The meeting of the Order of the Phoenix had dragged on through the entire afternoon of October 31st. Discussions of timetables had turned into heated discussions about responsibility which had morphed into arguments about warning the Ministry. Then Remus, standing at the front of the Diggorys’ parlor like some unfinished marble statue, would move and bring the meeting around to the topic at hand. For a few moments the squalls passed, but then they began again just as quickly.
Sitting next to Ron, Hermione remained quiet as she watched the incessant waves of arguments slowly erode Remus’ inhuman patience. Earlier in the meeting, she had been tempted to join in and voice her desire to warn the Ministry, however, before she could speak, she had noticed the weary looks passing between Harry and Ginny. Hermione knew that look. Her parents often looked at each other that way before going in to convince a patient that he needed some unpleasant treatment, but they knew the patient would refuse and walk out. That look of premonition, futility, and acceptance settled uneasily in her stomach, and Hermione let her argument die before it even reached her lips.
Now, four hours later, Harry and Ginny were impassive and silent. While Remus may have been a statue, Harry and Ginny were unflinching mountains, dormant volcanoes brewing inside their eyes and along the tightened muscles of their jaws. As Amos Diggory and Kingsley Shacklebolt argued for the fourth time over the reason for groups of four instead of two, Hermione watched as Harry’s temple throbbed in time with each word they spoke.
Leaning over until her lips were next to Ron’s ear, Hermione said, “Harry’s furious.”
“I’d have shut them all up by now,” Ron said in a low growl. Surprised, Hermione pulled back and saw that Ron’s jaw was clenched and his eyes burned with suppressed fury. “Bloody waste of time, all this horse shit.”
“What?” Hermione gasped, and then she lowered her voice as a few people glanced at her. “What do you mean?”
For a moment Ron just stared at the arguing Order before letting his shoulders slump a bit. “It’s too late to change anything. We’ve set up the board and started the end game. We can’t do anything else until we start the fight because we don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“So why are Remus and Harry allowing all of this to happen?” Hermione asked.
“I asked Harry about it after the last meeting,” Ron said as Angelina joined the argument on Amos’ side. “He said that as long as people think they are having input, then they will throw themselves into reaching the goal, even if they disagree with how it is done. If Remus puts his foot down and tells them what to do every meeting, then they will balk and try their own method, and that will lead to disaster.”
Hermione nodded and then glanced up as Fred, Katie, and Neville joined into the argument. Beyond them all, Harry took a step forward. His face was tight, and his eyes blazed. “I think Harry’s going to put his foot down.” It did not happen.
There was a loud pop in the room that silenced the argument. Dobby, the house-elf who watched over James, appeared next to Ginny and said a few words to her. She nodded and then leaned over to Harry and spoke to him. He kissed her forehead, and Ginny Disapparated, leaving Dobby standing next to Harry. Dobby shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot and played with the knitted caps perched on his head as the eyes of the Order appraised him.
As much as Hermione liked Dobby, she had been against Harry and Ginny hiring him after James was born. Although she never doubted his loyalty to Harry, Hermione had been concerned about Dobby. Like the rest of the house-elves of Hogwarts, he had remained in the castle to fight Voldemort and his Death Eaters. However, after several weeks most of them had been killed, and the remaining few were ordered to leave by Minerva McGonagall.
Winky had been one of the casualties, and it had deeply wounded Dobby. In his grief, the small creature put away his numerous hats and socks and fell into a deep depression. He would disappear for days at a time, and then return and help Harry and the Order for a time. During Ginny’s pregnancy, he had slowly regained his previous temperament. Harry and Ginny had hired him to look after James when they could not. Somehow the job and their trust in him had revitalized Dobby, but even today, he was not the Dobby she had met in her fourth year.
In the silence following Ginny’s departure, Harry leaned over and spoke to Remus, who nodded. Raising his hand and clearing his throat, Remus brought everyone’s attention to him. “Harry would like to speak.”
Harry clapped Remus on the shoulder and stepped forward. “We have been at this for hours, my friends,” he said. “I understand that many of you have concerns and wish to put in your ideas. Each of you wants to be of assistance, and I thank you for that.” Harry paused and reached down and rolled up the map that was on the front table. He picked it up and tapped the parchment against his hand, like a baton, as he walked toward the fireplace. “But the time for plans is done. In six hours, the Death Eaters will be attacking the Ministry. In six hours, we go into Hogwarts. In six hours, we will see if our months of preparations have paid off. In six hours, this plan gets tested in fire.”
