A/N: Here it is! Sorry it's late. ::Blushes:: Real life can really get in the way.
This chapter isn't very long. ^_^
Thanks once again to Tome Raider! You rock!
Standard disclaimers apply.
Chapter Eight: Phoenix in Flames
The coldness was paralyzing, and all too familiar. Her breath slithered from her lips in tiny white puffs and she exchanged looks of horror with Harry and Ron as the bus came to a slow, whistling stop.
"What in the world…" said the driver, staring out at the darkening windshield just when the ghastly face of a Dementor took shape through the glass.
The driver gave a horrified shout just as the glass broke, cracks cobwebbing from the center and shattering into tiny kernels.
Dread spilled through the bus like ice-water. The initial rush of fear had the passengers screaming and scrambling to get away from the front of the bus and from the side windows where bony fingers reached through the rusty grills.
Hermione whipped out her wand, the words to summon her Patronus poised at her lips, but everyone was jostling and panicked, and someone barreled into her. She fell and she held on to her wand for dear life. This was not the time to be losing it.
The passengers, Muggles, began dropping to the floor, sobbing and weak from heartrending sadness. The Dementors were affecting them badly, and the driver up front had a Dementor hovering over him.
Just as she felt Ron's strong arms supporting her, a fantastic flash of silver light burst from the tip of Harry's wand, spreading to the rest of the bus.
Hermione could see nothing but white light at first, and amidst the pure, melodious note of the spell, she could hear the terrified shrieks of fleeing Dementors.
As the light of Harry's Patronus waned, she could still hear the hum of melody. Her eyes widened at the ethereal glow emanating from the sheathed sword strapped to Harry's back.
"Bloody hell…" Ron whispered, staring at the sword in awe.
It brought Hermione immediately back to her senses. They weren't out of trouble, yet.
The bus driver was sprawled on the floor, trembling with his eyes wide open and his skin as pale as death. He was not going to be very responsive for quite some time.
"Somebody!" she yelled, stumbling down the aisle and never minding that she was stepping on every single person as she went. "Anybody who can drive this-oh, bollocks!"
Hermione had never really driven any kind of truck, much less a bus, in her life, but in this situation she was willing to try. She pocketed her wand, took the diver's seat, pushed the shift stick into gear, and stepped on the gas.
The bus lurched and shrieked as it took off, and she could hear Ron yelling that she was going to kill them all. Hermione was seriously thinking that he could be right.
"Oh! Oh, oh, oh! What am I doing?" she cried, seeing the Death Eaters up ahead.
"Merlin, I'm going to die in a Muggle bus!" Ron wailed.
"Shut-up, Ron!" Harry cried, stumbling, amidst the recovering passengers, to get to her. "Just drive, Hermione! Go!"
"Oh, God!!" she gasped, struggling with the steering wheel. "They're not getting out of the way. I'm going to run them over. I'm going to run them over… "
The bus went barreling through the Death Eaters and most of them scrambled frantically out of the way, but there was at least one unnaturally large bump in the road, like the wheel had gone over something solid and bulky.
"Oh!" she shrieked. "I've run someone over! Oh, heavens!"
"No offense, love," Harry yelled back. "But can you obsess about that later?"
Hermione wondered if it was even in the realm of normal for her brain functions to stop when she heard him call her "love." Of course, she was thinking several things at once, the most important thought being that she had to get Harry away from the evil dark wizard who wanted to kill him, but "love" was always a rather welcome word-most of the time, at least.
"Left! TURN LEFT!" Harry shrieked.
"OH HEAVEN HELP ME!" Hermione cried as she turned to navigate the curve in the road and desperately tried to keep the bus from flipping over.
The passengers, mostly recovered from their Dementor-induced depressions, were now fully capable of feeling terrified once more, and they screamed as one when Hermione made the perilous turn, instinctively leaning in the same direction for equilibrium.
The bus leveled with a teeth-rattling thump and lurched forward with a roar.
"We're all going to die," squeaked Ron, his knuckles whitening as he hung on desperately to be the handlebars above him.
"Oh, you should talk, almighty driver of a Ford Anglia!" she screamed through grit teeth.
"It was enchanted!" Ron shrieked back in his defense.
Hermione couldn't even fathom how they could be arguing at a time like this.
