Dying is a Delicate Moment

A fanfic by Agara

"Kill me. Kill me if you ever loved me."

And he kills her.

Thoughts are written in Italics

Big line : New POV

"OoOo" : Same POV / Time lapse

CHAPTER ONE : THIS IS WAR

02.05.1998

Screams were resonating through the devastated hallways. She could hear the cries of pain, smell flesh and blood. She didn't even know if it was hers. Flashes of colours were cast. Green, red, purple were mixing up for her to witness the most horrid shade she ever saw. If the adrenaline was not pulsing through her veins, her legs would have given away. The next thing she remembered was her skull hitting the cold floor.

All she could hear was a strident noise. She lifted her head, winced from the pain, and looked behind her. Black dust was falling all over the bodies. She thought she was seeing one of the Weasley twin crying and begging for death. She opened her mouth but no sound came out. She crawled on the floor towards him, the windows fragments cutting through her pale skin.

Her entire body was covered in blood, she could not even distinguish the new one from the old. He was laying on his left side, she could not tell if the redness of his hair was due to the Weasley heritage or to the blood flooding from one of his wounds. She took his hand and squeezed it lightly. She was desperately trying to figure out which one of the twin was smiling at her on his last breathing moment.

"Seems like Umbridge was not the worst after all." Hermione chuckled through the tears.

"I think she is still the worst Georgie" He replied dazing off.

It was Fred.

The next moment, the spark Hermione saw during the last seven years in Fred's eye, this glint of mischief, was gone.

A hand grabbed her wrist and lifted her up from the ground. Her legs started running instinctively but her eyes were still focused on the lifeless body of someone she used to call a friend. As she turned her head, she saw the scarred face of her best friend. At this moment, she took the breath she was holding off for the past several seconds. The pressure on her wrist was almost hurting her, but the comfort of knowing Harry was alive and beside her overruned the discomforting feeling. They arrived in a deserted corridor and stopped in front of a flock of paintings.

"Snape. Snape memories. The pensieve" Hermione said rambling

"Dumbledore… He… He fooled me." Harry answered breathlessly.

The look in his eyes, the tightness of his features and the tears on his cheeks sent a shiver down her spine. He grabbed her left arm and she could feel the warm touch of his hand on hers. A loud bang followed by the insane laugh of Bellatrix Lestrange brought her back to reality. She only had the time to push Harry out of the way before a fragment of ceiling fell between them.

"Harry !" She yelled his name as the wall of debris separated them.

She only realised then the grip she had on his glasses. She looked around her to find a way to reach her friend. The only things she could see were dust, bricks and paintings. As she kept screeching for Harry, she heard a chuckling voice behind her. She jumped around and stared at the wall, seeking where the voice came from.

"This way" She heard again, but this time more clearly.

She discerned a painting at the bottom left. A man in his twenties, with plastered black hair, a sneering grin on his face looked right at her. As she approached, she perceived the green robe he was wearing and Hogwarts in the background. Caught between panic and fear, Hermione called one last time Harry's name. The frightful sound resonated throughout the corridor only to fade away a couple of seconds later.

She felt like she could throw up a she heard Harry screaming. Without even thinking she got closed to the painting which just opened for her and hopped in. She found herself running in a long black corridor. She could only hear her steps on the stoned floor and her heart pounding in her chest. As she got close to the end of the passageway, she put her hand in front of her eyes trying to shield herself. She was expected the frame's thin wood of the twin painting but came across a thick double door. She opened it. A bright light blinded her.

She blinked twice, looked around her, and saw the Great Hall in a perfect state.

02.05.1942 :

Laughs were reverberating in the huge room. The four long tables of each house were covered in food, treats and drinks. At the front of the Great Hall, the professors and the Headmaster were chatting enthusiastically. Large green flags were suspended from the enchanted ceiling. The Slytherin table, at the center right, was cheering their consecutive Quidditch victory for the 11th time.

The large double door of the great hall opened in a loud crack. The students' heads rose up from their plates and they stared at a thin backlit figure. Her black wand was in one hand and the other one held, in a tight fist, a pair of glasses. Her breath was shaky and heavy. Her hair was as dishevelled and bloody, as her clothes. She began walking slowly, as though she was afraid.