Harry shoved the end of the parchment into the fire. It quickly caught flame as everyone in the room gasped. A few stepped forward to put out the flames, but Harry’s voice rang out once more, quelling them all. “In six hours, this is how useful parchment will be. Because in six hours, we will not bring an end to this war with a piece of parchment or a plan that we have spent months on. In six hours, we will win because of the sacrifices you all have made.”
Casting the parchment into the fireplace, Harry stepped into the assembled group of the Order, moving among the chairs and gently touching people on the shoulder or arm as he spoke.
He touched Amos Diggory. “The sacrifice of a son in whose memory we now fight.” And Amos bowed his head.
He touched Molly Weasley. “The sacrifice of a mother whose children could die at any moment.” And Molly’s tear-filled eyes sought out each of her children and glowed with pride.
He touched Nymphadora Tonks. “The sacrifice of dreams so that we may have new ones.” And Tonks squeezed Harry’s hand.
He touched Neville Longbottom. “The sacrifice of parents so that their children may live.” And Neville looked into Harry’s eyes, and something passed between them.
Now he was before Ron and Hermione, and Hermione could only stare into his eyes as one hand fell on her shoulder and the other on Ron’s. “The sacrifice of friends who have given everything to stand by us.” And Hermione’s eyes misted as she looked up at Harry and saw the determination and passion that surrounded him like a corona of power.
With a smile, Harry turned away and faced the Order of the Phoenix. “The sacrifice of those who have fallen before us and those who may fall tonight, so that their sacrifice may not be in vain.” He walked forward until he was in the center of the room. “Yes, it is my destiny to face Voldemort.” A murmur of voices flittered through the crowd. “It is my destiny to kill him.” The voices rose in a shout of support.
Harry spun in a slow circle, his face lit with determination and power. For a moment, Hermione wondered who this was. This Harry was not the shy boy of their school days. This Harry was not struggling under the weight of guilt and destiny. This Harry was the one who had led the DA. He was a confident man, a powerful wizard, and as he spoke, Hermione gave up her fears and insecurities and allowed herself to be carried along and to believe in Harry’s vision.
“Because,” Harry said in a ringing voice, “in six hours we will all be asked to make a sacrifice, but in seven hours… in seven hours, we will be free of Voldemort and his Death Eaters forever!”
The cry that erupted was like a thousand dragons roaring their approval. It filled the room, pressed down on all those gathered, and then echoed back in a glorious cry. And though she could not hear herself through the ringing voices, it was a moment of perfect clarity for Hermione. One that she would remember for the rest of her life.
Ron stood beside her, his fist raised high and his hair swirling in agitation as he shouted. The Weasleys filled the seats beyond Ron, and they were all shouting. Fred and George had their wands out, and they were showering the room with brilliant sparks. And Molly’s eyes were wet as she cheered, and there were tears on her face as she hung tightly to her husband’s arm. Bill’s scarred face was set with a burning desire for vengeance, and his wife Fleur burned like a bright torch next to him as her eyes flashed and her voice rang out.
All across the thirty-three members of the Order of the Phoenix, Hermione saw the same look of fierce pride and determination as the roaring shout became a thunderous chant of “Potter! Potter! Potter!”
And in the center of the room, Harry stood with his arms raised and an almost wistful expression on his face. Behind Harry, Remus remained a statue, his voice silent and his face set in a stoic mask. But Hermione could see his eyes, and they were filled with a deep grief as he stared at Harry’s back. And in the light of the candles and fire, she swore she saw tears on the last Marauder’s face as his lips moved and he mouthed, “Seven more hours. Only seven.”
But then the crowd obscured him, and for Hermione, it could have been a brief mirage as Ron grabbed her and swung her around. The exuberance swept over her. She forgot her worries as the meeting dispersed, and they all went about the preparations for that night. Six hours later, Hermione was in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, waiting and watching with Arthur Weasley, who was acting as Hermione’s guide and excuse to be in the Ministry this late at night.
Even though it was almost nine o’clock in the evening, the Ministry atrium buzzed with activity. Hidden in an alcove on the far side of the atrium, Hermione watched as dozens of employees moved about dealing with emergency issues. Several Aurors stood guard around the atrium, and Hermione knew that there were another dozen guarding the jail cells that had been built off the lower level courtrooms after the Dementors left Azkaban.
