Evening.

Saturday, Sept 14

...“Dumbledore, we need you! Death Eaters have set fiendfyre to Hogsmeade!”

As soon as the message finished, the silver hawk disappeared, and The Great Hall rang with a silence that was reminiscent of the one that had welcomed Hermione and Harry not even ten minutes ago.

Then, of course, the whispering started.

—What was that?—

—What’s going on?—

—Death Eaters!?—

—Hogsmeade’s on fire!?—

—Was that a talking Patronus?—

Dozens of questions came from dozens of voices, all joining together to quickly make one barely comprehensible bubble of noise.

Through it all, Dumbledore was acting; the old wizard was on his feet, not a sign of weakness or frailty in him, and he was conversing with the teachers at a volume that Hermione couldn’t pick up from her seat.

“Fawkes!” The Headmaster called out suddenly, and a small explosion erupted over his shoulder, drawing gasps, and even cries of terror, from some of the students.

Before anyone could begin to panic however, the flames resolved into the resplendent form of The Headmaster’s phoenix.

“Students,” the wizard called out calmly, and maybe a bit unnecessarily, seeing as he already had the attention of the entire room, “as you heard, my attention is currently needed in Hogsmeade. For those of us with family in the town, worry not, we will protect them to the best of our ability.”

Professors McGonagall and Flitwick both reached out and held onto Dumbledore’s robes then, and in a bright flash of red and golden flames, they disappeared.

Prof. Sprout and Snape rose almost simultaneously, but while Snape instantly made his way out of The Great Hall, Prof. Sprout addressed the students.

“As The Headmaster said, there is no need to worry. Remember, there is no safer place than Hogwarts. No one can harm you here.”

Those words did not console Hermione in the least, and from the look on his face, Harry felt the same.

Prof. Sprout didn’t seem to believe her own words either, because she continued: “That being said, on my authority as acting Headmistress, curfew is now in effect; begin heading to your dorms in an organized manner. Prefects, see to your houses.”

It took a few seconds for the command to take effect, but slowly, and with rising speed, students began to rise, abandoning meals and picking up bags, for those who’d brought them.

“Where do you think Snape ran off to?” Harry whispered as Ron complained about having to leave his food when he hadn’t even eaten anything (like he had room to talk; Hermione and Harry had literally just gotten there).

“I don’t know,” Hermione admitted, “but I'm sure it has something to do with whatever’s going on.”

Harry scowled. “We’ve changed things,” he said, and Hermione didn’t need to ask to know what he meant.

While she was sure that she didn’t have all the details of what had transpired in the books, Hermione had more than enough information to come to that conclusion herself; she and Harry had changed things. Maybe even drastically.

But then again, that had been the idea, hadn’t it? To change things. To do them better...

That was the hope anyway, to do things better. Because with how everything seemed to be going today, Hermione wasn’t so sure.

*****

The walk back to Gryffindor Tower was blessedly uneventful, though there was a bit of excitement with The Fat Lady, Jolene.

“Harry! Hermione!” The woman called excitedly as soon as she spotted them. “Oh, thank goodness, you’re alright. I’ve been hearing such terrible stories all evening.”

“Hello/hey, Jolene,” Hermione and Harry said, using the woman’s name as they had gotten into the habit of doing.

“Yes, hello,” the fretful woman said back, before asking: “You are okay, aren’t you?” With her eyes running over them; looking for some sign of injury, Hermione guessed.

She wouldn’t be finding any, the girl knew. Hermione had gone looking herself, naked and in front of a mirror, and she hadn’t found so much as a single blemish to even hint at the ordeal she’d been through that afternoon.

She was still having trouble believing it to be honest. She still very much remembered what being bathed in basilisk venom had felt like.

The memory made her wince.

“Pish!” Harry said easily. “We’re fine. The reports of our deaths were grossly exaggerated. Right, Hermione?”

“Yes.” Hermione said. She tried to smile, but she didn’t think she did a very good job.

Jolene didn’t look convinced, but before she could say anything else, Harry said: “We should get going,” and began to lead Hermione away.

The girl quickly followed.

“Goodnight, Jolene,” both children said as they made their way into the common room, and to their friends in what was now known as the first-year corner.

They had some homework left to do, but for the first time in her life, Hermione found that she didn’t want to do any kind of schoolwork, so she didn’t bring it up.

Thankfully, no one else did, so she was able to just sit with Harry and watch the fire as her friend’s conversations flowed around her.

