Bloody Vows
He did not disagree that Dumbledore would not approve of hat they were doing, and though Harry himself was quite reluctant to accept the help offered, he could not deny that, if it worked as intended, it would be quite the boon to his efforts in the knowledge that the man he was currently assisting would become quite the foe.
Even so, he expected that Grindelwald would not have been so forthcoming if he’d known that he was assisting Harry with his own downfall.
What he did wonder, however, was if Dumbledore had somehow planned all of this, or it simply was a fortunate coincidence?
He would never truly know, but as he placed his hand on the waiting Grindelwald’s chest, Harry felt no resistance from the man, no hesitation to greet Death and the waiting man he’d loved through every aspect of their journey together.
At first, Harry felt nothing but the contentment of the being he so willingly served, but after a moment it was there; just the slightest presence of the odd magic that Grindelwald wielded, separate from his own, but very much a part of him.
It remained to be seen how useful it would be, though something he intended to investigate immediately.
“His instructions were clear, Potter. When he passed on, this was to be given only to you,” the saddened Professor McGonagall explained, placing a shrunken chest between the two of them on the desk.
Dumbledore had mentioned that he’d left some things for Harry, and he would peruse them when he returned to Grimmauld Place.
“Will you be going to the wedding?”
The woman frowned disapprovingly but nodded.
“I’ll be there, but I do not understand why it is going ahead or was even planned so soon in the first place. Of course, Albus would approve and insist on it continuing, but…”
“You think the timing is as stupid as I do.”
The woman nodded.
“Two young fools either in love or spurred on by the prospect of war. I saw it happen many times during the first one, Potter, and most did not end well.”
“Do you mean my parents?”
“No, no, absolutely not. Perhaps they would’ve waited had the circumstances been different, but no, James and Lily would’ve remained together. You must remember, I taught them both for seven years, and I like to think I am rather good at keeping a close eye on my students, especially those that tend to get themselves into trouble like your father.”
Harry chuckled amusedly.
He’d heard more than a few tales of the man’s exploits during his time at Hogwarts.
“He worshipped the ground she walked on, and although it took her some time to admit it to herself, your mother adored him. Oh, he often tested my patience, Potter, and there were days I could’ve done without his damned pranks and cheek, but he was an excellent student where it mattered, and a good man.”
“But a pain in the arse.”
“Much like you,” McGonagall replied with something of a fond smile tinged with sadness. “I must warn you, what will happen next…”
“I know,” Harry assured her. “They will look to me to fix it, and I will do just that. I’ll do it for me, for my parents, and even Dumbledore.”
Professor McGonagall nodded.
“He believed in you, and the more I see you grow, the more I cannot see how you fail. You are like them both in many ways, but so different in others. If there is anyone that ca do this, Potter, it is you.”
“Well, I’ll do my best,” Harry chuckled as he stood, pocketing the trunk Dumbledore had left him before making his way towards the fireplace. “Thank you, Professor.”
“And you, Potter.”
Throwing a handful of floo powder into the flames, he stepped through when they turned green and arrived back in Grimmauld Place for what he expected to be the last time in a while.
He would be leaving for the Burrow shortly to attend the ill-timed wedding of Fleur Delacour and Bill Weasley, before returning to the other world to see once more what awaited him.
Now that he knew what that was, the burdens that plagued him here seemed to be becoming reflected in the other place, and Harry wondered if he would ever be free from war, or doomed to perish in this one, that one, or another one entirely.
Given the life of upheaval he’d lived thus far, it was difficult to imagine living on the peace he sought, but perhaps, one day, Fate would finally allow it.
(Break)
“Lucius says that he is getting closer to finding them, my lord,” Nott informed him. “He will not fail you.”
In truth, the Dark Lord cared little for Draco and Narcissa Malfoy, let alone Lucius. No, his mind was focused on the task at hand and ensuring that all went off without a hitch.
“Very well,” he said dismissively. “You have everything in place for your part in this, Nott?”
“Of course, my lord. You need only give the command and it will be done.”
Nott had always been reliable whenever he was given a task to complete, much like the next man who entered the room.
Augustus Rookwood was perhaps the most magically brilliant of his followers, possessed a keen mind, and was as cunning as any other he’d met.
He was a credit to his movement, and the Dark Lord would not be without him.
