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I'm not sure where to begin. Where does one begin when writing in these things? Is there any point anymore? Should I be the one to give up hope, or bolster it for my friends, lest they fall into the dregs of despair?
No. That's not my role, is it? It never was. Never will be. Even now when the world has turned upside down.
It's been a few years since I've had the pleasure of writing in a journal.
Hello, my name is Hermione. This is my life during the undead apocalypse. I do hope you en—
“HERMIONE!”
Hermione jumps, pen jerking across the page of her new journal. How irritating. She salvaged that from a stationary shop.
Sitting on a car roof, Hermione looks up. On an empty street, abandoned cars and neglected buildings make the eerie silence feel deafening. Well, apart from the running feet and yelling of Ronald Weasley.
“Get in get in get in!” he says frantically, yanking open the back car door and throwing in his backpack, followed by himself.
Hermione looks back down the street. She should be used to it by now, but the sight of them always unnerves her. The shuffling feet, the grasping hands, and dead eyes. She shudders, looking away from the mottled and bloodied flesh of what once was living people.
There were a good seven of them coming around the corner from where Ron appeared. Hermione looks back, feeling torn. Should she deliver them mercy and final peace?
Ron starts thudding inside the car, breaking her chain of thought. She sighs and slides to the ground, and gets inside the driver’s seat.
“What happened, Ron?” Hermione tries to sound as comforting as possible, but these scavenging trips always go awry with him.
“The place was bloody full of them! What was I supposed to do!” Ron snaps.
Hermione doesn't reply. There's no point.
He hasn't been the same since he had to see Arthur turn. And then Charlie, Bill, Fleur… he freezes up when coming face-to-face with the undead. Harry thinks it's good for him to confront it.
The car ride is quiet, as always, through the overgrown countryside. Passing the odd abandoned car. Coming across the wayward zombie blocking their path. Hermione drives around them these days.
“Why don't you just use your magic, Ron? To immobilise them, at least.” Hermione peeks in the rear view mirror at Ron, who is slouched in his seat.
“Just leave it,” he mutters and rubs his hands down his face.
“You have to try, Ron. Arthur would ha—”
“What the fuck do you know?” Ron spits, his face contorting in anger. “Always have the fucking answers, don't you? You don't know shit what I'm feeling!” He yells and punches his car door.
The steering wheel creaks as she grips it tightly and doesn’t respond.
_
Coming upon the Malfoy Manor gates feels odd every time. It's a strange predicament she finds herself in.
The previous year the Burrow became overwhelmed by a large horde, hence how they lost Arthur. It all happened so quickly. Hermione had been trying to find the cause, but she lost all her notes when they took over. They came across Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott, of all people, a few days later. Said they were looking for potion ingredients. Hermione hadn't seen Draco or any of the Slytherins since the fall of civilization two years prior.
The Malfoys took them in. Well, if you call only being able to camp on the grounds taking them in (thank you Lucius). Hermione often imagines him choking on his little plait bows.. at least they are under protection by the ancient wards.
A scream pierces through the trees down the lane as they approach the turn off for the gates. Hermione slams her foot on the brakes, causing Ron to slam into the seat in front of him.
“Fucking hell! What are you doing?” Ron gawps at her, getting out the car.
“I heard a scream.” Hermione strains to listen to any sign of life through the trees, and her heart skips at the faint sound of familiar groaning and snarling. She flinches at another desperate scream.
Hermione tears off through the trees. This is what she does. She saves people.
“Hermione, no!” Ron pleads after her.
She didn't care. She had to try.
Flashes of spells bursts through the trees, agonised cries and flesh-hungry murmurs become louder until Hermione sees it and feels her stomach drop.
Roughly thirty dead encroach upon two women, who are desperately casting spells. You must kill the brain. On a small moving target, it isn't easy.
Hermione reaches for her wand but Ron roughly grabs her arm. “No! Leave them!” he hisses.
“We can't let them die!”
“We can, I won't argue with you! Just do as you're told for once!” he growls.
Hermione arches a brow. Who does he think he is? He doesn't own her. She jabs her wand hard into his ribs. He drops her wrist and yelps.
“Get out of here. Coward.” She looks at him with disgust and turns back to the main problem. Ron stands stunned.
Hermione left him there and didn't look back. Precious moments have already been wasted and the dead encroach the women. They’ve only taken a few down; it's difficult to aim when you panic.
A bombarda would be very useful, but it's too loud and would attract more of them. Diffindo is great for fewer numbers.
“ARRESTO MOMEMTUM!”
A bright wave bursts from Hermione’s wand. The back half of the group slows to a snail's pace. She runs around the edge of the group and the wind nearly leaves her.
A tall zombie approaches one of the women from behind, half of its face chewed off and skin hanging in dried flaps around the jaw. Dirty hands reach and pull her head back, filthy teeth rip through the flesh of her throat and pull, tearing the skin and carotid artery. Blood sprays like a fountain before Hermione’s eyes, the scene unfolding as if in slow motion.
