Voldemort Ascendant

Chapter eight: Retrospective

Normally, Hermione had no problems whatsoever falling asleep. Though thoughts and ideas constantly filtered through her mind, the sheer workload of her day-to-day life generally left her exhausted, and when presented with an opportunity to sleep, she gratefully accepted it. As servants . . . slaves, as many referred to them . . . she and the other muggle-borns worked irregular hours, and it had not taken long for them to adapt to sleeping at the drop of the hat. Some nights they got no sleep at all, and so, if a half-hour of free time presented itself during the day, each and every one of them was able to lie down and immediately drop off to sleep.

Tonight, however, was different for Hermione. Her thoughts were too many, her anxiety too great. Even the prospect of working a day and a night without rest did not seem enough to bribe her body into sleeping, and so, despite the number of floors she´d swept, despite the washing and chopping and dusting and scrubbing, she lay awake, tossing and turning relentlessly in an effort to gain some measure of comfort.

None was forthcoming.

It all came back to Harry. Harry in the dungeons. Harry surrounded by dementors. Harry losing his mind. Rescuing Harry and taking him from this place. Light, Harry, much more of this and I´ll be losing my mind, too. Rolling onto her back, Hermione stared vacantly upwards. The kitchen ceiling was high, and even in the day the light never seemed to quite illuminate it. Accepting that she was likely not to fall asleep this night, she reluctantly succumbed to her turbulent thoughts, and shivered at the chills that accompanied them.

Life wasn´t always like this. Once upon a time, I was Hermione Granger, the brightest witch to study at Hogwarts in well over a century or more. My skills grew every day, and I was even taken under the private tutelage of Albus Dumbledore himself. Now, I´m "Granger!", more commonly referred to as "You there!", one of a dozen or so former students that now serve at the Dark Lord's Academy for the Dark Arts and Black Magic. The school formerly known as Hogwarts. Her lip trembled a little as she remembered Dumbledore. Kindly old Dumbledore, with his quiet passion and determination to protect them all. Kindly old Dumbledore, whose skull was mounted above the dais in the Great Hall, the Sorting Hat - its magic and life exterminated by some foul work of Voldemort - jauntily, mockingly, resting upon that skull.

A faint wave of nausea passed over her. She never entered the Great Hall for that reason; she simply couldn´t view the Sorting Hat perched upon that skull without bile rising in her throat. Light, how would Harry react if he saw it? She wondered. The same way he reacted when he saw Dumbledore´s head being carried in Voldemort´s hands.

With no small measure of trepidation, she allowed herself to probe her memories of that night. Gently, tentatively, lest they overwhelm and drown her in their horror. She started with her last memory of Dumbledore alive.

***

`I realise it is no small task that I ask of you,´ Dumbledore said, his voice soft, as it always was. No trace of panic, Hermione noted to herself, and felt faintly reassured by his quiet confidence. `You may leave the school if you do not want to face the battle that is to come. Ron, I understand your mother has asked you to return home to join the rest of your family before you all return to the school together.´

Ron nodded, his face miserable and clearly showing the battle that raged inside him. Do I remain here, with my friends in the line of danger? Or do I obey my mother´s request that I return to be with the rest of the family for one final meal before our world collapses? Seeing that battle, Harry placed his hand on Ron´s shoulder. `Go to her, Ron. It´s just one meal. You´re all apparating here afterwards anyway. What does it matter if you miss the first hour or so?´ Ron nodded mutely, and Hermione offered him a small smile of assurance.

`Hermione and Harry, I ask that you operate from the Great Hall. The vast majority of younger students have been evacuated from the school, but many of the older students remain, intent upon fighting with the professors, Aurors and ministry officials. I cannot stop them, if this is what they want, yet I can see their fear clearly enough. I feel that it would reassure them if you were both to remain amidst them. The Boy Who Lived, and the Smartest Witch to Grace Hogwarts in a Century.´ Dumbledore smiled, and for a second Hermione thought she saw a faint sparkle in his eyes. `For now, I must leave you and go to the Ministry.´ Dumbledore´s lips tightened, and Hermione´s stomach suddenly lurched at that sign of Dumbledore´s uncertainty. `Fudge refuses to leave the Ministry, and only death awaits him if he remains. Fool that he is, we can not simply leave him to die, and it would seem that he´s asking for me.´

