MTL NOVEL Chapter 5: Chapter 5:
Hermione's eyes snapped to Harry. A deep crease formed between her brows. "You're not serious?"
Harry nodded.
"That's... that's ridiculous! That's completely out of the question!" Rage twisted through her body, colouring her veins like acid. "He cannot be serious! If he thinks I'm going to sit here while everyone else-"
"Don't worry," Harry said quickly, gripping her shoulder and pulling her back down when she started to get up. "I already went to Kingsley and said it's not an option. You're too valuable on the field Hermione, he can't risk grounding you."
The relief she felt was indescribable; an immeasurable weight lifted off her chest. She hated fighting, hated that she had to kill every time she left these concrete walls. But it was better than being trapped within them. To Hermione, nothing was worse than that. Not a thing.
"Thank you." She snatched the bottle back and drained the last of its contents, feeling her anger start to dissipate as the alcohol numbed her senses. She wished she'd brought another bottle out with her.
"Don't mention it." Another strangled, lengthy pause stretched between them before Harry spoke again. He never was good with awkward silences; she could always rely on him to speak first. "Neville said you killed today."
Except when topics took this direction. On occasions like these, she would welcome the discombobulated atmosphere. Would welcome the restless, twitchy unease if it meant they didn't have to go down this road. Again.
Hermione stayed quiet, her eyes on the snow falling above her head as she waited for Harry to undoubtedly pass his judgment on her.
They all hated killing; Hermione particularly despised it. But this was war, and they were losing. Badly. They didn't have the luxury of using non-lethal hexes anymore - not when the enemy had grown as strong as they had.
She wished Harry would understand. Wish he would see that sometimes light magic simply wasn't enough. Sometimes, killing was the lesser of two evils. Surely it would be better to kill a few hundred Death Eaters, a few thousand monsters if it spared the lives of millions of innocents?
Harry never saw it that way. Even as they looked over the half-massacred area of London that surrounded them, he didn't see it. Even though the majority of the buildings were crumbling, windows exploded and blackened from bombs, all traces of life non-existent, he still didn't change his mind. Always came up with some emotive speech about how things needed to burn before they could grow again. Something about finding a daisy poking up in the ashes, and hope always being possible no matter how much destruction lay around them.
He was reminding her more and more of Dumbledore each day.
She wondered if being encircled by this much decay and destruction felt as normal to Harry as it did to her. If seeing the Muggle capital in such an apocalyptic state didn't make his stomach twist uncomfortably anymore, just like her.
Deep down, she knew it didn't. Resented him for it, in fact.
Harry hadn't been out on the field much in the last four years, not since the first bombings. The Order had started working with what was left of the Muggle armies some time ago. The mixture of magical and technological warfare seemed to thwart Voldemort's advances for a time. His armies - made entirely of Pureblood witches, wizards, and magical creatures - didn't know the first thing about Muggle tanks, helicopter gunners, or bombs.
It worked well for a time; until the smaller warheads started being dropped. Until Harry, Hermione, and a team were sent to investigate a drop sight to search for possible survivors, and Harry saw the hundreds of skeletal, burnt bodies lying on the ground; the mass grave of Death Eaters caught in the blast. The sight of it snapped something in him. Sent him off in a fit of rage. He said The Order was becoming as detached as Voldemort, and that killing wasn't the answer. He'd begged the senior members to stop using bombs, and find a way to defeat Voldemort without the use of such Genocidic weapons.
Harry didn't go on many field missions after that.
Despite The Chosen One's pleas, Kingsley and the Muggle Prime Minister still worked together. After all, their alliance did give The Order a slight edge for a while.
But Voldemort was learning quickly.
"Neville said you used another Unforgivable, too?" Harry asked.
"I did. And if I hadn't, we would be burning the bodies of two of our friends tonight instead of just one." She could feel Harry's stare burning a hole into the side of her head. She chose to ignore him, focusing instead on pulling another drag of nicotine into her lungs, and the gentle buzz forming at the back of her head.
"It's not your fault Hermione. You did everything you could, I'm sure Collin-"
Hermione groaned and squeezed her eyes closed, as though that would somehow drown Harry's voice from her ears. "Don't. Don't do that Harry."
"Do what?"
"Pretend like this isn't my fault. That curse was meant for me," she snapped, even more irritated now that the cigarette in her mouth had expired. She let it fall to the floor and crushed the bud with the heel of her boot. "I should be dead. It should be my body you're burning tonight, not his."
"Don't say things like that! If anything happened to you it would be a catastrophe-"
"And what happened to Colin isn't?"
Harry's expression fell. His eyes tightened, and his mouth pressed into a tight line. "You know I don't mean that."
Needing to do something with her hands, Hermione found her wand and started to manipulate the falling snowflakes again. "It should have been me," she whispered. "I wish I'd never let him come on that mission."
"He knew the risks. He died protecting one of his friends. It's how he would have wanted to go."
Hermione scoffed, a mixture of irritation and guilt colouring her tone. "Is that supposed to comfort me?"
"No, I suppose not."
"I almost let him die tonight," she found herself admitting, wasn't sure why. The words tore their way up her throat of their own accord; maybe she needed to get the weight of it off her chest.