Like This

It's not supposed to be like this.

When I was little, I was a firm believer in destiny. In fairy tales, the beautiful princess was fated to meet her handsome prince and live happily ever after.

When I got older, I learned that sometimes, random chance throws people together. That's how I met my best friends. Even then, I still believed that some things were meant to be. The hero's fate hung over him, looming like a black cloud, until the day he had to face it.

Yesterday, I learned that there is no fate. There is no destiny. There are only people who choose to do certain things in certain circumstances, based on nothing but a whim.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. It's practically become a tradition at Hogwarts for Harry to come face to face with death at the end of the year. Ron and I are always involved, of course, but it comes down to him every time. He's the one whom Voldemort has been trying to kill since birth. We all assumed it would be he who eventually defeated the Dark Lord.

But when life throws you snowballs, you have to build a fort and throw them back.

It's so cold out here. January, of course. The snow is thick this year. I can't let myself think about it; I have to keep going.

It was cold that day, too. Too cold even for the rowdiest of us to be outside. Almost everyone was in the common room in front of the roaring fire or huddled under a blanket. I, of course, was actually doing something productive. The N.E.W.T.s were fast approaching, no matter how hard my classmates denied it, and I had found a nice, empty classroom in which to practice and study, away from all distractions.

Then came the first snowball. I'd been there for a few hours, practicing charms, mixing potions, etc. As Head Girl, I have access to things other students do not: for example, Professor Snape's private store of potions ingredients. I was mixing an Obliviatrus Potion, which we'd only learned about and not made in class. There's good reason for that; not only is it immensely difficult, the mind being harder to alter than the body, but also the ingredients are quite rare and specific to the potion. Snape himself told me he only went to collect the diggleberry sap twice a year, so seldom did he use it.

I should have seen it coming. My hands were stiff with the cold, and the vial of sap was slick. I was trying to hold too many things at once when the inevitable happened. I cleaned up the glass and tried to salvage what I could, but the runny sap drained quickly into the cracks in the floor.

The second snowball was my serious lapse in judgment, although I didn't think it was one at the time. After all, I was Head Girl. I had more O.W.L.s than anyone since Albus Dumbledore. I had experience with situations ranging from mildly to deadly dangerous. My potion would not wait; the only way to finish it was to get the sap directly and immediately. Nevermind the recent Death Eater sightings in the area. Nevermind the feeling we all had that Something Big was imminent. After all, it was only January - Big Things didn't happen until the end of the term.

Clean vial in hand, winter clothes wrapped around me, I trudged across the grounds to the Forest. The snow wasn't as thick as it is now, I don't think, but perhaps that's memory fooling me. It was thick enough, though, to distort the pattern of the trees and obscure the path. The diggleberry tree was right between those tall evergreens - no, next to that stump - no, behind those shrubs - it wasn't this deep into the Forest, was it?

Maybe it was the mind-numbing cold, but I found myself doing the stupidest thing of my life: I kept going. I was certain it was just beyond the next clump of trees. What could possibly harm me in the Forbidden Forest in the daytime? I forgot that there's nothing there in the daytime that isn't also there in the night. I barely had time to register the voice saying, "Stupefy!" before falling unconscious.

It's so cold. It was that way when I came to. Only I didn't think I was in the Forest anymore. At least, not the same one. There were trees, but much sparser, and the snow had been cleared away. And I wasn't alone. I sat up, head pounding, and looked around at the circle of black-cloaked figures in which I was the centerpiece and main attraction. I'm not stupid - as soon as my head cleared, which the frigid temperature expedited, I recognized the Death Eaters. I'm surprised at how calmly I took it. I had been captured, obviously, and now would either be imprisoned, tortured, or killed, possibly all three. I found myself wondering if one of these flunkies would do it or if I'd finally get a chance to meet the Big Man himself.

I soon found out. The circle parted, allowing a new figure into the center with me. He, too, was cloaked, more heavily than the others, as if he were too cold-blooded literally as well as figuratively to stand the temperature. I finally knew why Harry's confrontations with him always took place in warmer times of the year. This was it, then. Not even seventeen and a half years and my life was already coming to its culmination. I stood, ready to meet my fate proudly, whatever it might be.