Harry´s eyes widened. `It´s a trap!´ he gasped out, and suddenly grabbed Dumbledore´s arm, shaking his head. `Don´t go . . . I beg you, don´t go!´

Dumbledore sighed softly, and placed a gentle hand over Harry´s. `I know the dangers, Harry, and I accepted them long ago. And if I´m to die tonight, then so be it.´ Suddenly Dumbledore smiled, raising his busy eyebrows into his forehead. `Many years ago I told you that this was to be your battle, Harry, not mine. You´re the Boy Who Lived, Harry, and not for small reason, either.´ Nodding absent mindedly, Dumbledore´s eyes seemed to glaze over, and Hermione noticed that Dumbledore, though his eyes faced Harry´s, seemed to be looking straight through Harry into some future only he could see. `You´ll save us all, Harry, and restore the world to the way it ought to be. It shall be no easy task, and you´ll face many dark times . . . many dark times indeed. But in the end, you´ll overcome, and wizards and witches everywhere will remember why once upon a time they rejoiced at the sound of your name.´

Tears lined Harry´s eyes, and a faint gasp of air escaped his lips. `But what of you, Dumbledore?´ he whispered, and finally the old wizard´s eyes focused once more upon Harry.

`I´ll be watching, Harry,´ he replied softly. `Never doubt that I´ll be watching.´

Ron looked at his feet in a feeble attempt to hide his tears, and Hermione wiped at her own moist eyes. She knew as well as Harry, as well as Dumbledore, that this would be the last time she´d ever see Dumbledore alive. What she could not understand was Dumbledore´s determination to see it through. Why are you doing this!? Why are you so determined to die, and for such a stupid cause? Her mind screamed. But she dared not say it out loud. Dumbledore does as he pleases, and never without reason, a rational, detached part of her mind responded. If he chooses to go to Fudge . . . even though it´s a blatant trap . . . he does so for some higher purpose.

And though she couldn´t bring herself to openly question Dumbledore´s motives, she could bring herself to show her love and appreciation for him. `Dumbledore,´ she sobbed, and suddenly threw her arms around him in a thoroughly undignified fashion. Harry and Ron immediately followed suit, and Hermione thought that nothing would ever feel as sweet as the old wizard´s soft embrace. `Never doubt that I´m watching,´ he said softly, then apparated from their arms.

Turning to Hermione and Ron with wide, tear stained eyes, Harry´s brow furrowed. `Why is he doing this? It´s suicide,´ he said softly.

Hermione nodded. `I know, Harry,´ she replied quietly. `We all do. But he knows what he´s doing, and you need to believe in that, Harry.´

Harry looked uncertain, then crossed to the window. `The sun is setting,´ he whispered. `They´ll be here soon.´

***

Raising a hand to her eyes, Hermione wiped at the tears that trickled slowly, warmly, down her cheeks. Even now, it still hurts, she thought to herself, and rolled onto her side, raising her knees to her chest. Stop thinking about it. Stop remembering! The voice in her head pleaded. She shook her head slightly. No. I need to do this. I need to remember what went wrong. I need to know why I´m here.

Closing her eyes once more, she returned to the past.

***

The news moved through the Great Hall like a wave washing over them. They´re coming, they´ll be here any minute! The crowd of students moved restlessly, hands moving over wands, seeking reassurance with their fingers and mentally chanted hexes and spells.

From the Gryffindor Tower, Harry looked over the horizon. The sun had set minutes ago, like a flare disintegrating over the horizon. And as it had set, its last orange rays diapearing and leaving only cold darkness behind, a thousand tiny fires had appeared. At first, he´d been bewildered, but as they came sharply into focus, he understood. They´ve come carrying torches. But why? It had been Hermione that had speculatively answered. `Fear. Of course they don´t need to use them, any one of us can summon a bit of fire or light with a wand. They´re doing it to strike fear into our hearts. You have to admit, it looks creepy,´ she said softly, staring out over the slowly approaching enemy. Their flames danced in the darkness, as if floating towards them of their own accord.

`Surely they could use something more terrifying than a few torches?´ Harry asked, dubious.