A figure in the road ahead walked casually into their path, and Hermione could see the bony white hands pushing back a cowl to reveal the pale, hairless head of a sinister looking man. She had never seen him before, but she knew, from the very depths of her fear, that the man was Voldemort, and that Voldemort was going head to head with a bus.
Harry's hand, which she only now noticed was on her shoulder, squeezed tighter.
"Oh shit…" Ron said. "Are you going to run him over?"
She wanted to. She really wanted to. This creature was going to take the most beautiful person in her life and destroy him. She had never had such murderous thoughts in her entire life, but she knew, by instinct, that it wasn't going to be that easy.
"Brace yourselves!" she shouted over her shoulder. She stepped on the breaks, holding the steering wheel steady until it was safe to crank the wheel around, just before they could barrel into Voldemort.
"What are you doing?" Ron demanded.
"Getting away! D'you think he'll just let us run him over, Ron? The man tore his soul seven times to live forever! He's not going to let a bus do him in! Hold on!"
She stepped on the gas as the bus lurched off-road on the uneven terrain. Their ride was extremely rough, but as long as she didn't drive them off a cliff, she could kill time without killing them. All they needed was time until the Order got there.
She was sure they would arrive any second now. They had to. The unnaturally darkened sky just a few kilometers away from their destination was sure to make the Order suspicious, and the scandalous amounts of magic that was cast in the presence of Muggles, especially by Harry, was going to have the Ministry demanding for his head, and hopefully, the Ministry would be alerting all Aurors, including the ones they had in the service of the Order, of their location.
The pop of Apparition was not lost on her, and true enough, Voldemort appeared in their path again, this time with Death Eaters flanking him. He surged, as if to ram the bus with his head, and Hermione stepped on the breaks again, this time cranking the stick to reverse. She looked over her shoulder and stepped on the gas, lurching back. She tuned out the screams of everyone and tried to ignore Ron's shrieks of "Are you mad?"
"She's killing time, Ron!" Harry cried through grit teeth. "Until the Order gets here! So if you can just-"
The engine roared as Hermione turned the wheel again to position the bus for forward drive, but the bus lurched unnaturally, and Hermione felt an odd, rocking vertigo. Her stomach turned, and it took another second for her to realize that the bus was no longer moving, and that it was hovering several feet in the air by an awkward angle.
"Fuck," Harry whispered, grabbing her from the driver's seat. He was somewhat rough, giving her no choice, and she couldn't help but complain, but he pulled her to the floor in a protective hunch just as she felt the world collapsing beneath her.
The bus was dropping, and the crash that followed was extremely jarring-metal, rubber, and tin crunching under the powerful force of gravity.
Everyone bounced with a dull thud. Hermione felt the wind being knocked out of her, even as Harry, wrapped around her, suffered the brunt of the impact.
As the dust settled, coughs, gasps, and groans began to pierce through the horrible silence.
Harry hacked and Hermione, coughing to get her own breathing back to normal, looked at both her boys worriedly.
"Harry, Ron? Are you going to be-" She reached out, clasping Ron by the shoulder, but the folding door of the bus was ripped from its hinges with a hair-splitting shriek and her wound-up nerves snapped. She yelped in shock.
Lucius Malfoy walked in and his eyes fell on her. He reached, and she was sure he was going to drag her out of the bus by her hair, but Lucius gave a yowl, blood blossoming from a slash on the back of his hand. He pulled his hand back, swearing the most unrefined oaths.
Harry, though still recovering, had his wand out, and his eyes blazed. "Don't you touch her," he growled fiercely, pushing himself up.
Hermione helped him to his feet, whipping out her wand and pointing it threateningly at Lucius.
Beside her, Ron lumbered to his feet, holding his arm close to himself. He was injured, but his wand arm was steady.
Behind them, the passengers knew well enough to stay quiet. Whatever it was that was happening, it wasn't natural, and they knew they were completely incapable of handling it.
Hermione let her eyes wander to the windows looking out of the bus. They weren't that many Death Eaters, but they were overwhelming enough. Escape was futile, but Harry didn't look ready to go without a fight.
He's still trying to buy us time…
"Step out of the bus," Harry told Lucius, nudging his wand forward.
Lucius looked bored, though he raised his hands up. "You won't get away, boy. You might as well surrender."
"I intend to take many of you down with me, if you must know, now back the fuck up!" Harry hissed.
