Important: Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges Muggle History: Muggle Wars; Task #1 Soldiers: Write a Soldier!AU, Alt: Write about someone being forced to do something they didn't want to do; Lo's Lowdown:Katara - write about a woman who can fight. Alt. Occupation: Healer

Team: Wimbourne Wasps

The theme: Your assigned character must be the main focus of your story. (Hermione Granger)

Prompts: (word) rich; (scenario) an argument over what the best colour is; (quote) Nothing more complicated than learning lines and putting on a costume. - Morgan Freeman

Player: Chaser 2

Word count: 2036 ( Excluding Author's Note, but including entire Entry and Title)

Warning: This is an AU (Alternate Universe) piece.

Characters: Antonin Dolohov; Hermione Granger

Summary: Hermione Granger was sworn to secrecy by the Queen of England, but when the Thirteen Colonies declare war on England, she is forced to attend to the wounded as a mission set by the Queen. Antonin Dolohov finds himself in her care, and the two soon find out where their alliances are in this despicable war that's tearing everyone apart.

Author's Note: In order for this piece to make sense, I had to do quite a bit of research. There are so many wars to account for, which made it impossible to choose to base my piece on. I originally wanted an Au that would allow me to a little bit more elbow room without diverging too far from the actual events of the Harry Potter. I drew inspiration from the Department of Mysterious as Antonin needed to be repentant of something he'd done during his time serving, and what better way than having him pick a side he knew would lose? Either way, I love how this turned out :)

As always, enjoy

-Carolare Scarletus

The Two Colors of War

December 23, 1777

Valley Forge

When they first brought him into the tent, Hermione Granger didn't know what to think of him. She'd only been stationed in the campsite near Valley Forge for about three months now, and she could already read the brutality of the war and carnage that would be inflicted upon the people of Pennsylvania. England was destined to lose, she knew that. However, she wasn't allowed to think such a thing. Although it was mid-winter, she felt the sense of dread creep up on her. The young man certainly wouldn't be the first one she healed; her only cause for concern was that he didn't wear the colors of their allies, but the colors of their enemies. Regardless, she had a promise to uphold, and she went to work as quickly as she could.

"Bring him over here," she commanded with great authority. She'd grown accustomed to the metallic scent of blood. However, the sight of it still made her a bit queasy.

"But... Miss, his colors-"

"I said, bring him over here," Hermione bit out with more vigor. She didn't care which side of this bloody war he was on, so long as she had a hand in saving a life.

Chaos ensued instantly as several individuals clad in black robes and dark blue hats ran immediately to the young woman's side. Some shouted a variety of incoherent instructions as Hermione, much too young to be a part of the Healer's Committee, began whispering a string of foreign incantations while pointing her wand at the deep cuts on the man's arms and thigh. A soft groan escaped his lips, but he did not wake from the clutches of unconsciousness. For thirty long minutes, the small team of highly trained professionals worked frantically to stop the bleeding, close any opened wounds, and patch him up the best they could with limited resources. Even after twenty years, their world still fascinated and delighted Hermione beyond belief, being more involved than most people would ever know. Magic was, indeed, enchanting. No words could describe the depth of her appreciation, but the resentment from other parties still lingered eagerly inside their hearts.

"Quickly, his vitals!" Hermione commanded anxiously. She scurried passed the man in a blurred fury of white. Huffing, she bent down, reaching out and placing her fingers around one of his wrists to check his heartbeat.

"Faint, but strong," one of the attending nurses murmured after two full minutes. "He'll be fine."

Hermione trusted the Healers to provide the highest possible service to the man, but something deep down told her that they shouldn't be aiding him. However, enemy or not, he didn't deserve to die, so Hermione allowed them to magically heal him. Several nurses stood on the sidelines of the scene, setting an analytical eye on the Healer that first appeared by the man's side. Soft murmurs caressed the night. Jets of green and yellow lit up the night sky, warding off the small enclosure as to ensure no Muggles saw the transparency. She tried to move but couldn't. Again, she was fighting a lost battle. She wanted to go to him, to help him in any way that she could.

Hermione watched anxiously as the myriad of Healers continued to swarm around the unidentified soldier. It pained her greatly to witness the state that he was in. She watched as his eyes lit up with incredulity when a clear picture of the scenery around him had finally came into view. It would be a dry, taunting understatement to say that he was shocked. As much as it hurt her to see him in such a state, it pained her even more to have him delivered in such a deplorable state. Her intention was to never reveal herself to anyone who wouldn't understand. There was no doubt of the severe repercussions that would eventually follow this day, and Hermione would soon face the wrath of the Ministry of Magic for performing magic well beyond her limited reach. And what a sacrifice she was willing to take. Anything was worth knowing that she had helped him in some way, even if she felt as if she had failed him.

Although far from the brink of death, this soldier was not out of the woods yet. He had a long journey ahead of him as far as healing went. Hermione knew that it would be a very long, tiring journey before he was himself again. The question was whether or not she could heal from such a damaging event and return to the vivacious, knowledge-thirsty woman whose heart exceeded even the most gracious of creatures. Another pinch of guilt and sadness gripped her heart. No matter what the participating Aurors and Healers told her about the war, she would continue to feel responsible for any men who came to her tent for shelter or died in her arms.