“Everything is ready, my lord,” he assured him without being prompted. “There is nothing to stop us.”
“Except for the aurors,” Nott interjected.
“They are of little consequence,” the Dark Lord said dismissively. “We are more than a match for them, and they will falter. I expect nothing less than complete and utter success. We can afford no mistakes.”
“Of course, my lord,” both men echoed before taking their leave of the room.
“That means you too, Bellatrix. No foolish mistakes.”
The woman stepped out of the shadows of the room, her eyes alight with excitement.
“I would never let you down, my lord. I know what I am to do.”
“Ensure that you don’t, Bella.”
(Break)
“It is so nice to have you here, Harry, dear,” Mrs Weasley said fondly, adding another generous helping of mashed potatoes to his plate. “I am sorry that it is so hectic. Honestly, planning wedding is not easy, especially at such short notice.”
Hermione had seen how busy the woman had been supervising the erection of the marquees, ensuring there would be enough food to feed all the guests, and tending to just about everything else pertaining to the wedding, dragging everyone else along with her.
Truthfully, she was pleased for the distraction from her thoughts of Dumbledore’s funeral, the uncertainty of what was to come, and the wedding itself that so few seemed to care for.
Ginny was perhaps the least enthusiastic of them, but she was looking forward to Dean Thomas arriving in the morning to act as her escort for the day.
Ron was not so enthusiastic about Lavender coming if his rather grumpy demeanour and lack of appetite was anything to go by. Mrs Weasley had insisted he invite her and even offered Hermione the opportunity to bring a guest along if she wished.
She had almost been tempted to invite Viktor but had decided against it. The two of them still wrote from time to time, shared news and even the occasional photo.
Hermione quite enjoyed seeing the many cities he visited during the Quidditch season. Still, she was content attending the ceremony and reception alone, though she wouldn’t be.
Harry would not be bringing a date, so, at the very least, she would have him for company, well, if he was granted a moment of peace by those who would inevitably wish to speak with him.
He was Harry Potter, after all, and there would be more interest in him than ever.
Harry, however, would not take so kindly to it, not after he had been treated by the media during their fifth year at Hogwarts, how he’d been branded a liar when he’d told the world that Voldemort was back.
They were certainly eating their words now, but with Dumbledore no longer around, all the focus would not be on her friend, who seemed to be taking it in his stride.
“Well, if you need any help with anything, Mrs Weasley, you just need to say.”
The woman offered Harry an appreciative smile, and Hermione suspected Harry would egret making the offer. No, as soon as he was finished eating, he too would undoubtedly be put to work with the rest of them to accommodate the needs of the impending nuptials of Bill and Fleur.
“That is very kind of you dear. I think there are still several tables that will need to be set up.”
Harry nodded in response, and Hermione took a moment to observe him.
He seemed rather calm, but it had never been easy to get a read on him. Even so, there was an odd peace about him, and a presence she’d not noticed before.
She knew that this past year he’d been really working on preparing to face Voldemort, who wanted little more in the world than to murder him, and Hermione could not deny that she found Harry’s calmness to be rather odd.
“Great, here comes phlegm,” Ginny grumbled from her right, kicking Ron under the table as his eyes glazed over.
Even now, he struggled fending off the woman’s magic, and it had only been worse when Fleur’s mother had visited a few days prior.
‘Arry!”
He was all but crushed in the arms of the arriving veela, who almost hoisted him out of his chair entirely.
“Hello, Fleur,” Harry greeted her once he’d been released. “Looking forward to the wedding?”
She slid into the chair next to him and shook her head tiredly.
“Planning a wedding is exhausting. I spent three hours trying on dresses, two hours tasting wine, and four hours tasting food to make sure everything is perfect.”
Hermione did not miss the narrowing of Mrs Weasley’s eyes, nor the glare of Ginny.
“Well, I’m sure it will all be worth it.”
The veela nodded.
“It will. I expect you will get many offers of marriage soon. You will be seventeen soon, non?”
“I’ll burn the bloody things,” Harry grumbled.
“Marriage proposals?” Hermione asked curiously. “Isn’t that a pureblood thing?”
“Well, Harry will be the Lord of a pureblood family,” Ginny pointed out. “It makes sense that he would get offers.”
