The Lords Paramount

By

OceFossa

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Plot © OceFossa

A Song of Ice and Fire © George R.R. Martin

Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling

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Summary: "Thee shouldst ha'st been a Ravenclaw, Fate hast decre'd t so," Death pinned Hermione with a menacing glare, "Howev'r, as the v'ry future hast been so alt'r'd as to beest unrecognizable, yond all shall cometh to naught, saveth by thy removal. Thee has't nay choice, 'twill beest so. Hopefully thee shall gain some wisdom. This is thy lasteth chance."

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Chapter 1: A Change of Fate

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"'Death closes all: but something ere the end,

Some work of noble note, may yet be done,

Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.

The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:

The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep

Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,

'T is not too late to seek a newer world.

Push off, and sitting well in order smite

The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds

To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths

Of all the western stars, until I die...

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."

-Ulysses by Alfred, Lord Tennyson-

The fighting inside of Hogwarts was pure chaos. The three friends had been separated from each other when a giant's clubs smashed between them sending bits of rocks and other rubble flying, causing the teens to dodge and jump for cover.

Hermione was unsure of where to look or who to attack. She was crouched behind the ruins of table not too far from the hall entrance. Spells splashed around her like water while flames and explosions caused the din to become almost unbearable. As it was her ears were ringing. She couldn't hear the yells of the injured, the screams of the grief stricken, or even the casting of spells. All she heard was the constant tone muffling any other sound.

Once the rocks stopped flying she peeked out from behind her barrier and was rewarded with the sight that would haunt her nightmares. Giant acromantula skittered through the torn ruins, out of control fiendfyre flames torching wizards and witches alike sending them to screaming deaths, giants smashing youth and adults, Greyback tore out the throat of one unlucky witch, and the creeping coldness of the Dementor's as they swooped in to Kiss the living.

Ironically it was the empty suits of armor that fought valiantly against the Deatheaters and their allies all the while helping the Order and the DA tremendously, that she took courage from. Somewhere in the back corner of her mind, her imagination likened it to the battles of Tolkien's Middle Earth, with medieval knights and men-at-arms gallantly staving off the forces of Mordor.

Only this wasn't a fantasy novel and her life truly was in danger. A movement off to the side revealed to her that Ron was fighting something fierce, against who or what she did not see.

Harry was gone. Her friend was nowhere to be seen, though she vaguely supposed with his single-minded determination, he had gone on ahead to the Whomping Willow and the Shrieking Shack beyond that.

Slowly, too slowly for this battle, her hearing came back to her and she could make out the yells, the spells, and the overall individual sounds. Hermione heard it too late. The terrible din of the fighting perfectly disguised the encroachment of oncoming danger. Clacking skitters seemed to rush upon her suddenly, as if the creature had simply birthed from thin air.

The bookworm had just enough time to look up and open her mouth to scream when a massive stinger thrust into her gut. Hermione felt the breath forced from her lungs at the force of the assault. She gasped futilely as the paralyzing compound of the acromantula venom spread with a vengeance. Still somewhat shocked, she dimly became aware of gathering her magic and pushing.

The explosion was enough to throw the giant spider from her while tearing out its stinger. As she staggered back wheezing and trying to breath, futilely attempting to force her near paralyzed arms to cover the gaping hole torn across her stomach as it bled profusely.

Something, maybe a noise, must have escaped her because in the next moment Ron turned towards her. The widening of his eyes was enough to let her know he saw the blood, before he quickly dispatched his Deatheater opponent and turn his attention to her fully. Concern overriding all other emotions on his dirt smudged features.

She saw his look of concern morph into a deep fear as the blood drained from his face. Hermione dimly became aware of the same skittering limbs clacking up behind her. The small part of her brain that was disconnected from everything around her surmised that the acromantula rushing back towards her from where he accidental magic had thrown it.

She dropped to the ground, landing in a boneless heap on her side and began to seizure as the venom wreaked havoc in her body. Through it all she continued to be aware that Ron was looking at her and she watched him in turn.

The boy she was beginning to acknowledge caring for made as if to run to her side before his face paled and he stumbled and skidded to a stop. Ron then scrambled backwards a few paces.

The teen's jowls quivered as he tried to work up something to say. Or maybe yell a warning, she didn't know because nothing came out. Not even a squeak made it past the redhead's lips. She looked on feeling rather detached from her quivering form and watched as everything seemed to slow down when her gaze fixed on Ron.

His already pale face turned alabaster white, his eyes darted between her convulsing form and the large, magical spider charging towards her and back again. His conflicted gaze seemed almost manic as it flickered between his childhood fear and his crush for several precious moments of indecision. Finally, his terror of spiders seemed to engulf him completely.

