Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Take Two
by Rihaan

Rating: PG13
Ship: Harry & Hermione
Canon: Books 1 - 7
Genre: Action/Adventure, Romance
Status: In progress
Length: 81,616 words in 8 chapters
Published: 8 Aug 2008
Last updated: 16 Jul 2012

The Harmony version, or remake, of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Hermione thinks twice about the mistakes that
she made in the past, and Harry finally realizes - with a little help - that he is in a war, and Death Eaters are just
as much of a threat as Voldemort, and should be treated as such.

From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/8162/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

1. The Album

Warning: MAJOR DH Spoilers, and you won't really understand this fanfic well if you didn't read the seventh book, though
I'll try to make it so you'll understand. Although, I would like to think that this fanfic is for those who hadn't read
the last installment because of the pairings, or for those who want to see a remix of said book. The only problem is
that I skipped the first two chapters.

Second Warning: Not a Dark!Harry, but very Determined!Unforgiving!Harry. This Harry won't be brainwashed with
Dumbledore's morals. No second chances.

Summary/Intro: I'm not sure what happened to Hermione between the fifth and sixth books. She used to be a strong-willed
genius who was independent and courageous who was the most loyal of Harry's friends and would die by his side, and so
would Harry by hers. But in the Sixth book…I'm not sure, like I said.

I'm still not sure whether Hermione had real feelings for Ron or not, but one thing is for certain; She may be the
brightest witch of her age, but she knows absolutely nothing about love.

What would happen if Hermione took the time to think of what she did in sixth year after Dumbledore's death? What if she
decided to drop her fancy of Ron, knowing that she would've made the worst decision of her life, and resume her interest
in the man that she loved since third year? What if she gave Harry a gift to show her appreciation for putting up with
her all year? If she apologized, this is what would have happened, explained in `Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows:
Take Two'. Enjoy.

We're going to jump right into the story, no details needed, since all of you could easily go to your local library and
read the first 2 chapters (don't worry, no romance in those two.)

Betareader/writer: Alix33 AKA Marianne - thanks a lot!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, but if I did, here's what it would look like.

________________________________________

Chapter One—The Album

Harry was still rummaging through his clothes and various interesting items in his bag - he had decided to get an early
start after some consideration, so he knew what he was missing and what to get later - of almost seven years, some of
them stained earlier with his blood from the broken fragments of his mirror, when he caught the glimpse of a small brown
package in his trunk that he had never seen before. He looked at it strangely for a second before he shrugged. Curiosity
overwhelming the broken mirror and falsities of his favorite headmaster from the delusioned reporter, he grabbed the
wrapped gift.

He slowly opened it, wondering if it was from Ron or Ginny, or Hermione. Harry felt the green leather of a small photo
album, matching his and his mother's green eyes. He ripped the other half of the paper wrappings off, revealing gold
writing on the album, and a note falling from it. The photo album said, `Memories' on the front of it. He picked up the
note and placed it on the bed for later. He flipped open the album to see a familiar face; One Hermione Granger, smiling
up at him.

He didn't know why, but it was something about her that brought a smile to his face. She was wearing a light blue
sundress, although he could only see to her waist, and the background appeared to be Hogsmeade, although there were no
students. She looked very beautiful in the light fabric shirt with a low neckline. He stared for a few minutes,
wondering how she had hidden her body so well. He hadn't seen Hermione in such girly clothing since she wore the
gorgeous dress at the Yule Ball. He absently wondered why she sent him a photo album. She must have sent Ron one, as
well; probably even a fancier one, which made Harry feel a bit uneasy.

Harry flipped the pages of the album, and found no more pictures. He turned to the back and saw in smaller, golden
letters, `To Harry, From Hermione'. He gently placed the small album on the bed and grabbed the note. He carefully
unfolded it, and read it.

Dear Harry,

I want to start off by telling you that I am very and truly sorry for the way I was acting last year. I was a complete
fool, and I was basically ignoring you and shooting you down whenever you had a suspicion or guess that was usually
right. I cannot say sorry enough for when I kept criticizing you for that Potions book. I'm sorry that I ever doubted
you. I mean, if it were a dark object, you of all people would've known, right? I know that sorry is not enough for the
actions that I have done, but I had to at least try.