Mrs Weasley looked to be rather excited by the prospect, but Harry was not so enthusiastic. Before the matter could be discussed any further however, the backdoor opened and Mr Weasley, Bill, and Charlie entered the kitchen, putting an end to the conversation.
“Ah, Harry,” Mr Weasley greeted the latest arrival with a smile. “It’s good to see you.”
“And you, Mr Weasley. How’s the preparations going?”
The man was sweating quite profusely from his efforts, and he shook his head.
“Don’t ask, Harry,” he sighed. “I’m just glad it is almost over with.”
Fleur seemed to be offended by the declaration, and Bill intervened to prevent what would likely have been a rather unpleasant outcome. Nonetheless, Hermione could not disagree with Mr Weasley.
She too was glad that it would all be over soon enough.
(Break)
Even disguised as a rat, there was no mistaking the signal he’d received, and Peter knew that his time to act would come soon. For now, however, he was to remain hidden but watch the coming and going of those still within the castle.
With McGonagall having left only a short while ago to attend the wedding taking place at the Burrow, that time was all but upon him.
Most of the professors had not returned from Dumbledore’s funeral and were likely taking some time to mourn and ready themselves to welcome the students back to Hogwarts come September.
Little did they know that it would be even more different than they’d envisioned without Dumbledore at the helm.
Peter would not pretend to be privy to the Dark Lord’s plan outside of his own task, but that in itself would change the landscape of Britain.
This time tomorrow, Britain would not be as it was now. No, tomorrow would truly mark the second coming of the Dark Lord where many would fall and others would rise.
Peter intended to be one of the latter, and yet, he could not ignore the sense of unease that filled him.
It wasn’t so much the Dark lord that terrified him, but the reaction that would follow.
All that would transpire was far from the end of the war. If anything, it only signalled the very beginning, after all.
(Break)
He took a sip of the coffee that had gone cold hours prior, grimacing at the bitterness of the brew as he pored over another stack of parchment that had been placed on his desk.
It was how he spent most of his days, and though Rufus did not expect many similarities between working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and being the Minister of Magic, he did not envision spending close to eighteen hours a day either in meetings or perusing the most mundane of missives.
How his predecessors had coped with it for so many years, he did not know, and Rufus had the re-emergence of a Dark Lord to contend with too, which, thus far, had not been a successful undertaking.
Voldemort had been quiet for the most part except from when he’d murdered Amelia Bones, and in the interim, Albus had died very suddenly, leaving Britain all the worse off for his loss.
Rufus did not often see eye-to-eye with the man, but he would not deny that his demise had come as quite the blow. Although he had not come to rely on him for advice, there was no denying that he had been a most pivotal and outspoken figure against the Dark Lord during the first war.
Now, Britain would be without him, making the impending conflict much more troublesome. Adding to the fact that Harry Potter refused to cooperate with the Ministry of Magic, there was now no one to inspire some much-needed hope within the masses.
Rufus’s position had not been an enviable one from the beginning, but somehow, it had become less so.
“What is it, George?” he asked as his assistant, a young, recent Hogwarts graduate entered.
Not receiving a response, Rufus stood and stared at the wide-eyed young man and caught sight of the two dead aurors sprawled on the floor outside the office.
“Run, Minister,” George wheezed, his head smashing onto the corner of the desk as he fell limply forward.
It was then that Rufus saw an arrow protruding from his back, and though he’d not heard any kind of disturbance, it came now as the ground trembled beneath his feet, and a cacophony of screams could be heard only a short distance away.
Springing into action, he slammed his door shut with a flick of his wand before hurriedly throwing a handful of floo powder into the fire, only for the flames to remain as they had been.
He unleashed a humourless chuckle at the situation he found himself in before nodding his acceptance.
In the all years he’d spent as an auror, he’d never fled from a fight he found himself in, and just because he was now the Minister of Magic, that would not change.
No, Rufus had promised that he would lead from the front in this war, and it seemed that his moment to do so had arrived, much sooner than he could’ve anticipated, but it had done so, nonetheless.
Pouring himself a measure of brandy he kept in the bottom drawer of his desk, he finished it in a single gulp before blasting his own door of its hinges and stepping across the threshold to confront whatever it was he might find.
(Break)
“Where did they all come from?” Kingsley asked, parrying a spell that had been hurled towards him.
“I don’t know!” Moody growled. “The bastards are everywhere!”
They were.