The night’s raid was intended to free the dozen Death Eaters held prisoner in the Ministry. However, over the last few weeks, the Order had heard rumors that Minister Scrimgeour and several foreign dignitaries were meeting in secret this evening. For Hermione, it explained the extra Aurors and why there were still so many people about.
“I wish we could warn them,” Hermione said in a whisper to Arthur Weasley, who was seated on the stone bench across from her.
Ron’s father nodded his head and casually observed the atrium. “I know several of the people out there, but we can still help them defend themselves. Once the attack starts, secrecy won’t matter,” Arthur said.
Hermione nodded and sat back to watch as her foot tapped out an anxious rhythm on the stone. Although she could spend days digging through obscure tomes and dry facts, she had never dealt well with sitting still and waiting for something to happen. She felt so useless, and she did not want to be useless. She wanted to warn the people around her, fly off to Hogwarts, and then be at Harry’s side as he defeated Voldemort. But instead she waited and watched, and the anxiety coiled tightly inside her until she was quivering with suppressed energy. She needed to act. She had to shout a warning.
Standing up to move forward, she paused as a man in the center of the room raised a wand and pointed it at the ceiling. A red light leapt from his wand and struck the ceiling. Helplessly, Hermione watched as the entire ceiling began to crackle with energy, and then there was an explosion of light that blinded her.
A crack of thunder tore through the atrium, and the ground heaved beneath Hermione’s feet. Screaming, she crashed into the floor, and pain shot through her left arm and shoulder as the air was expelled from her lungs. Panic consumed Hermione as a cloud of dust and debris washed over her. For a moment, she floated in a void, blind, deafened by the explosion, and gasping like a fish plucked from the sea. And then, with a strangled sob, air filled her lungs, and screams and gurgling cries for help filled the air.
Terrified, she scrambled to her hands and knees and pressed herself back against the stone wall of the alcove. The cool stone and solid mass steadied her, and her blank, panicked thoughts began to calm. She could not see Arthur or the atrium through the thick dust, but screams of pain filled the air, accompanied by the groan of settling stone and rubble. Quickly, Hermione drew her wand and Vanished the dust and debris around her.
A ten foot sphere of clear air appeared around Hermione, but her vision swam with dark spots from the earlier explosion. Glancing around, she found Arthur a few feet away on his hands and knees, clutching the side of his head. He glanced around, and their eyes met. Blood dripped around his fingers, but his eyes were bright. He motioned toward the center of the atrium and pulled out his wand. Together they cast another Vanishing Charm. The dust near them cleared, and the edge of a massive pile of rubble appeared. Far above her, Hermione could see that the ceiling had collapsed inward, and the full moon was visible through the jagged edge of the hole.
Hermione gagged as she noticed the crushed form of a wizard, his legs and arm protruding from beneath a slab of rock. The floor around the dead man was slick and dark with blood. Next to him, a witch was screaming in pain. The stone had crushed and trapped her leg. Hermione crawled toward the woman, scraping her hands and knees on the rough stone. She was halfway there when the sound of a dozen snapping tree limbs echoed through the atrium, and a black cloaked figure appeared at the edge of the rubble pile.
With a quick glance around, the figure pulled his wand and pointed it at the woman. “Avada Kedavra,” the figure said. A green light struck the screaming witch, and she crumpled dead.
“No!” Hermione snapped her wand out as the Death Eater turned toward her voice. “Reducto!” The Bludgeoning Hex caught the Death Eater mid turn, spun him around, and slammed his head against the stone with a sickening crack. A roaring satisfaction filled Hermione and then left as quickly.
Hermione stared at the silent figure. She had never killed anyone before. Every Death Eater she had ever faced she had either captured or they had gotten away. But this wizard had deserved it, and a cold satisfaction filled her as she stared at the blood dripping from behind his white, skull-like mask. Her eyes burned, and she turned to find another target. She wanted vengeance. She wanted to make these Death Eaters pay for all the pain they had caused the world.
But as she spun around, she found Arthur Weasley before her. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Send your Patronus!” he shouted, as an oppressive chill began to fill the atrium. Glancing upward, Hermione could see the dark shapes of Dementors passing in front of the moon and descending into the atrium.