Ron turned tail and ran.

By then her world was one large hazy cloud as the poison attacked her aggressively paralyzing and numbing her. She couldn't even dredge up enough energy to feel betrayed by Ron's abandonment let alone call after him. All of this happened in a few mere moments, rather than the hours it felt like as time defied her senses.

Hermione was aware that she was being dragged backwards across the grey stone leaving a large bloody streak to mark her direction. As she was being dragged away, her lungs finally seized and stopped working, suffocating her. Hermione's world slowly faded to black as one by one her organs shut down, her mind and awareness succumbing last of all.

Through the final moments before she completely surrendered to unconsciousness, the last of her mind held only one question.

Where was Harry?

When Hermione next awoke, it wasn't to the fanged jaws of an acromantula but a rather disorienting floating on nothing. The young witch supposed that this was what was considered an 'out of body' experience as she could see her body below her looking horrific and something that belonged in gothic horror novel. She was suspended in air. And yet at the same time she was still in her body. The sensation added to the dreamlike state.

A faint silver glowing spectral form floated into her periphery and caught her attention in full, drawing her gaze away from chaos below. Helena Ravenclaw hovered over her with an unreadable expression. The witch did not know how to interpret it. Hermione supposed that the Gray Lady being a Ravenclaw had given her less grounds to accurately decipher her intent. Unlike the Slytherins, who hid their emotions for political purposes and yet gave themselves away with small tells. If she analyzed the Hufflepuffs she found that they, like the Gryffindors, wore both their emotions and hearts on their sleeves and were thus equally easy read. Helena Ravenclaw however wore an expression to she could not interpret.

The House of Knowledge was the one she spent the least amount of time with, ironically since she was in academic competition with it the most and logically should have had them down to a tee. Unfortunately between her competitive spirit blinding her and the haughtiness of the Ravenclaws, the simply task was considerably more problematic for her to get a cold read on them than even the Slytherins. And as a true Ravenclaw, this particular ghostly lady became virtually unreadable for the intelligent witch.

Hermione wanted to speak out, and tried to, and found herself still frozen. Apparently acromantula venom could paralyze even the spiritual realm.

She watched as the Gray Lady floated toward her where she lingered a moment longer is though contemplating something. To Hermione's mind she looked like she was thinking very hard, on what was a mystery.

The small pause actually afforded the witch time to actually take in her ghostly company's appearance. Though dulled as expected of a ghost, her attire spoke of her wealthy origins and the medieval age from which she hailed. She wore a beautiful long kirtle that strongly reminded Hermione of the painting of Guinevere and Lancelot by Herbert James Draper. And as she watched with each passing moment, the teen realized that the finery seemed to grow more luxurious and befitting of the aristocracy and made an indelible impression in her mind. Instantly Hermione was reminded of the now animated suits of armour and the literary romantic buried in her mind awoke with a vengeance and imagined all of the various tales and myths she'd absorbed in her reading. However before her mind could become carried away, her ghostly companion acted.

The next moment Helena knelt next to the paralyzed teen and poked two fingers into her forehead. It was only then that the witch realized she was still in the same position of her fallen body. The thought though was neither here nor there as she slowly faded out of sight.

Rowena's daughter looked on as the Gryffindor girl finally disappeared, slowly standing up and looking around. Her beloved castle and prison was in ruins and the scene of a battle, the likes of which had not been fought since the very founding of the school. The sight caused her to look down at the gory scene below. The young witch's physical remains had been abandoned by the monstrous eight-legged terror for another larger, juicier set of prey. That small consolation still did nothing for the cooling carcass of the child that should have belonged to her mother's house.

Not matter. What was done was done and the matter should be resolved shortly. She to then faded from the scene. As she would be accompanying the girl for a while longer, she was needed elsewhere. Hogwarts would take care of the rest. And with that the Gray Lady too faded from sight.

When the world deigned to fade back into existence Hermione awoke to find herself lying on a polished marble floor. The black stone was polished so well that it almost reflected her bewilderment like a mirror. The white veins streaked through it like bolts of lightning and seemed to glow all on their own.

She looked around trying to take in her surroundings with little success. Aside from the stone floor, there was little in the way of anything familiar. Darkness engulfed the ceiling in an all-consuming blackness that was somehow upheld by alabaster Grecian columns that mysteriously vaulted up from the marbled floor. To Hermione's eyes it looked as though the white veins converged on the base of each pillar.

