Chapter Text
May 2, 1998. The Battle of Hogwarts
Hogwarts was no longer a sanctuary.
The castle that had once been alive with laughter, magic, and dreams now stood as a skeleton of its former self. Its walls, once a symbol of safety, now lay in ruins, lost between smoke and ash, nothing more than rubble. Chaos had broken through its ancient defenses, wiping away all the good that had ever lived within them. The air stank of death, heavy with the stench of blood, burned flesh, and the acidic, bitter sting of spellfire.
Hermione moved as though in a dream, her steps slow and disjointed, her body barely able to comprehend the devastation around her. The ground beneath her feet was soaked with blood, turning to mud beneath the soles of her shoes.
The dead were everywhere.
Faces she had known, faces she had smiled at and laughed with, now stared lifelessly up at her, frozen in their final moments of fear and pain. Her heart clenched as she recognized Colin Creevey, his small frame twisted unnaturally, his once bright eyes now nothing but hollow. Further ahead, Parvati Patil's body lay crumpled in a pool of crimson, her hand reaching toward her sister, who was no longer there.
Hermione's breath hitched as her gaze fell upon a group of children, huddled together as if seeking solace on their journey to the afterlife. She recognised none of them, they were a first years.
Strangers and friends alike lay scattered across the battlefield, their lives and sacrifices reduced to nothingness.
Amid the horror, laughter echoed through the air, cold and emotionless, like a blade piercing through eardrums. Hermione's head, spinning with dizziness and a searing headache, snapped up, her body teetering on the verge of collapse.
Voldemort's pale figure moved slowly forward, his serpentine features twisted into a cruel mockery of triumph. He weaved through his followers, a shadow of dominance. But it was not him that caught Hermione's focus. Through the catastrophe, Hagrid's enormous frame stood out, his anguished cries ringing through the haze.
In his arms lay the same boy Hagrid had cradled as a baby all those years ago, so small and fragile, full of promise. Once, this boy had managed to slip from death's grasp, a miracle no one could understand.
Now, he was lifeless. His body limp and unmoving, the warmth that had once defined him now gone. Death had claimed him, and this time, there was no miracle left to save him.
His name was Harry Potter.
Hermione's mind broke, the world folding in on itself until there was nothing left. For the first time, her thoughts were gone; obliviated, wiped clean. Her brain stopped, as if it had never been capable of understanding. No scream, no breath, just a void, an endless silence where she once existed.
His glasses sat crooked on his face, skin ashen, drained of all life, and the scar on his forehead stood out like a cruel brand against his lifeless pallor. The boy who had been their hope, their light in the darkest of times, was lost.
Sobs filled the clearing, raw and broken, ripping through like shards of glass. Each cry clawed at Hermione's chest, leaving behind a hollow ache that no magic could ever mend.
"Harry Potter is dead."
Voldemort's voice cut through the air, cold and merciless. He repeated it, over and over, relishing every syllable, as if drawing strength from the destruction. His laughter followed, cruel and mocking, ringing out like the tolling of a bell. It twisted and reverberated in the silence, a sound so vicious and relentless it felt like it was poisonous.
Ron's voice broke through the tangle of laughter and sobs, screaming the dead boy's name with a wild desperation. It cracked and faltered, like a thunderclap torn apart in the air, desperate , as if the very act of calling his name might bring him back.
Hermione's head whipped around just in time to see him break into a run, his face twisted with anguish. He charged toward Harry, toward Voldemort, his wand forgotten in his hand.
She wanted to shout, to stop him, but the words vanished, choking in her throat. Her voice was swallowed whole by the suffocating horror unfolding before her.
Bellatrix stepped forward, her smile filled with madness. With a flick of her wand, a jet of red light shot through the air.
It struck Ron mid stride.
For a moment, he seemed to process the blow, as if he could somehow defy it. He staggered, his hand reaching for his stomach, desperately trying to steady himself.
The ground caught his torso first, his legs crumpling separately a moment later.
