Chapter Text
Epping Forest, June 26th, 1998
The metallic tang of dark magic coats Hermione's tongue as she pants, trying to catch her breath. Her mouth is bone dry, a reminder that she hasn’t had water since this morning. She presses herself against a tree, the rough wood biting into her back as her hand clutches her wand in a white-knuckled grip. She inhales deeply, the smoke in the air burning her lungs, as Neville's Bombarda Maxima cracks the air across the field. The sickening thud of bodies hitting the earth fills her ears. The sound of blood splattering across the grass like paint follows. She swallows hard, her heart racing. A moment, that's all she needs. A moment . She was still recovering from her torture at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange.
The Order had been planning for tonight to be an easy mission; get in and get out. A secret informant was supposed to hand over a cache of Goblin-forged daggers dipped in Basilisk venom. The one substance capable of annihilating the pieces of soul that made the Horcruxes so indestructible. Hermione's meticulous planning had led them to this moment, the potential for a major breakthrough against the Dark Lord finally within their grasp. Yet, as the group had navigated the forest and arrived at the agreed upon meeting point, a realization dawned on them. They had been ambushed, the promised exchange was an illusion. The question hung heavy in the air between the fighting; had Snape intentionally led them into a trap, or had the Death Eaters simply been one step ahead?
Hermione's thoughts shatter by an ear-piercing scream, her eyes snapping open as she was thrust back into the brutal reality of the battle. With quick reflexes, she hurls a slicing hex at the Death Eater dueling with Parvati. The curse finds its mark, cutting the dark wizard’s legs to the bone, as he dropped to the ground. Parvati stumbles, blood staining her trousers, her gaze meeting Hermione's in a fleeting moment of thanks. Hermione has no time to dwell on the exchange, a curse hurtling towards her from the shadows. She raises a shield charm just in time, the deflected spell whizzing harmlessly past her ear. With a swift counterattack, she sends a stunning spell flying back into the fray, already sprinting into the heart of the battle. Magic illuminates the darkening air, spells zipping past with deadly precision. Her heart races with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. Where is Harry?
She catches a flash of red hair across the field, redirecting herself towards it in hopes that it's Ron, who is supposed to be covering for Harry. She carves a path through the destruction, her footsteps weaving between the clashing bodies of Order members and the terrifying masks of the Death Eaters. She comes to a halt, realizing the red hair she saw was Ginny dueling side by side with Cho Chang. Their movements are perfectly synchronized, as they are outnumbered by dark wizards surrounding them. The air seems to vibrate with the threat of the encroaching Death Eaters. Without a moment's hesitation, Hermione raises her wand, a Bombarda Curse crackling on her lips. The spell shot forth, striking the lead Death Eater with gruesome accuracy. His head detonates in a sickening explosion of blood and brain matter, the spray coating the stunned figures nearby.
The momentary shock of Hermione's brutal display left the remaining Death Eaters vulnerable. Ginny and Cho seize the opportunity, their wands not missing a beat. A pair of Body Bind curses shoot forth, sending the dark wizards crashing to the ground, bound and helpless. Removing their masks reveal Marcus Flint and Graham Montague’s stunned expressions towards the merciless Golden Girl.
"Hermione!" Ginny's voice cuts through the battle, high pitched and worried. "I thought we weren't the ones doing the killing?"
Hermione locks eyes with her, seeing a flicker of judgment there. "It's either kill or be killed, Ginny," she retorts back, but the words feel hollow on her tongue.
Ginny turns to Marcus, her boot kicking his prone form, "Oi, Flint. Who was it she took down, anyway?"
Marcus spits at her boot, his voice filled with malice, "Fuck you, blood traitor."
Ginny kneels beside him, her voice dripping with a dangerous sweetness. "If you don't tell me, Flint, I'll let Granger here do to your cock what she did to that one's head."
Marcus' eyes go wide as he takes in Hermione's bloodied face, her hair caked with Death Eater flesh, his eyes flickering with fear. "Mulciber… She took down Mulciber."
Cho's voice sounds from behind them, laced with surprise. "Shit, Hermione. I may not agree with your tactics, but he's one of Voldemort's highest generals."
Hermione steels herself, pushing aside the echoes of what she's just done. "Just get them transported to the prisoner housing and get back here. We need as many fighters as possible. We're overrun and I don’t expect backup to show any time soon."
Just as Ginny and Cho are about to apparate, Hermione's hand shoots out, wrapping around Ginny's arm. "Have you seen Harry?" Hermione asks, her voice tight with worry.
"He was with Ron across the field about thirty minutes ago. I haven't seen them since," Ginny replies, concern etched on her face.