A frown creased Lucius's features, but he slowly began to step back as he exited the bus.
Harry held her hand tight as they followed after Lucius.
Ron had her back, and as they left the bus, Hermione saw the Death Eaters closing in on them.
The sky had gone dark as night, and the cold was almost unbearable. The Dementors hovered above, but they would come no closer to Harry. He had spooked them well enough.
The circle of Death Eaters was closing as the carcass of the bus was moved aside roughly by a burst of magic. The screams of the passengers rose for a bit then settled as the bus crashed a second time, several meters away.
Hermione closed her eyes to how horribly the Muggles were being treated. She hoped nobody had gotten seriously hurt, and so long as Voldemort took no interest in them, they would be alright. At the moment, she had enough to worry about with the three of them being seriously outnumbered.
They stayed a tight triad within the menacing circle of their enemies.
Hermione scanned the faces, hoping and praying that Snape, or even Draco was among them. She found no trace of them, and she wondered, with some regret, if they had been found out and killed.
She glanced briefly at Voldemort. It was uncanny, how skeletal and unnatural he looked. The bony white texture of his skin wasn't human. He looked waxen and artificial. His nose was almost nonexistent, his cheekbones high and pronounced, like a snake's. Oddest of all were his eyes. His eyes were completely black but for the pinprick of red at each center. His spindly fingers peeked out of his sleeves, a wand resting lightly in his hand.
Voldemort did not look pleased. He flicked his finger at his minions and they stepped forward, hauling what appeared to be the naked body of a man.
The body was unceremoniously dumped at their feet and Hermione stifled a cry of horror as his face became visible. He looked familiar, but she did not know him.
He looked grotesquely beaten within every inch of him and his limbs were twisted in unnatural angles. The agony on his face was frozen forever in death.
"This is Gregory Goyle senior," Voldemort said in a shockingly lucid tone. He gestured to his Death Eaters and someone stepped out to answer. The minion pushed back his cowl. It was Goyle, and he shot Hermione a hard, furious look.
She felt her insides twist with fear, but she steeled herself.
"This boy caused your escape," Voldemort began. "And I was going to dispose of him for his failure, but his father appealed to me for his life. I can't be merciful, you understand. So I asked the son if he would die for his father. His answer lies before you right now. I do so value ruthlessness and Goyle won't ever forget my kindness. He is also willing to make up for his mistakes. Aren't you, Gregory?"
Goyle looked horribly pale, like he was about to throw up, but he nodded, his glare penetrating and vicious, clearly blaming her for all his troubles.
Hermione tried to focus, concentrating on the calming facts: Snape's still alive. Draco, too. If Voldemort had caught them, it would have been their bodies…
But it was small comfort, this realization. How can they stand up to this man-Voldemort, so bereft of emotions and compassion? How could they stand up to his minions who either believed in his madness or feared him enough to have their fathers killed in their place?
Hermione's grip tightened around her wand, fighting to keep her courage. It was a struggle, because Goyle was no longer just the mindless oaf from Hogwarts who trailed after Draco. He was the monster in her mind, large and terrible.
"Put down your wands, children," said Voldemort, looking to be on the limit of his patience.
"There's no point, is there?" Harry said, his voice hoarse with rage. "You'll kill us, anyway. Why should we make it easy for you?"
Voldemort paused a moment. Hermione could see his fist clenching with suppressed rage. He whipped his wand. "Because you want to make it easy for yourselves."
Hermione saw the spectral ropes and she knew instantly that her fear of Goyle had made her the easiest target. She whipped out a shielding charm, but Voldemort's spell was too strong and her fear too great. She was ensnared, and magical coils wrapped around her, yanking her from the reassuring proximity of Harry and Ron. Next she knew, she was nestled within the velvety green robes of their vilest enemy, his spidery fingers tracing the contours of her cheek. Voldemort's other hand held her by the wrist of her wand hand. His grip was strong, and as she fought to wrench herself away, he shook her. The force of it rattled her completely and her wand dropped from her hand.
Harry's complexion was completely gone of color, and he lurched towards them, only to be held back by Ron, who looked even paler than Harry. Harry's brief struggle to be let go died at Ron's strong hold. She saw on their faces pure fear, and she cursed herself-hated that she was his-their weakness.
