252AN: Hello, fanfiction and Harry Potter fans. I do not own Harry Potter, but feel free to enjoy this or hate it. If you enjoy it please leave a lovely comment, if you hate it, then leave some constructive criticism, thanks!
AN2: Inspired by 'fair fortune' by atweird. It's great work, but sadly in hiatus since 2016. If you wish to fill the hole it left, read my story haha. It's why I started writing this one in the first place.
Warning: gory details
Can You Take the Jump?
Chapter 1
"It's done." she thought to herself as she lay in the Cave of Wishes. Actually, she had no idea if this place was the Cave of Wishes, but she simply guessed based on the evidence around her. Power was practically pouring out of the place in a glowing ethereal light. There were intricate writings on the walls that even she could not translate since they were as old as magic itself, but no doubt spelled out the first enchantments ever made. She knew she was lying in the cave where magic itself was born; before the Founders of Hogwarts, Merlin, or even dragons. She could feel it in her bones.
Perhaps in a different situation, she knew she would have been beyond enthralled and overwhelmed with joy at the sight of the cave. But none of that mattered anymore, everything was gone.
Everyone was gone.
A sick sense of relief flooded her as she felt her blood seep out of her gaping wound. Her right lung was collapsed, her right leg was mangled from the boulder that had fallen on her when she'd tumbled straight into the fragile untouched cave. She could see with very blurred vision her femur had pierced through the skin and was now sticking out of her leg. Blood was spurting out of the wound in pulses indicating that her own bone had ripped through her femoral artery. She looked to her right to see her trusty wand practically disintegrated into ash.
She chuckled, despite the mind-numbing pain.
Hermione Granger-Weasley had given up her childhood, her innocence, risked her life over and over again, erased herself out of her parents' lives and gave up a goodnight's rest for 10 years post-war to help good triumph over evil. Life should have allowed her to move on and be happy, that was what was fair. She along with everyone else deserved it. Hell, they fucking earned it.
But apparently life had other plans, and gave them all a huge middle finger, because here she was, dying and alone in a mythical cave.
Fuck.
Tears streamed down her face as she chuckled, only to choke on her own blood. She was experiencing a unique sense of extreme devastation. It wasn't as simple as the despair one felt when losing someone you loved, it was more than that. It was like losing everyone you loved all at once, then your home going up in flames, and your life's work getting crushed before your eyes, with a dash of all hope becoming lost. Basically, it was a soul sucking, life-forfeiting kind of despair that most people spent their entire lives never experiencing, but she was now experiencing it for the second time in her life.
The first time was when Hagrid carried her dead best friend out of the Forbidden Forest during the Battle of Hogwarts. He might as well have brought 200 dementors along with him. It wasn't just the fact that Harry had died, her best friend, her brother, her soulmate. No, to Hermione, his death meant the loss of what Harry represented. The loss of hope for a better future. All their sacrifices and all the lives lost just becoming dust in front of their eyes. It didn't matter that she'd given 200% of her effort, they'd lost.
At least that time it had been a false alarm. She never thought she would ever feel something like that ever again, but then again… who would?
She let her guard down against the Wizarding World's most feared man and now she and everyone else had paid the price. All these years, she should have been prepping, but instead, she went back to being a somewhat normal functioning adult. It had taken her years of sleepless nights, night terrors, and uncontrollable crying to achieve it, but she got there, only to lose it all.
She and Ron got married at Burrow like Bill and Fleur all those years ago. They kept it as small as it could be considering the size of Ron's immediate family. Harry, Hagrid were there, along with some of the members of Dumbledore's army and the staff at Hogwarts. Kingsley, the current Minister of Magic, had officiated the ceremony. It was one of her happiest days.
Then her two beautiful children, Rose and Hugo, were born. She'd never felt so happy and scared at the same time. They were sweet and good. Pure. She still remembered when the Healer tried to hand Rose to her after she was born. Emotional, hormonal and tired; she sobbed and screamed to take Rose away from her, fearing she'd taint the newborn with her war-torn scars and mentality. Unfit for something so good, that somehow, the haunted look that she knew she sometimes still wore would somehow creep into her babies' minds and hearts and ruin them.