Kingsley had been in the atrium when he, and a few dozen other aurors who were due to end their shifts had been surrounded by a swathe of cloaked and masked figures who seemed to have spilled from every nook and cranny of the Ministry of Magic.
Several had fallen during the first salvo of spells, and it was only Kingsley’s fast reflexes and creative defences that had spared him. Now, however, he found himself in a fight for his life, outnumbered, with nowhere to seemingly run.
The few that had made it to the fireplaces in a bid to escape had been unable to do so. They had been extinguished as the Death Eaters entered the Ministry of Magic, and Kingsley had felt the anti-apparation protections fall into place.
The only way anyone was getting out of this was by somehow fighting their way out, or being carried out as a lifeless corpse.
He had no intention of dying here today, but if the Death Eaters had anything to say about it, not a single auror would be spared.
Those who were not garbed in the distinct red robes were being left alone for the most part, so long as they did not attempt to intervene, which meant that this was truly an attempted coup by the Dark Lord.
The question remained, however, where was he?
He would not trust such an important undertaking to his subordinates. No, and Kingsley did not doubt that in the coming moments, Voldemort himself would indeed arrive.
“Watch out!”
He managed to deflect yet another curse that had come from behind him, but before Kingsley could offer his response, a loud bellow sounded, and he could only look on as Rufus Scrimgeour barrelled into the atrium, bloodied with torn robes, and hurling a limp form some distance across the expansive space.
For as long as Kingsley had been an auror, Rufus had been hailed as one of the very best, and as he engaged several Death Eaters at once, he could see why.
The sudden, rather dramatic appearance of the minister bolstered those who’d been set upon, and the aurors that remained began fighting back vigorously, felling several, though not doing so without suffering further losses themselves.
Kingsley saw three of them drop like lifelessly to the ground as though they’d been puppets who’d had their strings cut, and he would not deny that he felt a stab of fear lance through him at the sight of Lord Voldemort sweeping across the atrium, his wand a blur, cursing any who dared cross his path.
“Fucking hell,” Alastor grumbled, nodding to himself before lunging forward.
“Moody!” Kingsley called to no avail as Alastor engaged the Dark Lord and was joined shortly by Rufus Scrimgeour.
Between the two of them, they should be quite the match for the man, but Kingsley could see quickly that wasn’t so. Perhaps when they were younger, and in Moody’s case, less crippled by countless injuries, it would’ve been a different story.
Voldemort, however, was far beyond both of them. Even their combined efforts were rebuffed easily enough. If anything the Dark Lord was toying with them, and Kingsley could already see the outcome before it was even upon them.
Both men would die, and as Scrimgeour fell, he used the distraction to make his retreat knowing that the day and the ministry was lost; something that was only further confirmed by the sight of Alastor Moody being folded in half the opposite way a spine was supposed to bend.
Kingsley would never forget the loud snapping of vertebra, the scream that followed, and the sudden silence as Moody’s head was removed with just a wave of Voldemort’s wand.
“Expecto Patronum!” he choked, managing to take his leave of the Ministry of Magic via the phonebox seldom used.
(Break)
It did not escape Harry’s notice that there were many pairs of eyes on him throughout much of the day. Dozens had arrived for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and though he was certainly no authority on such things, Mrs Weasley had done a wonderful job planning and executing much of it.
Still, Harry could not even begin to enjoy it with so many staring at him.
If Fleur wasn’t so caught up in her husband, she would perhaps be quite displeased by how much attention he was receiving.
Harry certainly was.
“Aren’t you going to ask me to dance?” Hermione questioned, pulling him from his thoughts.
“Why would I do that? I’m bloody terrible at it.”
“Well, since I do not have an escort, I’ve decided that you will act as mine. So, that means you must dance with me. It’s better than spending your day glaring at people.”
“I’m not glaring,” Harry denied. “I prefer to think of it as trying to kill them with my gaze.”
Hermione snorted in an unladylike manner as she swatted his shoulder.
“Is it really bothering you?”
“What?”
“Ron and Lavender.”
Hermione shook her head.
“No. I thought it did a while ago, but it doesn’t. I think I just don’t like her very much. What about Dean and Ginny?”
“What about them?”
Hermione tutted.
“She’s with him but she hasn’t taken her eyes off you.”
Harry did not need to look towards the girl to see that Hermione was right.
