for her life. Her ears filled with echoes and she crumpled the robes, closing her eyes. She was not that Hermione any longer.

When she came out of the bedroom, Ginny’s face lit up with recognition. Her eyes wide, she asked, “Are those – ”

“They are,” Hermione assured her, looking down her body at the robes.

“Are you going as yourself, Hermione?” Luna asked.

“No, like Ginny said, just an Auror,” Hermione said firmly, having no intention of actually participating.

“Probably better that way. This way, you’ll be able to watch from the outside and see what the final battle looked like.”

“We should probably go,” Ginny said, looking anywhere but at Hermione.

“Right.” Hermione headed for the doorway. “Let’s go, then.”

***

Hermione set a brisk pace as she led the way through the trampled grass. She retraced the path she had taken with Susan that hot August afternoon which seemed so long ago. She held her wand aloft; without the moon, the night was frighteningly dark. Behind her, she heard Luna chatting away with Ginny, who still seemed tense. If Luna noticed, she didn’t say anything.

Ahead, in the field she and Susan had investigated, Hermione could see a large group of witches and wizards gathering. Their wands lit and held high, they looked eerily like a group preparing for battle, which she supposed they were. Torches lit with flicking blue flames surrounded the clearing and added to the eeriness of the scene.

A hand grabbed her arm, and she paused, turning to look at Ginny, who looked back at her, wide-eyed. “I don’t think I can do this,” Ginny choked out, her voice high and thin.

Hermione did not know what to say. Ginny had not been with them during the initial ambush, but after Ron’s Patronus had raised the alert that they were in trouble, she’d been in the first group to arrive and defend them. Ginny had been more fierce and terrible than Hermione had ever seen her. She had just as much reason to not want to remember as Hermione did.

With more confidence than she felt, Hermione placed a reassuring hand on Ginny’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine.” A chilly breeze kicked up, rustling her hair, and her battle robes flapped gently, wrapping around her legs. She gazed into Ginny’s eyes, their row forgotten, and smiled encouragingly. “It’ll be okay,” she said.

“Participants, gather round, please,” a magnified voice called.

Ginny nodded and started forward again, keeping a firm hold on Hermione and Luna, who had grabbed her other hand.

“I need Death Eaters on this side,” the voice called, and Hermione watched a small number of black-clad wizards and witches step to the side. “We need a few more,” the voice announced, and Hermione could now see a tall, reedy man standing on a box in the middle of the crowd. He was wearing dark purple robes with silver moons on them, and had white hair growing in massive quantities out of his ears.

Hermione knew from the information Luna had given her that this was Tristan Ignatius, an Irish wizard, who along with his wife, Lucile, had formed the New Moon group and ran the reenactment every month.

Struck by a sudden impulse, Hermione ventured to the group of Death Eaters standing off to the side. Ginny and Luna followed without question. Hermione summoned a black cloak from a nearby pile of robes and held it up, staring at it in distaste. She handed it to Luna and summoned two more.

Ginny found her voice at last. “Why, Hermione?” she asked anxiously.

“To see what it looked like from the other side,” Hermione explained. She slipped the deeply hooded robe on over her other outfit. Once she was attired appropriately, she looked to the other group, the Light side, where a convincing double for Harry stood in front, flanked by a too short Ron and a Hermione with shorter, less frizzy hair and finer features. Hermione noticed with a shock that her doppelganger was wearing the exact leather robes she’d just covered. Upon further inspection, she noticed that Ron’s double was wearing a similar leather cloak over robes that were too short in the legs, and trainers with holes in the toes.

Her heart began to pound heavily as she identified other Order members and classmates. She saw a swarthy girl garbed as Luna, and a rather scrawny double for Ginny standing behind the boy playing Harry. From there, resemblances started to become sketchy at best, and Hermione gave up trying to identify anyone else.

“Excellent turnout this month,” Ignatius said. “Some new faces as well. Excellent.” He clapped his hands together. “We’ll just go over the rules quickly, then, shall we?

