Once More Unto The Breach // DHr

n i n e

It's rare to find good moments in a war. At first, Hermione used to discount their victories. She wasn't killing yet back then, but it took her a while to come to the fact she already was. She was still ending their life, right? Just because Hermione wasn't the one to finally off them, doesn't mean she wasn't helping the process starting by hunting them down all the same. She was set to see them all locked behind bars in Azkaban, rotting for eternity as empty shells of their past selves. It made the defining difference to her.

Because she has learned in the hardest way possible that they are all her enemies.

They aren't someone else's husband, wife, someone else's sister, brother, child, someone else's best friend or lover. They are just another pair of soulless eyes that would kill her on the ground she stands on without stopping to see if she means anything to anyone herself.

But tonight seems to be one of those rare exceptions. Tonight, things could have been way worse than it was. For every battle, pitched or not, as long as they came back with the same number of people who leave, nothing else matters.

As soon as the last ones came through their barriers, Penelope Clearwater limping as a bloke too mangled, too injured, too bloody, for her to discern weighed down her left shoulder, they were already ready to leave for their next campsite. It was a successful mission. A close call by all means, but successful nonetheless. It was no small feat to tear down the wards of Parkinson Manor and let it fall to the ground, taking as many Death Eaters under as time and luck allowed.

They didn't get to have many of those, so of course, after the ever mandatory medical ward, the first thing they set up was a table filled with an assortment of both Wizarding and Muggle alcohol. Mostly Muggle, as they've all reached a unanimous decision that the Wizarding world just isn't creative enough to come up with drinks that could get a person plastered in 101 ways.

"Care to get absolutely smashed tonight, captain?" Dean Thomas raises his hand that holds a bottle of Ogden's Finest to Hermione's stomach.

She rolls her eyes at him, to which he only smirks at because she knows he knows well and true that Hermione hates being called anything other than her name, and pushes the bottle back. "Funny you're offering, because as I recall quite clearly, we're both on patrols in half an hour."

An already incoherent Seamus Finnegan stumbles past them, almost falling face down on the dirt when Dean catches him just in time.

"Aye, thanks mate." He grins a wild toothy grin - the kind that suggests the world could be ending around him and he'd still be smiling happily oblivious, as he clumsily wraps his arms around both Dean and Hermione. But before either could reply, he's stumbling off again.

She sneaks a side-glance at Dean who dazedly popped off the cap of the bottle, taking a large swig of its golden liquid. She notices he didn't even flinch as he took another, and another.

Dean uses the back of his hand to wipe away the excess left on his mouth. "Let's fucking go."

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A/N:

Don't come at me with pitchforks for breaking Dean's heart in this chapter pls. I cried writing it.

Thank you so much for reading! Any kind of feedback would be much appreciated. Much, much love xx