An oppressive silence settled in the Hall. The students, as well as the professors, were all staring at her. She seemed like she was about 15 years old. The undernutrition was visible on her features, hollowing her cheeks. Every inch of her skin was covered in dirt, wounds and blood.

"What… Where… How... " She stuttered.

Her blood was dripping on the floor, leaving a sinister print behind her. Her eyes caught Abraxas' one. She froze and started running towards him but slipped on her own blood. Her body hit the floor in a loud thud. The entire assembly gasped at the scene. The Headmaster Dippet rose from his seat ready to intervene.

She gripped Abraxas' sleeve leaving a dark red stain on it while the staff body started moving quickly towards them.

"Malfoy ? The fuck you're doing here" She yelled. "Why aren't you fighting ? Why isn't everyone fighting ?"

"Get away from me you filthy.." Abraxas said

"Enough" Professor Dumbledore interrupted him.

Dippet, followed by all the professors, hurried by her side wands at the ready.

"Albus, tell the HeadBoy and HeadGirl to take the students back to their common room". Professor Merrythought declared.

The girl was about to say something, but as soon as she heard the name Albus she closed her mouth and stared at transfiguration teacher.

"How did you get in ? Did Grindelwald send you ?" Dippet interrogated the skinny girl.

As soon as this name escaped from the headmaster mouth, a wave of panic spread through the hall. The whispers among the students grew louder.

"What … ? No !" She screamed as if she was offended.

She looked down at her hands and saw what she was holding to.

"The glasses… Harry ! I need to give them back to Harry." She mumbled.

Slughorn took a step forward "The glasses ? Are they a portkey ?"

Before she could answer, she fainted.

OoOoOo

"Armando, I can't take care of her. We need to transfer her to St Mungo"

"Not until I've had all the information I need Leonara"

Her head was hurting from the amount of blood she lost. She could not open her eyes, but she could feel the soft linen under her skin. The sour taste in her mouth could only belong to the blood-replenishing potion. It had been months since she had laid on a comfortable bed. She could feel her right side burning as if it was on fire. She bit her lips not to scream. Adrenaline is a an amazing anaesthesia she thought. She tried to recall how she got here. She remembered the Great Hall and a young Albus Dumbledore.

Where was she ? When was she ?

What's going on ? How did you end up in a bed ? You haven't been in a bed for ages. It feels good doesn't it ? Not the point. What happened ? Why aren't you hearing screams ? Why aren't you seeing spells being casted ? How come you're not smelling death ?

Hermione, in spite of the pain, tried to think. To think about how she got in this bed. To think about where she was. To think about the era she was in. She knew for a fact that Armando Dippet was headmaster of Hogwarts in the forties. She tried processing what she had just heard.

Focus Hermione. The last thing you can remember for sure is seeing Fred dying. Wait, Fred is dead. Think Hermione, think hard. You ran with Harry, the ceiling, Bellatrix's laugh, the painting. Yes ! The painting ! You went through the painting, you ran for several minutes then… Then what ? A door ? Yes, a door ! And the Great Hall. Slytherin flags all over the room. A banquet. They were eating. How could they eat ? How could they sit in the hall and eat ?

They couldn't. They couldn't because it wasn't them. It wasn't Malfoy. It wasn't him. But the features of his face, how could it not be him ? The blond almost white hair, the grey eyes, the pointy chin. Wait, he didn't have grey eyes. That's a Black trait. It's Draco's trait. Then… Lucius ? No… Abraxas ? The pain in her entire body, the cruciatus curse, the painting hanging at the Malfoy manor. It was him. It was Abraxas Malfoy. Hermione, you can't say a thing. Not until it's coherent. Not until you have a backstory.

"What's the date ?" She asked quietly.

"What's that dear ?" A sweet woman voice answered.

"What's the date ?" Hermione repeated louder this time.

"The second of may."

"The full date."

"The second of May of 1942" she replied, kindly.

She choked.

The second of May of 1942. 1942. How ? McGonagall always taught you no one could be sent back in time that far. How come ? What are you going to do ?

If she were alone, she would have probably cried. She was terrified. She was stranded in an era that wasn't hers with absolutely no idea on how she would come back to 1998.

