Chapter Text
*2nd May 1998*
Ron Weasley latched onto Hermione's bony, pale hand and dragged her through the cold, collapsed castle in a desperate attempt to find an exit that Death Eaters hadn't already blocked off.
Over the past year, Hermione, Ron, and Harry have been hunting Horcruxes in a long-awaited attempt to defeat Voldemort; however, the stress, travelling by foot, and lack of food have taken their toll on the three mentally and physically.
But that didn't matter now.
Harry Potter was dead.
Suddenly, the last year of their lives seemed like a waste.
The sight of Hermione’s best friend hanging lifeless in Hargrid’s arms felt like a knife to the heart, but she would have been foolish not to have seen this coming.
Hermione always thought that Harry and Voldemort's connection to each other seemed odd and that it must have been formed by something more substantial and darker than legilimency so when Harry had told her about Tom Riddle creating Horcruxes, her suspicion became a theory, only she had hoped - for once in her life - that she was wrong.
"Kill the snake," Harry instructed, "the snake is the last Horcrux," he lied; what he had meant to say was, "The snake will be the last Horcrux," and Neville had tried to kill her in front of everyone, he dragged The Sword Of Gryffindor out of the sorting hat and charged for the snake who rested at Voldemort's feet, her dark silver scales blended into Voldemort’s cloak as though they were one being. Her jet-black eyes told a story of torture and death.
With his life on the line, Voldemort lifted his skeletal hand and pointed his wand at Neville, striking him with The Cruciatus Curse.
Hermione cringed as she watched her friend crash to the floor, writhing over the cobbled courtyard whilst his screams of agony bled through her ears. She knew exactly what he was going through after Bellatrix Lestrange inflicted the same curse on her in Malfoy Manor; that pain was unlike any other and was most definitely a pain one would never forget.
Hermione could hear the words “Please stop”, leaving Neville’s mouth between each piercing scream. She wondered if he ever would, if someone would dare to step out and help Neville, or if Voldemort would simply continue endlessly until Neville was forced to suffer the same fate as his parents.
Beyond Neville’s cries for help, Hermione could hear the soul-shaking cackle from the Death Eaters herd standing behind Voldemort, Bellatrix Lestrange being the loudest and cruellest of them all. Hermione wanted to save him. She tried to pull out her wand and use that same curse on Voldemort. She wanted to make him suffer the way he and his followers had made others suffer.
She looked over at her dead best friend as dark thoughts plagued her mind. She prayed for a second that he would take a deep breath and leap up from Hagrid's arms, saving the day like he always did, but instead, he just lay limp, his arms and legs dangling like broken tree branches, The Boy Who Lived was dead.
Neville took a deep breath as Voldemort lowered his wand and stopped the curse; even Hermione herself sighed in relief, knowing that his pain mainly had ended. But that relief was short-lived. Voldemort looked down at Nagini and gave her a nod; the snake slowly slithered towards Neville, who still lay lifeless on the ground. The python began to pick up her pace before pouncing onto him with her mouth wide open and a violent hiss that could be heard from every corner of the courtyard.
Hermione had to force herself to look away. She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed her head into the crook of Ron's neck; however, Ron didn't take time to comfort her; his only thought at this precise moment was getting his girlfriend out of there.
—
Everyone was running around the building searching for a way out, but The Death Eaters had taken over the school; they were outnumbered, unprepared and exhausted, so fighting was hardly an option, and Ron could only think to escape. He attempted to grab his family's attention, but a giant abruptly stormed, separating the yet-to-be-formed group. Ron had convinced himself that this would be for the best; a larger group would quickly grab more attention and most likely get them killed.
”Hermione!” Ron gasped as they ran through a narrow doorway. “We need to find an exit quickly!” He exclaimed, “What about your parents?! Ginny? George? What about our friends?” Hermione quickly replied. Ron let out a frustrated huff and dragged Hermione closer to him, hoping to force her to speed up. “We don’t have time to return for them, Hermione. Look around! You can be the smartest person in the room, but sometimes you’re as oblivious as Luna!” Ron snapped.
Suddenly, from around a pillar, Fenrir Greyback leapt in front of the two and began to strut towards them like a lion hunting its prey slowly. His immense shadow devoured them; his eyes only saw his meal. Between his crooked smirk, Hermione could see his sharp fangs. One bite from them would kill or turn you, whichever fate The Big Bad Wolf desired.
Hermione quickly lifted her wand and shot the beast with Stupify before continuing her search for an exit with Ron.
”You are bloody Brilliant, Hermione!” Ron laughed as they ran past Fenrir's limp body. “Really?! Because a minute ago I was ‘as oblivious as Luna,’” Hermione snapped in response, “oh, Mione, come on, I didn’t mean it like that! You were ready to play the part of the stereotypical Gryffindor and run back there to save everyone-“
”They are our friends and your family, Ronald! How can we possibly leave them?!” Hermione yelled, “Hermione, if we try to play the hero right now, we will end up exactly like Harry and Neville and will be no good to anyone if we are dead!”