Her Rose died as a 5 year old girl, her school skirt soiled from terror and crying for her mummy as she held her dead baby brother in her arms.
…
March 5th, 2013. 15 years, 10 months, and 3 days after the fall of Voldemort
Tragedy strikes; that's what it's called isn't it? That word, 'strikes', implies a suddenness; therefore, tragedy doesn't come in a slow developing story with an introduction, and a buildup so that you can prepare for the climax. Perhaps that's why the day started perfectly. It was even sunny. England's gloomy sky had parted for once, letting in bright rays of sunshine for the first time in a week.
Couldn't her day have started off with a broken glass at least? No fucking warning sign allowed for a washed-up heroine?
The Granger-Weasley family's morning routine had gone on without a hitch. She got up and prepared breakfast for the whole family while Ron got their daughter ready for primary school. He walked into the kitchen and gave her back hug and a kiss as they exchanged good-mornings. He warmed the bottle for Hugo as she laid breakfast on the table. They sat around the table in their sizable home as Rose spoke quickly and excitedly about the things she would learn at school that day. With a swift flick of her wand the dishes self-cleaned and Rose boarded the primary school bus. Ron would feed and change Hugo while she prepared to go to work.
That was their life. It was predictable and mundane, and she loved it.
"Have you talked to Harry recently?" Ron asked, as he sipped his coffee. "From what I remember, he's been back from his undercover operation for two weeks now, but I've heard nothing from him."
"I'm having lunch with him today for the first time in weeks. Ginny told me he's been…he hasn't been himself." Hermione carefully explained. "He came back from the mission in Italy unscathed alone. Everyone else that went is either dead or severely injured."
"Bloody Hell." Ron shook his head in disbelief. Normally Hermione would scold him for the bad language, but the kids weren't there and the situation was adequate.
Concern veiled over Ron's eyes. Though it'd been years since Ron left the force, he was still Harry's best friend, his brother-in-law and his ex-partner. They both knew Harry had a tendency to get in his head about his actions and about what he could have done to save more people or what actions he could have avoided to prevent more pain. The job of an Auror contained a lot of frontline work, which was the location of such sights. It was why Ron quit and Hermione decided to remove herself from the field, but Harry still felt it his duty to be out there, actively saving lives. But as ex-war heroes, they knew better than anyone that not everyone could be saved, even if the Auror on-call was the great and legendary Harry Potter.
"Tell me how lunch goes later tonight." Ron made an effort to smile, "Now go, you'll be late for work."
After a kiss and a final check in the mirror to check her light makeup and hair, Hermione left for work, oblivious to what life had planned for her that day.
"Love you," she called out, just as she was leaving. She heard a faint "love you too" as the door closed.
At the Ministry, Hermione was a superstar. The youngest witch to ever become the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She was employee of the month every month, known to be efficient, friendly, and intelligent. She helped out in departments she didn't need to. She knew everyone, even the janitors and clerks that most people don't even bother to greet. She was the most favorable candidate for the next Minister of Magic, also the one Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt was most likely to support after his term was over.
Not that any of that mattered anymore.
It was a call that started the downward spiral of the end of the world, and subsequently the worst day of her life.
"Madame Granger-Weasley?" Her secretary, Thomas informed her. "I just got a call from Auror Potter's office. He's not feeling too well, so he'll have to cancel for lunch."
Hermione frowned. The thought of Harry wallowing in self-loathing and cutting off ties to people who wanted to help due to the enormous failure of the mission in Italy, didn't settle well in Hermione's mind. She had given him 2 weeks of peace to recuperate, to spend time with his family and be asked no questions, but now she felt the need to step in. Harry may be the head of the Auror department and her best friend, but she was the head of the DMLE, his boss.
Hermione looked down at her packed schedule, and sighed. Maybe she could move an appointment and drop by in time for dinner with some soup from his favorite restaurant and her very potent and effective version of Pepper-up Potion.