One vein she followed led her to a somewhat familiar sight. And for a moment she wondered how she missed such an obvious specter.

Off to the side, glowing softly like starlight, was the Gray Lady. She was simply standing there keeping vigil over the young witch and making no moves from her place. The grave expression on the silent lady's face seemed both sad and cautionary.

However, that was all she could take note of as her vision was arrested by the converging wisps of blackness that coalesced into an indistinct figure cloaked in shadows and darkness and held a great reaping scythe that arced behind the Entity, framing it like the crescent moon. The long handle was as black as the night and the great harvesting blade glowed faintly with its own light. Death it seemed had physically manifested before her. Hermione had not time to marvel at the sight.

"Mine patience with thee hath grown thin."

Hermione jerked up as the statement thundered around her, resonating through her very being. Her entire body shook and for a moment she almost feared her bones would shatter, they were rattling so hard. The Gryffindor felt fear spike through her for the first time. A real, knee-knocking, teeth chattering fear.

"Why am I here?" She tried very hard to ignore the way her was several octaves too high, or the fact it wobbled as her tongue seemed to trip over itself.

"For the Greater Good." The words of the ancient Roman poet Horace and The Great War's poet Wilfred Owen fell from the entity's mouth and seemingly twisted into something else entirely which sent shivers up Hermione's spine.

The words had never sounded so ominous to Hermione's ears. They sounded almost benevolent and justified coming from Professor Dumbledore, but now… her mind raced again at the thought of the elderly deceased headmaster. Or rather several threads of facts pertaining to him that she seemingly soaked up at random suddenly clicked into place like a Tetris puzzle and suddenly he seemed less benevolent and more manipulative. He had admitted as much, or rather Aberforth Dumbledore had, that the man had associated with Gellert Grindelwald, a known Dark Wizard who had used that exact same phrase and justification in his great campaign during the 1940's. During the second World War. Her encyclopedic brain went into overdrive as she began to piece small theories together and it all added up to one large horrific picture.

No.

It couldn't be. Hermione looked up to the Deathly Incarnation with pleading eyes begging it silently to refute her revelations. The Reaper passively returned her gaze from the depths of its hood. And in that she understood that it would not grant her mercy from her own epiphanies.

Until that moment she had believed that everything they had done was for the benefit of all. With the vanquishing of Voldemort, everything in the wizarding world was supposed to be corrected, right?

"Thou doth not knoweth what thine actions has't wrought." The irritated condescension that dripped from the statement rankled something in Hermione, or may it pricked her pride? She was so used to being acknowledged as The Brightest Witch of the Age and the respect that came with the title and yet here she was sneered at by a supernatural entity as though she was on the same level as Crabbe or Goyle.

The last thought smacked of superiority and such pervasive vanity that it slapped Hermione in the face. Here she was proud of her own humility, hard work, and earned knowledge and yet she was finding that she was sporting the same sort of mindset that she always loathed in Draco Malfoy and Purebloods of his ilk. It was humiliating and simultaneously humbling in the same instant.

Her thoughts leaped from that vein of thought to her parents, a sensitive topic that she tried to ignore for Harry and the mission's sake. With the bitter lesson of hindsight latching onto her with a tenacity that she aimed towards her own studies, she reevaluated her actions towards the two people who loved her regardless of her status, abilities, and had always been her support. They had always focused on her, unlike the selfishness of Harry and especially Ron. Harry was always wrapped up in some personal drama of some sort whereas Ron was just simply problematic.

Her grief struck her head on like a lorry and utterly horrified the witch with the knowledge that they now had no way of protecting themselves, especially now she had taken all their memories and sent them packing to Australia. Her parents who wouldn't know her if she walked right up to the and introduced herself. Her very same parents, who though they had not understood the magical society to the same degree she had simply because they didn't have magic had loved and trusted her regardless.

And yet she listened to Harry, who trusted almost no one but his puppeteer Albus Dumbledore, and kept secrets and lied to her parents. She stole their lives from them. The magnitude of what she willingly gave up for her friendship that would never be returned on the same level, because Harry had never known love and family the way she had and, and…

Suddenly the entirety of the vast stores of knowledge she'd learnt over her short lifetime and stored in her highly intellectual brain attacked her with a vengeance and suddenly the justification of her actions being for their own good seemed pitiful and highhanded. As if she knew better… Hermione crumpled to her knees as if the weigh t of her action had physically manifested and was too heavy for her to bear, which it might have well been.

Her audience simply looked on. The Gray Lady was moved to sympathy and feelings for the first since her death. Her own remorse at her actions while living allowed her to understand the teen on a level that only shared experience could match. The Reaper in contrast was unmoved in the slightest.

