Once More Unto The Breach // DHr

e i g h t

War smells of sulfur and burnt wood – acrid and bitter on the tongue – the first thought that comes into Hermione's mind as she steps into the chaos of battling for one's life, and breathing in the air that was saturated heavily with a mix of copper that she later would swear she tasted before it even registered in her mind what it smelt like. Blood. The unmistakable redolence of death. War is the sound of snapping necks, strangled cries, and gargled last words.

A masked man in robes as black as night itself appears in front of her, then a jet of green light, and he crumples before her to the unforgiving floor of ash and grime – eyes wide open, glassy, lifeless. Sometimes, they don't get to say anything at all. She would never admit to anyone that she prefers the screams, for no other reason except how it drowns out the voice in her head and douses the burning in her veins anguishing over her killing so easily. She has wondered what that says about her, but the conclusion is always so blurry.

As far as she could tell, war is the only constant presence she's known in the world she found herself in. No, in the world she was born to be in.

Cast to kill. Cast to kill. Cast to kill.

Another surge of energy streams out from her wand in a flash, causing another body to fall, and she asks herself if it will ever stop being her reality.

"Clear out!" Someone from the left side of the corridor yells, Ron's team, just as the coin she had tucked away in her back pocket heated to a degree that she could no longer ignore. Abort mission.

Hermione turns on her heel and prepares to run, when she comes face to face with a familiar snarl.

Greyback's unnaturally long arms are quick to reach out and grab her by his claws, but not quick enough for Hermione. She ducks his advance and goes straight to his unprotected left, shooting a Bombarda that throws him to the other side of the corridor. The impact of his weight against the wall promptly broke through it, leaving a gaping hole from the hall to one of the drawing rooms.

She's supposed to have already gotten out of the crumbling Manor minutes ago, but even from where she stood, she could make out movement from under the rubble that have buried Greyback under.

Cast to kill. Cast to kill. Cast to kill.

Hermione raises her wand and thick ropes encircle his burly werewolf frame as he's tacked once more back to the crumbling cement he crawled out of, and Hermione slowly walks to where she has him at her complete mercy. Nothing short of predatory, she would later admit with only a tiny bit of pride, when recounting the events in the privacy of her own mind.

"You think killing me would mean you won?"He spits, a mixture of blood, saliva and black sludge that is entirely Greyback. "Don't be stupid, girly, you will never –"

"Defervefio."

The words never make it out of his mouth as steam emits from every pore of his exposed flesh. Even through his coat of fur, she could visibly see the skin underneath it reddening at an alarming rate. Hermione stays watching, the coin continuing to burn from her pocket but feeling nothing, as she focuses on the scene unravelling before her. Greyback blue in the face suffocating from the lack of oxygen while his entire body is close, so close, to bursting at the seams from the heat. She wonders what this says about her – standing idly, waiting for someone to die.

And then he does. Vanishing in a puff of gas.

Hermione encounters more Death Eaters on her way out, finding that an Avada still does the job though the caster is absentminded.

She finally gets to the point of the grounds where Parkinson Manor's wards end, and reaches into the inside of her tattering jacket, procuring a Head Girl badge that was wrapped inside an old cloth, and in a pull, she wasn't standing in the middle of a war anymore. She was standing in the middle of its survivors, safe and alive to fight another day.

The previous thought of 'will it ever end?'ringing in her ears again.