When the long grueling day finally came to a close, she gathered her things to leave, making sure she wouldn't forget the soup and potion for Harry. She waved goodbye to the remaining employees, as she stepped into the floo, shouting 'Godric's Hollow'.
Harry had decided to leave Grimmauld Place and decided to build his life in the home he was raised in with his parents. The small quiet neighbourhood of Godric's Hollow was quaint and unkind to strangers which made it perfect for famous people who liked to remain low-key such as Harry Potter (Savior of the World) and Ginny Weasley-Potter (Ex-international Quidditch Star, current editor for the sports section of the Daily Prophet).
As the whirl wind of green flames subsided, Hermione fully expected to smell the wonderful dinner Harry and Ginny had cooked up, but instead was hit with unpleasant smell of familiar murkiness with a metallic tang before she even stepped a foot out of the floo. Her hand immediately went to block her nose, as all her senses rang red alert at the smell. She knew the smell well; it was often a part of her job.
Blood. And lots of it.
The living room, which was usually occupied by children and Ginny, was bare and there was an unsettling silence about the entire house. Hermione lifted her wand up immediately, trying to look for the source of the smell, but found the floor to be clean, no traces of the red liquid anywhere.
With a silencing charm on her feet, she quietly casted a homenum revelio which revealed five human beings in the house.
Her heart was thumping so hard in her chest that there was ringing in her ears. Her mind raced at the horrible possibilities, each idea becoming worse than the previous. The gruesome images from her overactive imagination threatened to make her vomit as she moved towards the staircase that would lead to the bedrooms, but something in the kitchen caught her eyes.
Red.
Her heart was thundering at this point, as she slowly inched toward the kitchen where the rancid smell of blood and… death grew stronger and stronger with every step.
If she thought the smell was bad, the sight was worse. It was like she had stepped into a very gory horror movie with blood splattered and pooled everywhere. Some of the blood had dried, leaving brownish red dry patches in the modern kitchen which meant that this all occurred some time ago. She was simply late to the scene. This fact was something Hermione could only realize later, after agonizing over this very mental image and repeating it a million times. However, in that very moment, Hermione could think nothing.
Where the pool of blood was the largest was a sight that would haunt her forever, even in the afterlife. 8 year old Albus Severus Potter was sitting in the center of the bloody puddle with his back against the cabinet door under the sink. Judging by his state, he had bled out through every orifice of his body along with an initial slit at his throat which explained the splatter.
Despite her current job with the law enforcement, it wasn't a sight she could digest. Every single security and safety protocol measure she had learned and made flew out of her mind as blind panic settled in. Her breath knocked out of her body and her legs gave out as she sank to the floor. She couldn't process what she was seeing, she couldn't understand what had happened.
There was a lump in her throat so large that she was sure she'd swallowed a bludger. Her mind and her emotions were sending different signals as to what was supposed to come out of her mouth. A cry? A scream? A laugh at possibly the cruelest humourless joke in history?
She crawled through the sticky red liquid to the sweet little godson, not caring that her clothes were now soaked with his cold blood. The patches of Albus's skin that wasn't covered in his own blood were impossibly pale, making his haunted green eyes stand out even more. Rigor mortis preserved the horror and pain Albus had felt, allowing Hermione a gruesomely detailed glimpse of his last moments.
"A-A-Al."
Her voice was hoarse although she'd hadn't said a single word. She placed her trembling hand to cradle the young boy's face, smearing even more blood all over his face. She wasn't even breathing, fearing a single breath would somehow mutilate the child even further.
Her vision blurred from tears and shaking, but allowed her eyes to travel down Albus's bloody tear-tracks to the blood on the floor once more. There was a lot. Too much. Much more than what could have come out of an 8 year old's body.
Someone else was dead or dying.
Her and Albus were down here, which meant there were 3 upstairs that were either dead, dying or killing.