For the next two hours, everything was normal. Hermione talked, she laughed, and she ignored the (thankfully) lessening stares from the older students.

By the end of it she was quite sleepy, and had leaned into Harry and was beginning to nod off.

That was when Hedwig suddenly glanced at the portrait, a bare second before it exploded inwards and Voldemort came striding into the Gryffindor common room.

*****

Interlude:: The Dark Lord [II]

It wasn’t here, Riddle fumed. It had never been here.

He should have known. All those traps; the chess set, the flying key, the devil’s snare, all of them had been designed to make him waste his time trying to reach an empty room.

The Philosopher’s Stone wasn’t here; it probably wasn’t even in the castle, Riddle realized now. Dumbledore had simply used it to lure him in.

But if the stone had been bait, then where was the trap?

“Quirrel!” A familiar voice called behind his servant.

Only able to see through Quirinus’ eyes due to that bloody turban the man wore, Riddle couldn’t see who the new arrival was, but he knew the wizard all the same.

“Ah! Severus,” Riddle said as Quirinus spun in shock.

The potions master stared at Riddle’s puppet in confusion. It was understandable. To him Quirinus had just spoken in a strange voice without moving his mouth.

“My Lord?” Quirinus asked. “Are you sure—”

“Silence, worm!” Riddle ordered, and Snape blanched.

“Master?” The wizard asked, disbelieving.

Riddle laughed. “I told you I was immortal, Severus. Did you doubt?”

The potions master swallowed, and Riddle didn’t miss how his wand twitched in his hand.

“Why, Severus?” Riddle said. “You don’t seem happy to see your master.”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Instantly, Severus Snape kneeled. “Forgive me, my Lord, your presence here took me by surprise.”

“Yes, I’m sure it did,” Riddle agreed easily. “Although, I must confess, your presence here takes me by surprise as well.”

Severus looked up, his cold, dark eyes calculating.

“I don’t understand, my Lord,” Severus said, and Riddle did not miss that the wizard still had his wand.

“No,” Riddle agreed once more, “I imagine you don’t.” Then The Dark Lord sighed. “In another place, at another time, I suppose I might have indulged you as I do so many others. I might have enjoyed watching you do my bidding, even as you hated me, all in the hope that someday you would somehow find a way to truly defeat me.”

The traitor’s lips pressed into a thin line; he knew what was coming. Good.

“But I am angry, Severus,” The Dark Lord continued, and as he spoke he began to truly subsume his vessel.

His face on the back of Quirinus’ head smoothed out, even as the wizard’s own face began to morph.

Quirinus screamed, his agony ringing out as he died, but somehow, through it all, The Dark Lord kept talking.

“Dumbledore has insulted me—”

Quirinus’ lips thinned, his nose shrunk.

“—humiliated me—”

His skin paled, eyes turned red, bones remoulded.

“And while—loath as I am to admit it—I am no match for him in my current state; someone must suffer for this.”

The nostrils became slits, teeth sharpened, and Quirinus gasped his last as the turban fell.

“And who better than Potter and his little mudblood?” Lord Voldemort asked.

Just as he’d known it would, the boy’s name sparked fury in the kneeling wizard, breaking their staredown.

For all Severus claimed to have hated James Potter, he had cared for Lily more.

Voldemort had always seen that weakness for what it was.

Severus attacked first; it changed nothing. For while the potions master was surely a powerful wizard, he was no Dumbledore. And while Voldemort’s body was but a temporary shell that was already falling apart, his power was scarcely diminished by it.

In the end, Voldemort won, and his fury still burned bright. Bright enough that he didn’t give Severus the mercy of a quick death.

No, he used something that would take minutes to kill the man.

Voldemort wanted him to have time to regret turning on him.

*****

The creature that walked into the Gryffindor common room did not look like a man.

It walked like one; with one in front of the other. Dressed like one; wearing dark red robes. But it looked nothing like one.

It stopped just past the entrance, eyes scanning the room and the terrified students.

It took Hermione a second to realize who this creature was and what it must have been looking for, and by then Harry was already screaming.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Voldemort reacted blindingly fast.

His wand twitched, and the green bolt of Harry’s curse simply puffed away before reaching him.

Hermione felt a chill sink down to her bones as Voldemort laughed.

“Well, Potter,” he said. “Excited to see me, are you? Very well then. No dallying.” And Voldemort raised his wand.

“Stupefy!”