Shaking her head against the dark thoughts the Dementors were filling her subconscious with, Hermione stared at Arthur, who turned and held up his wand. A silvery bolt flashed away into the night sky, and for a moment, the chill disappeared and Hermione could think. She had to send a message to Harry. Concentrating on the thought of Ron proposing to her, Hermione formed a message in her head and whispered, “Expecto Patronum.” Her otter shot away like a bolt of lighting and disappeared into the night as it sought out Harry in the Chamber of Secrets.
Her job finished, Hermione turned and faced the atrium. The dust was still thick, but flashes of red, green, and blue filled the air. Shouted orders echoed through the hall and punctuated the dozens of voices casting spells and trying to help the wounded. The dark cloaks of the Dementors sent dust eddying in their wake, and the chill deepened until Hermione was shivering. They were too few, and the Death Eaters were too many.
Arthur grabbed her shoulder and pulled her close until she could smell his mint tinged breath. “We need to go. We can’t help them.”
Hermione nodded and reached for the necklace around her neck when two Dementors glided out of the choking dust cloud. They were only a few feet from Arthur and Hermione, and terror filled her. Without thinking, she grabbed Arthur and pulled him out of the alcove.
The chaotic nightmare of the atrium swallowed them as they stumbled over the uneven ground. Dark figures and shadows swirled around them, and the air was thick with the unnatural chill of the Dementors. There were so many that a thick mist had begun to grow around them. If the Dementors were still behind them, Hermione could not tell. They had to get away. She would not lose her soul.
She pulled at Arthur, but he felt like dead weight, and she slowed, turning in panic. He stood behind her, his feet planted, with a somber expression on his face. He held his Portkey necklace in one hand and her hand in his other. For a moment, Hermione stared at him, and then she blinked and nodded her head. She needed to be calm.
Although shouts still filled the air, the screams had become muffled or silenced. Hermione took a breath, released Arthur’s hand, and reached for her necklace. Its weight was reassuring, and she realized they would be gone in just a moment.
A sharp, booming crack filled the room, and Arthur glanced up as his eyes widened in shock. The world slowed, and Hermione followed Arthur’s gaze. A section of the ceiling was tumbling toward her. Her mind went blank, and she watched her death rushing toward her. Moments before it hit, she was struck in the side and once more slammed into the ground. There was another sharp crack, and her left wrist flared in pain before something heavy and soft landed over her. Her head slammed into the floor, and her vision swam as the ground heaved and dust and debris roiled about her.
It was hard to breath with the weight on top of her. Warm, sticky liquid dripped into her face, but with every attempt to find a comfortable position, her vision blurred and her stomach churned. The specks in front of her eyes grew larger and larger, and then there was darkness.
When she blinked her eyes open, the room was deathly quiet. She was dizzy, and her wrist throbbed. A warm weight pressed down on top of her, and the chill of the air was that of the late autumn. She could hear movement, hard soled shoes clicking on the stone, sending rock and rubble skittering as they moved about. There were voices as well. They were muffled, and it was impossible to hear any one over them all.
Tentatively, Hermione tried to move. Although numb, she could move her feet, but her legs were pinned and her left arm was trapped beneath her at an odd angle. Her wrist felt swollen and throbbed with each beat of her heart. Her right arm was free, and she almost sobbed in relief as she moved it about.
A shower of rock stopped her movement, and she heard voices growing louder and more distinct. Helpless and terrified, Hermione decided to lie still and surprise them. As she brought her hand out, however, she realized that her wand was missing.
In a panic, she glanced around, searching the area she could see. Dirt and rock covered everything, and if her wand was nearby it was either buried or broken beneath the piles of rock. Closing her eyes, Hermione fought her tears as a few shuddering sobs shook her body.
The steps became closer, and Hermione took a breath and held it, forcing her body to remain still, her eyes closed. Hopefully they would think she was dead.
“…real shame the Dark Lord’s not here,” a gruff voice said.
“Just a bunch of blood-traitors and fools,” a second, familiar voice said. There was a grunt and a stone skittered across the floor. “Should’ve just let the Dementors have them all. The Dark Lord is not going to be happy that Avery is dead.”
“Who cares, Rodolphus?” the first voice said. They were close now, probably almost on top of her, Hermione decided as the loose scree gave free, slid down with a grating rasp, and piled over her exposed right hand. Several rocks bit into her skin, and she forced herself to not flinch. “He’s been trying to usurp your position for months now.”
