That was the last thing Hermione remembered for some time. When she woke she was lying on a bed in a small room in one of their safe houses. The room appeared to be completely sealed. She wouldn't be able to get out if she tried.
Those bastards!
What the hell?
This is some stupid plan to 'keep me safe', I'm sure. When I get a hold of all of them, I'll kill them!
How are you going to get out of here?
I don't know. It appears impossible.
Stupid purebloods. No offense. Call a house elf to you.
Call a what?
A house elf. Call Notty to you. Most wizards, especially purebloods, forget to allow for the fact that elf magic is markedly different.
"Notty?" Hermione called hesitantly, and her house elf appeared instantly.
"Yes, Mistress?" Notty asked politely.
"Can you take me to where Daddy and James are fighting?" Hermione asked. Notty looked unhappy, but she nodded. "Please take me to where Daddy and James are fighting?"
"Come along, Mistress," Notty said and took Hermione's hand in hers.
The battle was in full swing, and curses and hexes flew wildly through the air. Smoke hung over the battlefield and the acrid stench of death drifted up toward them, making both of them gag slightly. Hermione Black had never seen battle like this before and it turned her stomach. She could smell blood and scorched flesh and occasionally a whiff of urine or feces. She turned to the nearest bushes and vomited violently. Hermione crouched low to the ground, and watched the scene before her, trying to get her bearings. The scene before her was so surreal that she kept shaking her head thinking that if she did so, the scene would shift and things would change. She realized with a sense of sadness that the ground was already littered with a number of bodies. It was difficult to tell whose was whose, but the idea that anyone had died saddened her. She had worked to stop death, not to further it along. She had fought so hard to end all of this senseless slaughter, not to encourage it. She turned to her house elf.
"Notty?" She asked hesitantly. The house elf glared at her in disapproval. Hermione knew that Notty was fond of her and did not approve of her young mistress putting herself in danger. "Would you please return to the French dower house and ask all the house elves if they would come and apparate out all the injured on our side? Tell them they do not have to come, it is a request only. Take all the injured to St. Mungo's, please."
"Yes, Mistress," Notty said slowly. Then she frowned at Hermione. "What if there be elves who wish to fight for their Mistress?"
"If they wish to, they may. It is their choice. If they would rather help the injured, they may. If they'd rather stay at the house, they may," Hermione said firmly. Notty nodded solemnly.
"I will tell them exactly what you have told Notty, Mistress," Notty said firmly. Hermione nodded.
"Move quickly, Notty, we don't have much time," Hermione whispered, staring at the battle below her, her mind racing at the speed of light.
Everything below her moved in slow-motion and she realized with a dawning sense of horror that James had painted himself into a corner and was now surrounded by Death Eaters. She saw Dolohov and Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione snarled and started running. Everything she had done, every scheme, every plan, had been to help her brother. If the idiot managed to die now, she would never forgive him. She ran as quickly as she could and flung herself in the air between her twin and enemy wands. She transformed as she leapt so that a large, angry lioness was between James and any danger. He'd already been struck by one of Dolohov's special curses and he was lying on the battlefield unconscious. She glanced at him quickly, in the space of an instant and his pallor did nothing to comfort her. When Dolohov and Bellatrix fired Avada Kedavra curses at her, a strange glowing shield formed in front of her. A berserker rage filled Hermione at that point. She hovered protectively over James when suddenly one of her house elves popped in and looked uncertainly at her.
"Picky will be taking care of him, Mistress," the female house elf said firmly, the lioness backed up enough that the house elf could remove James.
As soon as she was certain her brother was safe, Hermione shifted, but she glamored herself slightly so that she could still claim that no one saw her on the battlefield. Dolohov and Bellatrix Lestrange never stood a chance, she took them out easily, her rage fuelling her magic. She quickly fired off nonverbal, wandless curses at both of them. The shock on Bellatrix's face was as sweet as honey. Hermione wondered if she knew that she'd been killed by a Black family curse. Hermione hoped so. She fought like the lioness she was, moving closer to her husband who was fighting with Remus Lupin against several Death Eaters. She drew near them and managed to block any and all spells that came near her or her husband.
"Is he dead yet?" She demanded gruffly, hoping her voice sounded different enough that neither of them would know who she was. They glanced at her and kept fighting.
"Not yet, from what I understand, but he's mortal. If you get a shot, take it," Remus told her flatly. She nodded sharply and turned her attention back to the battle at hand. She slipped carefully away from them, dodging and leaping to avoid hexes and skirted her way around the edge of the battle.