She looked back at Albus who was staring at her with horrified eyes. She wiped her hands on her clothes the best she can and closed the boy's beautiful emerald eyes for him. She closed her own and sent a prayer to God, a deity she hadn't believed in for many years, but situations like this required mental and emotional support from someone much greater than herself.
"Amen." She kissed her bloody fingers and placed them on her godson's forehead.
She stood up, not allowing herself to look at the desecrated body again knowing she would break down. She took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. She forcibly put her body into gear, searching for the source of the rest of the blood.
Her ability to compartmentalize her problems was why she had been so incredible during the war. Like an actual mental switch, she could turn off her emotions to make the most rational decisions that would often save her overly emotional and irrational best friends. It wasn't that she didn't feel, on the contrary, she felt a lot. Immensely too. Her switch wasn't permanent, it was simply a coping mechanism for a short moment, under extreme situations, where she could push all her problems and emotions into a dark corner of her mind to deal with later. It made her efficient and often ruthless which was why her friends survived a war at age 17 and 18 with no adult supervision and why she became the youngest head of the DMLE; she knew how to make the hard decisions.
With her emotional switch off, her grieving face turned to a blank slate in a matter of seconds. She stepped away from Albus, convincing herself that there would be plenty of time later to mourn. Her eyes, now calculating and cold, scanned the room. Her brain, fully in combat mode, started to listen and plan.
Just like how she'd done a Homenum Revellio when she first walked in, who ever the killer was, they most likely knew she was here the moment she stepped in. Her element of surprise was gone, she had no back up, and she had no idea what the fuck was going on.
Her brain was starting to shake off the initial shock and picked up its pace. She could feel the normal anti-apparation wards up, and did a quick check on the wards around the house. They were perfect, not even a hint of tampering. Godric's Hollow was practically a fortress, comparable to the Ministry, Gringotts, and Hogwarts, permitting entrance to only a handful of select people.
That meant only one thing. Harry was close with the person who did this. They were betrayed.
"Calm down, Hermione. Think. What do you need to do?" Hermione was falling short on a decent plan that could save herself and whoever was bleeding upstairs. Maybe they were already dead, maybe it was an enemy.
She certainly knew what she wanted to do. Her mind went back to Albus who was just behind the wall. She wanted to hold him tight and sob her heart out. But no, that was not an option, at least not right now. She flicked her wand at the fireplace to disconnect the floo to all outside sources.
With silenced feet and now a silenced mouth, she slowly made her way up the spiralling staircase that would lead her to the bedrooms. The entire place was eerily quiet which made her dread what she would find when she did manage to get up there.
As she turned the corner, a chill went down her spine. She placed her hands on her mouth to prevent a cry from escaping, forgetting she had just silenced herself.
Ginny Potter hung from the intricate railing like a piece of cloth. Hermione thankfully couldn't see her face as she hung with her face away from her and her long red hair was matted with dried blood. She was armless; both arms were cleanly cut off at the sockets, but no blood dripped down. All the blood had been drained before she was hung up like a towel.
Whoever did this wanted Hermione to see.
Her emotional switch threatened to flick on, flooding her with the horror and despair she was just barely able to stabilize. She pushed the vomit back down her throat and continued to walk up the stairs with trembling legs and her breath completely taken from her. She continued up the spiral when something caught her eye. Something was sticking out of Ginny's back pocket. Upon closer inspection, it was her wand.
Ginny must have been the first one to be attacked. Unable to even have time to pull out her wand to defend herself against whomever did this. If the attacker was able to take Ginny off guard and able to enter Godric's Hollow with no difficulty, then it was someone that they were extremely close with.
Hermione gently slipped Ginny's wand into her own robe, "Why would they leave her wand with her?" she wondered as she continued to climbed the rest of the stairs. Anyone with the skill to do what they did would know that allowing the opponent a secret second wand in case they were disarmed would be a great disadvantage. By the time she skipped the top creaky step, she could only think of two answers. 1) The attacker was confident that they could win against her. Or 2) they were confident Hermione couldn't attack.