Her heart hammered in her chest, and pushing back her fear, she wrenched her face from Voldemort's hand to meet his gaze.
Kill time. The Order will come. Any minute now…
Summoning her courage, she dared herself to speak the words. "You can't kill me. You're afraid. Harry's more powerful than you are, and you know it. You're afraid that you'd call his full power if you ever do something as stupid as destroy me! You're nothing but a fragment and dried up shell of what you once were you half-blood low life!"
She heard Ron's cry of dismay, but she had hit some kind of nerve, because Voldemort looked positively furious. He bellowed for Goyle, his rage pure in every note, and she felt herself being tossed like a rag doll to the ground.
Goyle's Crucio hit her like a pike, piercing her from her gut and spreading to the rest of her. Goyle's hate for her was potent, worst than Dolohov's. She tried to hold the screams, biting down on her lip as she drew blood, but the agony was ripped out of her throat, and her screams seemed to have echoed through the valley.
There was another roar-so filled with rage that it pierced through her pain and into what little of her conscious thought was working within the tangled threads of her agony.
She might have seen a flash of green-hatred so concentrated that the mere glimpse of it sent her stomach roiling. It was such dark magic like she'd never seen, and as she moaned and rolled over on the ground, she saw eyes-the eyes of a man completely and utterly murdered.
They were Goyle's.
The horror of it hit her completely as the pain in her body waned. Harry… oh, Harry!
The anguish she felt for what she had provoked Harry to do shot to her very core. Her soul wept, and she struggled to regain her strength.
But hexes were suddenly exploding around her, and she watched, terrified, as Harry and Ron barely had time to roll and duck apart.
"Fools!" Voldemort cried, enraged.
To Hermione's great shock, Voldemort fired off killing curses at every Death Eater that had attempted to hit Harry with their Avada Kedavras. There were three, and they went flying back, their dead bodies dropping to the ground like meal sacks.
She half expected Voldemort's wand to turn on Harry with the same menace, but Snape's words rang in her head from memory.
"He's going to need Potter for it, so whatever you do, do not let him get caught again…"
Voldemort needed Harry alive, and Voldemort would not have grandstanding idiots accidentally killing his last chance at immortality.
Even the other Death Eaters appeared shocked, and a lot of them not-quite-so-subtly stepped away from him. All but Bellatrix Lestrange stayed by Voldemort's side, her wand arm oddly tucked within her robes, like she was holding something within the folds of her clothes.
Voldemort pulsed with power as his eyes flashed with great annoyance. "Succendo Obvallo!"
His wand whipped and Hermione felt the vibration of magic from several feet away.
Thick fire shot out from the ground, erupting around them and caging her, Harry, Bellatrix, and Voldemort within its fiery circle.
Harry, after only a moment's shock, raised his wand and fired hexes in Voldemort's direction in quick succession.
Voldemort met each curse with fierce grace, like answering notes in a fatal duet.
Bellatrix moved, wand emerging from her other hand, and pointing it at Harry. Hermione scrambled for her own wand on the ground, whipping out a summoning curse for all that her life was worth.
The Dark Witch's scream of surprise and hatred keened through the milieu as her wand shot straight to Hermione's grasp. Wailing and flailing, Bellatrix could have very well rushed towards Hermione, if only to scratch her eyes out, but she didn't, and Hermione was just about preparing to fire more hexes when both hers and Bellatrix's wand shot out of her grasp at the very same moment Harry's wand shot out of his.
The wands fell right into Voldemort's palm.
"Enough," said Voldemort in a low and furious tone, discarding all but Harry's wand to the ground. Bellatrix's eyes followed her own wand, but she did not scramble to take it.
Oddly, her complete inaction seemed to extend the dreadful silence.
It was within this heavy pause, fire roaring around them, that Hermione began to feel well and truly terrified.
Oh, God… we've died and been dragged to hell, she thought in horror.
"Bella," said Voldemort. "Prepare yourself."
The manic gleam in Bellatrix's eyes sent Hermione's fear careening into a maelstrom of panic.
"Captivitas Immortalis!" Voldemort roared. It sounded inhuman, and Hermione smelled putrid decay as the dark magic exploded from its maker. A bright blue beam shot out from the tip of Harry's wand and pierced Harry right where his scar was.
Harry's scream mingled with Hermione's as he held his head between his hands and buckled to his knees in agony.