The footsteps stopped only a few feet away, and there was silence. “True, Parkinson,” Rodolphus said after a moment. “And Potter will crack when he finds the trap in the castle and his blood-traitor wife and half-blood child dead.”
Parkinson laughed, covering Hermione’s shocked breath. “Lucius had a lot of fun dragging the secret out of that blood-traitor. I got a go myself.”
Someone spat, and Rodolphus spoke again in a voice filled with disgust. “Stupid time for that traitor to go noble. He’d already given up the Potters’ location. Why even bother trying to hide how to get there? I’d hoped he’d have better sense than that, even if he is one of those worthless Weasleys.”
There was a shout from across the room, and Rodolphus and Parkinson moved off, but Hermione was unaware. She would never believe that a member of the Weasley family would betray Harry. That someone would betray his own sister. It was a lie. They knew she was trapped and wanted her to lead them to Harry. They wanted to torture her. They wanted…
But a memory floated through her fuzzy consciousness. That scares him because he looks at himself and his family, and he sees his parents and him twenty years ago. Remus had told her. Hermione sobbed. “No.” It was happening again. The traitor. The secrecy. The betrayal. “No!” She had to find Harry. She had to warn him. Several startled shouts echoed from far across the room.
“Hermione!” The voice whispered loudly in her ear, and Hermione froze. “You need… to calm down. We need to… get out of here.” The voice was strained and etched with a deep pain, but she knew that voice.
“Mr. Weasley?” The shouts were beginning to get closer.
“Yes,” Arthur said with a croak. Hermione sobbed in relief. She could feel him moving. His body was pressed against hers, trapping her to the ground.
“We need to get to Harry,” she said. The words tumbled from her mouth. “I overheard. Their Secret-Keeper betrayed them.”
Arthur swore, and Hermione felt him move around a little before he stilled. The voices were getting closer, and Hermione could now hear footsteps scrambling through the debris. “I-I can’t move,” Arthur said. “My legs are… trapped. It’s hard… to… breathe. Can… Portkey?”
Hermione shook her head and then realized Arthur might not be able to see her. “No, I lost my wand.” The Death Eaters sounded only a few yards away.
“Use… mine,” Arthur said. “Reach up… with your right… hand… grab it.” Gritting her teeth against the pain, Hermione lifted her right arm and reached toward her back. She fumbled for a moment before finding Arthur’s arm and then quickly followed it to his wrist and wand. His skin was slick.
“I’ve got it,” she said. Arthur released the wand, and Hermione brought it back down. She blanched as she saw that her hand was painted with blood. She wanted to ask if he was okay, but there was no time. Struggling against the weight on her back, she tried to reach the wand and point it at the necklace, but the stone piled about her impeded her movements. Debris shifted and slid in a raining shower as she struggled in the tight, confining space.
“They’re under that rubble!” a voice shouted.
With a frustrated growl, Hermione dropped the wand and grabbed the necklace with her hand. With a firm yank, the chain snapped. She placed the small trinket on the ground and picked up the wand.
“I can’t get a clear shot at them. Lift the rocks off them!” Hermione tapped the wand to the Portkey as she heard several voices shout out a Levitation Spell. The rocks moved and debris shifted down over her, but the pressure lessened, and Hermione was free to move. However, Arthur let out a guttural cry and then went limp, and Hermione felt warm liquid spilling over her legs. Desperate, she activated the Portkey, picked it up, and grasped Arthur’s limp hand.
Above her, several dark-cloaked figures loomed, approaching at a rapid pace, but as her hand met Arthur’s, she felt a hook grab her about the abdomen and yank her from the Ministry. After a dizzying trip, the Portkey deposited her in a clearing on the north side of Hogwarts.
Her head spun as she landed, and Hermione screamed in pain as her broken wrist dug into the ground. In pain, she twisted around and curled into a fetal position, cradling her wrist against her chest. Through her tear glazed eyes she could just make out Arthur Weasley. Her future father-in-law lay like a sack of potatoes next to her, his face still and his chest barely rising and falling. In the light of the full moon, she could see the dark blood on his face and staining his clothes. Staring at him, she realized what had happened. He had saved her. He had covered her and protected her from the falling rocks.
Shocked, she could only watch him as shouts of surprise erupted around her. Figures with lights rushed toward them. Then they were about her, goblins with their wicked looking grins, leering over her. She shied away as their thin fingers pressed and dug at her, checking her over. They asked questions, and she was numbly aware of answering them, but her attention was focused on Arthur.