Hermione's entire body went numb as she saw the line that split him in two, his insides spilling onto the ground in a hot, sickening mass. She couldn't tell if she was alive, or if this was a nightmare dragging itself from the deepest pit of her soul. Her heart wasn't beating, but something inside her thrashed violently, desperate to escape, to tear her apart. She couldn't move. She stood there, paralyzed by a terror so raw it felt like it was carving her from the inside out, as everything she knew — everything she had — crumbled to dust at her feet.
Neville Longbottom let out a strangled cry, collapsing to his knees. He retched violently, his shoulders heaving as he vomited into the dirt.
Hermione couldn't tear her eyes away. Her lungs burned, but no air came. The world tilted, the edges of her vision blurring as tears started to pour.
It wasn't real.
No.
It couldn't be real.
Her knees buckled, and she barely stopped herself from collapsing onto the blood soaked ground. Ginny stood beside her, frozen, as if she, too, couldn't fully comprehend what had just happened.
The pressure was all consuming now, crushing them both, suffocating their very souls. It felt like drowning, like being dragged under the rubble of a world collapsing into nothingness.
First, she felt its pull. A second later, it was moving her. Too quickly, too forcefully. It felt wrong. She thought, perhaps, this was it. Her turn to die.
As her vision cleared, there was no white light. Instead, she found a pair of grey eyes, frantic and manic, staring down at her.
Malfoy?
His grip was strong, urgent, pulling her through the chaos like a lifeline. She could feel his desperation in his hold, but her body refused to respond. Hermione's legs moved only because he was dragging her forward, her steps clumsy and unsteady.
Her other hand still clung to Ginny's, the redhead's body moving only by memory. Hermione didn't look down at her friend, she didn't have the strength to. All she could do was hold on, their hands locked together in a grip so tight it felt unbreakable. It was the only anchor she had left, the only proof telling her she wasn't dead yet.
Draco's voice broke through the fog, harsh and demanding. "Granger, we have to go! Now!"
His words didn't reach her at first, their meaning lost in the torment of her grief. He was shaking her, trying to pry her hand away from Ginny's, but Hermione's grip wouldn't falter. Even in her numbness, her fingers refused to let go.
The castle halls blurred as Draco dragged them further from the carnage outside. The battle raged on, the sounds of screams and curses echoing behind them like ghosts. By the time they reached the headmaster's office, Hermione felt like she was running on nothing but adrenaline.
The room was dim and grim, a far cry from the warmth it had once held under Dumbledore's care. Luna Lovegood sat in the center, her face streaked with tears, her eyes hollow and faraway. She looked broken, a pale shadow of the girl Hermione knew. Behind her stood Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini, their faces tight with tension, eyes sharp and edged with paranoia.
Draco released Hermione's hand, and for a moment, she swayed, her legs trembling beneath her. She barely noticed. Her own hands still gripped Ginny's, the weight of her friend grounding her in the otherwise unbearable emptiness.
"What are we doing here?" Hermione's voice cracked, raw and uneven. Her throat burned, and the words barely escaped her, full of disbelief. "What's happening?"
Draco's jaw tightened, frustration sharpening his features. "If you'd stop falling apart for one damn second, I'll explain!" he spat, his gaze wavering between Granger and the redhead. "But that one's got to go. Now. I can't..." His voice faltered for a moment, frustration slipping into defeat. "I can't take care of her, or anyone else, for that matter. You're the only one who can."
Luna's voice, soft and vulnerable, spread through the tension of confusion. "Don't leave me alone," she whispered, her words trembling with fear.
Sensing Hermione's lack of realization, Draco continued, his tone fierce and unwavering. "I made a Vow," he said, his voice low but serious. "To keep Lovegood safe. To protect her. And if anyone can help me do that, it's you. But you need to pull yourself together, Granger."
Hermione's eyes flashed. She yanked her hand back from Ginny and stumbled a step away from him, chest heaving. "Why should I do anything for you? Let alone trust you?!" she snapped. "Death Eaters, secret Vows, dragging us here — what kind of game is this? Let me go! I would rather die than be part of whatever this is!"
Draco's eyes darkened, his pupils narrowing with fury. "I'm giving you a way out, Granger. A chance to survive. That's more than anyone else would bother offering you right now."
"I don't give a damn about what you're offering," she screamed, her voice cracking. "Let me out of here. I can't do this anymore." Grief was swallowing her, smashing against her like a wave she couldn't escape.