“You may only use Stunners, Immobilizing Hexes, and other offense hexes and jinxes that do not maim, harm, or draw blood for attacks. Defensive spells to counteract or shield may be used, but again, our goal here is to have fun, not to injure other participants.” He paused. “Let me be clear: that means no Unforgivables, no spells that will maim, hurt or kill, including any spell that will draw blood, cause a mark upon the skin, or cause damage that cannot be erased with Finite Incantatem or the appropriate counter curse. For historical accuracy, please substitute Rictumsempra for the Cruciatus Curse, and Stupefy for the Killing Curse. If someone Stuns you, please take this to mean that you’ve been killed.”

Hermione quickly catalogued the rules in her head for later analysis.

“I shall act as moderator for the Light side,” Ignatius stated, and then pointed to a slight woman with dark hair and wild eyes standing to his side. “And Lucile will direct those of you on the Dark side of the battle. She’ll lead you further along in the field and set up the ambush. Harry and friends will be along shortly.” He waved them off, and feeling her knees shaking, Hermione followed Lucile and the group of black-robed figures.

The group walked for several minutes. The ground around them was uneven and hilly, and boulders and rocky outcroppings that Hermione hadn’t noticed before littered the field. It was horrifying in its accuracy. Had they conjured the landscape just for this event?

When they’d gotten a fair distance from the gathering, Lucile held up her hand, then brought her wand to her face. Hermione felt Ginny’s fingers convulsively dig into her arm. The woman bore a frightening resemblance to Bellatrix Lestrange.

“Our Lord will be here shortly,” the woman said, her voice far too melodious and kind for Bellatrix. “He has information that the Potter brat and his ickle friends have been hiding nearby in the village. They’ve been looking for something that belongs to our Lord. We’ve been informed that they will pass through here tonight. We are to set a trap and lay in wait. Everyone spread out.” She waved her hand and instantly the Death Eaters dispersed.

Hermione remembered from her daytime foray that there were three trees clumped together nearby; she recalled thinking it would be the perfect place for someone to jump out and ambush her and Susan. She led the way for Ginny and Luna, and they crouched down amidst the clump of trees.

Luna pulled her hood down and used a twig to twist her hair up into a knot. “I thought they ambushed you as you were making camp.”

“No, we were staying in an empty house at the edge of the Godric’s Hollow when this happened. We think they meant to ambush us before we found what we were looking for. They were waiting for us to come from the village, and we were already on our way back from our hunt.”

“You’d just found the last Horcrux, then?” Luna persisted in a whisper, pulling her hood back up.

Hermione shushed Luna, who had only learned about the Horcrux hunt after the final battle had been won. While the battle was well-documented in the history books, the bit about Voldemort’s Horcruxes had been artfully omitted. The history keepers were as eager as Harry to keep that information from the general public. Hermione glanced around and wondered if any of the participants near them had heard Luna’s question.

Presently, Ginny’s fingers tightened on her arm again, and Hermione saw the faint outline of the trio, walking as they had, completely oblivious to the trap in which they were about to become ensnared.

A supernatural hush fell over the clearing; the only sound was the faint rustling of the wind through the sun-dried grass and the branches overhead as they rubbed together. It was so still –

***

– too still, Hermione thought. On their way through the clearing the first time, the night had teemed with noise: the hum of insects, the call of owls and other nighttime birds, the rasp of frogs calling to each other in the dark. But now, the only sounds were the crunch of grass under their feet, the whistle of the wind through the trees, and their labored breaths.

For a moment, Hermione wondered if it was her imagination, if she was overwrought with the finality of destroying the last Horcrux, the last step before facing Voldemort in battle. In Harry’s rucksack, the destroyed tiara rattled against the cup, the diary and Tom Riddle’s award for special services to Hogwarts, and the locket and ring were wrapped in a dirty handkerchief which was stuffed in a separate pocket of the bag. It was all almost over; the goal they’d worked toward for the last horrible year of running and fighting was almost upon them, more terrible than the road they’d taken to get there. Their reward for a year of hard work: a battle to the death with the most powerful Dark wizard alive.