The beam crackled like electricity, spewing corrosive sparks all around it and searing the ground. How the spell wasn't eating away Harry's flesh, Hermione didn't know, but the beam of light didn't break, and it held Harry in its power.
That pure, unearthly hum sang through the terrible chaos; the sword on Harry's back trembling as it glowed strong and bright.
Hermione had to tear her eyes away from it, but found that she looked away too late.
Voldemort had his wand raised at her and she knew what was coming. She bunched her muscles to dodge, but the curse was out before she could jump.
I'm going to die…
And she could have died.
But she didn't.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry was there, his scar bleeding with wisps of smoke curling from the gash, Excalibur in his hands.
He held it firmly by its hilt while his other hand gripped its blade, blocking Voldemort's Avada Kedavra in an explosive collision. Flecks of red magic fought green; the chaotic pops and screeches of clashing magic almost deafening.
"H-Harry!" she cried. The blade was cutting into his palm; his blood running down its silvery steel.
The Avada Kedavra was not dissipating. It seemed to grow stronger the longer Harry fought it. Voldemort's roar of rage seemed to fuel it from where he stood.
Bellatrix looked panicked and appeared to try to help Voldemort, but she was thrown back, some unknown force repulsing her with a bright, reflective gleam.
No, she thought, meeting Harry's resigned gaze as he looked over his shoulder at her.
"I love you," he said.
Her tears came unbidden and she screamed his name. She made a lunge for him, but whatever had pushed Bellatrix from Voldemort sent Hermione careening away from Harry in the same manner.
She felt the collision, strong and solid. It knocked the breath from her as she stumbled. She whipped her gaze, watching as Harry swung the sword away from himself, trying perhaps to deflect the curse from him.
"Harry!"
The curse passed right through the arc of the sword and exploded in blinding greens and reds, right into Harry's chest.
He flew several feet across the ring and stumbled haphazardly on the dirt.
She saw his face, his beautiful green eyes wide open and the rest of him perfectly still.
He's dead. Oh, God… he's dead!
"Oh God!" she shrieked, scrambling to him. She fell to his side and gathered him in his arms. "Harry! Oh, God, no!"
No breath escaped his lips. The beating of his heart stilled.
She was wailing. Screaming and crying as the fires around them waned while a damp thickening mist crept around them like thick clouds.
There were more people than before surrounding them now; wizards in robes emblazoned with a flaming Phoenix exchanging hexes with Death Eaters. It was the Order, and they had come, but amidst Hermione's collapsing world, their faces were strange; their names unknown; their voices unfamiliar even as they called her name.
Her heart, mind, and soul lay cradled in her arms, and that was all she could focus on at the moment.
She remembered first year, that first time she gave him her complete trust.
"Harry-you're a great wizard, you know," she had said to him, victorious amidst the ruin of giant chessboard and caught in her tight embrace.
"I'm not as good as you," he had said in his shy, gentle manner.
Oh, how she believed in him so much, even then, and how utterly surprised she was that he would ever look to her, the swotty, rule-abiding, by-the-tomes girl, as a standard. "Me? Books! And cleverness! There are more important things. Friendship, and bravery and-"
Love… supplemented Hermione. Words unspoken could ring so true.
She had trusted him for a long time since then, wavering only because she was young and stubborn.
But their friendship held them together. So many times, when all seemed hopeless, their friendship, built by respect and loyalty, got them through. When she used her Time Turner to help Harry save Sirius's and Buckbeak's life, she had cared very little of its consequences to her. McGonagall had warned her to keep the contraption secret, or else she would never be allowed to have use of it again. Hermione didn't bother to worry about that. All she knew was that Harry needed help, and that he was much more important than her books. True to the caveat, Hermione lost use of the Time Turner the following year, and not wanting to worry Harry, she had told him it was too exhausting to use, and that she was glad to be rid of it. She knew he would believe her, because he had been the only one to notice her exhaustion all of third year.
"How are you getting through all this stuff?" he had asked her, his eyes roving over the clutter of books, quills, and her Arithmancy and Muggle Studies essays.
She had replied carefully then, not wanting to lie to him. "Oh, well-you know-working hard."
Harry had given her such a worried frown that she felt wretched for keeping secrets from him.
She should've known then that she could hide nothing from Harry's observant eyes. There would be more secrets in the years to come, and he would know she had them, just the same.