His composure snapped. He seized a mug from the table and hurled it at the wall, porcelain exploded in a loud, violent crack. "Fine then, go! Leave!" he shouted. "You're not a prisoner. If you want to throw your pathetic life away, do it. I'm done explaining myself to people too broken to listen."
Her fingers flew to her scalp, clawing into her hair, pulling, twisting, as if pain could make sense of any of it. She spun on the spot, her chest rising in panicked heaves, eyes wild, mouth trembling between a scream and a sob. All emotions of it erupted at once, splintering her from the inside.
Ginny stood motionless in the same spot Hermione left her, unmoving, eyes wide and blank. She hadn't spoken a word. Not one. Just stared, like a living corpse.
Draco's words hung in the air, suffocating her even more. Hermione's breath hitched, her chest tightening as his meaning sank in. To protect Luna. Her friend. To pull herself together.
But her heart rebelled against the very idea. How could she save anyone when she couldn't even save Harry? Her thoughts spiralled, a wave of grief and guilt. Ron's face flashed in her mind, image of his last moments burned behind her eyelids, the sound of his scream scraping in her ears.
She didn't have the strength for this, to play the saviour any longer. No, all she wanted was to go back, to be with her best friends, and die beside them.
Luna, a bit more composed and sensing Hermione's turmoil, looked at her again, her voice barely audible. "Please," she said quietly, as though it was all she needed to say.
Hermione felt herself breaking into pieces, barely managing to stay on her feet. She stumbled backwards, her back pressed against the wall for support. Agony settled inside her like a parasite, gnawing at her from within. Her mind fought the battle against her heart as she wondered why she should do anything for anyone anymore. She had given herself completely, and yet they still wanted more.
"I won't do this for you, Malfoy," Hermione said, her voice hollow, drained of all feeling but carrying a quiet, sorrowful defiance. "But I will for Luna. And we will not leave Ginny behind. Not now. Not ever. Understood?"
Draco's frustration was simmering beneath his cold exterior. His jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. There was only a brief flicker of silent approval before he turned to Blaise, and with a swift motion, him and Luna disappeared in a swirl of green flames, leaving Theodore standing alone across the room.
He stepped closer, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "I'm not here to hurt you," he said softly. "But you need to come with me if you want to survive. Both of you."
Hermione didn't respond. Doubt found its way back into her, miserable and relentless. Her grip found Ginny's arm again, tightening like a lifeline, her knuckles turning bone-white. What was there left to fight for? The war had stripped her bare, torn from her every reason to keep breathing.
If she left, she was selfish — choosing to carry on in a world their laughter no longer touched, leaving behind the only hearts that ever truly knew hers. But if she stayed, she was a traitor — turning her back on the last spark of hope, on the chance to make their deaths mean something.
There was no mercy in choice, only grief, only ghosts. Her hands shook uncontrollably. Her mind was a storm of screaming thoughts, crashing and pulling her to the bottom of sanity. Nothing made sense. Nothing felt real.
Draco, weary from the constant back-and-forth, turned to her. His voice was cold, stripped of sympathy. "You can't change what's already happened. If you want to give up and die with them, fine. Let their deaths mean nothing."
She stayed silent, the heartbreak of it all breaking her over and over again.
"But is that what you truly want? To give up and fade away with them? Or is it something else you want?" He tilted his head slightly, stepping closer, his voice dropping, almost whispering into her very soul.
"Wouldn't you rather see those you loathe broken, brought to their knees, drowning in the same pain they've inflicted on others?" He leaned in, his gaze locking onto her face, determined.
His voice softened, as if he wasn't one of them, but not out of kindness. It was calculated, sharp as a blade cloaked in silk. "Tell me, Granger... don't you ache to make them suffer? To make them pay for everything they've done to you?"
His hand hovered, as though offering a lifeline, but there was nothing genuine in the gesture. It was bait, a thread of power dangling just close enough to tempt her into the abyss.
His words didn't just land on her, they struck something buried, something already splintering.
She looked up at him, her eyes locking on his for the first time. Not with fear. Not even with hatred.