A jolt of fear courses through Hermione. They need Harry, their best chance at turning the tide. "Will you let me know if they’ve brought any prisoners back?" she presses.
"Yeah, I'll use the DA coin," Ginny promises. The girls lock eyes, the unspoken weight of their situation hanging in the air. They might never see each other again, anything could happen. "Be careful, Hermione."
With that, Ginny and Cho vanish, leaving Hermione to take off in the direction Ginny last saw Harry and Ron. Every second counts. If Harry is captured before they destroy all the Horcruxes, the Order will lose the war. They have been fighting non-top since Dumbledore’s death, pushing them to the brink of collapse. We’re barely holding on , Hermione thinks. The rations are dwindling by the day and the morale is hanging by a thread within their ranks. Dumbledore’s words echo in her mind, ‘Harry is our only hope’. If they fail to protect him, the wizarding world will burn.
Hermione's heart pounds in her chest as she sprints from one duel to the next, her eyes frantically scanning the smoke filled battlefield for any sign of Ron and Harry. The air is thick with the acrid smell of fire and smoke, spells exploding all around her. A killing curse zips past her head, and she drops hard to the ground, the wind leaving her lungs. She rolls desperately to the side, scrambling to her feet just as a Death Eater lunges at her. A swift Stunner sent over her shoulder buys her a moment's reprieve, but then she sees it. A flash from the reflection of Harry’s glasses is illuminated by a stray spell.
Across the battlefield, Harry stands his ground, dueling side by side with Ron. Hermione steps to head in their direction, when she is hit with a slicing hex to her side. A cry of pain rips from her throat as the curse tears through her skin, warm blood trickling down her ribcage. Dazed, she looks up to see a Death Eater bearing down on her. With a surge of adrenaline, Hermione sprints to try and make a run for it, her wand flinging out a Sectumsempra at the oncoming attacker. But her legs feel heavy, her vision blurring at the edges from loss of blood.
Hermione whips her head around after witnessing her curse land on its mark, letting out a triumphant cry. The success is cut short as a fist connects with her throat, and she folds to the ground, agony exploding through her. Her lungs burn, her mouth working soundlessly as she fights to inhale, but the pain is an unrelenting vice. She feels her body arching as she gasps for air that won’t come. A cruel hand wraps in her curls, hauling her up until she's suspended, her vision blurring from the stinging pain in her scalp. Her gaze meets the inky blackness of her attacker's eyes.
"Ah, Mudblood," the voice is a rasp, "We meet again."
The masked head tilts, and with a callous flick of the wrist, the mask vanishes in an apparition. Hermione's watering eyes stare back at the twisted face of Antonin Dolohov, his gloved hand flexing with excitement, “I was hoping I would be the one to kill you tonight.”
A twisted, sadistic smile carves itself onto Dolohov's face, while his rancid breath clings to Hermione's skin as he speaks. Fear is a heavy stone dropped in her belly as his wand rises, the tip a cold, hard pressure between her eyes. Tears of pain and terror trace scalding paths down her cheeks, her throat raw, unable to scream for help. She tries to thrash, to wrench her head free from his cruel grip, or at the very least catch a glimpse of a potential savior. But she's pinned, at his mercy with no escape in sight.
She’s going to die.
She thinks about the Order, about Harry and Ron. She hopes they both know what they mean to her, as she continues to stare into the mirthless eyes of Dolohov. Thoughts of her parents fill her with a suffocating sadness, but at least they'll have the chance at a new life in Australia, free from the war that's about to claim their daughter. They’ll never know she died trying to save them. She'll never get to explore this newfound feeling for Ron, never know what could have been. But even in the face of death, Hermione finds a well of inner strength. She lets her eyes close, not in defeat, but in acceptance. She's made her peace, and now all that's left is to face the end with the courage that's always defined her.
“Avada Kedavra!”
Hermione waits, her body heavy and unresponsive, for the blackness of death to finally claim her. She can't help but wonder if it will be painful, this process of passing through to the other side. Will it be a sharp, searing agony, or a slow, dull ache? Will she see Sirius? Maybe Dumbledore, or even Harry’s parents. A sense of peace settles over her. She is not afraid.
She feels Dolohov's hand go slack in her curls, his fingers slowly uncurling, loosening their painful hold within her hair. She feels herself drop, her body hitting the cold, hard ground with a thud. The impact knocks the wind from her lungs. Nearby, she hears the heavier thud of another body dropping. She slowly opens her eyes, that's when she sees him. Dolohov. His eyes, those cold, cruel eyes, are open and unseeing. Staring lifelessly back at her. A grimace is frozen on his face. For a moment, she can only stare, her mind struggling to catch up with what is happening.