Hermione stood in the empty corridor at the top of the stairs for far longer than she should have, but she couldn't help it. As her mind was connecting all the dots, she realized there was only one person that checked every box.
"No." she whispered, her sheer emotion had broken her own silencing spell as she shook her head and denied all the evidence that lay before her. She took her first hesitant step forward and suddenly the door of Ginny's home office slowly opened.
Every inch of skin on her body turned into gooseflesh.
"Come on in, Hermione."
Her breath hitched.
She knew that voice better than her own. She had depended on that voice more often than her own. That voice had given her light during the darkest of days and that voice gave her strength when she had none. She loved that voice.
All the hairs on her body stood on its' ends. Her vision shook, or maybe it was her entire body shaking, she didn't know. She had felt this type of fear radiate throughout her before, but this time she wasn't 18 and full of hope, but 33 and all alone with so much more to lose. She was shaking so much that it was amazing she was even standing, and it was a damn miracle when her morbid curiosity propelled her into the office.
Hermione wasn't sure if she was relieved or devastated that the office wasn't in a gory state like downstairs. No furniture was overturned and not a drop of blood was in sight except for the footprints made by her own shoes. The desk was unkept, and the stacks of drafts Ginny had for her Quidditch column for the Prophet was piled onto the corner like always. Ginny's old Holly Head Harpies jersey was encased in a glass frame, signed by her teammates and coach, hanging proudly on the wall along with trophies, her children's drawings, and her writing awards. She could see the sun hanging very low on the horizon through the large circular window behind the table and seat, flooding in the last bit of natural light the world had to offer before night fell.
The scene was so normal, untouched by the antipathy that was downstairs, that she could almost hear Ginny humming as she summarized the quidditch plays from the match that occurred that night.
"Take a seat, you're shaking like a leaf."
His voice was deep and soft like always, comforting her like a warm blanket. But that was the problem, wasn't it? His treasured child bled to death on his kitchen floor and the love of his life was hung up like a rag to dry, but his voice was soft and calm.
He was sitting in Ginny's seat looking completely unfazed by the complete destruction he'd caused to the life her friend had worked so hard to build.
He looked the same. He could have fooled everyone else and none would be the wiser, but she was Hermione and the person in question was Harry Potter. Or to be more accurate, not Harry Potter. One look at his eyes and she knew. Her Harry was gone. Her best friend was gone.
Every paranoid thought, every unbelievable theory, every nightmare was manifested into reality as it sat there drumming his fingers on the desk.
Her eyes shifted to see a body sitting on his lap. 4 year old sweet and beautiful Lily Potter, sat cold and stiff on her father's lap with dead eyes. Dried tear tracks were on her face as he carefully moved her red hair away from her delicate face.
Hermione felt a sharp pain in her chest and a twist in her gut, "Don't you dare touch her, you filthy monster." She growled.
"They say parents aren't supposed to have favorites, but he definitely favored this one, didn't he?" He was smiling. The same kind of smile that haunted her night terrors for years as Bellatrix stood above her with pure glee after throwing Cruciatus after Cruciatus. "I think it's because she takes after Ginny in everyway. He was quite tired of hearing how much he looked like his father back in his day, wasn't he?"
"Don't. Don't say her name. Not with your mouth."
It was at dire times like this when her mental emotional switch astounded even herself. She supposed this was why Ron claimed it scary, Harry once said she felt like a different person all together and Ginny said it made her feel guilty for feeling.
She looked at Voldemort's eyes. It was still Harry's beautiful green that she loved and adored. She hated him for that. He was corrupting everything she associated as good and as love.
"You died, Tom. We burned your corpse." Her voice was quiet, but it didn't shake or crack.
Just for a split second, those green eyes turned red and Voldemort's true face revealed itself through Harry's mask.
"Yes, Hermione Granger. Or is it Granger-Weasley now?" he smirked, composing himself. "Yes, it is. It took young Mr. Weasley a while to proposed though, didn't it? Mr. Potter remembers it in splitting detail. How nervous Mr. Weasley was, buying the ring with him, how you looked the day of the proposal, and how you smiled."