"Notty?" She called tersely. Another house elf appeared, looking upset and nervous.
"Merry is sorry, Mistress, but Notty was hurt," the small house elf said sadly. "Merry will help Mistress."
"She…she's not dead, is she?" Hermione asked in horror. Merry shook her head.
"No, Mistress. Notty is being healed and is unconscious," Merry said quietly. Hermione nodded uncertainly, relief flooding her that her friend was still alive.
"Can you take me straight to Voldemort?" Hermione asked the house elf curiously. Merry looked miserably unhappy, but she nodded.
"Yes, Mistress," Merry said unhappily.
"Will you please take me straight to Voldemort? As soon as I'm there, I want you to apparated to safety," Hermione informed the female house elf.
"Yes, Mistress," Merry said miserably.
For a Dark Lord this is a crap Command Center.
I was just thinking the same thing. Seriously, who does their decorating? Could they be any more cheap and tacky?
Perhaps they haven't budgeted for that sort of thing? I meant more that it doesn't appear to be organized at all. These people are just milling about, they don't appear to have any orders or any purpose. To be honest, I had hoped for more of a challenge than this.
You know, Voldemort always seemed very scary to me, but I must agree—this is disappointing, especially after Longbottom and Marchbanks. Now those women know how to plan and strategize a rebellion. I wouldn't trust this lot to be in charge of a bake sale. I tell you what, if I was the Dark Overlord of the Universe, I certainly wouldn't allow those tacky chintz pillows.
Mmm. I have to agree with you there. On the bake sale and the chintz pillows.
"Who is this," asked a cold, high, angry voice that sounded disturbingly familiar to both Hermiones.
Be very careful, love. He's a tricky snake.
"I'm terribly sorry," Hermione said politely, turning and smiling sweetly at the assembled Death Eaters. She gave a short bob. "I would say it's a pleasure to meet you, but, of course, it isn't."
"What the hell are you doing here?" Voldemort demanded, his voice becoming higher and angrier.
"Would you believe that I've come for tea?" Hermione asked curiously.
"You've come for tea?" Voldemort asked incredulously. Hermione shook her head.
"Well, no, of course not. I merely asked if you would believe it, and apparently you would. How disappointing," Hermione said coolly, with a slight sniff of distaste. Voldemort seemed completely stunned. She supposed it was logical. No one had ever spoken to him in the way that she was speaking to him in his entire life. It had to be disconcerting. "It's so hard to find a quality Dark Lord these days."
"Why you-!"
"How dare you speak to the Dark Lord that way!"
"SHUT UP!" Voldemort bellowed angrily, glaring at his minions. He turned back to Hermione and frowned. He was not amused. "You need to die. Kill her."
"Now, really, Mr. Riddle, that's incredibly impolite of you. We haven't even been formally introduced yet," Hermione chided him gently. Voldemort looked closely at her and frowned.
"Aren't you the Potter girl?" He asked after a moment. Hermione was honestly surprised that he would know her at all. She had worked so hard to keep a low profile, to keep her head down so that no one would know who she was. Everything she had done had been behind the scenes, non-confrontational, sneaky. If she could have taken out Voldemort with a goblet of poisoned pumpkin juice, she would have leapt at the opportunity. She smiled sweetly at the evil bastard who would have tried to kill her brother and destroy her future nephew.
"My husband might be put out by that description, but yes. I am also the lioness and the domina," she said confidently. Voldemort started to laugh, and Hermione decided that it was the most unpleasant sound she'd ever heard. There was no real humor to it, only derision.
"You? A little girl? You don't even look old enough to be married. You are the domina that my Death Eaters whisper about like frightened children?" Voldemort's sarcasm was vicious, and he looked irritated. She shifted quickly to a lioness and back to her human form. There were a couple gasps of recognition that told her that there were milites in the room.
"I am," she said flatly, growing irritated herself. Why was it so hard for these people to acknowledge that women could contribute to the war effort? "You are everything that is wrong with our world, and you cannot be allowed to continue to spread your hate and fear. You are a pestilence on the wizarding world, and you must be stopped."
"And you are going to do it?" Voldemort sneered at her. She smiled at him and it made his blood run cold.
"No," she said calmly. "You are."
"Kill her!" He demanded, glaring at the Death Eaters in the room.
