Persephone Descending

Chapter 7: Hubris

"My friend, you would not tell with such high zest/To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est/ Pro patria mori."--Wilfred Owen, Dulce et Decorum Est

It took hours to dig the graves, because she did it by hand.

Hermione left her wand in the pocket of her robes, sickened at the thought of touching it. Malfoy's parting words echoed in her brain, but she refused to dwell on them. She would not cast the Dark Mark and summon that sociopath, no matter how many of her friends he killed. She did not trust whatever Malfoy had done to the wand, and all she could see was the Dark Mark that still burned bright in the sky over Remus' body. She forced herself to look away and dig.

The small town was quiet--those the Death Eaters had not killed stayed in their homes, too terrified to help the lone witch who was digging frantically in the cold, wet earth with a shovel she'd found in the outbuilding of the home of one of the victims. It was not likely anyone in the house was alive to miss it, but she would put it back when she was finished regardless. She was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors did not steal.

Every now and then, as she paused to wipe the sweat off her brow and rest her aching arms, she would see a face peering out of a curtained window at her, quickly retreating as she spied them there. She did not blame the local populace for leaving her to perform her grisly task alone, exactly, but she was starting to become exhausted, and her mind was thinking uncharitable thoughts about the witches and wizards who huddled in their houses, too afraid to come out. Before the Second War, Hogsmeade had been the only Wizarding town in Britain. After the War had escalated, however, the Ministry had passed a decree asking all magical folk to cluster together in their villages, forming small enclaves of witches and wizards within each town. Obviously this protection had not worked out as planned--many in King's Cross were dead due to the fear of others, who refused to stand up and defend their fellow wizards.

This is how Voldemort will win, she thought, trying to ignore the horror of throwing dirt on the face of her fellow soldier. When those who are innocent do nothing for fear of what will happen to them, then the forces of darkness will prevail. It began to enrage her suddenly. There she was, methodically digging graves in the grass, and those inside who were spared from the Death Eaters murderous intentions remained safe in their homes. Anger sluiced through her, hot and alive, renewing her purpose.

Soon a strange feeling of lassitude that threatened to sweep over her as she dug. It wasn't long before dawn, and her eyes were heavy and tired, the strain of battle and of her labor exhausting her. She longed to do it all by magic, but Hermione refused to use the wand until she could return and have someone check it over for curses or hexes. The memory of Harry's Firebolt from third year assailed her; the way she'd been so intent on having it checked over for a curse, and how he had been so angry at her for doing so. She remembered his impatience to have it back; seven years later, she understood exactly why he'd been so angry. She needed to contact the Order, but was extremely paranoid someone might be lying in wait for them--not to mention, she had no idea if any of them were even left.

She saved his grave for the last, although in hindsight that was probably not the best of ideas. Instead of staring at his lifeless face, the cold body of the man who had held her and comforted her just that morning, she tried reciting facts from Hogwarts, a History as she dug. Thoughts of that inevitably reminded her of school, and those turned to Remus when he'd been her professor...his warm hazel eyes and kind smile, the way he'd worked tirelessly with Harry to help him overcome the young boy's fear of the Dementors. Hermione felt the tears slipping down the dirt on her face as her arms gave out, and she threw the shovel down and collapsed in a heap on the ground. Her hands tore at the earth vainly as she sobbed, the sound hoarse and torn from her very soul.

Eventually, she rubbed her eyes with her hand, wincing as the dirt stung her. The hole she had dug was deep enough, but she found she was not able to continue--the act was too final. She stared at his body, knowing she was his killer, albeit through trickery, and could not roll his body into it.

"I'm so sorry, Remus," she whispered, beginning to tremble from exhaustion and hunger. "I didn't mean to kill you." Saying it out loud made it all the worse. The sun had risen and she could still see the Dark Mark still burning in the sky. Gathering her courage, she tried to push his body into the grave, but nothing happened. He had been dead too long--his body was too heavy for her tired muscles to move. She pushed and shouted in her agitation, but nothing worked. The feel of his cold flesh sickened her and twice, she dry heaved next to his body. The bright light showed there were many people staring at her outside of their windows, in the houses that still contained the living.

"Why will none of you help me!" she screamed, hands clenched at her sides. "I fought for you! I fought to save you, and you won't help me bury the dead! You call yourselves wizards! You could do in ten seconds what I have spent all night doing!" Her voice was loud and carried easily in the small town. "Will none of you help me!" she repeated, but softer now as it was evident that none of them would.