Voldemort - I can say that without flinching now - looked down at me. Or at least he inclined his head, for his face was swathed with cloth against the cold. This disappointed me a bit; Harry's descriptions of him were so vivid and chilling, I had a morbid curiosity to see how accurate they were. Then he spoke, and his voice was of such a quality as to drive all detached, clinical thoughts out of my head.

"Gryffindor...Head Girl...A friend of the Potter boy...Don't look so shocked, my dear (I flinched at that), it's written all over you. And of course, I have my sources." My eyes flicked over to two Death Eaters behind him: one with a silver hand who needed no identification, and one whom I supposed was Lucius Malfoy. "You will be of use to me." Then he turned and walked away.

Was that it? The climax of my entire existence? I felt slightly let down as the Death Eaters led me to my, for want of a better word, cell. It wasn't an actual enclosure, just a vague rocky ring that they surrounded with magical wards after throwing me in. The wards did nothing to protect me from the biting cold.

I wondered what would happen next. Voldemort obviously wanted information from me about Harry. No problem there - nothing he could say or do would get me to talk. At least, I didn't think so. As long as I could keep my priorities straight, the needs of the many and all that. Maybe it was the cold, but I accepted calmly the fact that I might die out there. And if somehow I managed to hold on, Harry would come for me soon. Probably with Ron right behind him. Or maybe it would be Dumbledore, or one of his many operatives in the Order. Yes, that was it. I'd just hang on until either Harry came and rescued me or I died. Simple.

That's another thing I learned. Simple is a relative term. I held my resolve for a day. They fed me (a little) and gave me a fire (a small one), as my wand had "mysteriously" vanished. Just enough to keep me alive. I didn't see Voldemort at all. I started thinking more as my mind adjusted to the cold. What if I wasn't going to be interrogated? What if he was going to use me to lure Harry out? It's no secret that the boy does things on his own, without consulting adults or even his friends sometimes, and that he is fiercely loyal. It's funny. Harry wants to, tries to protect everyone, while he unknowingly elicits those protective feelings in others. It's one of the things I love most about him. That thought caught me short. What did...no, save that part for later, Hermione, focus on the Now. I couldn't let myself be the fatal mousetrap. For one thing, that was downright degrading. And Harry needed to live, to confront Voldemort on his own terms, when whatever scheme he and Dumbledore were cooking up came to fruition.

So I started throwing back. Wandless magic is not usually taught at Hogwarts. If everyone went around with the ability, there would be no way to control and punish criminals as wand-snapping would be moot. There are always exceptions made for Harry, however. Professor Dumbledore, having learned that Harry's wand was ineffective against Voldemort's, had personally been training him in Wandless since fifth year. And in his remaining spare time, Harry'd been practicing with the help of Ron and me. As the two of them would say, it was like holding a carrot in front of a horse's nose; there was no way I could be presented with a spell and not try to learn it. Ron and I both picked up Wandless skills, but while Ron considered it all in fun and thought that he'd never actually need it, I joined Harry's training routine. Secretly, of course, only the three of us know.

Quietly, slowly, I began breaking down the wards. I must have looked glazed and unfocused, but the cold actually helped me here as a useful excuse. I erected illusory wards as I took each real one down - the Death Eater guards, when they came by, never checked too closely.

Dawn was approaching by the time I had the wards down. It's not supposed to happen that way, either. You're supposed to make your daring escape in the dead of night. I didn't want to wait for night. Every minute I stayed there was another minute Harry was in danger. Of course, everyone knew I was missing by now, and the tracks leading to the Forest would be easily visible. They would assume the worst; Dumbledore and McGonagall would put my boys under lock and key to prevent them from coming after me. But they would find a way out eventually, they always do. So despite the fact that I was exhausted, I knew I had to get away now. I had no idea where I was or what direction the nearest civilization was, but that didn't matter. You can do a Locator Charm with a plain stick.