And how much more of her mind and soul did he see when she bared all of herself to him? His intimate embrace, tentative and careful, but passionate and warm, seemed to melt what walls she had left.
"Don't stop," she had pleaded, intoxicated by the look of pure desire in his eyes.
"I love it when you do that," he had said just after they had shared a steamy kiss.
Her emotions had unfolded, one layer at a time at each touch.
And even now, his lifeless body heavy in her arms, he was unraveling that part of her that felt such profound misery and loss as her heart seemed to die with him.
There could have been a million infinite possibilities in a future where he was alive and with her; countless moments of those more important things…
Friendship and bravery and love…
His last words had been said with certainty; filled with complete conviction. He had told her he loved her, and she had absolutely no doubt of its truth.
Yet she never imagined that it would give her such pain.
He had taken the curse for her. He had no knowledge of whether the sword would block it, yet he jumped in her path of certain death. In his last precious moments, he had told her he loved her, and only then was he ready to die.
The moment was burned into her brain, both gift and curse.
Her tears fell, a steady stream of agony.
There was a second scream, filled with anger and hatred.
Whether she was numb from heartbreak or strengthened by self-righteous rage, she didn't know.
Holding Harry close against her, mist and fog engulfing them, she watched the ball of green light that was headed right for her utterly and completely without fear.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When next Hermione opened her eyes, she was on a bed, the pungent smell of sterilized walls and floors permeating her nostrils.
Something was tinkling constantly. It was the only thing that broke the silence of the sunbathed room.
To one side of her were her parents, both asleep in their respective cushioned chairs.
To her other side was a head of red hair, the steady rise and fall of shoulders indicating that he was dozing. Her hand was caught in his, his grip tight in spite of his slumber.
Things weren't quite so clear, particularly the memories. It took her a moment to remember; her hazy thoughts slowly aligning.
Then she remembered everything, and she began to cry, the pain so fresh that it twisted her heart in impossible knots of agony.
She wasn't dead. She had survived, but it only served as a potent reminder of who hadn't.
Harry…
Ron stirred and woke, his sleepy eyes rising to meet her liquid gaze.
When she realized he had been crying as well, the loss became overwhelmingly real.
She closed her eyes and turned away from him. It was too much. She couldn't look at Ron while she mourned the loss of Harry. Their fates were too tightly tangled together, and she had always believed that whatever happened to Harry, she and Ron would share his fate. It had been an unspoken promise, and she couldn't help but resent the fact that she and Ron had survived while Harry had to die…
She pried her hand from Ron's grasp, turning to bury her face in her pillow. She wept bitterly, but she did not care for anyone to see her grief.
She felt Ron's hand on her shoulder, and she heard his own quiet sobs behind her.
The shared grief gave her no comfort. Only time would decide if her heart would ever truly heal.
Perhaps in some odd way, Ron knew that this pain was private to the two of them. He didn't wake her parents, nor did he call the healers. She didn't know how long they stayed that way, but the next time a healer came, he seemed surprised that Hermione was awake, and that he hadn't been alerted to the fact.
Her parents, just then waking, fussed. Their words of sympathy were true and kind, but they couldn't possibly understand, could they?
And when the healer spoke to her, she did not speak back. She wanted it to be quiet. She didn't want to be speaking with anyone.
"Is there pain in your throat, Ms. Granger?" the healer finally asked after several frustrated attempts to get answers from her.
"Sweetheart," said her mother gently. "Please say something…"
Hermione turned over on the bed and caught Ron's gaze. There was no one but him, now.
After a moment, Ron looked up at them. "Leave her alone. She's fine… she'll tell us if something's wrong."
This did not seem to sit well with anyone, and poor Ron was the one to carry the brunt of it. She could see his resolve wavering. This was not his specialty-standing his ground for her when everyone else seemed to have a greater right to make decisions for her-it had always been Harry's thing.
But Harry isn't here anymore, is he? She reached for Ron's hand, squeezing. Her eyes pleaded for his conviction.
His lips pursed and he looked up at them again. "Please… she just wants to be left alone. Can't you see?"
Maybe it was the look on his face, or even the tone of his voice, but somehow, it compelled everyone to listen to him, and she managed to get that few extra hours of peace and quiet.
When the Weasleys arrived, Ron found them much easier to manage. They were his family. He could order them around.