Hermione finally clasped her ice-cold fingers around her wand and pulled it from her pocket. She was terrified to use it. What if Malfoy had cursed it? But there was no longer any option. She refused to leave Remus here, alone and unburied, when it had been she who had killed him.

Wincing, Hermione pointed her wand and said, "Wingardium Leviosa." She watched with mingled relief and dread as the body slowly rose in the air and then sank into the grave. Exhausted, she levitated dirt over his body until the grave was filled in. She didn't think she had tears left to cry, but she found she was wrong.

The sun had risen in the sky, and she knew she needed to return to the Order and see who was left. She looked around the field, peaceful now, and sighed. The sun had begun to shine strong enough that the Dark Marks above the town were hardly visible, but she thought she could still see the skull shape in the sky and the snake spilling from its mouth. Shuddering, she looked back at Remus' grave. I'll come back with flowers for you, Remus. Just like I do for Ron.

The thought of trying to find her way back to London was simply too exhausting, so Hermione pushed her luck once more and Apparated back to London, to see who was left at the Order and deliver the horrible news that she was the only survivor from the Battle of King's Cross.

****

Hermione was not sure what to expect when she pushed open the door to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, but she was shocked at what she saw.

Ginny Weasley stood in the center of the room, red hair wild around her thin face, eyes burning. Ginny had always been thin, but she looked positively emaciated with dark circles rimming her dark eyes, her cheeks slightly sunken in. She looks like a skull, Hermione thought, remembering the Dark Mark. Around her were ten or fifteen people--children, Hermione though, horrified--staring at Ginny with rapt attention.

"We have lost all hope," Ginny was saying, tapping her wand in her hand. "The only thing left is to--" She broke off as she saw Hermione there, and shrieked. "Hermione! You ... you're alive! We heard that everyone had died in King's Cross!"

"Everyone did," Hermione said dully, "except for me." Her eyes burned and she felt a mess compared to those fresh-faced young recruits. She felt soiled in a way that had nothing to do with the mud covering her body, the tears and the blood staining her robes. Something had seeped into her very blood and killed whatever innocence she had brought with her into the War.

"Oh gods," Ginny cried, eyes cast to the ceiling. She looks like some wailing heroine in a Greek tragedy, Hermione thought. Soon, she'll start pulling at her hair, and I'll have to restrain her from falling on a sword.

"Gin," Hermione said, thinking uncharitably that her friend should cease her wailing for ten minutes so that she could speak to her. Thinking of Remus made tears burn behind her eyes. Hermione had not cried this much since Ron died. "I need to talk to you about my wand. Malfoy did something to it, and I am worried it's--"

"We must prepare!" Ginny shrieked, ignoring her completely, whirling about the center of the room and staring at the young men and women who surrounded her. "Soon, we too will soon die for the Order, and you must be ready!"

"Ginny!" Hermione said, horrified. "Are you insane? These are ..." She waved her hand to indicate the group of kids that were watching with expressions halfway between disbelief and terror. "They're children, Ginny." Her voice fell slightly; she did not want to insult them, but it was the truth. "They are too young to be inducted into the Order. They'll never be allowed."
Ginevra Weasley turned slowly towards her, eyes fairly sparkling in mania. "Hermione," she said in a throbbing voice, "those of us in this room are all that are left of the Order."

Hermione looked at Ginny and remembered her as she was in school. Intelligent, loyal, courageous --everything a good Gryffindor should be. Now, all to those things were taken to the extreme and they'd be the death of her. For the first time, Hermione felt a sharp pang slice through her, as she thought I don't want to die. She backed up and clasped her hand over her mouth, horrified. I thought I did. I thought I wanted it to end, but I don't.

Ginny said in a soft voice, "We'll make one last stand, Hermione, for Harry. In a few weeks time, after our newest recruits are trained, we're going to go to Hogwarts. We're going to try and break through the defenses and take out Voldemort."