They were all exhausted; none of them slept well in the abandoned house at the edge of the village. Gaunt from lack of food and pale from stress, they looked like prisoners of war. Which, she supposed, they were. So if she was a bit edgy, she thought she was entitled.

But then Harry and Ron seemed to notice the unnatural stillness, as well, and both scanned the almost impenetrable darkness around them.

“Something’s not right,” Harry said, hushed.

“Too quiet,” Ron agreed.

Hermione tightened her hold on her wand. “Maybe we should get under the Invisibility Cloak,” she whispered.

“Good idea.” Harry reached for the cloak in his pocket.

The first spell tore across the clearing, a blue arrow of light as it rocketed toward them. Hermione reacted automatically and cast a shield in front of them. The hex splattered against the shield like liquid fire. Another spell followed the first, from a different direction.

“Protego!” Ron cried.

Harry directed his wand in the direction of the last hex. “Stupefy!”

When a third curse screamed across the clearing followed by a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth, Hermione realized they were surrounded. All those months of constant vigilance, and the one moment they were too tired, too relieved, and too beyond caring to be cautious, they’d walked right into an ambush.

She grabbed Harry and Ron and tried to Disapparate, but she discovered the clearing was warded against Disapparition.

“We’re trapped,” she choked out. All these months; it could not end like this.

Ron grabbed her and Harry, and as they continued to parry the onslaught of curses directed their way, he dragged them to a nearby low boulder. They crouched down behind it. The rock offered them minimal protection.

A small, silvery dog shot away from them, and Harry, even as he blocked curses and flung curses of his own, asked Ron, “Who did you send it to?”

“My dad.”

Now Hermione began to see shapes moving in the darkness. She was not going down without a fight. She spun, back to back with Ron and Harry, and shot Blasting Curses into the night. Trees at the edge of the clearing exploded in splinters, and shrieks of pain filled her ears. Good, she thought.

A hex got between their shields and slammed into Hermione. She fell back, the breath knocked out of her, and felt her side for damage. The Shielding Robes from Fred and George’s shop had deflected the worst of it. At once, she bounded to her feet again, still gasping for air, and dragged Harry and Ron down as the green light of the Killing Curse cut through the air above them.

The dark shapes in the inky night darted closer, and Hermione could see blurred white faces and blowing black robes. They were wearing the white masks, she realized, and she pressed herself back against Ron and Harry.

Ron lurched against her and went down.

“Ron!” she screamed, but he didn’t respond. He lay unmoving at her feet.

The Death Eaters, emboldened by the loss of Ron, ventured closer. Hermione could hear their laughter now as she deflected curse after curse. Then another hex made it through her defenses, and she struggled for a moment against the ropes that wound around her body before she fell heavily on Ron. He groaned as her elbow connected with his stomach, and there had never been a sound as sweet to Hermione’s ears as when he began to swear profusely. He was alive, at least for now.

Harry’s voice, harsh and choked, roared out curse after curse, but he quickly was subdued, as well, and Bellatrix Lestrange started across the clearing, her face split in a mocking smile.

Desolate, Hermione’s only comfort was the fact that by destroying Voldemort’s Horcruxes, they’d managed to lighten the burden for whoever took over their quest of vanquishing him. And that if she was to die tonight, it would be with two of the most important people in her life, Ron and Harry.

But then the night air was rent with the pops of Apparition. Their reinforcements, a handful of Weasleys and Order members who had been at Grimmauld Place at the moment Ron’s cry for help came through, spread out across the field with fresh fire. Bellatrix ducked and disappeared once more into the night.

Ron struggled to sit up, clutching his side in pain, and directed his wand at Hermione. The constricting ropes released her and she felt around for her own wand. By the time she found it, Ron had revived Harry.

“Ron, are you alright?” Harry managed, though he was clearly in pain himself.

“Yeah,” Ron groaned. “You?”

“I’ll live.”

Then Ginny was there, her eyes wild with fright.