She watched the redheaded crowd in her room, each and every face etched with pain as they stepped up to her bedside one by one, offering their condolences, at the same time telling her that they were glad she made it. Even the twins, so commonly filled with humor, were pale and stricken.
It was unbearable.
It's real. He's dead.
Ginny, so young and unschooled at hiding her emotions, could only cry and utter a soft, "I can't believe he's gone…" She could only weep after that, and Arthur had to lead Ginny away, whispering that she should hush, lest she upset Hermione further.
Hermione couldn't possibly imagine anything that could make her feel worse.
Fleur took a seat by her, and she had Julien strapped to the front of her in her lovely little sling. Fleur looked as beautiful and poised as ever and Hermione eyed her almost warily. She had shared moments of friendship with Fleur during that one shopping trip, but it seemed like years ago, now. Fleur seemed like a stranger again, but perhaps it was only because Hermione's emotions felt so raw.
"Julien and I… we are glad you are alive," Fleur said in a gentle, private tone. "Many are glad you are alive. It is small comfort right now, I think, but in the future, when the pain is bearable, you will appreciate the ones who worry for you so deeply."
It was surprising, almost shocking, really, when Fleur leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Hermione closed her eyes, letting the warmth of Fleur's lips in her cold skin comfort her.
Fleur was the last of them, and when they left, Ron urged Hermione's parents to take a break for a bit, promising them that he wouldn't leave her side.
Her parents relented, but only because her mother could see in her eyes that Ron's company was what she needed for the moment.
When silence finally descended in the room, Ron sat by her and took her hand. Not a word left his lips and his gaze was affixed to the window. He was there to keep her company. If she didn't wish to talk, he wasn't going to force her. If she wished to sleep, he would stay right there.
"He's really gone, isn't he?" she finally said, her voice barely audible.
Ron took a deep breath, the pressure of his hand on hers brief but indicative of his resignation. "Yeah…" He wiped away a stray tear furiously.
The next words that left her lips felt disembodied. "It was my fault. He took the curse for me."
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to staunch what tears still insisted on falling. When next he looked at her, there was chaos of emotion, like he couldn't quite express what he wanted to say. "Harry does what he wants, Hermione. There's no-telling him what he should or shouldn't do. It wasn't your fault. You'd have taken a curse for him just as easily, so it's… he saved your life. He's a hero. Don't-don't take that away-" He couldn't go on.
Her eyes widened as the harsh reality of what Ron was telling her dawned. "I'm not-Ron, I'm not trying to take anything away from him-losing him is just so painful!"
"I know," he said in a remorseful tone. "I know. But… do you remember what happened? Could you fathom what he did for you?"
"Oh, Ron, of course I could fathom-and it hurts so much-"
Ron shook his head. "No… no, listen to me, Hermione… Harry-Harry died for you, and he-V-Voldemort, he's dead, too…"
She had forgotten about Voldemort completely, and now that she knew he was destroyed, she was mildly surprised that she couldn't fully appreciate what that meant. It was difficult, she realized, to be happy about anything.
Voldemort has been destroyed… and Ron said Voldemort's name.
She was sure Ron wasn't the only one who was doing that, and it occurred to her that Harry had done it. The Wizarding world was no longer afraid.
"Harry did it," she said. "He did what he said he had to do…"
Somehow, even with her heart being strangled by grief, she knew the importance of what that meant. Harry hadn't died in vain. Perhaps when time eased the pain, it could be a true balm-whenever it hurt anew remembering him.
"He did," Ron said. "What his mother did."
She paused, turning over what Ron said and trying to make sense of it. "What?"
"He died for you… just like his mother died for him, and when Voldemort cursed you…" Ron's eyes were filling, and he couldn't go on, but he didn't need to.
Hermione knew exactly what Ron was trying to say. "The curse backfired… and it destroyed Voldemort..."
For the second time…
Ron nodded. "I don't know how many people saw it, but I can say for sure dad, the twins, Ginny, Tonks, Bellatrix saw it… I saw it-it was the killing curse. I know, because I heard Voldemort say it. I thought you were dead, Hermione." His grip on her hand tightened. "We brought you here after that. We had to tell the healers what happened, just so they can make sure you were alright, but their professional oath binds them to secrecy, and basically we-we all kept it from the news people for now. We'll know when the story leaks out, because they'd be calling you the Girl Who Lived, likely…" His voice trailed, the humor of what he said dying on his lips.
