When Love Hurts | Dramione - COMPLETED

Light

Hermione heard the blast before she saw it. It shattered her eardrums, and she instinctively cried out and moved back. She could barely see anything through the bright flash of green light that soared in an arc towards the crowned ring. 

When the smoke had cleared, Draco was standing, motionless, his face set in stone. "We have to find him," he finally spoke in a low tone. "Do we tell him about Aurora?"

"He'll figure it out eventually," Hermione softly said. "Draco, it's not over. He's weakened, yes, but he won't go down without a fight."

The two of them and Aurora started to walk down the hallway, aware of the sudden silence that seemed to shroud the castle. All fighting had stopped. The Death Eaters had vanished, called back to their lord's side, and grim helpers were carrying unmoving bodies to the makeshift hospital wing. Though the glassy eyes and lifeless bodies were nothing new to Hermione and Draco, who had experienced more death than anyone their age should have to go through, it was new to Aurora, and she was struggling to keep it together. 

"She's going into shock," Draco caught Aurora as she stumbled, her hand over her mouth. Hermione silently helped support her. "We need to get her to the hospital wing."

Hermione nodded, and together, they managed to reach the row of beds and medicine that qualified as the hospital wing. It was teeming with witches and wizards, overflowing with injured men, women, and children, and had the sense of utter miserableness and despair all around it. A Healer took Aurora immediately, though he was surprised to realize that she seemed Muggle. 

But while Draco was explaining the situation to the Healer in terse voice, Hermione was running towards a certain red-headed family, all huddled around one bed. She passed Tonks and Lupin as she ran, and faltered, seeing them still wrapped in a tight embrace, their faces nearly touching. Then, a young helper put a sheet over them, and Hermione went on, her vision blurry with tears. 

It was supposed to be better this time. 

She nearly knocked over Ron when she arrived in front of the bed that the Weasley's were at, her breath catching when she realized who lay in the bed before her. 

It was Fred Weasley, his eyes staring without seeing, the ghost of a laugh he must've shared right before still etched upon his face. 

But - they had said that it was George - 

All at once, she realized how easy it would be to mistake one of them for the other, especially in all the chaos and the blood, dirt, and grime that covered them. George was slumped on the floor next to the bed, his eyes as unseeing as Fred's, but without a trace of laughter. 

Molly Weasley turned around and caught sight of her, and she reached out a hand - Hermione ignored it, furiously wiping away her tears. 

"Dear - " Molly tried to form a sentence, but she broke down, clutching a handkerchief in one hand and George's lifeless hand in the other. 

"No," Hermione whispered. "No! It was supposed to be better this time. No one should've - it's - it's - it was supposed to be better." 

The Weasleys, overcome with grief, didn't question her. In any life, in any time period, Fred Weasley could not die. 

Someone touched her arm, and Hermione jolted back into reality. 

Draco glanced at her, then at Fred. His expression wavered for a second, then hardened. 

"It's time to defeat Voldemort."

oOo

She didn't have a very clear idea how Draco had managed to get her unresponsive body to walk with him to the woods, but here they were again, where Voldemort was torturing anyone who dared to get in his way.