“Harry, Harry!” she screamed.

“I’m here,” he assured her, and she pulled him to his feet.

As Hermione stood, she took a quick look around and spotted the Weasleys, Remus, and Tonks in a tight circle around the four of them. More witches and wizards appeared in the night, for both sides. She spotted members of Dumbledore’s Army grouped together in twos and threes as they spread out across the field.

Then the circle surrounding her, Ron and Harry crumbled as the Death Eaters rushed the outnumbered Order members. The battle dissolved into chaos.

The dark night grew orange as fire spread across the clearing and filled the air with smoke. Her eyes stinging, Hermione lunged out of the way of a Blasting Curse and rolled across the trampled grass. She collided with a body on the ground. She blinked the smoke from her eyes and found herself face to face with Remus.

“Professor Lupin,” she gasped. But he didn’t respond; he didn’t move. His amber eyes were wide open and fixed on a point far beyond her face. “No,” Hermione breathed, and she shook his shoulder, not ready to accept the truth.

“Get up!” Fred appeared through the smoke and lifted her to her feet. “You can’t help him.”

“No,” Hermione choked, and she shook her head. “No, he’s just – ”

“You can’t help him.”

“He can’t be – ”

“Hermione, move,” Fred urged. There were tight lines around Fred’s eyes, and his normally smiling face was set in a solemn frown. He squeezed her shoulder and dashed away as Charlie called for help.

She could not take her eyes away from Remus’s kind, still face. He’d always been her favorite professor, and a valued friend. All his life, he’d struggled against his lycanthropy, against Voldemort, and now, just when he was finally happy with a son and a wife, he was dead.

The laughter of the Death Eaters echoed in her ears. Her grief gave way to the violently building rage inside her, and she found she could not catch her breath, so intense was her anger. She wanted to hurt something; she wanted to make the Death Eater who had killed Remus pay.

Off to her right, she spied a Death Eater as he stood over Susan Bones, who huddled on the ground, unable to reach her wand. The man laughed heartily as he kicked Susan’s wand further away and hit the unarmed girl with the Cruciatus Curse.

Her fury bubbled over. Hermione slashed out with her wand and bore down on the man in black. “Diffindo!” she roared.

The spell left a jagged gash across the Death Eater’s wrist and he dropped his wand. He bent to retrieve it, but Hermione blasted him back, away from Susan, who staggered to her feet.

“You still think it’s funny?” Hermione shrieked as the black-robed man scrambled to regain his footing. “Crucio!”

The pulse of Dark magic that channeled through her and out her wand left her right arm tingling with pins and needles like it had fallen asleep. She gasped in surprise but kept a firm grasp on her wand.

The spell slammed into the Death Eater, who flopped to the ground and began to convulse in pain. Cries of anguish tore from his throat.

Hermione steadied her wand as she grew accustomed to the hot, heavy feeling in her arm. The sensation began to spread across her chest and she swallowed as it crept up her throat. “I don’t hear you laughing now!” she taunted.

When the power of the Dark spell reached the base of her skull, Hermione shivered. The euphoria and rawness of it left her lightheaded and disturbed. Panting to catch her breath, she lifted the curse and watched the recovering Death Eater twitch on the ground. In awe, she looked down to her hand and at her fingers which were curled around the length of her wand. She’d never known such power before. It was almost intoxicating.

She looked up from her wand and spotted Susan watching her, mouth open. “Are you alright, Susan?”

Susan nodded, her eyes huge. “Thanks,” she gulped.

“Watch your back!” Hermione dove for the ground as the now too familiar flash of green light cut through the space where she’d just been standing. The scent of hot ozone filled her nose and she gagged as the bitter taste of it coated her tongue.

The battle raged on. Flames spread across the field, trees lay toppled, their trunks shattered, and fine particles of rocks that had been blown to bits hung in the smoky air. Moving like a blur, Hermione dodged and shielded spells and hurled the most violent curses she could think of at the determined fighters on the other side of the conflict. The rage overtook what little rational thought remained in her head, and it only grew with each curse that blasted her way.