"You. Died."
"Yes, I did." He acknowledged. "But did you really think I wouldn't have a back up to my back ups? That you and your little friends, children at the time, could defeat me?" His face crumpled and the green eyes gleamed red once more. The monster was surfacing, and it took a step toward her.
Her wand came up, aimed at his face.
"You had your doubts though." He whispered. "You had that feeling in your gut, that despite all the trouble you went through and all who died, it was still a little too easy. A little too convenient that the wand chose the owner, therefore my spell would backfire. You want me to guess how you knew? Because you're intelligent, resourceful, and most importantly, you know how to think like the enemy. You, my dear, knew that a man who made 6 intentional horcruxes to live forever would make a 7th, especially after he finds out that a trio of brats were running around trying to destroy all of them. Seven is the most powerful magical number after all. Though, Mr. Potter was a true accident, so I'll give Dumbledore the credit for figuring that out."
He looked down at the end of her wand to find it steady, the tremors that previously ransacked her body gone. "Can you really fight me when I have this face? This body?" he sounded impressed. His eyes turned back to its usual green, and he smiled. It looked truly genuine. This time, Hermione could have really believed it was Harry if she didn't see a very dead Lily on his lap.
"Hermione, lower your wand." He said in Harry's voice. She wanted to believe that there was a part of her friend still in here somewhere, begging her to help him, to save him.
In that moment, all she could remember was the night of her bachelorette party where she'd snuck out of from the loud club, back to her flat where she found Harry (who'd snuck out of Ron's stag party early) waiting for her with bottles of her favorite beer and McDonald's. They talked, laughed, then eventually cried, feeling guilty about the happiness they felt when so many didn't have the chance. They promised each other and to the sacrificed dead that they would try to live as happily as possible, filled with love.
Love.
Harry was a man of love. Harry loved his wife and children. He would have quite literally done anything for them. No matter how convincing that smile or voice was, the dead bodies of Albus, Ginny and Lily were irrefutable proof that Harry was not coming back, not even a single cell was Harry anymore.
…
Ron stood in his spacious kitchen, defrosting the roast he knew Hermione was going to make for dinner that day. He was excited, he loved her roast.
When they first moved in together, he was shocked to find out that Hermione didn't actually know how to cook. Although his previous experiences with her cooking hadn't been swell, he just assumed her food sucked because they were on the run, in the middle of nowhere with no ingredients, tools or seasoning. He realized that he just assumed she would be good at it, because she was good at everything.
He smiled remembering the first dinner they had when they moved in together in their small flat at Diagon Alley. She had spent hours, slaving in the kitchen going over 4 different types of cookbooks and his mother's instructions to make his favorite; Sunday roast.
It tasted like shit.
After his first bite, he didn't manage to hide his facial expression very well. It was not an understatement to say she was upset, but when she took a bite, she too grimaced. They laughed. He kissed her and ate it all, despite her and his stomach's protests.
Eventually, she mastered cooking like she mastered everything else, which was why he was preparing all the ingredients for her to cook. He could cook too, in fact, he was pretty damn good, but it was a skill that was cultivated from necessity since Hermione was busier than he was majority of the time. In fact, he made lunch and dinners during the week for the entire family and found that he rather enjoyed it. One of the many joys in life was when Hermione and the kids liked the food he made.
"Daddy?"
He turned around to see his 8-year-old daughter still wearing her muggle school uniform. Her red hair was styled neatly into two braids as she looked up at him with her mother's eyes.
"Yes, Rosie?" he asked.
"Jamie and I are hungry; can we have a snack before dinner?"
"Sure baby, how does celery and peanut butter sound?"
"Sounds super yummy! Jamie! We're getting celery and peanut butter!" she yelled towards her room.
"I want lots of peanut butter on mine then!" the older boy's voice replied.
"Make sure you change out of your uniform and wash your hands please!" He yelled so that his nephew could hear.