If I were Harry, I might have gone after Voldemort before leaving. I, however, had no such delusions of grandeur. Get out, get home, get warm, get someone else to do the attacking. I was succeeding, too, having snuck away from my cell under another Illusion, and I was heading into the trees, away from where I thought the original Circle had been.

Then life threw me another snowball. I heard cries of alarm, and I panicked. I dropped my Illusion, which was already fading under the strain of long usage, and ran for my life.

The snowballs kept coming. Something was wrong. I'd been here before, hadn't I? Keep going...back again! I noted the pattern of the sap dripping from, in the utmost of ironies, a diggleberry tree and ran on. Within a minute, I was back at the tree. I racked my brain to identify the spell. A Confundus Class? Must have been, but without knowing which, how could I determine the counter-spell? I grew frantic - each second I stood deliberating was another second they had to find me in this trap.

In a fairy tale, I would have remembered the spell in the nick of time and barely gotten away with my life intact.

Life is not a fairy tale.

I heard footsteps behind me in the clearing. The temperature dropped even further, if that was at all possible, and I knew without looking who was behind me. I had been mistaken before. This was the climax. I turned to face him, too petrified to think clearly.

A high, chilling laugh came from the folds of his cloak. "Thought you could run, little girl? Thought I wouldn't have a back-up plan in case something were to happen?" I didn't respond. I'd like to say I didn't want to give him that satisfaction, but honestly, I was too scared to. "Pity you don't live up to expectations. I've heard tales of your gregarious tendencies. What's the matter? Snake got your tongue?"

Snake, indeed. I still couldn't see this one's face, the coward, though I could hear his hissing. I've never liked snakes. I never go into the reptile house at the zoo, and I hate it when Harry speaks Parseltongue. Yet here I was, confronted with the biggest snake of them all. And now the tip of a gray, scaly hand emerged from the cloak. It was holding a thin stick of wood. The stick was rising...pointing straight at me...the hissing took form...

"Stupefy!" he cried, as I dove behind a boulder. The curse disappeared into the trees behind me.

"Is that how you want to play, then? Fine. Let's see how long you last." I think he would've said something more, but he was interrupted by the flotilla of stones I hurled at him, using the distraction to sneak around behind a thick tree. My plan had two prongs: one, distract Voldemort; two, run away. I hadn't quite solidified the second part yet.

"Interesting tactics you have. You do realize this is pointless. My loyal followers could have you in seconds if I got tired of playing with my prey." His hiss was confident; his actions were less so. He walked slowly around the clearing, looking around. And then I realized: he did not know where I was! I, Hermione Granger, had one up on Lord Voldemort.

All I needed was time; I wasn't top of my class for nothing. The snowball analogy came to me then. What could I throw back now? Voldemort continued to stalk around, peering more closely behind obstacles. I held deathly still, glad for once of my smaller-than-average body shape. What was he - was he flicking his tongue in and out? And was that a fork at the end of it?

Snake, indeed. I remembered learning about the horrid things back in Muggle school. I could hear the teacher's voice in my head: "Snakes are reptiles, which means they are cold-blooded. Can anyone tell me what cold-blooded means?" Suddenly, my own eager-as-always reply came back to me: "Creatures that are cold-blooded cannot survive in lower temperatures. They require a source of heat to live..." I ignored the rest of my very thorough answer. A source of heat...but what? There was no sun out...no fire...only the Dark Lord, wrapped in...

Now or never.

"Devestmento!" I yelled, leaping out from my hiding spot, which would be no use to me now. Voldemort's wrappings flew toward me, and threw out my hand and caught them. I gasped in pain and dropped them immediately - they were imbued with a Warming Charm that had what felt like the strength of a thousand suns.

My astonishment at this soon shifted to Voldemort himself. The sudden cold shocked his senses, and he collapsed into the snow. Harry had described him as snake-like, but either he had made a serious understatement or the Dark Lord had changed since their last meeting, for I could hardly discern a difference between him and the reptile. He had a humanoid shape, but his skin, now convulsing in shock, was covered in gray-white scales. Morbid fascination drew me to look at his head.