Before she can scream, before she can scramble away from the lifeless body, she is enveloped in a black cloak. The darkness billows around her body on the ground as it covers her small frame crumpled in the grass. It's warm and heavy, smelling of dark magic, smoke, and something else she can’t quite place.
The next few moments are a chaotic whirlwind, the incantations of dark spells ringing out from the figure looming above her. Hermione manages to peek out from under the cloak's hem, her vision blurry yet filled with horrific clarity. Bodies are falling and blood pools around her with an unnatural quickness. Her own form is wracked with shudders, her mind foggy with the thought; is this the onset of shock?
A Death Eater slams to the ground just beyond the hem of the cloak, his mask falling away at the impact of the sickening crack to his head. The sound has become all too familiar in this war, but it makes Hermione’s stomach turn every time. She stares, transfixed, into the eyes of Rowle, watching as blood flows from his mouth. She can hear the wet, gurgling sounds as he chokes on it, watching the light leave his eyes.
She tries to remain calm, tries to process what is happening around her. The sounds of fighting are fading, replaced by the cracks of apparition ringing throughout the field. She remains curled up underneath the safety of the cloak surrounding her as an eerie silence descends. The cloak falls away from her body as she is uncovered, lying within the blood soaked grass. She pushes into a sitting position on shaky arms to look around at the carnage left behind. Bodies litter the field, mostly Death Eaters, brought down in a war path of violence.
Finally, a hand closes over her shoulder, gently turning her. She allows herself to be turned away from the horrific aftermath of battle. She stares up to see a Death Eater’s imposing form looming over her. A scream gets caught in her throat as she tries to stand to run. His hand grips her shoulder, holding her in place. He leans down to her cowering form, looking her over for any injury. She sees his face pause over the bandage soaked in Dittany that is warped around her left forearm.
Instinctively, her right hand reaches out gripping the sore wound. The scars may be etched into her skin, but they burn deep into her soul now. She’ll never forget the aftermath of receiving them at the tip of Bellatrix’s poisoned dagger. As soon as her hand covers the bandages, the Death Eater’s eyes snap to hers. Her breath is caught in her throat, staring into the steely grey eyes boring into her warm honey brown. A hint of white fringe hangs underneath the mask, falling into his eyes.
Malfoy.
She sees the realization in his eyes; the dawning understanding that she knows it's him. It's a flicker of shock, followed by a flash of something else she can’t place. His grip on her shoulder releases. His fingers seem to linger for a moment, a feather-light touch. And then, he's gone. The thunderclap of apparition rings out around her, making her ears ache. She stands after a moment, her shoulder feeling bare and cold. The only proof that he was ever there is the echo of the crack, slowly fading from her ears.
Hermione scans the clearing, a sinking feeling in her stomach as she realizes its emptiness. The Order must have fallen back, apparating to the safety of Headquarters under the assumption she'd done the same. Now, she stands alone amidst the smoke, bodies scattered, a testament to the ferocity of the battle that's passed. Her mind reels as she absorbs the reality of what happened; Malfoy, of all people, had taken down an entire regiment of Death Eaters, high ranking followers of Voldemort's twisted cause. The irony isn't lost on her. Even if she found the words to explain it, would anyone truly believe that the boy who'd once tormented her had become her savior? Their savior. That his actions may have tipped the scales of power in the Order's favor, offering them a chance to deal a decisive blow to the Dark Lord's dwindling forces?
She stands there confused, the memories still playing in the forefront of her mind, sharp and clear. The look in his eyes, the feel of his hand. The realization slams into her like a punch to the gut. She takes a deep breath, trying to process it all. Trying to understand what just happened. He was there. And then, he wasn't. He touched her, looked at her. And then, he left. The questions swirl in her head, making her feel dizzy. Why?
The boy who haunted her school days, had just saved her life. Malfoy, of all people, had ended Dolohov with a quick Avada to his back to save her. He'd shielded her, taken down his former comrades one by one, clearing a bloody path for the Order to escape.
Now, Hermione walks the hushed battlefield, her shoes sinking into the damp earth. Bodies sprawled around her, Death Eaters, their black robes stark against the burning fires across the field. She moves among them, her heart clenched tight, searching for any sign of the Order. But as she turns over the last body, she realizes there are no familiar faces. Only the still, pale faces of their enemies.
With a shuddering breath, Hermione raises her wand, steeling herself to apparate back to Headquarters. The world blurs, colors bleeding together as she apparates away from the carnage. But the questions follow her, echoing in her mind long after she reaches safety.
Why? Why had Malfoy, the boy who'd made her life a living hell, risked everything to save her? Had he finally found some shred of decency, some spark of humanity amidst his darkness? Or was it something more? Something that made her stomach twist with a strange, unsettling hope.