"Daddy? Could you make some for later when Hugo wakes up and Lily gets here? Oh, and make some soup so Al can feel better." She had a little frown on her pale freckled forehead.
He smiled and nodded. His daughter was always trying to look after everyone like her mother was. He put his finger on the frown. It was a thing he did with Hermione, where he pressed the frown forming on his wife's face, and she'd relax. He would say it he was just doing it to prevent wrinkles on his beautiful wife's face, but in reality, he was just vying for her attention.
Rose looked up to the finger and smiled goofily. Satisfied to see the worried frown gone from his daughter's young face, he stood up straight and saluted her like he'd seen in the muggle telly, "I'll make sure everyone gets their snacks, ma'am!"
His daughter giggled at his behavior and he felt like he's earned the world. He gently pushed her to the loo. "Now go change and wash up, please."
"Okay!" she said and ran to the loo.
Ron glanced at the clock on the wall and frowned. "Hermione didn't mention she was going to late today…" he trailed off as he turned his ring around his finger—a nervous habit he'd picked up from Hermione. "I'm sure she just lost track of time at work." He muttered, and shrugged it off. It wouldn't be the first time.
…
Hermione put her head down as if to cry, but did not let her wand down. He might be Voldemort, but he had Harry's muscle memory. All she needed was a split-second distraction. She conjured up 2 tiny golden balls, the size of a snitch, and flung it to the left, just past Voldemort's reach, in speeds she didn't know she had.
He took the bait.
Hermione jumped over Ginny's large oak desk in full speed and caught the little girl falling from his lap. She hooked her left arm around the child's small torso and pulled her close, trying to cover as much of Lily with her own body before flinging herself through the circular window without a second of thought. The glass shattered around her, cutting up her cheeks and arms.
Mid fall, she pulled out her wand to cast a spongify on the ground, but her instincts screamed. With a split-second decision, she casted a protego behind her instead. The blue magical shield wobbled from a spell that would have caught the middle of her back, but now her landing was sloppy. She tried to roll as many times as possible to reduce the impact, but it was easier said than done when a dead child was in your arms.
A searing pain spread on her left shoulder.
"Ah!" she cried out. She looked down to see a thick shard of glass stuck in her upper arm. It was thankfully her non-dominant arm, but now she couldn't hold Lily and cast at the same time. She needed to levitate her, which meant she her attacks were limited. She instinctively cast another Protego around herself and Lily just in time for something to bounce off on her right. A hooded figure had just turned the corner and spotted them.
Death Eaters.
Although she knew they could never eradicate the Death Eaters from their society since it would be like trying to eliminate an ideology, she didn't expect them to gather so fast. The bastard literally came back today. How was this happening?
As a second spell bounced off her shield, this time the wobble was much more severe, she decided she'd dawdled long enough at one spot. There would be time to think about all of this later. She stopped the bleeding from her left shoulder with a hasty and temporary spell. She threw a feather-light charm on Lily and then placed Lily on her back with a sticking charm. She waited for the right moment, since several things needed to happen with perfect timing.
She waited with baited breath as the Death Eater slowly approached her. She could see the arrogant smile from under the hood. He assumed he was tasting victory, but she was Hermione Granger-Weasley and if there was one thing she did exceptionally was work under pressure.
"Avada Kedavra!"
She dropped to the floor, as low as she possibly could. The sound of her shield shattering was the cue she needed. As her magical shield broke it created a brief by bright flash of light, just enough tome for her to throw on her best disillusionment spell on herself.
She ran. She had only one destination in mind, to get past the anti-apparation wards.
There was a prickle on the back of her neck like she was being stared at. Only a couple of meters away from the apparation sight, she took a millisecond to turn around to see what that tingling sensation was.
Voldemort was staring at her, smiling, no, laughing. She didn't know how he knew exactly where she was, she was sure her Disillusionment charm was perfect, especially if she was standing still. A chill went down her spine as they made eye contact.
"See you soon." He mouthed.
She apparated.
…
"Ron? RON! RONALD!" a frantic voice called out.