She remembered vaguely that the Order had arrived.
A little too late…
She closed her eyes, pushing that thought away. She shouldn't be bitter. It was a powerful poison she wasn't willing to take.
"And Bellatrix? She's keeping quiet?"
"She got away."
She stared at him in horror.
"I know, and the entire Auror force has been looking for her. They've caught everyone else who didn't die in the fighting, and they rounded up the other Death Eaters… they caught Draco, too. His solicitor has been asking after you. He'll likely ask you to testify for Draco…"
She sniffed, uninterested in those details.
"They haven't found Snape," Ron went on. "And nobody knows if he's alive or dead."
It was difficult to care at that point. "And Harry's-Harry's body."
Ron didn't reply. He was looking at her forlornly. "Burnt… to ashes."
She stared at him, shocked. "Burnt-they held funeral services for him al-"
Ron shook his head. "No. It happened when you were unconscious… at the site of the attack. He just… burst into flames. Took only a few seconds, but when the smoke cleared, there was nothing but ash. I'm so sorry…"
It was much too much.
Well, there goes my first step at closure… she thought bitterly, finally descending into the miserable comfort of tears.
Struggling to get her sobs under control, she spoke. "And Voldemort's body?"
"Incinerated… that one on purpose."
She nodded, sniffing and wiping at her eyes. "Oh, God… this is…" She realized she had ran out of words, so she just lay there, letting it all sink in.
After a while, Ron took a deep breath, as if to steel himself for something. "There's more…"
"I don't think I can take anymore, Ron."
He pursed his lips but he seemed determined. "I think you have to know. They'll tell you later, anyway, but I-I feel I should be the one to… It's-It's pretty big."
Hermione stared at him, watching his features. He had gone pale, and he looked nervous. "What?" she asked, alarmed. "What is it?"
Ron fidgeted. "I don't-I don't have the details. If any, the healers were only allowed to tell your parents, but when we first brought you in here, the healers were very concerned about your condition, and one of them sort of blurted it out-and I heard-"
"What is it, Ron?"
Ron swallowed and took her hand. "The thing is-that is to say-you're, erm, with child. You know… pregnant."
And that was about as much as Hermione could take, for sure.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The reports of what happened were, of course, mixed. What happened was as much a blur to civilians as to those who were actually there during the final moments. The only thing tying the varying reports together was the consistent fact that Voldemort's Death became known to each and every Death Eater the moment he perished, and that it plunged Voldemort's followers into chaos, then inevitable defeat.
By the end of the week following Voldemort's death, the worse of the Death Eaters had been caught, and most of them were already awaiting trial. There was no escape for them, but that wasn't really enough to staunch Hermione's grief. No amount of Death Eater executions were going to bring Harry back.
She had dreaded his funeral with near physical repulsion. Then again, that could just be the morning (all day, really) sickness.
At Harry's funeral, he was posthumously awarded the Order of Merlin, First class. He was hailed a hero by strangers and friends. He was beloved and admired. There wasn't a dry eye in the crowd of thousands that attended, as the last stone on his memorial was attached.
There was no coffin and there was no unearthed grave, because Harry Potter's body had disappeared amidst the destruction.
If it wasn't for Hermione's testimony-that he had taken an Avada Kedavra for her; that she had held him in her arms completely lifeless, many would insist that he wasn't dead.
None was surer than she was, and at times, Hermione thought that the biggest tragedy, that she, possibly the person who most heartily and faithfully wished that he was still alive, would be so damnably convinced that he was gone.
The circumstances of Harry Potter's death became legend. There were many versions of it, many of which included variations of a phantasmal phoenix swooping in to carry his body to the next great adventure. It served to make him more a myth than man, but all history of the final battle written for the years to come would unequivocally state the most powerful truth of all:
Harry Potter had vanquished the Dark Lord. Harry Potter had used Ancient Magic like his mother once had. He had made the ultimate sacrifice to save the woman he loved and their unborn child, and none would remember this truth more deeply than Hermione, marked as she was by a lightning-shaped scar.
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A/N: Standard reassurances apply. This isn't the end. This fic will MOST DEFINITELY end HHr. This fic ISN'T ending anytime soon.
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