While sprinting through the castle, the two finally came across an empty hallway. It certainly hadn't been untouched by the battle, but the odd few pillars stood, and most of the roof was still above their heads. “Please, Ron,” Hermione gasped. I need a minute to breathe,” she told him with tears in her eyes. “Fine, but just a minute, we must leave the castle, Hermione, quickly.”
The two ducked into an alcove, and Ron watched as Hermione tried to catch her breath. “We can lay low here for a few minutes and catch our breath, but we need to move quickly, Mione, if we have any chance of escaping,” Ron repeated as though Hermione had blatantly ignored him the first time. “And then what? Where will we go? And what about everyone else?” Hermione breathed as she perched herself on part of a mostly fallen wall, “Our only hope is to get past the Hogwarts defences and apparate to The Burrow; we can wait for the others there, an hour, maybe two, but no more and then we flee, to Europe, or Australia maybe? I’m not sure, but anywhere away from here,” Ron rambled. “Harry wouldn’t have run,” Hermione mumbled as she rested her head against the wall and relieved her heavy eyes.
Ron knelt in front of her and cupped her cheek with his right hand while holding his wand tightly in his left. “We’re going to be okay, Hermione, I promise, and we will come back and defeat Voldemort, but not today,” he whispered. But Hermione didn’t want a false sense of hope, so she quickly batted his hand away from her and let her head fall into her own.
"You know the plan, get her out of here and don't be seen.”
Hermione’s head jolted back up.
“Winky is already at the safe house, ready to help the injured," a masculine voice spoke.
Ron and Hermione peeked around the alcove's edge and saw Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy standing, conversing in the empty hallway.
It hadn't been long since the two watched Draco walk to the other side of the courtyard and join his father, who had practically begged his son to walk to the 'right' side.
"Don't be like your mother," Lucius pleaded, confusing most of the crowd and painting a vicious scowl on Voldemort's face, "Draco, if you know what is good for you, then you will fight for the right side," Lucius continued. Draco hesitated momentarily and looked towards the still bundle nestled in Hagrid's arms. Still, when he realised that Harry was genuinely dead, he began to take small, slow steps towards Voldemort's side, where he was pulled into an awkward hug.
—
Ron raised his wand and pointed it at the group, ready to attack, but Hermione grabbed his wrist and shook her head at him. She was keen to know what they were talking about.
"And what about her boyfriend, Malfoy? She's not going to want to leave him," Blaise stated, "bring him if you have to. I don't care! Just get her out of here, safely! I won't let The Dark Lord take her! You know his plans, Zabini!" Draco snapped at the boy, "Ah yes, because her precious boyfriend is well known for trusting Slytherins and Death Eaters ," Theodore laughed. "I'm sure he will gladly come with us," sarcasm dripped from his tongue like venom. "Bind him, stun him, stun them both! I don't care! Just don't fucking hurt her!" Draco snapped as he began to pace back and forth between his two friends.
"It's rather funny, don't you think?" Blaise laughed. "You've spent years bullying the poor girl, denying your feelings and now you're about to risk your life and our lives to get her out of here, and she doesn't see you as more than a pompous Death Eater with daddy issues who got Dumbledore-"
"Don't you dare finish that fucking sentence, Zabini!" Draco seethed.
Hermione and Ron had let their guards down as they listened intently to a conversation in which they were not welcomed. Yet Hermione couldn't help but wonder who this girl was that Draco Malfoy was so desperate to protect.
Draco let out a harsh groan and gripped his left forearm. "He's calling me," he grunted. Hermione and Ron could see the Dark Mark imprinted on his skin. “To think we saved that crummy bastard!” Ron muttered as he impatiently twiddled his wand between his fingers.
"Get her out of here! I don't care about the others! She is a priority!" Draco yelled as he began to run the opposite way down the hallway.
"Guess we better get looking then," Blaise sighed.
"Avada Kadavra!"
A bright green light came directly from behind Hermione and hit Ron directly in the back; he let out a piercing scream before falling lifeless to the ground. Hermione's heart stopped as she stared at her boyfriend's unmoving body.
She stood and stared in shock and disbelief, almost hoping that she had made this whole day up in her head and that it was all just a bad dream. That Harry wasn't lying dead back in the courtyard and that Ron wasn’t lying dead in front of her now. But as a single tear ran down her cheek, her heart began to burn like acid. She knew that this was very much real.
She looked up to the person who cast the curse, and there stood Antonin Dolohov, dressed head-to-toe in his Death Eater robes with a proud smirk and his wand firmly in his grasp.
