DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or any character I may use as the story progress. As all other fanfiction writters, the universe and characters are all borrowed from the author of the said book, J.K. Rowling. Other information are credited to Pottermore as well as other potter-wikipedia.

Warning: Use of Explicit Language and sexual Connotation is depicted throughout the story.

CHAPTER ONE:

Exodus.

May 03, 1998. Hogwarts Castle, Scotland, Great Britain

Hermione pushed herself up to a stand, dusting her pants and shirt in the process. Wincing, she held her left shoulder with her right hand, feeling the blood-soaked sleeves as she wobbled her way through the rubble. 'Death—fucking—eaters', she inwardly cursed.

"Scourgify." Barely cleaning her bloodied clothes, she huffed and shrugged, strutting her way towards the Great Hall.

Just as she was about to round a corner, someone grabbed her forearm and jerked her backwards. Dirty hands gripped her mouth and stifled her gasp. Her back pressed roughly against the stone wall, eyes shut tight, as she struggled frantically against her captor's grasp.

"Shh, shh…" The captor whispered to her, "… it's me, Mione". She could feel his breathe warming her cheeks. Hermione stopped, opening and adjusting her eyes to the darkness of the corner, a familiar silhouette outlining itself.

"Harry!" she hissed as she pulled the black-haired boy in a tight hug. Moving back, she eyed her friend, his school robes covered in dust and dirt, his glasses broken, and his hands gripped tightly around his phoenix wand. A distressed look hovered over his exhausted face as he watched the corridor for suspicious movement. "Where's Ron?"

She blinked, tensing under his gaze. "I don't know. I lost him. We we're running from a death eater then a spell hit us and then I blacked out. By the time, I woke up, he wasn't there anymore." She gulped, ignoring his tight grip on her shoulders. Harry curse under his breath.

"Harry?" she asked, cupping his face with her hands. "Have you seen him?"

Harry nodded his head. "What happened to Ron?"

Harry looked at her; his eyes darken at every second that passed as he pulled away from her touched. Hermione panicked, "We got to find Ron." Pushing her way through Harry's form.

"Harry move. We got to find Ron." But he didn't budge, hanging his head low. Hermione looked at him stricken, "Fucking get the hell out of the way, Potter!" she shrieked banging her fist onto him, but he didn't moved.

"I can't let you Hermione. There nothing we can do." He whispered through gritted teeth.

She shook her head furiously as tears started forming, blurring her vision. She couldn't believe it.

It was just mere moments ago that they were running around the castle grounds, hands entwined as they fired spell after spell to the Death Eater gaining on them. It was two against one, but she and Ron were overwhelmed. As they turned a corner, Hermione found herself flung across the hall, letting Ron's hand slip from her fingers. She felt her back make contact on the stone floor and her head slam on a pile of rubble before losing consciousness.

Now she was awake, with her forehead bleeding from a cut, her forearm aching from a curse, and her body exhausted, with no Ron in sight. Harry turned away; his hand clasped on her. He scanned the empty hall way. "Come on." He hissed pulling her with him.

"Where are we—", she stopped herself in mid sentence and stared at the familiar corridors leading towards the Headmaster's office.

Stopping at the foot of the eagle statue, muttering the password, they hurried to enter the headmaster's office. Harry muttered a locking charm as he closed the door behind him. Hermione stumbled back, steadying herself as she scanned the once glorious office of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Ever since his death, it had been left untouched. Those silly trinkets he kept still laid in display had dust accumulating, evidence that no one had dared touch his things.

Picture frames that held previous headmasters of Hogwarts hung empty against the walls and oddly enough, Hermione missed their senile chatters and bickers. Hermione glanced at Harry, he was scanning the shelf in a hurry. Letting him be, she stared back at the empty frames, noting the names of the previous headmasters. At the end frame, Hermione narrowed her eyes at Albus' portrait—occupied, apparently—gleaming at her with his usual twinkle.

Hermione hated it… hated him.

She glared at him. The moment she laid her honey-colored eyes on him, she felt a hollow darkness growing inside her. All those years of fighting, suffering, and witnessing death, Hermione blamed it mostly on one man—not just Voldemort, definitely not just him. No. She blamed her ill sentiments to the man, whose portrait hung proudly in front of her.

Hermione balled her fist in frustration. She has been a fool. Ironically, Malfoy was right. She was stupid, naïve to think that the manipulative twinkling-eyed bastard did what he did for the 'greater good'.