The red bolt flashed across the room and splashed harmlessly against Voldemort’s shield.

All eyes turned to the witch who had cast the spell, a tall, black girl who Hermione was fairly certain was named Angelina.

She was shaking, pale, but her aim with her wand remained trained on Voldemort.

“I don’t know who you are, you fucking freak,” she said, “but you messed with the wrong house.”

Voldemort stared at the third-year quietly.

“Avada Kedavra!” He screamed.

Right before the spell left the wand, Hedwig slammed into Voldemort’s hand, throwing off his aim, and sending his curse blasting into a sofa.

The sofa exploded.

“Avada Kedavra!” Harry screamed again, and the room descended into chaos.

Every Gryffindor grabbed their wand and shot off whatever spell they could.

“Incendio!” Hermione screamed.

“Stupefy!” Many more shouted.

“Petrificus Totalus!” A scared second-year added.

Over twenty students attacked in tandem, with more heading down the stairs, attracted by all the noise, and told by whoever was closest to help.

Over twenty students attacked a single wizard.

This was it, Hermione thought. This had to be it.

No one, not even Voldemort could overcome over twenty magicals working together.

This had to be it.

It wasn’t.

Voldemort did something, and a powerful pulse erupted from his wand and blasted everyone away like ragdolls.

Hermione had just finished casting a spell before Voldemort retaliated, so she had the opportunity, and the presence of mind, to cast a Shield Charm before she was hit.

The charm was weak, flimsy, and it barely flickered for a second before it fell apart, but that second was all it took.

Voldemort’s attack hit Hermione with significantly less force than it hit everyone else, but even so, it still knocked her on her back and sent her ears ringing.

With all his ‘opponents’ down for the count, Voldemort took his time walking over to Harry’s struggling form.

“No,” Hermione said as she dragged herself in front of Harry and pointed her wand at Voldemort.

With her sense of balance shot, her aim was less than steady, and she could barely even rise to her feet. Against a wizard of Voldemort’s caliber, she was about as much protection for Harry as a sheet of paper is against a sword, but the girl held her ground, and Voldemort, interestingly enough, stopped.

“Leave him alone,” Hermione said.

Voldemort stared at her with those red eyes. They reminded Hermione of an acromantula’s.

“Why is it, Potter, that every time I try to kill you, a mudblood female always gets in my way?” The dark wizard mused, then “Crucio!” he screamed.

Barely nine hours ago, Hermione had experienced what it was like to bathe in acidic rain.

It had hurt. Terribly. So much so, in fact, that her mind had shut off from the pain within seconds.

The Cruciatus Curse hurt ten times worse. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that it forced her to remain lucid for every excruciating moment.

Hermione screamed.

Screaming too, but in rage instead of pain, Harry managed to get his wand up and cast “Avada Kedavra!” but, of course, Voldemort handled the spell the same way he handled all the others.

Thankfully though, handling Harry’s spell meant he couldn’t keep up the Cruciatus on Hermione, and the girl cried as she felt relief after four seconds of the worst pain anyone could ever experience.

“You don’t learn, do you, Potter?” Voldemort asked. “You can’t kill me. And your mother isn’t here to die for you this time.”

A recovering Gryffindor shot a blue spell at Voldemort from behind, but it just splashed harmlessly against his shield, and The Dark Lord distractedly blasted the student away with an explosive spell.

“It’s just me and you now, Harry. Exactly how I’ve wanted it for a—”

Something white flashed past Hermione, and the girl felt something latch onto her shirt and, with a jerk, she was pulled off the ground and out the window.

It was Hedwig. Hedwig was flying away from Gryffindor Tower with she and Harry.

The owl’s wings were beating rapidly, but even so, they were losing altitude quickly. Not so quick that they were in danger of dying when they fell, but fast enough that they would not be going very far.

It didn’t matter though; they’d escaped.

Now they could run, hide. Maybe find someone to help—

A bolt of lightning struck Hedwig, and, against all logic, it ran through her feet gripping their shirts, and into the two children.

Hermione felt her muscles seize, and the world went dark.

Crack!

Hermione screamed awake in blinding pain.

Her arm was broken; one of the bones of her right forearm sticking out through her flesh.

The girl cradled her arm.

Where was Harry? She thought in panic. And Hedwig? Were they okay?

She spotted Harry not far away from her, struggling to sit up, and saw a small, white form that she hoped was an unconscious Hedwig.