And in that breathless stillness, something inside her simply turned.
Snapped.
It felt like click, a shift. Like the sound of a door locking from the inside.
The last thread between who she had been, and who she were to be, came undone.
She felt it, in that moment — the fire, blood thirsty and wild, that had taken a root in her soul.
She didn't even rethink it.
Beacuse what was there left to lose?
She had already lost it all. Seven years of fighting, of struggling, all for nothing. Harry, Ron, the future they'd dreamed of — it was all gone. The world she had fought so fiercely to protect was nothing but ash.
Hermione Granger who had stood for light was dead.
Left in the ash, alongside her loved ones.
Her heart was a void, her soul hollowed, stripped of everything that once defined her. All that now remained within her was a singular, burning desire for revenge.
To watch them fall.
To hear them beg.
To make them pay.
She thought of nothing but vengeance as she took Malfoy's hand, stepping into the green smoke that ripped her away from the last flicker of light her heart had ever known. Her purpose of life was forsaken, left to rot in the silence where hope once lived., filled only with the slow, burning promise of revenge.
What she didn't know, what she couldn't know, was that vengeance always demands a sacrifice.
And it had already chosen.
Because Harry Potter wasn't dead.
Not yet.
His body twitched violently, a sharp gasp rattling through his chest, and for a heartbeat, it seemed as though he might rise again. Hagrid, cradling him in his arms, let out a desperate sob, hoping, praying that there was some hope left.
A loud shout echoed across the battlefield. "M-MY LORD!?" Bellatrix's voice, shrill with panic, split the air.
At the same moment, Draco Malfoy landed in the midst of the chaos, reappearing on the battlefield with a crack of displaced air. He had barely had time to process what had happened, his mind still reeling from the task he had been forced to carry out just moments before. His feet barely touched the ground before his gaze locked onto Harry's twitching body.
A faint, promising flicker of life shimmered in Harry's eyes. For a heartbeat, he jerked upward, as though some distant part of him, a force too strong to be silenced, refused to surrender. But it was fleeting, gone in an instant, swallowed by the curse that sealed his fate.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Voldemort's voice rang through the air, booming across the field with finality. There was no second chance, no flicker of hope this time.
He raised his wand again, and with precision, unleashed another Killing curse. It struck Harry's still form with brutal force, extinguishing any trace of life.
Draco stood petrified, his breath catching in his throat. The screams around him blurred into a cacophony, but he registered none of them. His eyes were fixed on Potter, the boy who had once been his sworn enemy.
Suddenly, he felt a tug in his chest. His mother's voice, soft but clear, vibrating through his mind. Don't move, Draco. Stay where you are. Please.
But that voice, so full of love and fear, was not enough to anchor him. He couldn't stay. Not when the world around him was crumbling into chaos.
Voldemort's fury reached its peak, his rage burning like wildfire, consuming everything in its path. The battlefield erupted in a flash of blinding emerald light, the deadly curse tearing through the air, heralding the rise of a new, dark era. The ground itself seemed to tremble under the influence of his wrath, as though the world itself recognised this moment.
The Boy Who Lived was no more.
Narcissa Malfoy stood frozen in place, her pale face stark against the carnage that surrounded her. She was clutching Lucius's arm desperately, as if his presence was the only thing keeping her tethered to this world.
"Draco," she whispered, the words barely leaving her lips. Her eyes locked with his, wide and full of panic. She shook her head, almost imperceptibly, her message clear. Don't come any closer. Stay back.
But Draco's feet were already moving, carrying him toward her, propelled by the need to reach her, to protect her. He had to.
However, it was pointless.
"Narcissa," Voldemort hissed, his voice cutting through the air like a snake's strike. His eyes glinted with dark amusement. "Come and answer for your lies. Kneel before me."
Lucius stepped forward, positioning himself between Narcissa and Voldemort, his body rigid, determined. "You will not touch her," he growled, his firm voice filled with courage.
A sick smile spread across Voldemort's face, and he stepped closer, savoring the moment. "Ah, Lucius. Such loyalty. How quaint," Voldemort mused, his tone almost playful, mocking the very thing Lucius had sacrificed everything for. "Perhaps I should reward you for it."