That bloody painting ! That must be it. Think. Think Hermione. What happened in 1942 ? Second world war in the muggle world. What happened in the wizarding world ? Grindelwald ! He tried to invade Great Britain, but didn't succeed because of his fear and affection for Professor Dumbledore ! He couldn't get into the United Kingdom. But he went to France. France ?

Beauxbatons ! Second of may 1942 ? The final attack on the Beauxbatons academy ! More than one hundred people died that day. Today. Could it be ? Could it be that simple ? Could it be your backstory Hermione ?

"How are you feeling ?" The same soft voice asked her.

Hermione opened her eyes, and saw the infirmary basked in a soft light. Headmaster Dippet got close to her bed.

"Can I ask her questions Miss Asphodela ?" He asked.

She nodded. "Take it easy dear, I am right here if you need anything" She added to Hermione.

"How did you manage to get into the castle Miss ?"Armando Dippet demanded.

"Portkey…" She simply replied.

"You had a portkey ? Where is it ? How did you get one ?"

Hermione's head was hurting even more with the interrogation. Her heart was beating faster as she was afraid the headmaster would detect her lies. She heard footsteps and whispers coming from the other side of the room.

"The glasses. They are the portkey." Hermione said in a cold voice staring at the Headmaster, remembering what professor Slughorn had assumed.

"Where are you from ?"

"Beauxbatons sir."

Dippet's eyes opened wide.

All of a sudden, the curtain around her bed flew open.

"Armando…" The nurse's voice revealed her worry.

The old man turn aside and looked at her.

Hermione could see, behind the two, one boy standing straight, staring at her. He was tall and thin. Hermione blinked a few times in order to get a clearer vision. Her eyes laid on his face. His features were almost aristocratic, his eyes were so dark that she felt as if they were piercing through her soul. His hair, coal black, was slightly curled but perfectly styled. Another boy was laying on a bed beside him. He looked panicked, his breathing was unsteady and pearls of sweats were rolling down his forehead.

"What is your name ?" The headmaster asked her.

She did not know what to answer. She was still gawking at the two boys. The pain in her left side intensified with every breath she took.

"Miss ? Miss ?" He repeated.

The nurse got close to the boys and put her hand on the sick one's forehead.

"You can leave us now, Mister Riddle" She said.

Her heart stopped. Hermione could not breathe anymore. Her hands were clenching the sheet below her. Everything stopped for a couple of seconds. Everything stilled. Her vision blurred. Then, darkness.

OoOoOo

"I've never seen something like that Terence. Have you seen her ? Have you seen her arm, her scars ? No human could do something like that". Someone whispered at the back of her room.

His posture. His face. His eyes. He was so far from what she remembered Voldemort in her own timeline, yet so similar.

Riddle. How could you have not thought about it before Hermione ? He was here. Of course he was here. It was 1942. It was 1942 !

For the very first time Hermione understood what it meant. A wave of panic spread throughout her body.

Harry ? Ron ? They're gone. I am gone. Everything is gone. You are alone and stranded in a time you only know about thanks to books. You are not only stuck in a different timeline, but you are stuck in his.

Hermione tried not to cry.

He asked for your name. Dippet wanted to know your name.

Hermione tried to find, in the back of her brain, any french name that could match the situation. She found none. She opened slightly her eye, enough to see but not enough to be seen.

"Do you have any news about the Beauxbatons academy ? What about the Hortenses' ?" Another voice asked.

"I am so sorry Terence. I know you were friends with Professor Hortense and his wife…"

"They're… They're dead?" His voice was shaky.

The silence following the question answered every interrogations.

"And Grace ?" He continued

"Grace ?"

"Grace Hortense, their daughter. She was a student there. 4th year if I recall correctly".

"I haven't heard anything about her yet, but don't get your hopes high Terence, it is a massacre over there".

The door opened and one person left. She heard the nurse sight loudly. Hermione opened her eyes a little bit more. She saw a woman standing, her back at her, by the door. The latter opened quietly.

"How is she ?"

The nurse turned her head to face the newcomer.

"I hope she will be fine. We gave her everything we could for the moment, but it will take time for her to get better. Her right side is still in an alarming state."

"And how are you Lisbeth ?"

The nurse did not answer immediately.

"Have you heard anything about a Grace Hortense? She was at Beauxbatons," Lisbeth asked

Another silence. As heavy as the one before regarding the Hortenses'.