Hermione nodded. `I suppose they could. But do they need to? Can you honestly tell me this-` she waved her hand at the oncoming enemy, `-this doesn´t scare you?´

Harry bit his lip. `Yes. It does frighten me. But it´s not about the fires . . . it´s the knowledge that they´re coming.´ As he watched, a series of green sparks filled the sky, followed by a hovering skull with a snake sliding out of its mouth. The Dark Mark hovered above the gates to the school grounds. `They´re here,´ he whispered.

Making their way to the hall, they each withdrew their wands. Casting furtive glances from the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed that Harry looked stoic. His mouth was set in a tight straight line, and his eyes were hard, like green glass had replaced his pupils. Pausing, she reached for his arm. `Harry?´ she asked quietly.

He stopped and looked at her, and the hard look melted from his eyes. `Yes?´

Fidgeting, she met his eyes, then quickly glanced away. `Harry, I just want you to know . . .´

Harry took a step forward, and laid a hand gently on her shoulder. `Want me to know what?´

`I . . . I-`

`I´ve been looking for you everywhere! Weren´t you supposed to be in the Great Hall boosting everyone´s confidence?´ Ron demanded, running up to them. Reaching them, Ron stuck out his hand to Harry and offered him a lopsided smile. `Good luck, Harry,´ he said with mock bravado. Turning to Hermione, Ron nodded his head. `Hermione.´

Hermione smiled, and as Harry turned to walk back to the hall, she realised with a pang of the heart that Harry had forgotten she was about to say anything at all. She didn´t know whether to feel relieved or not. `We were in the Great Hall, but just came up to get a better look at the enemy,´ Harry explained as they approached the Great Hall once more. `Where is your family?´

`Over there with Sirius and Remus,´ Ron said, nodding his head towards the far end of the hall. `Except Percy and Ginny. Mum made Percy take Ginny up North, in case . . . you know. Just in case.´

`How´d Percy take that?´ Harry asked, pushing his spectacles back up his nose and gazing around the hall. He´s anxious, Hermione thought to herself. I doubt he´s even listening to Ron.

Ron shrugged. `I don´t think he minded too much. If anything, he looked a bit relieved. I think he felt like he ought to be fighting, but it´s not really thing, so he was relieved to be able to do something else with a legitimate reason. And he took the whole look after Ginny, keep her safe thing very seriously. Ask Fred and George and they´ll give you a perfect imitation.´ Ron himself looked around the hall, taking in the pinched white faces of the other fifth year students, the uncertainty on the faces of the sixth years, and the false bravado on the faces of the seventh years. Several of the professors were walking around the hall, stopping to talk and reassure students and parents that had offered their wands, whilst others talked with ministry officials and Aurors. Everybody spoke in hushed tones. `Shouldn´t we be outside, defending the castle? They´re literally at the gates,´ Ron said, lowering his voice.

`I imagine that´s why McGonagall is moving to the dais,´ Hermione replied.

Taking her place on the dais, McGonagall paused and waited for everyone´s attention to fall upon her. It took less than a second for a silence to fall over the hall. `Ladies and gentleman,´ she started, when suddenly a thunderous boom echoed over the entire castle. Several shrieks filled the air, followed by gasps of consternation and a general frantic whispering. McGonagall looked startled, then peered around her as if trying to establish the source of the sound. Returning her attention to the crowd, she gestured for silence. This time, the silence was far more tense; people in the room huddled closer to each other and gathered towards the dais, as if McGonagall´s words offered protection against their common enemy. `Ladies and gentleman . . . it has begun,´ she said quickly, raising her voice. `I would ask that when you leave this hall, you remain with at least two other wizards or witches by your side.´

`Constant vigilance!´ Mad-Eye Moody roared from the crowd. A few titters followed, and McGonagall simply nodded in agreement.

`Constant vigilance, indeed.´

***

Hermione tossed over once more, moaning softly. `Poor Harry,´ she whispered. `Poor, poor Harry.´ Opening herself up, memories of the battle flooded over her.