The goblins swarmed over him like worker ants. In moments he was wrapped in bandages and they were forcing a potion down his throat. Then Molly’s red hair swam in view, and she was beside her husband, touching him with gentle fingers as the goblins melted away to a respectful distance.
A goblin’s face blocked her view, and Hermione blinked in surprise. She recognized him. “Elder Golburl?”
He gave her a toothy grin and tapped her shoulder. “Good. You’re aware.”
Shaking her head, Hermione stared at the goblin elder. There was something important she had to tell people about the attack tonight. But all she could think clearly about was the broken form of Arthur Weasley. “Arthur?” Hermione asked.
“He will live,” Elder Golburl said, “but he must go to St. Mungo’s. We are preparing a Portkey.”
Hermione nodded. “Are we ready to go into the Chamber yet?”
The goblin furrowed his brow. “The Order left forty-five minutes ago. Right after they received your Patronus.”
Hermione leaned around and looked over at Molly, who was still hovering over Arthur. “But Molly’s still here.”
“Her son Percy never showed up, so she decided to wait for you and Mr. Weasley and to join Mr. Potter and the rest later.”
Potter. The name rang in her mind and Hermione gasped. “Oh, no! I have to get to Harry. We’ve been betrayed. His Secret-Keeper betrayed him.” With a shake of her head to clear it, Hermione climbed to her feet, ignoring the pain in her body. Her left wrist was swathed in bandages, and she idly wondered when that had happened. The concern left her as quickly as it came, and she turned and headed across the clearing toward the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.
Hermione waved her hand at the goblin. “I need to warn Harry.” Hermione hurried across the small clearing. Torches sprouted from the ground every few feet and led straight to a rocky rise. A dozen goblins stood guard at a gaping maw in the edge of the rocky slope.
The goblin guards stepped aside with toothy grins, and Hermione entered the tunnel. The passage was smooth as was common when goblins bored out rock with their magic. Small torches were set every dozen paces along the walls, but most blurred past Hermione as she ran.
Even at a quick jog, it took her ten minutes to travel from the Forbidden Forest, under the Quidditch pitch, and into the Chamber of Secrets, several hundred feet under the main castle.
Hermione had never been in the Chamber of Secrets, and even in her hurry, she paused. The massive statue of Salazar Slytherin towered above her next to the tunnel exit, and the skeleton of the basilisk grew from the floor several dozen feet in front of her. Her footsteps echoed eerily in the chamber, and water dripped in an odd counterpoint to each of her footfalls. As Hermione walked past the remains of the basilisk, she gasped.
Although the goblins had warned her, Hermione gagged and turned away. Dozens of human remains were stacked up like cord wood in the circle of the basilisk’s skeleton. It was the final resting place of the lost students and people of Hogsmeade, and the empty, accusatory stares of the skulls left Hermione’s mouth dry. Perhaps the spirits of these people would want to be found and reburied, but it felt like a desecration to break into this tomb and then use it for an attack without making the effort to bury the dead. As Trelawney would have said, it was a bad omen.
Averting her eyes, Hermione quickened her pace. The snake statues along the chamber walls blurred past her, and she was soon into the caverns that led to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. The rock slide that Harry and Ron had told her about was pulled aside, and Hermione quickly found herself under the pipes that led upward.
A forest of shimmering rope vines hung from the pipe. Fred and George had created the ropes at Harry’s insistence to allow quick access to the bathroom above. Hermione grabbed one of the slick ropes and tugged on it once. The slick surface became tacky, and Hermione was yanked upwards through the pipe.
The dark pipe became a rush of wind and foul air before a light quickly appeared above her, and the rope slowed. She was pulled out of the pipe and was left dangling a foot or so above the bathroom floor as the rope became slick again. Letting go, she dropped to the stone floor next to the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets and looked around.
The bathroom was empty, but muffled noise, and what sounded like howling, filtered in through the door. Hermione quickly moved over to it and cracked open the door. The rancid smell of scorched flesh and human excrement and blood washed over her. Several forms littered the floor around the bathroom. A few lamps still hung on the walls, but the hall was dark. The sound of distant shouts chased up and down the hallway as Hermione eased the door open and slipped out.
