Fallen Dynasty (Dramione)

Three - The Revelation

Dulce bellum inexpertis.

War is sweet to those who have never fought.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Hermione allowed the shower to heat up as she stared at herself in the cracked and dirty mirror. She still stood in her mission uniform; thick, black leather boots, black jeans, and a tight black jacket charmed with dragon hide to stop any blade from penetrating through. A knife was strapped to her thigh and her two wands - her own and an extra just in case - stuck just out of her boot.

She was still covered in dried and caked blood — hers and Lavender's. She wasn't sure whose was whose at this point.

Her expression was despondent, the whites of her eyes an angry red from the salt of her tears. Her hair was flat, curls sad and dead. Her mouth was in a permanent downwards slope and her under-eyes puffy. She didn't remember the last time she looked like herself.

Probably that morning — the day her universe stood still. She doesn't think it ever started spinning on it's axis again.

She was battle hardened now, every trace of the girl who always had something intelligent to say or a book to read were no more. She didn't think she had even read a book for leisure in years.

She peeled off her clothes and stepped into the hot shower, the water immediately becoming a pale pink as it circled the drain. She hissed quietly as she absentmindedly tried to run her fingers through her hair but got caught by the matted clumps.

Massaging the shampoo into her scalp, she lathered and scrubbed, but was careful not to touch the tender spot too roughly.

The skin on her upper arm was healed yet was disfigured, discolored, and leathery looking, never to be the same again. She tried not to think about it. What was a change in her appearance when you're trying to win a war?

What was another sacrifice to her when she's already lost it all?

She scrubbed her body until her skin was raw and red before shutting off the water. Stepping out, she quickly got dressed, braided her long mass of hair down her back, and exited into the hallway.

She checked the time and noticed it was still early morning and most people were still asleep, which was fine by her.

Opening the front door, the soft, morning, cool breeze brushed against her face. The Order's safe house was large, several acres sectioned and warded off for safety reasons. It took days for them to do the hexes around all of the property and still did monthly check ups on the barriers.

Hermione began to run, jogging past the medical tent and the mess hall. She ran past Harry's personal tent and Ron's. She ran past the gardens and the fruit trees, all while wondering one thing.

How did Reaper know where to apparate to?

How did Reaper take her home, just at the base of the barrier.

The thought sent a shiver down her spine so violent she almost tripped the first time it crossed her mind.

He knows.

He knows where they live. He knows their safety barriers to the exact tree it stops at.

He could attack at any second, yet all he wanted was one thing.

Her.

She didn't understand it, couldn't get her mind to wrap around why. She remembered his low baritone, calm and collected, completely sure of his request.