***

Despite McGonagall´s reasoning, the moment the doors opened, wizards and witches poured forth in a blatant display of everyman and woman for himself. Caught up in the mass exodus from the castle, Hermione immediately found herself separated from Harry and Ron. Wands immediately started blazing, and various different coloured sparks and lights illuminated the sky directly above and before her as a plethora of spells and hexes filled the air. `Harry!´ she cried out, but a moment later lost sight of him in the crowd. `Damn!´ she hissed, then immediately held up her wand. `Contego´ she whispered, then moved confidently forward on her own.

The army before her moved like an writhing mass of evil; quietly and confidently striding forward as one, cloaked in darkness and terror. White, faceless masks occasionally poked through their hoods, adding to the repulsion Hermione felt at the sight of them. How could anyone willingly be a part of it? Hermione wondered, casting her eyes over their numbers. Noticing that some of the figures were notably taller than the rest, Hermione peered forward, then stumbled. Oh sweet merciful Merlin . . . dementors! Immediately she swung her head around, looking for Harry, wanting nothing more than to be able to warn him. Unable to see him anywhere, she returned her attention to the enemy army. Light, it´s not just Death Eaters and dementors, she realised. There are vampires, werewolves and boggarts, too. Squinting, she counted several other unsavoury looking creatures that she couldn´t name. We haven´t been educated to deal with this, she thought, and tried to fight back the wave of terror and panic she felt.

Without warning, the enemy stopped as one. She noticed several wizards and witches beside her pause, puzzled, confused by the enemies maneuver, wondering what they could possibly be planning. Without warning, their ranks parted, followed by a blinding flash of green lights as the Death Eaters suddenly started firing the Killing Curse across the grounds of the school. Screams filled their air, mingling with protection spells inevitably cast too late. All around her, wizards and witches fell to the ground, dead. With a shriek, the elderly witch beside Hermione fell to the ground. Hermione gasped and suddenly felt like a clamp had shut around her windpipe. I´m hyperventilating . . . I can´t breathe! Chills ran up and down her spine as she peered down at the corpse beside her. Tearing her eyes away, she looked around, and with horror realised that at least a quarter of their numbers had already fallen to the first wave of the attack. Suddenly desperate and furious, she raised her wand and pointed it blindly ahead of her. `Avada Kedavra!´ she screamed, and watched in satisfaction as, across the field, a faceless Death Eater cried a short denial and promptly collapsed, very dead, to the ground.

Her attack - an unprecedented use of an Unforgivable Curse by one of the Light Side - seemed to act as a catalyst. Without further ado, the side of the Light raised their wands as one and immediately retaliated against the Dark, many screeching curses Hermione had only ever read about in the Restricted Section of the library. Heartened, Hermione strode boldly forward, all the time keeping an eye out for vivid red hair and a dark haired, bespectacled boy. Something within her body was changing, she could feel it . . . as if it was moving within her like quicksilver, gathering at the core of her being and waiting, waiting, waiting for something she didn´t understand. The Dark Side is falling, she noted with a malicious satisfaction totally foreign to her.

It was only a few moments later that things changed for ever. Spells, curses, hexes flew over her head, killing randomly in all directions. Curiously, she noticed that something seemed to be happening amidst the ranks of the Dark Side . . . they were moving, reforming, regrouping . . . what are they doing? She wondered. At that moment she heard a hoarse cry. `Hebes eructo!´ Following the course of the spell, she watched as a Death Eater suddenly fell to her knees, tear off her mask and promptly start vomiting slugs. Ron she thought, and spun around.

Ron sneered with glee. Beside him, Harry wore a stony expression. His arm seemed locked in place, pointed directly ahead of him. `Avada kedavra,´ he said quietly, and a blazing ball of green light rocketed forward, taking down two Death Eaters at once.

`Harry!´ Hermione cried out, turning her back on the Dark and running towards the Light. `Harry, Ron!´ And as she ran, she saw Harry´s face suddenly crumple in a way that she could later never describe. Devastation, only greater . . . complete and utter heartbreak, only more painful . . . as if he had just witnessed the entire world disintegrate, and felt its pain as it happened . . .. Coming to a complete standstill, Hermione watched in confusion as Harry´s knees buckled from beneath him, and felt her own heart break in two at the expression on his face. His scream, when it came, shattered her into a million pieces; speaking to her of horror, agony, terror, and complete and total loss. Tears filled her eyes, and turning, her eyes sought out the enemy.