A number of curses flew at her, and that strange glowing shield formed between Hermione and the dark curses that were aimed at her. She suspected it was her necklace, the Gryffindor heirloom, but she'd never had anyone try to kill her so she wasn't sure. Hermione sighed in irritation and waved her wand wordlessly at the Death Eaters that had tried to kill her. A fully body bind ensured that all of them were unable to try and kill her again. She turned her attention back to Voldemort who was turning puce with rage. He shot curse after curse at her and all of them bounced wildly off of her shield. One of them bounced off her shield and struck Voldemort directly. The bright, green light hurt Hermione's eyes, but she watched the look of surprise on Voldemort's as the Unforgiveable hit him directly in the chest. Hermione smiled brightly as he slumped over dead.
Oh, that was brilliant, love! Just like your vision! He basically killed himself! Now, you need to get out of there quickly.
She grabbed the portkey around her throat and was instantly transported to one of the Ladies' Aide Society safe houses. She stumbled slightly and realized that she felt odd. She looked down at herself in confusion and realized that there was a blade sticking out of her abdomen. She hadn't seen anyone throw it, she wasn't sure where it had come from. Her eyes widened and she fell to her knees.
Oh, crap!
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HG/HP/HB
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"How is she?" whispered a soft voice. There was a rustle of silk, and she heard her mother speak, her voice heavy with sadness.
"She won't say anything, she just stares at the wall," Dorea's said softly, her hand brushing against her daughter's brow.
Did she know?" The soft voice asked sadly.
"No," Dorea's voice grew thick with unshed tears. "She had no idea."
"Sirius?" The soft voice asked curiously.
"He…he's tried to talk to her, but she won't respond. He's been so distraught that there's almost no speaking to him. He's convinced that she's willing herself to die," Dorea's voice broke and she began to cry softly.
"Why don't you leave us alone for a few minutes," the soft voice encouraged, and she could hear her mother retreat from the room.
Time was immaterial to her at the moment. They had won, defeating Voldemort and the bulk of his Death Eaters, but she had lost everything without even knowing it. She had been pregnant…pregnant with Sirius' baby and through her own willfulness she had lost it. The knife wound had triggered a miscarriage. She had lain in this room, in this bed since then. Sirius had been by her side day and night in the beginning, begging her to not die, to get better. He'd told her that it would be okay, that they would have a baby someday, but that she had to get healthy for that to happen. Now he would come, usually in the night, to stand at the foot of her bed and stare at her. She always knew when he was there, she could feel him watch her, and then turn and walk away.
"Hermione?" The soft voice called gently. "I know I'm probably the very last person you want to see right now, but I came anyway. You took the time to talk to me when I really needed it, and now I'm returning the favor."
Hermione turned her head, surprising even herself, to look at Narcissa Malfoy. She sat in a chair by Hermione's bed, a look of compassion in her grey eyes. There was no pity there, no sympathy, and for that Hermione was grateful.
"Narcissa," Hermione said with a frown. Narcissa smiled winningly at her.
"I've come to tell you that I believe in you…in what you said…and I'd like to ask you a favor," Narcissa said slowly, carefully. Hermione blinked slowly trying to figure out why Narcissa Malfoy was in her bedroom. "If…er, when I do have that son, will you be his godmother? Lucius wants Severus as a godfather, and I realized that I needed to find the boy a godmother. I would be honored if you would say yes."
"Why?" Hermione asked flatly. Narcissa blushed prettily.
"I haven't always been nice or kind to you," Narcissa said slowly, embarrassed to be discussing her faults. "But you didn't hesitate to try and comfort me when I most needed it. I've never forgotten your kindness. I want my son to be like that, and I think that with you as his godmother he might be."
"Yes," Hermione said simply. Narcissa blinked at her in surprise.
"Yes?" She asked breathlessly. Hermione's eyes closed and then she looked at Narcissa again.
"Yes," she said firmly. Then she faltered slightly and her face looked very vulnerable and pale. Narcissa frowned at her.
"You need to let him in. He's so scared right now, he thinks you're going to die and leave him." Narcissa scolded Hermione gently. Hermione sighed and closed her eyes.
"I keep thinking that I'll look at him and see hate there," Hermione whispered. "I couldn't bear for him to hate me, I just couldn't."
"Never," said a much deeper voice firmly.
Hermione's eyes flew open to see Sirius standing behind Narcissa staring at her with burning eyes. It was the same longing and pain she saw in her dream. She choked on a sob, and suddenly he was sitting in the bed, cuddling her in his arms and for the first time since it had happened, she allowed herself to cry. Narcissa stood up silently and left the couple alone. Hermione didn't even notice when she left, all she could see or hear or feel or touch was Sirius. His arms were like iron bands around her and she buried her face in his chest and sobbed brokenly. He didn't say anything, he just clutched her to him and rocked her gently.