"That is ridiculous!" Hermione walked up to the other woman and shook her slightly. "Ginny, you're going to die! You and everyone here, who could have a future -"

"What? A future with You-Know-Who in charge? I think not. I'd rather die fighting for what I believed in, than live in the days that are coming. Wouldn't you? Do you know my whole family is gone now? All of them were killed in an ambush at the Burrow, led by the Lestranges, while you were fighting in King's Cross. Those murdering psychopaths have robbed me of everyone I love. Harry is gone, no one knows where he is. The Order has broken, and we have nothing left. No future. Nothing. We might as well go out fighting. Join us, Hermione! It'll all be over for you too. The Death Eaters will know you didn't die at King's Cross, and they'll be after you soon enough. Just come with us and die for what you believe in. We can't win, but we can try. We can die with honor. Don't you want to die with honor, Hermione?"

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face. No. I don't. I don't want to die at all. I want to live. "They could have a future, Ginny, even in the days ahead, even if the Dark Lord wins--"

"When, Hermione. Not if. He's going to win. We've lost Harry. No one knows where he is and we don't know how to tell him that everyone is dead. He'll never know, and he'll stay in hiding until we're dead. Then maybe he can defeat the Dark Lord, when he realizes no one is left."

"That's mad, Ginny," Hermione snapped, in her Head Girl voice. "Your death, not to mention the death of all of these kids, will do nothing! Do you hear me? Nothing! The Dark Lord will cut you down like weeds, and you will be nothing but one more casualty. There's nothing noble about stupidly throwing your life away!" She turned and looked at the faces of those who watched their interplay, rapt and silent. "Leave! Form the resistance, reform the Order if you want, but don't throw your lives away in this foolish attack on Hogwarts!"

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "Where is your Gryffindor courage, Hermione? Are you afraid of death?"

Hermione laughed bitterly. "Maybe I am, Ginny. And why is that so awful? After all, aren't you afraid of life? Maybe I am afraid to die, but you're afraid to live. The Dark Lord has taken everyone you love, so I can't blame you. But you're the one giving it, you're lying down and dying without a fight! It will take more courage to live in the days ahead and than it does to hide away in death."

Ginny gave her a look of such hatred that if looks could kill, Hermione would be dead instantaneously. "You don't have any idea what you're talking about," she snapped. "I think it's perfectly obvious you should never have been in Gryffindor in the first place. Get out of my sight, Hermione, before I hex you."

"What, and cause me pain? If we were willing to do that, Ginny, maybe we wouldn't have lost," Hermione snapped and shook her head. She was exhausted, needed her wand checked over desperately, and had to find Harry. If Ginny knew where he was, which was doubtful, she'd be quick to tell him of Hermione's supposed "betrayal", and Hermione didn't want him to think she was without courage. Ginny thinks this is noble, to die for her cause, but I refuse. No matter why she does it, she and everyone here will be dead, and how will that help anything?

Leaving the building as quietly as she had entered it, Hermione knew it was the last time she'd walk through the doors. If Ginny Weasley had her way, there would be nothing left of them in a few weeks time anyway. She had no idea how to get in touch with Harry. Surely, he knew what had happened. And if the Burrow had fallen ... Hermione was too emotionally exhausted to even process that thought. Instead, she went to Diagon Alley, intent on having Ollivander examine her wand first thing the next day. She took a room at the Leaky Cauldron, promising to pay after she'd visited Gringotts in the morning. Trudging up the stairs, she remembered spending time here before third year with Harry and Ron, and the memories crowded around her until she could bear it no longer.

She barely made it into the bath, where she turned the water on scalding hot and stripped her clothes off, curling up on the floor of the shower, rocking back and forth as she sobbed. She didn't know how long she cried, only that the hot water eventually turned to cold, and she was still crying, welcoming the cold bite of the liquid on her heated skin. Finally, she blearily reached out and shut off the taps, shivering with cold.

When she collapsed into bed, it was nearing evening, and she was pleased that the sun was slowly inching down in the sky, throwing the room into darkness. Hermione worried she would lie awake despite her obvious exhaustion, but the minute her head touched the pillow, Morpheus grabbed hold and pulled her under, her mind remaining blessedly quiet as she fell into sleep.

Her last thought before surrendering to the dragging unconsciousness was, What do I do now? No answers came to her in dreams, which were, for once, blessedly silent and free of her tormentor.

There as a moment, however, when she awoke in the darkness of her room after night had fallen, that she thought she felt a wave of pure happiness flood over her and heard a high, cold laugh in the dark shadows of the room. She fell back asleep, however, and did not remember it in the morning.