The door creaked as she opened it, and someone moved in the shadows. Hermione dropped to a crouch and fumbled for her wand. “Lumos.”Her wand tip lit up, but the light wavered and guttered. Passing it off as exhaustion, Hermionesquinted into the darkness. The cool light barely reached a few dozen paces, but it illuminated Katie Bell leaning heavily against the wall. Katie Bell blinked at the light and raised her wand on Hermione. The young woman was dirty and cut, and her left hand was pressed tightly against her right abdomen. She stood just within the reach of Hermione’s lit wand. Cautiously, Hermione raised her hands and slowly stood up. In the light, Hermione made out three bodies scattered about the hallway. Thankfully, none of them looked familiar.
For a moment the two stood motionless, and then Katie lowered her wand. “Merlin, Hermione, you scared me,” she said. Her voice was barely a whisper. And the words were slurred.
“Sorry,” Hermione said. “Where are the rest? Where’s Harry? And what happened here?” She motioned at the three broken bodies in the corridor.
With a weary expression, Katie pointed toward the Great Hall. “Most of them went toward the Great Hall,” she said, “but a group went toward the dungeon, too. Harry took a few people and headed up.”
Hermione turned to go, but Katie grimaced and sank down along the wall as she pointed at the three bodies in the hall. “There was a pack of werewolves waiting for us outside of the bathroom here. Luckily, Harry had a map that showed everyone in the castle, so we were able to drive them off. Harry and Bill killed these three, and then Bill and a few others went after the werewolves. I’m waiting for them to get back.”
As if in confirmation, there were a flurry of distant shouts and explosions. Hermione shuddered as a howl filtered up from the lower floors and then cut off in a gurgling cry.
Katie smiled viciously and said, “One less of Greyback’s bunch.” She roughly scrubbed at her face with her right hand and then just stared at her wand.
“Pardon,” Hermione said. She needed to warn Harry, but there was an aura of fear and helplessness about Katie that kept Hermione rooted in place.
“I hear one of those every few minutes,” Katie said and then motioned down the hall toward the dungeons with her wand. “I hope they kill them all.” There was venom in Katie’s words, and it shocked Hermione. Katie had always been even-tempered, even during the worst of Voldemort’s excesses. Again, Hermione examined her and noted that Katie’s left hand was slick with blood. Glancing at the bodies and then back at Katie, Hermione’s eyes widened.
“You were bitten.”
Another pain-filled howl reached them, and Katie’s eyes brightened as her nostrils flared. She did not answer, but Hermione suddenly felt sick. Although she loved Remus Lupin, ever since her third year, she had been terrified of being bitten by a werewolf. To lose herself to her base instincts was worse than any fear of death, and now, there was little she could do but stare sadly at Katie and fight her tears. “I’m sorry, Katie. I’m…” There was nothing else to say, and Katie shook her head and pointed down the hall to her right.
“They went that way. Twenty minutes ago.” Hermione nodded and then disappeared into the shadows as she hurried from the second floor bathroom to the main staircase, which led to the entry hall below and the Headmistress’s office above. The hallways were dark, and the noise of battle grew louder with each step. And then she was at the top of the main staircase, looking into the entry hall.
The battle for Hogwarts had left the entry hall pitted with broken stone and ragged, burning portraits. However, there were no bodies on the floor, and the hall was empty of people. The doors to the Great Hall were charred beyond recognition and hung askew on their great hinges. However, the damage on them was old, most likely from the night Voldemort took over Hogwarts. Lights and noise rolled out of the Great Hall like a siren’s call, and Hermione found her attention drawn to the open doors.
Ten members of the Order were spread out across the entrance of the Great Hall. The house tables blocked them off from the rest of the hall. Spellfire crackled against the wood tables, and the Order members would occasionally send a wild spell toward the front of the room. Beyond the edge of the barricade of tables, Hermione glimpsed figures hidden behind the head table. With the spells flying and people scrambling to stay low, it was hard to make an accurate count, but she thought there were a dozen Death Eaters at the other end of the hall.
Even to her inexperienced eye, the Order was in trouble. The tables were crumbling under the onslaught, and it would not be more than a few minutes before they were left unprotected. With a longing glance up the stairs, Hermione knelt down and aimed at the head table. She was well above the Death Eaters and would be able to get around their cover. “Reducto!”
There was a loud crack, and Hermione was thrown backward. She skidded on the stone floor and stared at her wand in confusion. It was smoking, and the railing she had been crouched behind was destroyed. Holding the wand up, she cursed loudly. Arthur Weasley’s wand, worn from years of use, was in her hand. Her wand still lay buried in the rubble at the Ministry of Magic.