The words sent a chill down Draco's spine. His father — his mother. It couldn't be real. Not after what he'd done to protect them. Not after everything they've been through.
No...
It simply couldn't.
...But it was.
With a swift, almost casual movement, Voldemort raised his wand, his expression cold with sadistic satisfaction.
"Imperio."
Lucius stiffened, his face paling as the curse took control. His eyes dulled, his will taken from him. Draco's heart lurched. His father — his father was a puppet now, controlled by the very man they had served for so long.
Lucius's eyes once filled with powerful defiance met Draco's, and for a moment, he was still. Then, slowly, painfully, he turned to face Narcissa, his wand raised and eyes full of tears.
"No!" Draco shouted, his voice breaking as he reached out, as though he could stop this with a single word. But the force that gripped him slammed him right back. Voldemort’s spell not letting him move from the spot.
He couldn't save them.
Narcissa's eyes were on him, even as her husband's hand lifted the wand that would kill her. The love in her gaze didn't fade, even as she mouthed her last words.
I love you.
- "Incendio Ignis."
The spell erupted from his wand, a fierce and searing flame that engulfed her, its heat so intense it felt as though the very air was being consumed. The flames licked at her skin, burning through her, as she screamed, her body writhing in agony.
With a final, choking breath, she collapsed to the ground, her body scorched and lifeless, the fire still crackling around her like the remnants of a cruel fate.
Draco's soul screamed. The noise was raw, a primal wail that tore through him, shaking his very core. His world was falling apart, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
But Voldemort wasn't finished.
"Now... Lucius," he said coldly, the words sliding from his lips like venom. A dagger materialized in Lucius's trembling hand, its sharp edge glinting in the dim light. "Take this dagger and plunge it into your own heart. Let your son watch what happens to those who defy me."
Draco's body shook violently, his entire being rebelling against the scene unfolding before him. But he was rooted to the ground, paralyzed by the nightmare of it all.
Lucius, under the Imperius curse, raised the dagger. His hands were shaking as he slowly brought it to his chest, and with agonizing slowness, he plunged it into his own heart.
The sound was sickening.
Lucius's body collapsed beside Narcissa's, his blood pooling around them as his final breath escaped in a soft, desperate whisper.
Forgive me.
Draco dropped to his knees, his body in a state of shock, every inch of him shaking and trembling. His parents, his family — all gone. The battlefield spun around him, the sounds of the fight growing distant, muffled by the reality of his loss.
Bellatrix's eyes widend with a mixture of fury and fear, stepped forward. "Shall I take the boy?" she asked, her voice trembling with urgency, yet laced with composure. "Go," Voldemort hissed, his cold eyes narrowing with cruel satisfaction. "Take him. Teach him what true loyalty means. His parents were weak, their blood tainted with failure. Let him learn the price of their disgrace."
Within a second, she seized Draco by the arm, dragging him away from the scene. His body went limp in her hold, his mind in a state of unconsciousness, struggling to comprehend the overwhelming loss.
The image of the moment killed him, tearing him apart in pieces. An empty shell of the person he used to be, destroyed by the loss of his mother and the innocence he had clung to for so long.
Unable to resist her, he let her drag him, his feet stumbling over the cold stone floor. He didn't even register the world around him, too consumed by the void inside him, the grief too deep to comprehend. Draco was no longer the boy who had once feared what would come next. He was a shadow of himself, already drowning in the madness of a world that no longer made sense.
Voldemort's voice cut through the air once more, turning to the rest of the Order. "From now on, you will place your faith in me. Those who refuse, stay and die."
Even then, not a single person moved.
"You fools..." Voldemort sneered.
His laughter echoed over the battlefield, growing more deranged as he turned to his Death Eaters. "Kill them all. Every last one."
And so, on May 2, 1998, the Order of the Phoenix was wiped from the Earth. No one survived, except for three. Three who had managed to escape, retreating deep within the walls of Malfoy Manor, where they would remain, hidden and silent, plotting the day they could reclaim what had been stolen from them.
Every face they had called friend, every place that had once felt like home — it was all taken. They could not bring any of it back, no, but revenge... that, they could still claim.