She traded spells with a wiry Death Eater that stepped into her path. She recognized him as one of the men who had attacked them at the Ministry at the end of her fifth year. He danced out of the way of each curse she hurled at him, an infuriating smirk on his face.

“Best you can do, love?” he taunted. He twirled his wand and a purple zig-zag of fire scorched through the air between them. Even with the Shield spell and the safeguard of her protective robes, the curse slammed into her and spun her around. She fell back against the damaged face of a boulder. Breathless, she gingerly touched her side and hissed in pain. Barely in time, she dodged as the Death Eater pointed his wand her way again. This time it was the vibrant green of the curse that would kill her where she stood.

As she dodged behind the boulder, it exploded in a shower of grit and heavy projectiles. She screamed out as the sharp shards of rock stung her exposed skin. Barely in time, she flung herself to the side as the Death Eater once more shouted, “Avada Kedavra!”

The deadly dance continued, and Hermione knew it was only a matter of time until she stumbled. She barely had time to dodge, let alone attempt to disable her opponent. Each curse she shot at him was deflected with a mere flick of his wand. There was only one spell that couldn’t be blocked by a shield. There was no stopping it, no curing it. And once more, that curse shot her way.

At last, desperation made Hermione call upon the rage inside her to once more do the unthinkable. It’s him or me, she thought grimly. Her wand arm stretched out, she aimed, and before she could consider the weight of the words as they slipped over her tongue like poison, the green light of the Killing Curse exploded from the end of her wand.

She gasped as every nerve ending in her body tingled and burned, and her fingers stung. As though in slow motion, the curse screamed across the short distance between them and caught the laughing man off guard. With wide eyes, she watched as the curse almost missed the man; the last shreds of rationality within her urged the curse to go just a bit further to the right and miss him completely. But the Death Eater stumbled as he attempted to dodge and fell in the spell’s path. It smashed into his chest, and Hermione knew he was dead before he hit the ground.

Lightheaded, Hermione watched him fall, his limp arms thrown at odd angles as he crashed into the hard dirt. She tripped backward until her back connected with another partially destroyed rock formation. Jagged edges of the rock dug into her back. The driving rage that she’d dredged up burned away in an instant. She struggled to catch her breath and stared at the lifeless man. Her stomach heaved and she threw up what little food was in her.

Only her survival instinct saved her as another Dark wizard spied her in her incapacitated state against the boulder. Her legs propelled her to the side and the ground rushed up to meet her as a spell connected with the rock where her head had just been.

She rolled to the right as another bolt of green exploded into the grass to her left. Then the ground dropped beneath her unexpectedly and she landed on her side in a fresh pit. Her body just fit in the shallow, bumpy trench, and she burrowed down in the warm hole, though the stench inside the confined space was almost unbearable. With a shallow breath through her nose, she tightened her grip on her wand and tried to forget what she’d just done. In vain, she attempted to recapture her anger; it would keep her alive.

A group of wizards in black robes jumped over the trench without spotting her. In spite of the odor of burnt copper, she breathed a huge sigh of relief. She knew she needed to get out of this hole before it became a grave. After a quick peek to ensure she wouldn’t be struck dead the moment she stood, she pushed herself up from the hole and tried to brush herself off. The dirt was sticky; it clung to her sweaty skin and her robes. She looked down at herself and cried out. The front of her robes and her hands were covered in crimson blood, and she patted herself down to make sure she hadn’t sustained more damage than she’d thought from her duel with the Death Eater. She glanced down at her feet and screamed.

The pit was already a grave.

Hermione stumbled backward out of the hole, unable to stop staring down at the unrecognizable person. Before she tore her gaze away, she identified several parts of the body, which had been blown to bits inside the trench. Her stomach heaved again but there was nothing left to throw up. With the taste of bile in her throat, she scrubbed her hands against the cleaner parts of her robes.

“Hermione!”