She gritted her teeth, fighting the beautiful muggle foul language threatening to leave her bruised, cut lips. She tore her gaze from the portrait and stared blankly at the frantic boy who was busy taking things from the headmaster's office and stuffing it into her beaded bag.

She eyed him. He gleamed with determination, courage, and pride like a true son of Gryffindor; it made Hermione proud to be his best friend. Harry had suffered so much. His parents were dead long before. He didn't even know them. She couldn't understand why Dumbledore had done it. He could have kept Harry, trained him to better prepare him for the war he was destined fight. But no, he didn't. He gave him to muggles who didn't bloody feed him properly.

And as if that wasn't enough; he had to place Harry, barely eleven at that time, to face a dark lord, who haunted the wizarding world for 50 damn years numerous time through his years in Hogwarts. He would have died if it wasn't for Hermione's help. Even so, it was supposed to be his responsibility, not some puberty-phased children who lacked the better sense of what was dangerous or not.

But then again, Albus and all adult living wizards should have known better than to place their hopes on one boy. She felt wet tears sliding down her cheeks and slowly she succumbed to quiet sobs. Hermione couldn't believe it. 'We are going die. A pitiful, wasteful, and useless death.'

Harry stopped abruptly, startled as he observed her. The level-headed, proud Gryffindor princess, who paraded herself in front of purebloods with a triumphant smirk whenever she had bested them at Hogwarts, had finally crumbled. Her cool composure washed away as the realization of their dire situation finally settled in.

Harry felt the familiar wave of guilt overwhelmed him. He dropped the beaded bag beside him, and gently approached the girl, embracing her.

"Hermione." He muttered into her ears in a whisper, tightening his grip around her. Her knees quivered, leaning her weight into his body as she held onto him for dear life.

"I'm sorry. It's my fault."

She pulled back, wiping the tears away as she looked at him in pure disbelief and sadness.

"You're wrong!" she explained, shaking her head furiously. "Harry, it is not your fault." She held his both his hands gently into hers as she looked deep into his eyes. "In fact…" she trailed her eyes away from him, glaring at their previous headmaster's portrait. "… it's that bastard's fault." She spat with much venom, as she glared at him.

Pushing her away, he shook his head in disdain. "What are you saying?" he muttered through gritted teeth. "How could you accuse Dumbledore, who has protected us all this years?!"

"What do you mean 'protected us'? Harry, he was the one person who could stop Voldemort and his band of lunatics! But look what he did? The crazy old man killed himself!" She glared at him, her hands trembling at her side. He looked at her like she was crazy.

"Come on, Harry. Like you didn't questioned it for a second." She stared at him, crossing her arms.

"Listen to yourself, Hermione. You're just thinking stuff that doesn't make sense. We were invaded by death eaters because of Malfoy plus Snape killed him! I've seen him do it with my own eyes! The same person Dumbledore trusted."

"Are you listening to yourself, Harry? Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard in our time. How could a mere potion master kill a grand sorcerer, Harry? How! Dumbledore can take ten death eaters down without as much as a scratch on him."

"Bullshit!" Harry glared at her, "Dumbledore is not invincible, Hermione."

Hermione, sighed. "But he was powerful enough, Harry."

"You know, he has a very weird sense of 'greater good'." Hermione muttered in a matter-of-fact tone, with her hands up making air quotations.

"Hermione, even if you think Dumbledore is a manipulative bastard—as you so quote," Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "... it doesn't change the fact that stopping Voldemort is something not me, but all of us siding in the Light should do." Harry explained as he started stuffing things inside her beaded bag again.

Hermione glared at him, as she snatched her beaded bag from his hands roughly. He startled from the sudden movement and looked at her perplexed.

"Will you stop stuffing things in my purse!" she huffed, slapping his hands as he tried to reach and grab it back. "What the bloody hell are you packing things for anyway?"

"I'm sending you to Beauxbatons or anywhere safe for that matter," Harry said, grabbing a weird trinket Dumbledore displayed on one of his bookshelves. "I heard, Voldemort hasn't overtaken the French Ministry yet, but it will give you enough time to plan out your next steps."

Hermione looked at him, astonished. "You can't seriously be thinking this." He shrugged in response, ignoring Hermione who slumped back into one of the leather chairs, her mind lost in thought.

She stared back at him, he was checking some vial in Dumbledore's personal potion cupboard. She narrowed her eyes at the back of his head, wishing she could read his mind. She always wondered why Harry was so hell-bent on killing his arch-nemesis. Besides the fact he was prophesied to and the fact that he was the one who killed Harry's parents, the war was officially over when Voldemort took full control of Hogwarts. In the end, the dark side had won.