“She’s Ron’s sister.”
“He’d probably be happy for you both.”
Harry grimaced at the thought.
“Dean is already, what, the third boy she has dated.”
“Second.”
Harry shrugged.
“I’m not interested. To be honest, dating is the last thing I’m thinking about. Look what happened with Cho. I can’t be trusted to make good decisions when it comes to girls, and dating your best friend’s sister seems like a bad one.”
“You might be right,” Hermione acknowledged. “That doesn’t mean you’re going to get out of dancing with me. Come on.”
Harry groaned as he was pulled from his seat.
“It’s probably not the best idea for people to think that we are dating,” he said pointedly.
“I’m already a target, Harry, just because of my blood.”
“Well, I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Is it strange that I believe you? You’re so different, Harry. This past year…”
“I know. Losing Sirius changed everything, Hermione. I had to change. I can’t keep relying on luck to get me out of all these situations, and there isn’t anyone left to protect me anymore. They’re all dead, so now, it’s up to me to end this war.”
She smiled sadly and gave his shoulder a squeeze.
“Well, you won’t be alone in this.”
He would be when it mattered, and it wasn’t as though Riddle was the only one he’d have to defeat, Out there, somewhere, he would be contending with both Grindelwald and Dumbledore, who had both, unwittingly in Grindelwald’s case, given him. Basis to defeat them.
Even so, it would still be a far from easy task, and Harry saw many trials and tribulations ahead of him before he would be free from either burden.
“What is it?” Hermione asked as he stilled.
“Something’s not right,” Harry murmured, discreetly drawing his wand.
He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he felt a sudden shift in the air, subtle and unnoticeable by most, though not to him.
“Harry?”
He slowly began making his way to the entrance of the marquee they were within, pausing once more as an ethereal lynx appeared in front of him.
“Scrimgeour and Moody are dead. The Ministry has fallen,” it spoke in the voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.
Silence fell in the tent, and Harry closed his eyes, feeling the magic around him, pulling Hermione to the ground as a sudden rush of it washed over him.
Screams filled the air, and the sounds of furniture being destroyed and the smell of burning wood and fabric followed quickly after. Harry rolled away as he felt a spell coming towards him and Hermione, dragging the girl with him before offering his rebuttal.
The masked figure was sent sprawling across the ground, granting him something of a reprieve, though it lasted only until he managed to push himself back to his feet.
“Harry, we need to get out of here!” Hermione said fearfully.
A pair of spells were sent in his direction, and he batted both aside, his anger flaring as he took in the scene before him, and the cold magic of his ancestors coursed through his veins.
Already, several people were lying on the ground unmoving, felled by the attackers who were running rampant across the land surrounding the Burrow.
How they had gotten in did not matter right now. No, Harry’s fury was righteous, and he brought his wand to bear.
His chosen spell tore through the robes of a Death Eater, leaving only a few frayed remnants hanging off his burnt corpse as his blood-curdling scream rose above the din.
For several moments the screaming continued whilst Harry unleashed spell after spell upon the attackers, attracting the attention of many of them towards him.
He remained largely unaware of what was happening around him as he exacted justice, his wand never pausing as he fought off the Death Eaters whilst defending himself, all the while being aware that he was ensuring Hermione remained close to him, and out of harm’s way as best he could.
Not that she was idle, nor were those not attempting to flee the chaos.
As ever, Hermione was holding her own well enough, and with the likes of Tonks, Lupin, Arthur, and the twins among the guests, they were managing to put up an admirable fight.
The problem they faced was that they were significantly outnumbered, and they were still trying to follow Dumbledore’s lead by not using lethal spells.
Harry was of a much different disposition, which certainly surprised the Death Eaters, and those he was fighting alongside.
Not that he gave it much thought in the heat of the battle. His magic was leading him into action, and Harry was only too willing to follow it.
Even so, in the haze of the bloodlust he’d been gripped by, he did not miss the gut-wrenching shriek that came courtesy of Molly Weasley, and chancing a glance towards the woman, Harry saw what had elicited such a reaction from her.
Mrs Weasley was on her knees covered in blood, cradling a head in her lap that belonged to her only daughter. Ginny was not moving, and Harry suspected the blood covering the woman had come from her, which only served to send Arthur Weasley and his sons into something of a frenzy.