The Death Eater´s had finished regrouping. A new, smaller rank had formed, surrounded by dementors, their pitch black cloaks stark in the paler darkness of the night. At their heart, Voldemort could clearly be seen, his unnaturally white face all but glowing in the darkness, his mouth a ghastly slash that curved upwards at the corners. Is he smiling? She thought to herself, then looked down his body.

Gripped tightly in his hand was a fistful of purest white hair. Dangling from the hair was an old, beloved head . . .

Dumbledore.

The quicksilver within her suddenly rushed towards her heart, cold as ice, gripping her until she was locked by it. Beside her, she thought she heard Ron´s voice calling her name, then calling Harry´s, but she wasn´t sure. Her ears were filled by the sound of the movement within her body, the rhythmic beating of a heart that was pumping unnaturally fast. Suddenly lava erupted from her heart, and liquid fire was beating through her veins, coursing through her entire being.

Though she didn´t know it, a silver nimbus suddenly flared around her, enveloping her body and spreading over her wand. `Aboleo!´ she roared, and a ball of silver light roared directly towards Voldemort. The dementors and Death Eaters surrounding him disappeared almost entirely, leaving behind only smoking ashes. The Dark Lord himself was flung backwards, landing in a heap amidst an army that immediately moved to surround and protect him from further attack.

She didn´t wait to witness the destruction she´d wrought, barely remembered it at all. When next she became aware of her surroundings, the battle had moved forward, leaving her behind, a stark silver figure standing alone and paralysed before the castle.

***

Coming to her senses, Hermione looked around her, then down at her silver hands. Battle-lust? She asked to herself. But how . . . ? The few passages she´d read about the Battle-lust returned to her, and without further ado, she accepted it and took her first step forward, her eyes focused on the battle raging before her. Without sentiment, her eyes moved over the bodies surrounding her, calculating the numbers, making rough estimates . . . we´re losing, she realised coldly. She waited for the feelings to assault her . . . the fear, the dread, the nerves. Nothing, just coldness and a solid determination to decimate her enemy.

Moving quickly forward, her eyes scanned the faces of the dead. Death Eaters, Werewolves, Vampires, Witches and Wizards. Every so often her eyes landed on familiar faces, and each time she expected to be overwhelmed with feelings of sorrow . . . she knew she should feel something, but there was nothing, just coldness, like ice within her veins, and the knowledge that she could mourn later; for the time being she must fight. Padma Patil, she noted, passing a corpse that looked like it had been mauled at the neck. Madam Rosmerta from the Three Broomsticks. Terry Boot, Karen Bundy and her mother. Carefully stepping over the bodies, she continued moving towards the flashes of light that indicated where the battle was now taking place. They´re breaking apart she realised, seeing smaller groups fighting each other. A stray spell flew past her, illuminating the ground and the bodies piled around her more clearly, and she caught a glimpse of vivid red hair.

Turning, she moved to the body, and a hot flush spread over her face. Ron . . . oh, Ron. And though her mind rebelled against what she was seeing, she could bring herself to feel nothing, absolutely nothing. And she hated herself for it. Why can´t I feel anything over the death of one of my best friends? A voice screamed within her head. Because that´s obviously how the Battle-Lust works a practical voice replied. It detaches you from all emotion, making you unswayed by sentiment and therefore a more efficient killer. Dropping to her knees beside Ron´s body, she studied the face of the boy she´d known for the last five years. His eyes were wide, more with shock than anything, and a thin trail of blood had dried on his face where it had seeped from his gaping mouth. Please don´t leave me like this, she pleaded with herself. Don´t leave me this cold forever. Reaching out a tentative hand, she placed her fingers over Ron´s eyes in an attempt to close the vacantly staring eyes. They remained closed for less than a second, the lids flexing back into place as soon as her fingers left his face. She recoiled in distaste. Rigamortis . . . his body is stiff from death, the detached voice informed her Obviously he has been dead for a while. Looks like the Killing Curse. Grimacing in repulsion, she reached for Ron´s robes instead, and draped the loose folds of cloth over his face.

Having covered Ron´s face, Hermione pulled herself slowly to her feet. Harry. Find Harry.