Death had no sympathy for the girl and advanced its agenda forward, leaving absolutely no time for Hermione to renew her grief. The entity was at the end of its admittedly near endless patience with this entire situation. So much wasted time and lives could have been averted because of this one witch and now it was all for naught.

In its own way the Reaper was doing her a kindness though it would not seem so to her. Death was not the only being in play after all. If action was not taken now, she would be at the mercy of the Fates, and that was unacceptable as the Fates were utterly unforgiving and relentless. And even though Hermione Granger was not completely culpable in this entire Gordian Knot, hers was a situation that could resolve quite a bit of the problems. It was not as satisfactory as say hanging Dumbledore by his berries or smacking some much-needed sense into that living boy puppet, but it would have do.

"Thou shouldst ha'st been a Ravenclaw, Fate hast decre'd t so," the pronouncement broke the teen from her mien and had she looking up sharply, only to be caught in a piercing look. Death pinned Hermione with a menacing glare causing her to shrink in on herself, "Howev'r, as the v'ry future hath been so alt'r'd beyond recognition, yon all shall come to naught, save by thy removal."

Hermione's intelligence and lightning quick mind, once again made short work of her emotions and drummed up a logical argument with several counterpoints added for good measure. She was not going anywhere, Harry needed her and she needed to help him defeat Voldemort. Logically it was unfair because she was only following the Headmaster's orders. She was fighting the good fight, so then why was it so, so wrong that Death itself felt the need for her removal for their victory to be necessary?

Hermione opened her mouth to argue as panic, anger and fear motivated her into acting, shaking off her stupor. Panic because their task set for them by Professor Dumbledore was yet unfinished, anger at this unexpected censure, and fear because she did not know what was to come, nor where it was she was even being sent. Hermione never had a chance to retort as the being seemed to have little patience for her and refused to allow her to have a word in edgewise.

"Thou has't nay choice, 'twill beest so. Hopefully thee shall gain some wisdom…and thy owe thoughts." And so it was said with a finality and authority that was irrefutable.

The Entity struck the polished floors with the end of its scythe with such force that its echo rumbled through the space and beyond like thunder rolling through the storm. The white veins of the marble seemed to glow and then shimmer and flicker like starlight. Sparks erupted from where the handle struck and shot upwards in a geyser of eerie blue flames and white sparks.

In one swift movement the shadow cloaked figure butted her with the end of its staff with a meaty thwack and sent her flying into the blinding geyser of flames and sparks. The brightness of the light blinded her and she slammed her eyes shut.

"This is thy lasteth chance."

Even as her vision once again failed her, Hermione heard the parting words with crystalline the underlying warning they held. Sweet darkness edged into her vision as she seemed to both burn and freeze equally in the same moment and then fall at stomach turning speed.

The last thing Hermione heard was and almost inaudible good luck from Helena Ravenclaw before darkness overwhelmed her for the final time.

To Be Continued…

A/N: Howdy, welcome to my offering after being ambushed by the plot bunny ninja. They are very inconvenient and annoying, I tell you.

Sooo, after being thoroughly entertained by the engaging and energetic Wild Flower by Katie MacPherson, this plot pulled some maneuvers worthy of Olenna Tyrell and thoroughly thwarted my attempts to return to my other unfinished bits of Ficts. Pushy Tyrells (*grumbles*)…

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*Edit: Thank you reviewer Sadie. Your review actually had me grinning like the troll I am. You are correct of course, my Shakespearean sucks (but it was tongue in cheek too), I wasn't taking it seriously and using a rather crappy translator on LingoJam. Oh well.

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So, Deathly Shakespeare…

Translation: That's IT! I've had it up to here! You didn't think of the consequences of your actions (Fool! You ain't God, you, you mortal!).

First of all, you should have been a Ravenclaw (you idjit! Why the Hell did you settle for Gryffindor?), Fate had decreed it (they are mean! It's totally annoying dealing with them. Do you know how many migraines they gave me because of you?). However, the future has changed so much that its unrecognizable (basically everyone is screwed). It's so screwed up that only your removal might save it (girlie, starters like you losing us the game? EPIC FAIL! FYI, it's all your fault! *angry eyes*).

You have no choice, it's happening. With any luck you'll gain some wisdom (maybe), and perhaps have individual thoughts (though I doubt it). This is your last chance (you better not screw this up! Or Else! *it's even underlined and in bold, it's that important!).

-Nice dude right? Totally sincere and not sarcastic at all, nope, utterly sincere…

OceFossa 12/17/16