Their own offerings became considerably less pleasant, though Harry continued to outpace them with his own, another of his spells shredding the torso of one of the attackers, who fought to keep his innards spilling through the hands he’d pressed to his stomach, to no avail.
Although he could not see his face, Harry expected he now sported a look of shock beneath his mask as he contemplated his life choices during his final moments, which were cut further short as Harry used him as a shield to defend himself from another onslaught of spells.
His body was torn asunder, his limbs strewn about the burning marquee among the others who’d already fallen, some of whom Hary did not doubt he would either know or recognise.
Still, he could not focus on that right now, not when his life hung in the balance.
With that in mind, he pressed on, engaging another duo of eager Death Eaters who were attempting to curse the elderly aunt Muriel, who was doing a rather admirable job at fending them off.
Even so, she offered Harry an appreciative nod as he used the robes of one of them to strangle the wearer whilst Muriel’s own spells ploughed into the face of the second attacker.
“Harry, watch out!”
He had felt the approaching spell before Hermione’s warning, and the table he used to intercept it burst into a cold, black fire. Without preamble, he banished it towards a cluster of Death Eaters, following up with a plethora of spells.
Despite his efforts, the wedding guests were still being overwhelmed, and those who had been attempting to flee had largely been either subdued, killed, or were cowering behind anything they could use as a shield.
Those that were fighting back were considerably fewer, and the number of Death Eaters only seemed to increase further with each passing moment.
Knowing that no aurors were on their ay given what had happened at the Ministry of magic, Harry knew that he needed to act quickly and decisively to repel the attack here, but that would not be easy with the odds stacked so heavily against them.
Nonetheless, this is what he had spent the better part of the last year preparing for.
He knew that he would find himself in such situations, that it wasn’t only a decisive battle with Voldemort he would need to confront, and with the help from Dumbledore, the Peverells, and even Gellert Grindelwald, he had many tools at his disposal.
There could no longer be any hesitation on his part, and he braced himself for what would come after as he rolled the elder wand between his fingers in anticipation.
He felt the coldness of his magic and the keenness for it to be truly unleashed upon his enemies, and with a wave of the fabled stick of destiny, he did so.
(Break)
She could not remember the last time she’d felt such exhilaration, that she’d been able to express her most inner desires without any reservations being placed upon her by the Dark Lord.
His instructions had been clear.
Bellatrix and the others she’d brought along were to kill as many people as they could at the wedding of the oldest Weasley son and his filthy creature of a bride, and she was only more than happy to oblige her master.
The moment she’d arrived, Bellatrix had unleashed all of her pent-up frustrations on the attendees, cursing jinxing, hexing, and outright slaughtering any her gaze came to rest upon.
Already, she had cursed the Weasley girl who’d been at the Ministry of Magic with Potter, and even her mother whilst she’d been bawling over her daughter’s corpse.
How many others she’d cut down, she did not know, and Bellatrix was having too much fun to count. The same, however, could not be said for her companions.
Already, many had fallen, and when she caught just a glimpse of Potter on the other side of the marquee, she quickly realised why.
He was so unlike any other they’d faced over the years.
They’d always been cautious of Dumbledore knowing that the man was more than capable of apprehending them and ensuring they were sent to Azkaban. Potter had no intention of following suit.
No, the magic he wielded left Bellatrix in no doubt of his position on the matter.
There would be no arrest or trial for any who crossed his path, but a painful death.
She positively beamed at the thought of facing him once again, for punishing for daring to use the magic of her family. He had no right to it, and Sirius had no right to leave almost everything the Blacks had worked for to the filthy little half-blood.
Disposing of another of the redheads, she made her way towards where Potter was standing his ground.
It was as though he sensed her approach, and Bellatrix would swear that his eyes we completely white for just the briefest of seconds before she found herself peering into the familiar, furious green of the boy she’d met twice before.
Boy.
He was not so much a boy anymore.
During the course of the last year, Potter had considerably.
He certainly wasn’t throwing around laughable magic any longer, and he did not appear as he had as a weak, scrawny teen who Bella could never understand had managed to survive what he had.
The young man before her now was a far cry from the boy who’d arrived at the Ministry of Magic to save his pathetic godfather, and Potter demonstrated that by almost tearing the head off one of her companions before his eyes flashed that eerie white once more.