Hermione knew how bad Voldemort was, but looking it at a new perspective; they lost the war and Harry, her, and other Order members (who survived and were in hiding) were at the top of Voldemort's death list. Shouldn't they have been trying to hide? Laying low for the mean time?

No.

But Harry was intent on killing Voldemort, going as far as begging the French Ministry to lend him some Aurors. It's not that Hermione was giving up, in fact she wanted nothing more than to go back to a world where Voldemort didn't exist. But both she and Harry were inexperienced compared to Voldemort's fifty-seven years of dark arts and battle-exposure. In a duel, Voldemort would most certainly kill both of them.

Alas, Hermione was tired, emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausted. She wanted to go back to being a muggle, escaped the Wizarding World for a change, but there was nothing left for her. Her parents were dead. Everyone she knew and loved were dead except Harry. All she had left is Harry. Harry is now the only reason that Hermione was doing her best to survive.

Sometimes when she is lost in her thoughts, she thought of Voldemort, why was he doing this, what his goals... She wasn't a Horcrux or anything—Merlin, no! But because she feel likes she understood how Voldemort's mind worked. How he came to decide the choices he made or things he did. Because in some ironic ways, Voldemort was as intelligent, ambitious, and curious as Hermione is.

She knew Voldemort wasn't really aiming to be the anti-muggle supremacist. No. Voldemort's mind ran deeper than shallow ambitions. He wanted something grand, something he believed he was worthy of. He wanted to be the most powerful Wizard of all time. And more so, his beliefs strengthened when he learned that he was Salazar Slytherin's heir.

Voldemort's thirst for power grew in his time as a student, his belief that knowledge was power made Voldemort desperate to learn everything. To Tom Riddle, there was no such thing as good and bad magic. There is no good and evil, only power and those too weak to seek it.

But as the Wizarding world grew, Tom aged more. And the truth is, no matter how much Voldemort read books, his life was too short. It scared him. He thought that by the time society acknowledged him, death would claim him and everything he had learned and accumulated would turn to waste. Voldemort dreaded it. That's why he was so obsessed with immortality.

Thinking about it, Voldemort, in a more human perspective, just wanted to belong, to fit in, to be recognized. He was deprived most of his life and that fueled his ambition. Voldemort reminded her of herself. Always trying to fit in, to belong, and to be recognized. The whole mudblood cover-up was merely a means to an end. Purebloods were his stepping stone to power.

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts when she saw Harry approaching her.

She arched her brow at him. "Here," he said, handing her a piece of parchment. "It's a map to the palace. Ask for Madame Maxime, she'll help you, I'm sure."

"I'm not going to that French Academy. I'm not leaving you behind." She huffed, trying to shove back the parchments into Harry's hands.

"Hermione," He exclaimed, "I'm already a dead man and I'm not willing to gamble your life with me. You're all I got and the only one I have faith in bringing the bastard to hell. But first I have to ensure you are safe and Beauxbatons is the safest place I know. They have a special Fidelius Charm, neither magic nor muggles can find it." He look at her, clasping her hands in his,

She slumped back on her chair, looking distressed. She understood Harry's need for her safety. Hermione was the only thing he has left. But Hermione wasn't the type to sit still and watch. She made things happen.

"I'm not going." She said defiantly.

"You are."

Harry looked at her as if he was making her promise to him. Hermione couldn't let him down. She nodded her head hesitantly and Harry squeezed her hand in return.

A sound of stone rattling startled both of them. A bead of sweat fell from Hermione's forehead and Harry absently mindedly gulped. Shoving the beaded purse in Hermione's hands, he dragged her towards the fireplace. As Harry was frantically searching for Floo powder, Hermione's eyes darted towards the door. She jumped at the sound of a click, and slowly it swung open.

Hermione's back stiffened, she gripped her wand to her side as she stared at glaring crimson eyes. Harry stood slowly, his eyes fixed on the snake-like face with red eyes in the doorway, an evil smirk gracing its monstrous features.

"I've been looking for you." He hissed, his evil smirk grew as Harry tensed.

"Hermione, no matter what…"

Voldemort's spidery fingers gently held the Elder Wand up, pointing. "Avada…"

"… don't come after me."

"… Kedavra."

As if in slow motion, throwing black colored Floo powder, Harry pushed Hermione into a blazing black flame, swallowing her whole. Hermione's fading screams echoed through the tower as a green light sped towards Harry before everything zoomed past her.

A familiar tight squeeze feeling enveloped her before darkness claimed her.