Chapter Text
Hermione was dancing, a choreography made of complicated, unpredictable steps to the tempo of the violently colored spells being thrown at her by a disheveled, crackling witch bent on killing her. Bellatrix Lestrange seemed to be eager to get Hermione back under the mercy of her cruel wand. She was sure the witch was seeking some form of twisted validation from Voldemort to try to get back in his graces. Fear threatened to break through her Occlumency walls as they’d tried to so many times on their run. But she pushed it back with anger and hatred, her spells straying on the far side of the dark with each sharp jab of her wand. Bellatrix, it seemed, recognized them as well. Of course she did.
“Aw, is the itty, bitty Mudblood trying to play now, is she? Whatever would the blood traitors say?” she mocked her, faking scandal.
Mudblood.Mudblood.Mudblood.Mudblood.Mudblood.Mudblood.Mudblood.Mudblood.Mudblood.Mudblood.
Her arm itched, and blood hissed at the word, hatred threatening to blind her to the precarious exchange of spells. She knew it meant death if she faltered. Her left hand was already cut deeply, not bleeding out due to her statis charm and a faintly fatal clotting charm. She gasped again as a familiar purple fire raced towards her. It shattered the broken boulder she’d transfigured into steel in front of her into small shards. She summoned a violent swirl of wind to send them towards Bellatrix, transfiguring them into blades when it nearly reached her target. Crackling, Bellatrix dodged from them, a bit late as a few buried into her arms. The fraction of a second she looked down was all Hermione needed to fling the poisoned blade from her thigh, straight into her heart with a little assistance from magic. Her time on extensively researching Muggle and Magic poisons in an attempt to recreate Basilisk venom hadn’t gone to waste then.
Hermione watched with cruel satisfaction as her modified Muggle poison spread through the woman’s bloodstream, black lines spread underneath her skin, and the witch sank to her knees, utterly helpless against biology. Hermione strode forward, plucking the wand from her hands, surprised the witch was yet to die. It had enough venom to kill a basilisk. The rumours of Bellatrix’s power truly weren’t exaggerated. She watched her grey eyes wide with hatred, but paralysed, unable to move as Hermione plucked out her wand, breaking it in pieces over her knees. She choked on black blood, leaking from her mouth, trying to move towards her and overcome the limitations of the human body. It was a pity, really.
Hermione watched the witch die, a sense of gratification settling into her bones, having avenged Remus, Tonks, Angelina, Luna, Dobby, and herself. How fitting, the notorious Death Eater and Muggleborn hater was killed at the hands of the Muggleborn witch she'd tortured. Suddenly, her world expanded from its window vision, and Hermione registered the unusual drop in the noise around the broken and bloodied walls of Hogwarts. The world seemed to have paused, watching as Harry, smeared in dirt and a broken glass, dueled Voldemort, wands connected in a line of chemical green and jewel red. Harry. He was alive.
Alive.Alive.Alive.Alive.Alive.Alive.Alive.
In the next moment of blinding flash, Voldemort’s pale and pasty body seemed to burst, the parchment-like shreds evaporating in the air. Stunned silence enveloped them before pandemonium broke loose. Everyone was making their way towards Harry. Hermione was elbowing her way through the sweaty crowd, and when Harry dropped to his feet, her heart stopped, before she broke out into a run, outright pushing others aside. Skidding to a halt, she knelt in front of the pale form of her pseudo-brother. How she dearly hoped it was magical exhaustion, and she was wrong about the last of her theory for the first time in her blasted life.
How many times would she have to see Harry lying prone like this, torn clothes, scattered injuries, but bleeding? The diagnostic charms were already slipping out of her wand, a habit at this point. Something was wrong. His magical core was fluctuating violently, unlike magical exhaustion, and his scar started bleeding. Hermione could feel Madam Pomefery beside her, the familiar warmth of her magic working in tandem with hers. A crowd was gathering around them, murmurs wracking up, and a sea of Weasley red floated in her periphery, but Harry’s face was twisting, and fist was clenching. His finger twitched, and he withered as if trying to fight off something. It reminded Hermione of the tales she’d heard of the Department of Mysteries. Hermione firmly pushed down the thought with horror. No. She refused to entertain even the notion of it. Yet everything was going wrong with Harry’s diagnostics, to the point that even others could tell it wasn’t an injury or even normal. And when Harry stilled, his expression evened out and every. single. diagnostic. going flat, she knew her best friend was lost to her forever. Even if they lit up the next moment, Hermione was intimately acquainted with the images formed after casting the charms on her brother. These were different. Foreign. Wrong. Madam Pomfery’s worried face told Hermione she knew that as well.