Her head shot up at Ron’s cry. She spotted him hot on Harry’s heels, with Ginny close behind, as they rushed in her direction. He swerved off Harry’s tail and ran, half-crouched, across the smoky space to Hermione and grabbed her arm. She allowed him to pull her away from the pit.

“You’re covered in blood!”

“Not mine,” she uttered, her tongue leaden as she stumbled along with him and tried to keep up with Harry and Ginny, who had been joined by Dean, Luna, and Neville. “Where are we going?”

“Hermione,” Ron managed, and now that she looked at him, she saw that he was bleeding, and he cradled his left arm against his body. “Voldemort is here. We’re going to fight Voldemort.”

***

“Our Lord is here!”

Hermione staggered back as the cry went up along the lines of Death Eaters –

– no, they were just acting. Just acting. It wasn’t real. They weren’t Death Eaters, just people pretending.

And that wasn’t Voldemort striding across the clearing, oily black robes billowing around him.

Next to her, Ginny turned away and retched.

The Man-Who-Was-Not-Voldemort, even at a distance as horrifying as the real thing, was a commanding presence on the field. As Hermione’s teeth began to chatter together, she watched the Boy-Who-Was-Not-Harry stand his ground as the would-be Dark wizard approached.

***

Harry stood calmly before Voldemort. The Dark wizard sneered at him.

Hermione took her place between Ron and Ginny in the semi-circle that guarded his back. Neville was on Ginny’s other side, and next to Ron, Luna and Dean stood at the ready.

“So we meet again, at last, Harry.” Hermione felt her insides quiver at the sound of Voldemort’s high-pitched voice. It was straight out of her worst nightmares.

“I’ve brought something for you,” Harry returned.

Voldemort’s lipless mouth spread in a mockery of a pleased smile.

“Something for me?”

“Yeah, here.” Harry swung the rucksack over his shoulder. He up-ended it and the contents spilled to the ground. The crumpled gold cup banged against the warped school award as it fell to the ground, and the tiara rolled a short distance toward Voldemort. The diary spilled out and ended on the ground, the ink-stained pages facedown.

Voldemort’s sunken eyes widened.

“Oh, and these.” Harry shook the handkerchief with the locket and ring out onto his hand and unwrapped them. He tossed them toward the furious Dark lord.

Voldemort roared in outrage. His wand moved in a blur and he slashed it down at Harry.

“Avada Kedavra!”

At the same moment, Harry bellowed, “Reducto!”

Harry’s curse finished moments before Voldemort could complete the incantation for the Killing Curse. The wand in Voldemort’s hand exploded with a thunderous crash and the two curses collided. The battlefield was washed with a sickening red light, which throbbed and expanded outward from where Harry and Voldemort faced off. The air surrounding Hermione felt like it was expanding and contracting and alternated between unbearably hot and bitterly cold.

The shockwave of a massive explosion knocked her to the ground. She stared up into the night sky, her ears stuffed and filled with the echo of the deafening roar from the blast and wondered if she had died.

***

The light faded away. Hermione blinked as her eyes adjusted to the abrupt darkness. Out on the field, the cheering began as once more, the Light side celebrated their victory. A hand fumbled on her arm. She turned blindly and reached out.

“I want to go home,” Ginny sobbed as she pulled at Hermione’s arm.

“Yes, let’s please go. This wasn’t nearly as much fun as I thought it would be,” Luna added from somewhere nearby, her voice subdued.

At last, Hermione could identify her friends’ silhouettes outlined against the flickering blue flames, and she stumbled after them. Her head felt funny, heavy on her neck but so light she was afraid she might float away. Dizzy, she put her hand on Luna’s shoulder to steady herself.

“I don’t know if I can Apparate…” she began. The rest of her sentence faded as a roaring darkness swept through her head and blotted out sight and sound. She felt her knees buckle, and then there was the blessed emptiness of nothing.

---

Author's Notes: I wrote about half of this chapter a very long time ago. I am so excited to finally get to post it. Something very important happened in this chapter. Did you catch it? Stop by my yahoo group and say what you think the important event was.