Secrets and Masks

70. The Mudblood and the dragon

TW; war, graphic descriptions of war-time gore, disfigurement, and death

4th July

Battles always started the same way.

There was always a scream, a call to order, a signal to indicate that the time for civilised conversation was over and the bloodshed was about to begin. Narcissa's attack had been just that. That wave of fire that'd come hurtling out of her mouth had been the call to arms, the signal that everyone could drop the pretences of human niceties, they could take off their masks and reveal their true intentions. They could channel all the pain and anger they felt for the opposition, that rage that they usually caged. They could release that carnal part that existed inside every person, but was usually held down and buried, and they could wreak havoc on their enemy.

When Bellatrix screamed, every monster answered the call. They all started to charge. Full pelt. No fear or mercy in their eyes. They didn't care about the dragon that stood in front of their prize or the flames that still burned on the floor. They just started to attack, they just started to run ... straight for Hermione.

After years of this, Hermione thought she knew everything there was to know about battles. She thought that her tired eyes had seen everything there was to see when it came to war. Thought her weary heart had felt every emotion there was to feel in those types of life or death situations.

She'd seen people beheaded and she'd felt remorse for those she'd killed. She'd watched victory be snatched away in the blink of an eye - even when it felt so certain - and she'd felt the heartbreak that followed it. She'd watched so many of her friends die and she'd felt the unbearable rage that accompanied watching such a thing.

Hermione thought she'd seen it all, thought she'd felt it all, but when those monsters started to charge at her, she'd never felt anything like it. Because she'd never seen a wave of enemies all running towards her - and only her - with the sole intention of capturing her.

Voldemort hadn't come here to win this war, he'd just come here to get her. He wanted Hermione. He wanted her alive and in his possession. Probably wanted to stash her away somewhere no one would ever be able to find her, where she'd be alone and isolated but feeding his immortality for the rest of her days - he probably thought that was a privilege for someone like her.

Get the girl, those must've been the only instructions he'd given his monsters, and they were blindly following his command.

Dementors appeared out of nowhere. The Death Eaters that remained drew their wands. The giants ran toward them. Dark, deformed creatures Hermione had never seen before - never even read about - appeared out of the shadows. Hundreds and hundreds of Acromantula's of every size started to scurry out of the buildings and shop windows around them. Their enemy was closing in -

But what little remained of the Order fought back just as fiercely.

Daphne and Theo started to throw killing curses one after the other at their attackers -

Narcissa released another punishing breath of fire that set the first wall of charging spiders aflame -

Harry appeared on the right side of the battlefield - Ginny seconds later - and they both immediately went on the attack. So did Ron. And then Fleur. And then Luna and Neville. Even Shacklebolt appeared out of the shadows to take this final stand.

Although there weren't many of them left, no one fled. No one even thought about running. One by one, every single surviving member of the Order of the Phoenix came to fight with fierce determination.

And as soon as Draco Apparated in front of Hermione, he went straight for Voldemort. "GO, GRANGER!" he screamed as he threw a red curse. Thick chains flew out of the end of his wand and straight towards his former master. "NOW!"