She could not help the Order without her wand. Although she knew she could use Arthur’s wand, if she failed to concentrate, it would back-fire on her. With her heart pounding in her chest and her breath ragged, she knew she was almost at her limit. With a sorrowful glance at the beleaguered Order, Hermione headed up the stairwell in search of Harry.
From the entry hall, it was only a few minutes to the Headmistress’s office. So Hermione fought against the weakness in her legs and sprinted up the stairs. However, the next stairwell had been blown apart. Swearing, she turned and darted down another hallway. If there was one good thing that had come of all her adventures at Hogwarts, it was that only Harry or the late Professor Dumbledore probably knew the castle better than she did.
Yet after four blocked passages and five detours, Hermione began to despair. It was difficult to keep moving. She had been running since she left the forest clearing, and her body was already hurt. Still she persevered. She would warn Harry. She would not let history repeat itself.
She wondered, as she stumbled down a hallway a floor below the Headmistress’s office, if Sirius had felt the same as he raced to the Potters’ home twenty years ago. Maybe Hermione had not recommended a new Secret-Keeper, but she had not fought to be Harry’s Secret-Keeper. She or Ron would have never betrayed Harry. But then, she could not imagine any member of the Weasley family betraying their sister. It was an abhorrent thought that left a part of her withered and dying.
She would kill him. No matter what happened, she would kill him, and that thought made her laugh. Sirius had promised to kill Peter, and she had never understood the emotion that had driven him that night. Never understood why he had never fought to explain or to be free, but in the corridors of Hogwarts, searching endlessly for Harry, she embraced the welling despair and guilt. It settled like a sliver deep in her skin, slowly festering and becoming inflamed. She had already failed Ginny and Harry. What was her life worth if she could not right that single wrong? Any suffering would be worth that moment of satisfaction.
Then she turned a corner, and there, like a mirage, was Harry. Hermione blinked and shook her head, paralyzed by what she saw. Harry stood halfway down the hall, and although the hall was brightly lit, Harry’s face was in shadow. His robes were torn and bloodied, and his wand hung loosely from his fingers. The stone around him was marred and scorched. Deep gouges covered floor, walls, and ceiling. At Harry’s feet, a man in a dark cloak lay in a pool of blood. His dark, greasy hair hung limp about his pale skin and hooked nose.
Snape’s mouth moved, but Hermione could not hear. She took several steps forward and stopped as Harry spoke.
“I already know where he is,” Harry said. “So why should I let you live? I have no debt to you, no matter what promises you gave Albus.”
Snape laughed. It was a hideous sound that gurgled wetly in his throat, and a froth of blood speckled his lips and sprayed as he spoke. “Idiot boy… you never learn. The Dark Lord knows all, even your little plans.” Snape’s body shook as he coughed up more blood. “You thought you’d fool us… thought you figured out the traitor… but there were two…” Harry’s body went rigid, and his hand tightened about his wand. “And the second has delivered your son to the Dark Lord…” With a last racking cough, Snape went still, and like a spell had been lifted, Hermione rushed forward.
“Harry!” she cried out, but Harry was already moving.
He held up his hand and called out. “Fawkes!” The phoenix appeared in a burst of flame a moment later.
Hermione was only a quarter of the way to him. “No! It’s a trap. You were betrayed!” Harry heard her. She knew that as he turned and their eyes met. She thought there would be fear in them, but his eyes glittered in the torch-light. They were filled with determination and sadness.
“Forgive me,” he said, and then he grabbed onto Fawkes and disappeared in a ball of flame.
“No!” Hermione screamed, but there was no one to hear her in the empty hallway.
AN: Well, this chapter is done, and the rest of the story is officially written. The next chapter is currently in Beta, and will be out early next week since I am heading off to go camping this weekend and won’t be able to do much else with it until then. I have some minor corrections and modifications to the final three chapters that need to be made, but they are more to correct the added information I have in the first four chapters than anything else.
My hope is to get some free time with a notebook and pencil this weekend and work my way through the next chapter of “Curse Breakers” so I can put that into beta by the end of next week and then get back on track with that story.
I appreciate everyone who has been reading this story and leaving reviews. This plot bunny has been in my thoughts for almost two years and it is a big relief to get it on paper and out of the way. Also, I can’t thank my betas enough. They really make this much easier by pointing out my inconsistencies and errors.