Venom and Its Cure

Chapter 2

As soon as Hermione felt solid ground beneath her feet, she collapsed.

She had apparated to the first place she had thought of: The Burrow. A poor choice, she knew, considering that the Death Eaters could definitely find out where she was. She thought of when Bellatrix had set fire to it a couple Christmases ago.

That's when Hermione had found out that war was personal. It affected her specifically; war was not picky about who it harmed. This became clearer to her every day from that December on.

She allowed herself to have a few minutes to lay on the floor, too exhausted to care.

Defeated. Weak. Stupid.

You left your friends there to die, said her inner cynic. You killed them. George and Luna and Neville are dead because of your selfishness.

Hermione forced herself to bare all the humiliation and shame from what she had done. Some part of her reminded her that she was more helpful this way; she could gather a group of survivors and find a way to defeat Voldemort.

How arrogant, she thought. That a seventeen year old witch could take down Voldemort. If Harry couldn't, someone with specific ties to Voldemort himself, how could she?

Harry.

She scrambled up from the floor so quickly that her head spun. Eyes only seeing black, she gasped for air.

Her lungs weren't working. They hurt. Suddenly it was impossible to breathe, it hurt to think, it hurt to remember.

He was dead. Harry Potter was dead.

Her best friend. Her brother.

Gone.

Hermione forced air down her throat as she fell against the door frame. Everyone was gone. So many of her friends had just been brutally murdered in front of her without a second thought. The ones she hadn't seen die were probably being slaughtered right now.

She hated Lucius Malfoy.

Swallowing back her memories and tears and pain, she steadied her legs. She had to move on, at least for now. Unless she wanted a Death Eater to come and rip the limbs off her body one-by-one, she knew she should probably cast protection spells.

While she walked outside, the witch pretended not to notice abandoned broomsticks lying in Molly's garden, never to be touched by their owners again.

She pulled her wand out of its hiding place in her pocket before whispering the enchantments.

Protego totalum. Salvio Hexia. Muffliato. Cave inimicum.

Her mind somewhere else, she was glad these spells had become like second nature to her.

She had practiced them quite a lot.

Once satisfied with her protective spells, Hermione trudged back inside. To keep her from bursting back into hysterics, she knew she had to keep herself busy. There would be time for grieving later. Right now, she needed to start planning her next steps.

She took a look in the mirror on her left. It was grimy and dusty and cracked, but Hermione could see enough to know she looked horrid.

A mixture of blood and dirt was caked all over her hollow cheeks and forehead. Her lip was busted; it was swollen and bloody. Cuts and bruises were littered all over her face and neck. Her arm was oozing and blistering from her backfired spell. She knew that wasn't even the full extent of her injuries by the pain in her legs.

Her outward appearance matched how she felt on the inside. Everything was hot, red, and angry. The pain seeped through her skin and melted into her bones.