Ron rushed to the source of the voice to find his mother's panicked face in their main fireplace.
"Oh, Ron! Something's wrong! The clock! The clock!" Molly cried in hysteria. "The notches are in mortal peril!"
"Mum! Calm down! What are you talking about?"
"My clock! I just came home and the notches are all in mortal peril!"
Ron's eyes widened. His mother's clock was never wrong, but it did tend to overexaggerate. It once told him that Harry's life was in mortal peril when he was away for business in Italy, and it hadn't even been a mission, but a friendly chat with the Italian wizarding government.
"Which ones?" he asked cautiously. "Whose dials are in mortal peril? Let me give them a call."
"Everyone's."
He froze.
"What?"
"Everyone's is in mortal peril."
Ron stood up straighter, his face hardening at the news. "Have you tried calling Harry?"
"I can't get through. It's blocked and nothing I've tried is working. Something's definitely wrong. I can feel it, Ron."
Ron wracked his brain trying to remember his Auror training that he hadn't used in years. Why was the floo closed? Harry's place had anti-apparition wards up all the time to prevent freaks and creeps from randomly showing up, so the floo would be the fastest way to exit the residence.
"I'm going to drop by. I need to check if they're alright."
"NO!" Ron shouted before his mother could end the call. "Mum, Godric's Hollow's been compromised. You're right, something's wrong. Hermione's not home either. She or Harry must have closed the floo to prevent any of us going to their place." He rambled. "Mum, pack your things and locate everyone else."
"Ron…" Molly hesitated, fear dripping from her voice. "The only other time all dials were pointed at mortal peril was during… the war. It can't be happening all over again, right?"
Ron looked up to look his mother in the eyes. Even through the flickering fire, she looked old. When had his mother gotten so old? She was no longer the woman who struck fear in the hearts of all her troublemaking children by simply shouting their full name. She looked frail and weathered with her sagging skin and wrinkles that covered her forehead, eyes and the sides of her mouth.
It was the second time he was faced with this threat and he felt like his heart was at his throat, but the old woman before him was now facing her third threat of war. He'd always admired his mother, but never had he admired her to the extent he did right now.
"I—" Ron choked, unable to finish the lie he wanted to say. "Let's hope not."
…
Soon the uncomfortable sensation of Apparation disappeared as Hermione felt her feet land on the hard wood floor. All homes owned by her friends who were deemed 'war heroes' had anti-apparation wards surrounding their places to prevent strangers from even accidentally arriving to their home. So instead of apparating to a closer location, she arrived in the small cottage her parents left for her, hundreds of miles away from Godrick's Hollow.
She vomited. The emotional upheaval plus the long distance side-along apparation made her stomach turn violently. She vomited again.
After wiping her mouth, she looked up at the dusty cottage. This was the first place she thought of, thought it was a bad idea to stay anywhere for long, especially if Voldemort had Harry's memories. But she really needed a moment to recollect and analyse everything that happened in the span of less than 30 minutes.
She walked to the living area where she gently laid the body of Lily Potter on the sofa and took a seat on the arm chair across from her. She took a deep breath in and held it. She needed composure, but not too much. If she stayed like this, her emotions would flood her, making her inconsolable. She still had things to do. She had time to mourn…later, but something in her gut told her that 'later' wouldn't come anytime soon.
She smacked her thighs, forcing herself to get to work. She needed to notify everyone, or else they would be in grave danger. She was sure Ron would figure out that Harry was no longer Harry as quickly as she did, but them not meeting at all would be even better.
She pulled her wand out to send a patronus to Ron, but stopped. No, that's what Hermione Granger would do. She couldn't use her usual methods. Voldemort had access Harry's memories which made him privy to her greatest asset: her brain. They would track her otter and act immediately.
She ran to the phone handing on the wall near the kitchen and dialed.
"Hello?" the deep male voice sounded perplexed. Afterall, it wasn't normal for the minister of magic to receive a phone call through his muggle cellular device from an unregistered number.
"…Kingsley, it's me."