Hermione still harboured a dash of hope that it wasn’t what she didn’t even dare to voice in her mind. The theories that had come to her, unwanted in the coldest, darkest nights when she was on lookout duty. The hope was murdered, mangled the moment Harry’s features smoothed out, and he stood up, limbs moving with a grace her brother never possessed. The inward curl of his shoulder, trying to make himself smaller, fidgeting of his fingers as if itching for a task, even moving his head about in a certain way, harbouring the futile hope of his hair concealing his scar-each of those traits was gone. The stranger before her swaggered up to Ron with more confidence and grace than Harry held in his pinkies.
Then Hermione’s eyes met his, over his shoulder, and the crimson flashes in them confirmed what she already knew. She was given a cruel smirk, so alien in Harry’s features that it shocked her. The next moment occurred in flashes. The Elder Wand flew into Voldemort’s hand, and the Weasleys dropped dead before anyone realized. Confusion broke out among the crowd as people started speculating. Instead of running. Hermione wanted to scream at them to move. “Run,” she wanted to scream. Run until your feet bleed and you can’t anymore. Then run Apparate out. Students and remaining Order members were killed by hopeful Death Eaters. But she stood, her limbs refusing her brain's command and the sound of screams reached her ears like a distant echo.
Maybe it was fighting three wars that had honed their inner instincts, but Minerva, Moody, and Filius reacted fastest. Soon, they lead the charges of battered, older students duelling against Death Eaters, and some of them start evacuating. But none of it was enough. With Harry gone, Hermione could see their lack of conviction in winning. They fought like they knew they would die here. Voldemort, with Harry’s body and considerable power, was hard to hold off, even with the professors and Order duelling him simultaneously. Hermione snapped back to reality as warm blood splattered onto her face. She killed as many Death Eaters as she could, charming blood into poison and organs into spikes, spells getting darker with each death of a familiar face she knew.
Hermione knew she would not run. She would die fighting tooth and nail to kill the bastard. Afterall, hadn’t she been fighting him since 12? Soon, she saw, from the corner of her eyes, McGongall fall under the Killing curse. The Scottish witch with maroon robes dulled with dust crumpled into a small heap, very unlike her living self. It felt utterly wrong. Moody and Filius were quick to follow. Kingsley and Seamus fell within moments. Then he turned his wretched crimson eyes, slowly draining away the beautiful emerald of Harry’s, and decided to kill Hermione.
Dueling him had been hard, not only because it was fucking Voldemort of all people, much more powerful and skilled than her and everyone around them, with Harry’s seeker’s reflex. None of her spells even managed to get near him before Voldemort deflected them back, forcing her to dodge. It didn't help that her instincts cringed against raising a wand to the boy she’d been protecting for years. The most vicious spells she'd prepared for scenarios such as this stopped on her tongue as Harry's face dueled her. Voldemort seemed to understand that, as his eyes flashed green and his sneer slipped off, replaced by Harry’s earnest expression. It stole her breath away and gave her a pause as the last remains of her Occlumency walls were breaking down. The others had stopped their duels to watch Voldemort kill “Potter’s moodblood” and “Undesirable No. 2.” Hermione’s wand faltered, simply for a moment, and a forest green curse hit her chest. She could feel it crushing her ribcage when another curse hit her, melting her bones and squeezing her heart. She could hear cheers all around her as she succumbed.
Hermione wasn’t naive. She knew what her fate would be, as a witch and a mudblood, death would be her best option. Hermione boxed away the pain, as her mind raced a mile per minute. She knew a way to kill herself, and it would likely take out most of the Death Eaters around them. It might even kill Harry Voldemort. Before she could think further, excruciating pain overwhelmed her. Voldemort’s Cruricatis made Bellatrix’s curse feel like a paper wound. Her nerves were on fire, and she wondered if her brain was melting. Her previous injuries weren't helping either. The worst was feeling Harry’s familiar magic trapping around her like spiked wire. Hermione reached out to it, and the curse faltered for a moment.
Immediately, she used it to dig her magic into Hogwarts’ ancient and sacred one, drawing deeper and deeper from it and binding it to her core, until it overheated, threatening to explode. She let the magic flow into her even more, as Voldemort resumed his torture with increased gusto. She felt it the moment her magic core exploded, shards of warm glass digging into her and spreading outwards. Her only regret remained the destruction of Hogwarts. A last reminder of all her failures in this life.