Voldemort came in like a storm cloud then, wrapped in black, billowing smoke sparking with small arcs of static electricity.

The wizard touched down gently.

‘Where’s my wand!?’ Hermione thought, only now realising that she didn’t have it.

Meanwhile, Harry, who still had his, tried to use it, but the object simply flew out of his hand and into Voldemort’s.

He could have done that the entire time, Hermione realized. Voldemort could have left them defenseless from the very beginning.

‘He’s just been playing with us.’

Voldemort took in the two of them, then he sighed joyously. “And here we are at last, Potter. Just you, me, and a mudblood.”

Harry started to speak, but Voldemort waved his wand and Harry’s voice disappeared.

When talking didn’t work, Harry tried to stand, but he quickly collapsed and Hermione saw why, his leg was broken.

Voldemort laughed, like watching the boy struggle was the funniest thing ever.

“Ten years I’ve spent thinking about that day, Potter,” Voldemort said. “Ten years thinking about the day you ‘beat’ me.

Voldemort looked at Harry, then at Hermione. His eyes stayed on her.

“But we both know you didn’t beat me, don’t we, Harry?”

Voldemort looked back at Harry now. “This is what I should have done that day,” he said, then he pointed his wand at her.

She was going to die, Hermione realized.

Weirdly enough, she felt... numb to that fact.

She was just so tired. And the pain, oh God, the pain.

The girl looked at Harry, he was crying.

Too bad that was the last of him she would ever see, she thought. She would have much preferred to see him smile.

“Imperio,” Voldemort said, and all the pain and suffering in the world seized.

Hermione stood, happier than she’d ever been, and when Voldemort offered her Harry’s wand, she took it calmly, and the thought of using it against him never even crossed her mind. Because why would it?

“Kill him,” Voldemort commanded her, and she dutifully turned, pointed the wand at Harry, and—

And—

“Kill him!” Voldemort commanded again.

Hermione heard him, and she was perfectly happy to do as he said, but—

But—

“Obey me, you filthy mudblood! Kill him!”

—but Harry was crying.

She shouldn’t kill him while he was crying, she should hug him instead and make him feel better.

Besides, why was she listening to Voldemort of all people?

(Because he makes you happy).

No, he didn’t! Harry made her happy. She hated Voldemort!

She didn’t want to do this anymore. She didn’t want to listen anymore.

Hermione collapsed to her knees as the spell broke.

Voldemort was not happy.

With an inarticulate scream of rage, Voldemort raised his wand, the tip already glowing green, and—

“Avada Kedavra!”

The bolt of brilliant green magic slammed into Voldemort and he collapsed to the ground.

There was a figure in the direction the curse had come from some twenty feet away that Hermione couldn’t make out in the low light.

Remembering that she still had a wand in hand, Hermione used it.

“Lumos Lumina Maxima.”

The big, bright ball of light floated above her head and lit up their surroundings.

Hermione gasped.

Snape! The person who had just saved their lives was Snape.

He wasn’t moving, simply standing there, his wand still outstretched, and his eyes moving from her to Harry and back again.

Then his face slackened, and his skin and then hair turned to stone.

Hermione stared at the Potions professor in a complex mix of emotions that she could barely even begin to unravel until Harry coughed.

“Harry?” She called, pushing through her pain to rush to him.

Collapsing beside him, she hugged him to her chest with her one good arm.

“Hermione,” Harry said, “you’re—”

Voldemort screamed.

Out of the corpse rose a smoky, evil-looking entity.

It had a face, similar to Voldemort’s had been, but it looked even less human.

Without preamble, the thing rushed at them, and Hermione was still trying to lift Harry’s wand with her tired arm when Hedwig slammed into it.

Wings beating furiously, the owl tore into the wraith with her claws, and Voldemort screeched in pain.

Hedwig didn’t let up. She clawed, and ripped, and tore, until finally, some small, gross, gelatinous thing fell to the ground groaning weakly.

All three gathered around it.

Hermione could not, and didn’t bother to try to suppress the disgust showing on her face.

“Look at you,” Harry said, as the gross thing’s one baleful eye stared at them. “You’re pathetic.”

“I’ll... be back,” the thing gasped weakly.

“No, you won’t,” Harry said, and Hermione added: “We won’t let you.”

With a long slow exhale, the thing faded into a black mist, and, the last of their strength leaving them, both children collapsed to the ground.

They were wounded, broken, bleeding, but they were alive.

Somehow.