Hermione quickly raised hers, but Antonin was quicker. With a flick of his wrist, he disarmed her, shooting her wand out of her hand and sending it somewhere down the rubble-filled hallway. "Well, if it isn't Potter's Mudblood," he laughed, taking long strides towards her.
Hermione wanted to run, fight, or summon her wand, but she knew it would be pointless. With one flick of his wand, she would be dead; all she had to do was cringe, and Antonin wouldn't hesitate to end her life - or worse.
"That was quite the memory charm you performed on me that night in the muggle cafe," he continued, "oh, how I have dreamed of repaying you," he groaned as he rolled his head back with a sinister smile carved into his expression. Now, with less than an inch between them, Antonin raised his hand to brush her cheek as he leaned in close enough to inhale her scent whilst Hermione stood still and firm, holding eye contact, refusing to give in to her fight or flight instinct.
"Well, you're going to have to keep dreaming, Dolohov," a voice spoke.
Antonin snapped back and turned to face Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, who stood with their wands and pointed at him. "What are you two doing?" Antonin seethed. "Right, now I cannot be arsed with a fight right now, so just hand her over, and I’ll let you keep all ten of your fingers. I’m feeling generous, you see." Theodore instructed calmly, with a cocky grin playing at his expression.
A look of confusion washed over Hermione's face as she watched the two boys save her.
Or perhaps they wanted to capture her and hand her in to Voldemort themselves?
"And what is going on here?" another voice spoke. They all turned to see two masked Death Eaters head their way. “I have caught Potter's Mudblood, and these two are threatening me," Antonin explained. One of the Death Eaters removed their mask, revealing Nott Sr. "Son, lower your wand," Theodore's father instructed.
Theodore rolled his head in frustration, knowing he would regret his next words. "I'm sorry, Father, but I cannot do that," he stated with a dramatic sigh. “And why is that?!" Nott Sr questioned.
Hermione still stood there silently, confused and scared, watching the - unexpected - confrontation.
"Because I can't let you do this," Theodore spoke. "I can't let you harm the Mudblood."
All of the men became agitated, and their wands shook in their hands as they restrained themselves.
"And why is that?" Nott Sr snapped, "Because we can't let him win, don't you see what you have become, father? So hateful, so violent, and why? Because of blood supremacy? You’re getting on a bit, father. You can barely tie your shoelaces, yet you think you are better than a mudblood?
You're like him, like that monster out there! I won't be like you, Father; I don’t want to kill and torture people because they’re not someone else’s idea of pure , and I won’t let you take this mudblood for you to make a spectacle of her!"
"You claim that I am a monster and my ideals are wrong, And yet you throw about the term 'Mudblood' so effortlessly," Nott Sr retorted. "Because of you!" Theodore yelled.
Hermione watched as Theodore argued with his father. They both looked so similar yet different simultaneously, and she was fascinated by their appearances, voices, and stances.
Theodore was slightly taller than his father, but they had the same steel grey eyes and dark brown curls. Their facial expressions mimicked each other almost perfectly, and aside from age lines and creases, the only difference between the two was Theodore's sharper jawline and slimmer build.
Despite their almost identical appearance, their speaking styles were entirely different. Nott Sr spoke in a firm and direct tone. He knew what he wanted to say and would say it that way. There was almost no emotion behind his words, whereas Theodore spoke with passion and empathy—an emotion Hermione was particularly Nott Sr was unfamiliar with.
However, the most evident part about the two that Hermione couldn’t help but examine was their stance. Theodore had his wand up and, at the ready, pointed straight towards his father. Nott Sr had his wand in hand but by his side. Any other witch or wizard would be prepared to cast in a second in any threatening or potentially dangerous situation. Still, Nott Sr was either very confident in himself to deflect or extremely doubted his son's ability to attack.
Even fighting for the same side, Hermione knew the two were not a tactical father-son match.
“Blaise, what would your father say about this?" Nott Sr asked, drawing his attention away from his son, "fuck all, he's dead," Blaise responded bluntly, rolling his eyes at the question. “Being a filthy rich pureblood won’t save you from my mother.”
Nott Sr ignored his comment and again drew his attention to Theodore. "Please, son, join us. The Dark Lord needn't know about your treachery; we can hand over Potter's Mudblood, and we shall be praised-"
"No!" Antonin yelled, "She is mine!"
"Your obsession with the Mudblood is becoming concerning, Antonin," the masked Death Eater spoke.
Hermione shivered at the word 'obsession'.
"Enough of this!" Antonin yelled as he grabbed Hermione's arm and dragged her closer to him, forcing a yelp to escape her mouth. "I will be taking her to The Dark Lord, and I will be keeping her!" he stated matter-of-factly.
He went to pull her away, but before he could begin, he and Hermione were hit with stupify, cast by Blaise. The blast shot the two back and knocked Hermione unconscious in seconds.