What surprised her was the lack of fear, though not as much as the wave of coldness that seemed to chill her very bones. She’d felt it that night in Oldham when she and the others had been forced to flee from whatever it was Potter had conjured to fight against them, and just as that memory crossed her mind, he did the very same.
This time, it wasn’t a trio of shadowy figures that rose from the ground, but a large thestral seemingly made of smoke.
Bellatrix watched as it began cantering around the marquee, vanishing sporadically before appearing somewhere else, trampling her fellow Death Eaters, and even passing through their torsos before they dropped to the floor, undoubtedly dead.
What this magic was, Bellatrix did not know, but her eyes widened as the thestral barrelled towards her, and she was forced the throw herself out of its path in a most undignified manner to avoid meeting the same fate.
Potter, however, was not content with letting her escape his wrath, and finding herself sprawled on the ground, she was unable to defend herself as well as she would like from the onslaught that followed.
Much to her relief, she managed to do just enough to avoid the salvo before activating her portkey, taking no further chances when she found herself in a most unfortunate position.
With her having taken her leave, the others would follow shortly, and although they had certainly lost more of their own than the Dark Lord would be pleased with, they had completed their task with a resounding success.
Once more, even before they’d finished mourning the loss of their exalted leader, Britain would begin a new phase of mourning, this one showing that none of them were beyond the Dark Lord’s reach.
Even so, Potter was becoming a rather troubling foe to contend with. Many had fallen to him, and though she did not doubt the Dark Lord’s impending success, there was undeniably something about Potter that had become most unsettling.
(Break)
She could find no words to describe what had unfolded around her.
Even now that the Death Eaters were gone, Hermione remained rooted to the spot, doing her utmost to find something to look at that wasn’t bloodied, dead or destroyed.
It had happened so suddenly.
One moment, she’d been dancing with Harry, and the next, she’d been fighting for her life.
This wasn’t like it had been in the Department of Mysteries, and although she’d heard the stories of what it had been like during the first war, nothing could’ve prepared her for the brutality, the violence, the screams of the dying, and bodies of the dead.
She’d been speaking to some of these people throughout the day, and others, she’d attended Hogwarts with, were her friends.
She felt herself trembling and her breathing began to come in short, laboured bursts as the shock of what she’d witnessed began to settle within her.
“Come on. Let’s get you away from this.”
She heard his voice and felt him take her gently by the hand before she was led out of the smouldering remains of the marquee, where she was placed on one of the few benches that had not been demolished during the fight.
For how long she sat there lost in her thoughts, Hermione didn’t know, but by the time she could even begin to think of anything other than the vile smells in the air, or anything else that had transpired only moments prior, dozens of healers had arrived from St Mungo’s.
Still, Hermione said nothing, and Harry remained at her side.
A few people came over to them to share some words with him, but she wasn’t listening. All she could focus on was the hand clasped over her own, holding her in place and comforting her equally.
“Potter, the last thing I want to do is leave but…”
“You need to get back to Hogwarts. It’s fine. I will do what I can here. How many?”
Professor McGonagall released an uncharacteristically emotional sniffle.
“Too many, Potter, and if Alastor and Rufus are dead…”
“I know,” Harry broke in gravely. “All of this was planned to happen at the same time. If he controls the Ministry of Magic, things are going to get really bad.”
“Worse than we can imagine, Potter.”
“Then we’d best find a way to put a stop to him. “Who’s in charge of the Order now?”
“No one, Potter. Without Mody and Albus, it will fall apart. There is no one to lead them.”
Harry nodded.
“I will figure it out, Professor. I will find a way.”
“I know, Harry. I know.”
She left and Harry squeezed Hermione’s hand.
“Come on, you can go to Grimmauld Place. It’s the safest place for you, and with everything that has happened here…”
Hermione nodded appreciatively before feeling herself pulled through the familiar void of apparation.
“Harry, you do not have a licence!”
Harry shrugged.
“I don’t think that is going to matter anymore, do you?”
Hermione swallowed deeply as the weight of everything collapsed on top of her, and she threw herself into Harry’s arms as she burst into tears, unsure of how she was feeling.
There were too many things at once to simply focus on one of them.
She was devastated, terrified, and fearful of what was to come.
If it hadn’t already been happening before, there was absolutely no doubt now that the war against the Dark Lord was in full swing, and yet, it already felt as though they’d lost.