Cruel Fate

"Kyrie eleison, Criste eleison, kyrie eleison…" Hermione heard the choir singing as if from countless miles away, dim and faint among the wild thoughts swirling violently in her own mind. She couldn’t believe it had finally come to this; it couldn’t be true. This all had to be a nightmare; some sick, twisted concoction of an evil… well, an evil anything. This truly couldn’t be real.

But the solemn, ominous singing of the nuns completely tore that one thread of hope, that momentary means of escape from the agony that now flooded Hermione’s being as she accepted the sickening reality of this tragedy. She was glad for the black veil that hid her face, for she didn’t want anyone seeing the salty tears that flowed freely down her cheeks. She was tired of the pity from everyone, and their empty, unfeeling condolences. No one understood how she felt. How could they? No one had known of her feelings toward him, not even the man himself, until his final breaths.

"Kyrie eleison, Criste eleison, kyrie eleison…" they sung. Hermione knew the English translation of those words: Lord, have mercy, Christ, have mercy, Lord have mercy. Well, she didn’t know why the nuns were singing that, for God quite obviously hadn’t had mercy on him, nor on anyone else that knew him. Hell, even total strangers mourned over the loss of their hero.

Now everyone sidled slowly out of their pews, heads down. Hermione could hear some people sniffling. She followed them as well, her feet dragging her along mechanically, though she only had a dim sense of where she was going. Her feet stopped, and she looked down. There, in the oak casket, lay the man, his arms folded across his chest, and a peaceful uplifted look on his face.

"NO!" she suddenly burst, dropping the candle that had blown out from her tears falling upon it, ignoring the hot wax that scalded her hands and dripped on the beautiful gold-edged carpets on the altar.

"NO! This can’t be! Come back! Come back! You can’t leave me!" she cried, gripping the edge of the casket so hard, her knuckles whitened. She sobbed fiercely, getting the attention of everyone in the London church, but she didn’t care. Her hair fell from its stern bun to frame her red, tear-stained face.

Strong arms pried her from the place where her only love now rested, never to return, never again to comfort her when she was sad. Never again to speak to her in those soft, deep tones. Never again to fight by her side…

But that was why she was here in the first place. He had given his life for her, without fear and without any second thoughts. He had pushed her out of the way of the deadly Cruciatus Curse, sacrificing everything for her, even his own life. She could still remember every excruciating detail…

"WHERE IS HE!" Voldemort had bellowed, interrogating her as to the whereabouts of her partner, his escaped prisoner. Not only had he been Voldemort’s enemy, but also a member of the Ministry of Magic’s Intelligence Unit. He had been working with Hermione, but they both had been captured. Fortunately, they had a back-up plan if one or both of them was captured, and it seemed to be working well….

"I’M NOT TELLING YOU!" she had bellowed back with all the strength and courage she could muster. She had only to hold out a little more, he was only a few feet away, moving silently as a wraith, behind Voldemort, with the aid of a Non-Detection Spell.

"Have it your way," Voldemort answered, smiling cruelly and taking out his wand to finish her off.

"Crucio!" he exclaimed, aiming at the terrified young woman. She expected the skull splitting pain at any moment, but only felt another body around her and a dull pound as her rope-bound body flew to the could stone floor of the dungeon. Her savior lay where she had been only moments before, writhing and screaming in agony. Voldemort stopped, laughing evilly, a sound that sent chills up Hermione’s spine, having the same affect on her as nails against a chalkboard.

"Enjoying that?" the sorcerer jaunted, whispering softly.

"You’ve given me grief for quite some time, and now you will pay with your life! And it isn’t going to be easy, oh no. It’s going to be slow and agonizing. And you can think about your worthless little cause as your life leaves you, and as you watch your friend suffer the same fate. You know, it was the same way with all your other traitorous Ministry friends, and with little Miss Granger now. They all suffered, all of them. And it was all because of you." The victim could not respond, with only enough strength to continue breathing heavily, and occasionally whimper with pain.

Voldemort aimed his wand at the wounded man before him, and sent him flying across the stone room, smashing his head against the feet-thick rock. Hermione heard him scream, and saw him crumple like a doll to the ground.

Anger and agony flooded through Hermione’s body, filling her heart and her brain, and her very bones. It seemed, in those life-altering seconds, like she could feel his pain, and it drove her beyond any semblance of sanity, and, for a short moment, mortality. She shrieked with agony, her anger and pain so potent, she burst her bindings in a burst of strength. She rushed to the skinny, snake-like man that had destroyed so many people’s lives, and took his wand from him, burning him with her touch. Before she knew what was happening, she had aimed the wand at him and said the fatal magic words in one instant, and her love’s killer lay lifeless on the ground in the next.

She rushed to his side, her anger leaving her to be replaced by fear and sorrow. She enfolded him in her arms, with his body resting on her lap, and his head pressed against her shoulder.

"I’m sorry… I couldn’t… make Lieutenant… with you…" he wheezed, referring to their promotion ceremony that would’ve been taking place in 5 days.

"Don’t say that!" she argued softly, tears spilling down her cheeks. "The paramedics are coming, and the doctors will fix you up, and everything will be okay, and we’ll be promoted. And everyone will be there to watch, and they’ll be so proud of you," she cooed, holding him tighter.

"Don’t… lead me on…. Look…." he answered, smiling sadly. She knew he was talking about the blood that soaked both their robes, and slowly, kept seeping the very life out of him.

"No, don’t worry! We’ve gotten into worse scrapes than this…" she protested, knowing full well that it wasn’t true, but not wanting to believe it.

"Listen, Hermione…. Look… at me," he whispered. She gazed into his once bright, dancing eyes, now already glazing over as the Angel of Death was reaching his hand out towards her dear partner.

"I… love… you…" he croaked out, using his last breaths. "I… always have…"

"I know," she said. Somehow, she did know, and she realized she had known all her life.

"I know. I love you, too. Don’t go, don’t leave! We’re going to get through this, we’re going to be happy again…" Her words were smothered as he brushed his white, bloodless lips against hers, light as the touch of the softest feather, granting her first kiss ever. It was likely to be her last, for she would never again love anyone as she had loved this man.

"Goodbye… dear heart…" he whispered barely audibly, and with a last, shuddering breath, his eyes closed, and he was gone forever.

"No. Come back. No. NOOOO!"

Hermione woke up from her flashback, still in the church, in the arms of her best friends, Ron and Ginny Weasley. She looked one more time on her only love, and felt her heart break in two. Everything went black, and her last thought before she felt herself leaving the physical and emotional barriers of the living, and the joyous singing as though of angels was, I’m coming to join you, Harry…