Chapter Text
Hogwarts
, May 2nd, 1998.
Blinding lights, screams, the stench of blood and dust.
Then suddenly, a flash of light before her eyes.
And then, darkness.
These were the first things Hermione Granger remembered upon waking.
Her head throbbed terribly, and as she reached up to touch it, her fingers found clotted blood tangled in her hair.
She sat up with effort.
She was filthy—covered in dirt and blood—her arms littered with cuts and bruises earned in battle.
Oh, it had been brutal. Far worse than they had imagined.
They had trained for months, but nothing could have prepared them for something of this scale.
The Death Eaters seemed to multiply, fighting without fear; they were like machines—cruel, merciless, willing to die for a Lord who cared nothing for them.
The students had fought bravely, all of them.
Except the Slytherins. Cowards, that’s what they had been.
But despite their courage, despite all they had sacrificed, it hadn’t been enough.
The enemy was too strong, too well-organized.
The enemy knew.
People like Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode had told their Death Eater parents about every hidden passage and vulnerable spot in the castle.
And so, they had fallen.
As the heavy weight of that thought settled over her, Hermione looked around and saw dozens of people—her classmates, her professors, anyone who had dared to resist.
Beside her, Ginny sat curled in a corner, and Ron was stroking her hair as she stared blankly at the floor.
They hadn’t just lost Fred in the fight—Bellatrix had managed to kill Molly as well. There was no sign of the other Weasleys.
Hermione’s wide hazel eyes scanned the room, searching for Harry—hoping to find him among them—but then, a memory hit her like a punch to the gut.
"We got him, my Lord! We got him!" And Harry, dragged away by the filthy hands of two Death Eaters.
Before she could even react to the sight of her friend, that infamous flash of light—later revealed to be a Stupefy—had struck her down.
The last thing she saw was a head of pale, nearly white-blond hair.
And a wand, pointed directly at her.
No. Harry wasn’t with them. Perhaps he never would be again.
Tears began to sting her eyes, but she forced them back.
She would not cry. No.
She had to be strong—for Ron, for Ginny, for Harry, and for her parents. Merlin, how foolish she had been to erase their memories. No one would come looking for her now. No one would hold her and say that everything was going to be all right.
Suddenly, a strange chant pulled her from her thoughts.
She peered beyond the wall of bodies beside her and saw him, huddled in the farthest corner: Colin Creevey. His face was dazed, fingernails cracked and clawing at his own cheeks, mumbling the same words over and over again:
"He will save us. He will save us."
The Death Eaters standing guard grew restless, and the others begged him to be quiet, but Colin went on and on and on.
One of the guards—broad and brutal—stepped forward. He didn’t even need to draw his wand.
He snapped Colin’s neck with one hand.
Just like that.
Amid the screams and sobs of all who bore witness.
No, Colin, Hermione thought bitterly, perhaps no one will save us.
And then, with a dull thud, the door to the room creaked open.