It wasn't even shaped like a man's. The skull was elongated, with a protruding face, but not in the way of an ape. His was smoother, flatter, wider, and the same scales covered it. I couldn't see his mouth, but the slitted nostrils were flared as wide as was possible. His eyes burned with red fire, as if trying to warm the rest of him and failing. I think he was trying to call out to his minions, or to cast a spell to allow them in, but every muscle in his reptilian body had frozen tensed. All he could do was glare at me, chilling me down to the bone and petrifying my mind. And all I could do was stare back.

It suddenly occurred to me that I might be watching the death throes of the most feared villain of our time. And how had it happened? A simple Disrobing spell.

The convulsions had lessened, leaving only a painful shivering. Still, I couldn't look away. Soon the shivering stopped, too. There was silence. Was he...dead? He was immobile. His glare was no longer piercing. I thought of something: "Accio wand." It came to me immediately from the pocket of his robes, hot to the touch. I cast an Indicator Charm: no pulse. No heart rate. No brain activity. And no magic activity either. Dead, then?

The ground began to shake, and I was thrown to the snow. The shaking ended as suddenly as it began. Something Big had most certainly happened.

Thinking about it now, I wonder how the rest of the magic world reacted. They say the ground shook the night the Potters died - the night Harry was branded with his scar. Would they understand? I'm sure Dumbledore realized it. The Death Eaters certainly did. After a quick "Finite Incantatum" with Voldemort's wand, I walked away unmolested. My Locator Charm found me in another forest, to the North of Hogwarts.

I should be close. If I can only make it through this blasted snow. Are they still looking for me? Or have they decided I'm dead? It's been almost twenty-four hours since I killed him.

I killed him. I killed Lord Voldemort.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way. It was Harry's destiny, not mine.

But destiny doesn't exist. Life is a game of chance, a case of being in the right place at the right time. Or the wrong place.

So cold...I think I see the castle now. Or is my mind playing tricks on me? I haven't eaten or slept...

That's another thing. The victor is supposed to end up unconscious at the end of the battle, isn't he? Some battle. And his, or her, friends are there when he or she wakes up in a warm bed and they explain it all and they live happily ever after. Or sometimes the hero comes back from the battle proudly, and his maiden fair runs out of the castle to meet him, and everyone is cheering as he holds his head high and waves...

The castle's getting bigger. Is it real? Huh. What is real? I don't even know if I still am. My own Warming Charm has worn off, and the magadrenaline surge has gone, too, leaving me unable to perform magic with or without a wand.

I have to keep going. I have to get back and tell Harry that it's over. He doesn't have to worry about Voldemort anymore.

One foot, another foot...are they even moving anymore? I'm passing things, the castle is growing, they must be, but not on my orders. So close...so close...so cold...

There's something coming out of the castle's tower. It's a small speck in the air...what is it? I don't care. I need to get back and tell Harry it's over...

The speck is growing faster than the castle. It's a person on a...what? Broomstick. Yes. As long as they don't stop me from getting to him, I don't care. My eyes are heavy.

I hear something...my name? Yes. The broomstick-person is calling my name. Why is he distracting me? I glance up as the broomstick-person lands and begins running towards me, still yelling. I can see other speck-people in the distance, some high and some low, all coming my way.

Oh, God, it's Harry. I am still moving forward, slowly, but he quickly closes the distance between us. He crashes into me, enveloping me in his arms, crushing me to him. "You're alive," he cries, over and over.

I have to tell him. "Voldemort's dead." He doesn't respond. I am speaking into his robes; maybe he didn't hear me. I lift my head. "He's gone, Harry. You don't have to worry about him anymore."

He still doesn't answer, only tightens his grip, warming my frozen skin, and whispering, "You're alive, you're alive." But I know he hears me. He knows. And I'm safe here, in his arms. Exactly where I'm supposed to be.