Night had finally come, and against all odds, they were able to save the questionable man that appeared before them. Hermione didn't leave his side, even to eat or take rest. The past few hours were critical, and if he was going to make a full recovery, she was going to have to stay by his side all night to ensure that he does. No-Maj or not, he deserved to live.

"Easy there," a soft voice whispered to him as he tried to sit up in the bed he was cradled in. Antonin Dolohov didn't know what had happened to him, but he knew that it wasn't good. His entire body ached; there was a dull pain in the center of chest that hadn't been there before; and his limbs were bandaged up with white cloth, an indication that he had a horrible day.

Color flashed before his eyes.

A loud groan escaped his lips, and it was only then that he was able to take in the scenery and ascertain what the hell happened before he blacked out.

Antonin had been hit, that was certain. From what, he didn't know. Whatever happened, he was sure that he'd figure it out in due time. Right now, all he wanted was to sleep.

But first… he wanted to know who the enchanting young woman attending to him was and what he could do to get her name.

"Beautiful," he murmured with a slight wince.

The woman looked at him, shocked.

As she was catching herself, she asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Better now." He had to admit… she had the type of demeanor that could cure anything, including whatever had hit him."Are you the one who saved my sorry arse?

"And if I was?" She quirked an eyebrow.

"Just wanted to thank ya, is all." He barked in laughter before doubling over in pain. "Good Lord, what happened back there?"

"You were hit and succumbed to the damage inflicted upon your chest and limb."

"In layman's terms?"

"You got shot, and I saved your life." She quickly stood and reached over to check something on the other side of his bed. "I was able to stabilize you. You should be good to go in a couple of days."

Antonin leaned back against the makeshift bed, analyzing everything he'd gone through. Everything about this situation made him question the very things leading up to waking up. He knew in his heart that he hadn't been shot, and whatever it was that attacked him was still out there lurking and waiting for him to get back. This damn war was incredibly pointless. Antonin simply didn't see the point of fighting it, either.

If the Blues wanted freedom, then give it to them. They were more trouble than they were worth, in his opinion.

If he wouldn't support his country, who would?

Either way, he had a lot at stake.

"What's your name?" his attending nurse asked suddenly.

Normally, he'd grin. He wasn't at all in a playful mood, but when the opportunity arose, he couldn't resist.

"Antonin Dolohov. What's yours, doll?"

"Certainly not 'doll'," she huffed. "It's Hermione Granger."

"Tell me, Hermione." Antonin grinned at the sight of her glowering. "Which side this bloody mess are you on?"

"Neither.

"How'd you end up in a place like this?" he asked. "I don't suppose women are allowed to be tending to the enemy."

"This platoon," she hissed, "doesn't discriminate between the two sides of this despicable war. Besides, we're covered if that's what you're wondering."

"You could be hung or burned at the stake." He glowered. "Are you mad, woman? Who in their right mind would-"

"We owe it to the Queen of England to protect and heal as many of her soldiers as we can. Your Queen isn't so innocent, I might add. Everyone has secrets, including her."

"You mean… she's one of you?"

Hermione quickly looked up, spearing daggers into his head. This was the sort of negativity she hated. It didn't matter which side of the war was right; all that mattered was the lives that they were wasting to prove such an argument.

"I used to believe red was the best color. Not because it was the color of carnage or blood, but it was a strong and reliable deity that no one quite understood. You see, Ms. Granger, when you've fought for so long in this endless battle, you forget what matters the most. I'm sure you know what loss is... I'm certain."

"Blue isn't so bad…" Hermione murmured softly. "What made you change your mind?"

"All of these," Antonin gestured to something that Hermione couldn't visibly see. "It's pointless.

"That's rich coming from you," she told him. "You're wearing their color… you must believe in the same beliefs as they do."

Antonin pulled up his sleeve, his eyes dimming in the available light. Hermione had missed the mark drawn on his arms, and looking at it in a true light, it was hideous. It appeared that whoever he served was smitten by glamours, for his mark had been bewitched. Underneath the guise, dark patches of skin arose. Antonin had recently clawed at the space where the mark could be seen through the hideous attempt to erase it. Hermione was reminded of the torture she endured, and the image of her own scar that ran across her chest and torso and well into her side came to mind.

He was right…

….this war was pointless. Hermione spent her entire life struggling with what she was, protecting the people that were too defenseless to protect themselves, but at the end of the day, the only thing she had left was her beliefs and family. Although the war only just started, she felt as if she'd been battling it forever. Sixteen years was a hefty debt, and she reckoned she'd continue to fight even after a winner was declared. Antonin was just like her in that one aspect. He grew up on violence and was forced to fight. Did he believe in any of it? Most certainly not, but he had no choice in the matter.

"I'm cursed, doll." Antonin hissed as the sleeve of his uniform fell over his mark. "Had you known I had this when you were deciding to save me or not… I think we both know what you would've chosen."

"I would never-!"

"We all bleed the same color blood, Ms. Granger. This war… it's nothing more complicated than learning lines and putting on a costume. We are like little puppets for the nations we represent with these colors, but if we don't do exactly what our respected masters tell us, we get the boot. You don't even need to know how to shoot a rifle, so long as they can use you as some sort of defense. The best color…" He scoffed, shaking his head. "There is no superior color, only idiotic ideas. Consequently enough, I am too much of a coward to decide which of those ideas are correct, so I let others choose for me."

For a minute, Antonin allowed her to soak in the words.

And, the look that she gave him wasn't that of pity but understanding.