The woman flails desperately as she's dragged down to the floor by two others ripping into her skin. She twitches helplessly, bleeding out.
Her friend screams and stumbles back, fumbling her wand. Hermione has to act quickly or they all will be the next meal.
“STUPEFY! DIFFINDO!”
Hermione's wand arm dances through the air like a falcon hunting prey, casting the hoard back, cutting them down. The woman shuffles to her feet and casts behind her.
“Fuck! There's more!” she cries.
Hermione spares a glance at Ron, who looks on.
“Ron! Help!” Hermione pleads.
He flinches and takes a few steps back, a horrified look upon his face. He turns and runs. Hermione swears loudly and glances behind her, so many more amble towards them, limping, reaching bloodied hands outwards.
There was a spell she read of in Malfoy Manor, something Harry had mentioned, even… she had never cast it before. But, looking into the fearful eyes of the woman, Hermione blinks.
“Pansy? I thought you were...”
“Yes, no shit Sherlock. Can we fucking concentrate!” Pansy scowls and keeps casting.
Hermione’s adrenaline makes her feel lightheaded. She grabs Pansy closer, flings her arm around and bellows with all the magical control she can possibly muster.
“Tempestas ex ignis!”
An endless rope of fire immediately bursts forth from her wand, the sheer force trembling her hand. It encircles them like a giant lasso of destruction. Hermione turns her wand in a giant circle above her head. The undead are eaten up within the flames, their pallid grey flesh singing off, clothes burning and bones charring.
The heat is almost unbearable, the sweat runs down her face. Yet, she still twists her arm, until the last one falls. Hermione’s arm hangs limp. She's exhausted and out of breath.
Unfortunately, with fire spells, other things tend to catch fire. She has no time to rest because they both have to cast several aquamente around the area.
By the time they’re done, Hermione slides down against a tree. Pansy kneels beside her dead friend with tears streaming, sinking a knife into her temple.
A mercy these days.
Pansy wipes her eyes and stands up, pulling Hermione to her feet. Without a word, they make their way from the forest, arm-in-arm.
By the time they make it through the clearing, Hermione feels done in. She needs to sleep. But, the car is gone—along with Ron. She swears under her breath.
Pansy soothes her arm and they make their way down the long turn, off towards the Malfoy Estate.
When they arrive, it's dark. Hermione is dragging her feet, feeling depleted of energy. She touches the gates to activate the wards and signal those inside. Draco apparates a moment later.
“What time do you ca-...” His words fade in shock upon seeing Pansy.
“Just open the fucking gates, Draco!” Pansy snaps in irritation.
His hand bearing the family signet ring opens the gates, and he helps Hermione inside, casting a weary glance around before closing the gate and resetting the wards.
“What the hell happened?” Draco takes in their ash-smudged appearances. He looks to Pansy with withheld tears, and she embraces him tightly.
Hermione leaves them to their reunion. She has a Weasel to fry.
Harry comes running over, looking distraught.
“Hermione, oh my God… you're okay.” He pulls her into a tight hug. She hugs him back and sighs, glad to see the familiar face. “Ron said you got surrounded and there was nothing he could do.”
Hermione stiffens and grips Harry’s shirt tightly. She wants to scream but doesn't have the energy. She wants to cry, but what is the point? She feels betrayed.
Expendable.
No one even looked for her.
Someone sprints past behind her. Neville runs to Pansy, who bursts into tears throwing her arms around his neck. They both drop to their knees whispering love and promises against each other's lips.
Draco rubs the back of his neck and looks over at Hermione. She feels herself wobble from exhaustion and grabs Harry’s arm.
“Woah! Are you hurt?” Harry looks her over.
“Tired. And haven't eaten since before we set off,” Hermione mumbles and rubs her eyes.
Her vision becomes cloudy with multicoloured spots and stars, before she folds and starts to crumple. Before hitting the floor, she is hoisted up bridal style, her head resting against a shoulder. She smells roses and hears faint arguing as she passes out.
_
Her muscles ache and head feels sore. As she regains consciousness, the feeling of silkslips under her fingers. She cracks an eye open and sees the hint of dawn creeping through the curtains.
She notices Draco asleep in an armchair next to the bed, book open on his chest.
“Draco?” she croaks, throat dry.
Draco takes in a breath and sits up, looking around. He looks at Hermione and relaxes.
“Welcome back to the world of the living.” He smirks.
She sighs and looks away.
“He left me,” she whispers.
Draco stares at her, the tension ripe in the air.
“I think… I'm ready. To do our plan.”
_
On a grey English day, Hermione stands outside the gates with Draco, an immobilised zombie in front of them. He removes his signet ring and places it on its rotten finger.
Hermione places her journal on the car, the words “My Last Act As Hermione Granger” scribbled on the front.
A cold wind blows, refreshing her senses. Finally free.
Draco holds out his hand. She takes it and looks up into his grey eyes. She finds understanding. Trust. Mutual respect.
They disapparate with a crack.