Chapter Text
Chapter One: Disintegration
Everything was falling apart.
The stone underfoot trembled, roaring like a roused beast. Above, the vaulted ceiling groaned and showered down a century’s worth of dust. The tapestries that once lined the walls—records of glory and time—were already reduced to ash in the crossfire of curses.
The corridors of Hogwarts, a path Draco Malfoy could walk blindfolded, were now a burning path to Hell.
"Left! Stay close to the wall!" Hermione Granger's voice was nearly torn to shreds by the deafening explosions. Her wand tip held a steady light, and each flick deflected a lethal curse with scalpel-like precision.
Draco stumbled behind her, clutching his wand and practically running in her footsteps. His face was paler than the dust, his robes stained and filthy. Sweat and grime matted his platinum hair, plastering it to his forehead. Yet he couldn't look away from the small, powerful figure leading him through the chaos.
The bookish girl he remembered was gone—along with the annoyance and disdain she’d always reserved for him.
The Hermione of this moment was a drawn dagger—swift, sharp, and lethal. She moved with a deadly grace, and every spell she cast was so efficient that it left him no room to intervene.
When she spun to block a curse aimed straight for his head, the flash of her Shield Charm lit her calm brown eyes. For a heartbeat, he felt a strange sense of déjà vu. A thought so absurd it was almost blasphemous struck him like lightning: he had never known how utterly captivating she looked when she wielded a wand.
The thought sent a shiver through him. In that moment, he forgot the insults, the rivalry, the years of being enemies. All he knew was that when the entire world was ending, she was the only person who hadn't given up on him. Her voice, her commands, her every move—it all felt strangely familiar, as if trusting her was an instinct that overruled all reason.
Hermione seemed to sense his stare burning into her back. Her arm paused mid-air, but she didn't look back.
"Keep up, Malfoy," she said, her voice hoarse but piercingly clear amid the thunderous roar.
He instinctively quickened his pace, closing the dangerous distance between them.
"Ten more seconds and we're safe!" she shouted, neutralizing another Death Eater's curse with a clean, nonverbal spell. The impact made her stagger, but she instantly found her footing, like a resilient tree in the eye of a storm.
Draco’s heart hammered against his ribs. Her plan was working.
He trusted her. He would follow her anywhere.
Just then, a tall, masked figure appeared at the end of the corridor—
Antonin Dolohov.
Without hesitation, Hermione stepped in front of him and raised her wand. A transparent shield, shimmering with silver light and flowing runes, materialized to protect them.
Dolohov waved his wand with a sneer, casting a powerful Blasting Curse. A shockwave of bright blue magic slammed into her barrier, cracking the ground and walls around them. The force whipped their hair and robes about.
Draco could feel the destructive power pushing against them. He watched her entire body trembling from the sheer effort of holding the shield.
A tiny crack appeared on the shield, but at the last second, it held.
The curse exploded inches from her face, dissolving into harmless sparks. In the next instant, her Body-Bind Curse struck Dolohov in the chest like a viper. He let out a short grunt and collapsed, instantly immobilized.
The air still echoed with the hiss of magic. A jolt of pure relief shot through Draco—they had done it.
Hermione turned toward him, her brown eyes shining with triumph, her lips parting to shout the victory he could already taste.
A sudden, grating noise from above made him look up.
A massive stone gargoyle on the ceiling above him—one he’d never seen in this corridor before—now had a fatal crack in its base, weakened by the shockwave of the deflected curse.
The crack widened in silence. His heart stopped.
Time stretched into a thick, suffocating slow motion. The gargoyle’s wings began to tilt. Gravel trickled down, landing in his hair.
No time to think. No time to move.
He saw her smile freezing, her brown eyes widening in pure, abject terror as she reached out. Her fingers were an inch from his robes—
The next second, a mountain of shadow fell, blotting out her terrified face as it crashed down.
And then—nothing.
3:17 a.m.
No.
No—
No, no, no, no, no!
A silent scream exploded in Hermione’s skull.
It was over. Again.
It wasn't the curse that had killed him. Not the shockwave, not the collapsing ceiling.
It was her own shield that had killed him.
Her victory had signed his death warrant.
Hermione’s knees finally gave out, and she crumpled to the floor, her hand still reaching for him. As the dust settled, Draco was gone, buried beneath a pile of broken, blood-stained rubble.
Everything fell silent. An emotion deeper than grief and emptier than despair seized her. It was the crushing absurdity of being mocked by fate itself. She felt her soul cracking, inch by inch.
Then came the familiar pull, an immense force that felt like it was ripping her soul from her body. An invisible hand grabbed her, yanking her away, folding the universe inward on itself and spinning…
The scent of roast chicken and the warm glow of a thousand candles enveloped her like a gentle, false embrace. The noise of the Great Hall at Hogwarts washed over her—the golden plates, the floating candles, the starry ceiling. Dumbledore had just finished his welcome speech. Everything was warm, bright, and full of hope.
Hermione Granger sat at the Gryffindor table.
It was the start of her sixth year—and her 137th return to this magnificent tomb called Hope.
Her hand was shaking—not a violent tremor, but a high-frequency vibration, almost invisible, as if her nerves were still stuck in that final moment of death. She quickly pulled her hand under the table and clenched her fist, her nails digging into her palm until the sharp sting masked the shaking.
"Hermione? What's wrong?" Ron's voice came from her left, muffled by a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "You look like you've just seen the Bloody Baron... smile."
"Ron!" Harry admonished.
"It's just a figure of speech!"
Hermione didn't answer right away. She took a deep breath, fighting a weariness that rose from the depths of her soul, threatening to drown her. It wasn't physical exhaustion, but a burnout of her very being. She felt like a piece of metal hammered and folded one too many times, until it had lost all shape and strength.
She forced a practiced smile—bookish, tired, and perfectly suited for a diligent student who had stayed up too late studying.
"It's nothing," she said, her voice raspy. "I was up too late reading last night. And honestly, this year's speech was rather… uninspired."
Harry looked at her with concern. "Merlin, you're completely pale. How late were you up?"
"Am I?" She touched her cheek. Her fingertips were even colder. She feigned a yawn. "I'll have to turn in early tonight."
The excuse worked. The two boys accepted it and turned their attention to the new Potions professor. No one knew that just a few minutes ago, she had been in Hell.
The chatter in the Great Hall sounded distant, as if she were hearing it through thick glass. She mechanically lifted her goblet, but the sweetness of the pumpkin juice was tasteless. The fire in her brown eyes had been extinguished long ago, leaving only a sorrow deeper than any abyss.
Her gaze drifted to the Slytherin table.
There he was. Draco Malfoy, leaning back lazily as Pansy Parkinson chattered at his side. He wore that familiar smirk of boredom and arrogance. He was alive, his robes immaculate, his hair perfect, and completely oblivious to the fate that awaited him.
She told herself it was an obsession to complete the mission. But she no longer knew if her mission was to save the world, or just to save him.
He was the king on a cursed chessboard; every time she tried to move him from the fated square of checkmate, the game found a new, crueler way to end.
A suffocating tightness gripped her chest. She drained her pumpkin juice in one go and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.
Alright, Hermione Granger. Pull yourself together.
The board has been reset.
The game has begun again.