"Where is the body?" Lisbeth continued.

"We are not quite sure if she is really dead. As far as I know there is no survivor at the moment. But we won't be absolutely sure until tomorrow morning."

The Hortenses' ? Like the transfiguration professor ? What was his name ? Theodorus ! Theodorus Hortense, dead in 1942 along with his wife, Beatrice, muggle studies professor. What about their daughter ? Think Hermione ! Fuck, you don't remember them having a daughter don't you ? What's the point of reading that much ancient newspapers if not to remember important information !

Focus Hermione. There was nothing about their daughter. You actually never read something on her. Maybe they never found a body. Maybe you could use that in your favour. You need to go to Beauxbatons. You need to go there tonight. But how ? You can't apparate that far ! Think.

Hermione waited in the darkness for hours for anyone walking in the hallways of St Mungo to leave. She knew what she had to do.

OoOoOo

Her footsteps were resonating on the marble floor. She got a quick glance at her look as she passed by a mirror. The image of her, in Bellatrix's body, sent a shiver down her spine. She had remembered the polyjuice potion and one of the witch's hair in her purse. She approached the floo system.

"Excuse me ! Excuse me !" She heard behind her.

She turned around. A small fat man was running towards her.

"What are you doing ? How did you get in the Ministry ?" He asked.

"I need to go to Beauxbatons" Hermione replied in a french accent.

"You can't go without an authorization…"

"I am a French Auror, I can do whatever the fuck I want ! Aren't you aware of what's going on over there ? They need me !"

The small man seemed scared. Even Hermione was surprised by the tone she used. She turned to face the chimney, took a full grip of floo powder, stepped inside and said "Académie Beauxbatons".

She arrived in a small room. The night was already dark and she could not see a thing. She cast a lumos and looked around her. The room, surprisingly, was not in too bad of a shape. Hermione tried remembering what professor Binns had taught them about the Beauxbatons siege. The students had been under Grindelwald control for months, suffering from lack of food, before the final attack.

She opened the door and found herself in an empty corridor. She rose her wand to light up the path and stayed where she was. She couldn't move a muscle. Without even realising, tears were rolling down her cheeks. She had never seen such a massacre. She turned her head to the right. She saw piles of corpses lying. She could not differentiate the limbs. The blood, emanating from the cadavers, had started drying and emitted an acrid smell.

The only thing she could see, smell and focus on, was death. The horrid death of hundred of people, children. As she started moving, a hand on her hip to press on the pain from her right side, her legs began to shake lightly. She put one of her other hand in front of her nose and mouth. She could not bear the smell of exposed flesh any longer. If she could close her eyes and keep moving she would. She turned into another hallway, the debris of wall were spread on the floor.

As she lowered her wand, something caught the light and dazzled her. She moved her source of light and bent over. A frame was laid on the floor. She took it in her right hand. The glass above the picture was broken. She blew on it to remove the dust. She saw a girl, about 15 years-old with chestnut hair and green eyes, a smile on her face. "Grace Icaria Hortense, Club de Métamorphose, Vice-Presidente".

Hermione eyes flew open. Here she was. The solution was in front of her eyes.

She looked around her, wanted to find Grace. Or at least Grace's body. She started running in the corridors, pointing her wand towards each body that was on her way. Then she found his.

Theodorus Hortense. Both of his legs were broken, and blood was escaping from his mouth. Hermione turned away from the body and took a deep breath. She was about to throw up. She moved away, her right hand was holding the wall. She sobbed. She wiped away the tears. She saw a hand with a signet ring underneath a pile of corpses. She was intrigued and crouched down to get closer. She held her wand tightly, and casted a levicorpus to move the students' lifeless bodies. And she saw her. Her eyes were closed and Hermione could not see if they were green, but she knew deep inside of her that Grace Hortense was the remains in front of her.

OoOoOo

Hermione was shaking. The fire's heat couldn't even warm her.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry" She repeated to herself between two sobs.

She did not only burn Grace's body that night, but also the tiny part of innocence she thought she still had. As she watched the real Grace disappear in ashes before her eyes, she took a deep breath, put the ring on and rehearsed her speech in her head.

"My name is Grace Icaria Hortense."