Now, if you'll accept it, let me explain the present that I gave to you. I enchanted an album for you. When you place a
picture in a pocket, the picture will be able to talk to you with the character's own personalities. I've only placed
one picture, but when you want to speak to a person that you placed in the album say the person's name and it will flip
to the page, making the picture become a Wizard's picture, or in other words, come alive. Just whisper it to the book.
You can only use single character pictures. It is able to take black and white, also, so you could use a `wanted'
picture of Sirius. (Sorry, I didn't have a picture of Sirius or your parents. I don't have any single pictures of Ron,
either. I have a few pictures of you, although I'm sure that you would not want to talk to yourself. That's why I gave
you the album in the first place, so you wouldn't have to.)

I know that living with those awful relatives for the last time must be horrible for you, and I know that the only
reasons you are there are because you were asked to stay there by our dearly departed Headmaster since Voldemort can't
find you. I wanted to be there with you, but the Order wouldn't let me. But I made sure that you would have someone to
talk to. I know that this small photo album would never make up for what I did last year, and I deserve it if we were
never close like we used to be again, but I just want to let you know that whatever happens, I'll always care about you,
support you, and I'll still go with you and Ron on the journey, however long it is. If you don't want me to come with
you, I understand. To tell you the truth, though, I don't think you and Ron alone can complete this task alone.

But please…take care, Harry. I don't know what I'd do without you. You were my first and best friend, and I don't want
to lose you.

I can't tell you any more, but I will tell you now that we will get you out of that accursed hell-hole soon. I'll
personally make sure of it that you will be broken out. You should know this, though: When we arrive at your house, I
want you to promise that you would do nothing to interfere with us or our plans, whatever they are. We are coming to
save you and we know the risks, Harry, we know that we could all lose our own lives, and we will risk it. If you try
something that could be fatal, Harry, we all won't be far along. I just pray that you don't try anything rash if
Voldemort himself shows, because if you don't think I'll jump in the way in a second if he tries anything on you, you're
very sadly mistaken.

I miss you, Harry, and I hope you are well (as can be).

With Love,
Hermione

There was something about that letter that made Harry frown. He most certainly wasn't mad at Hermione. Sure, he was a
little irked at her for not hearing him out often, mostly during last year, but he wasn't mad at her. The only time he
was ever mad at Hermione was when she turned in his Firebolt in third year, and it was basically his fault. He knew that
Hermione was only caring for him. He wouldn't have liked it very much if the broom was cursed and he kept it. He was
just being selfish, and Ron's yelling didn't help.

He read the last paragraph and a tear formed in his eye at the loyalty of her and the Order. Of course, most of them are
on duties for Dumbledore's sake, but Hermione and Ron were the only ones to go on the mission completely for him and his
safety.

He smiled again when he reread the middle paragraph. He hoped he had a picture of Sirius somewhere in his trunk. Maybe
his aunt Petunia had a few pictures of his mum and dad. He reread the entire letter, and for some reason, he smiled
softly when she said that she'll always care about him. He had no intention of leaving her behind on the trip. Merlin
knows he's rubbish without her. It would take him years to find one Horcrux, and several generations to find them all.
But with Hermione, it would probably take ten years maximum, if she could still put up with him.

But Harry never only liked her for her brains. He knew that she was pretty, funny, always put a smile on his face,
believed in him when no one else did, and he would never forget how she looked when he saw her at the Yule Ball. She was
absolutely stunning.

Harry stopped his thoughts right there. He couldn't be having these thoughts about her, not again. There was a while ago
when he fancied her, and for a time, thought that she fancied him, too. Unfortunately, he realized the looks Ron gave
her and immediately dropped all of his feelings for her then and there. He almost successfully took his mind off of her
on to Cho Chang, and then to Ginny Weasley. But both of them didn't really work out. He really thought that one of the
two would work.

Cho broke up with him because she thought that Harry was cheating on her with Hermione. Harry wanted to remind her that
she was never technically his girlfriend and did admit in his mind that he would much rather be with Hermione than Cho
if he had to choose. He was absolutely positive that Hermione would never have chosen Madame Puddifoot's. He still had
nightmares about that place.

Last year, he finally thought that Ginny would be the one for him. She was pretty, she liked him, and more importantly,
she liked him for him.

Or did she?

Exactly when did Ginny ever know the difference between Harry Potter and the Boy Who Lived? There was a very big
difference between the boy who suffered a long string of tragic events that slowly left him alone and unwanted, and the
fearless savior of the Wizarding world, who can take on basilisks and dragons, blast-ended skrewts and a Cerberus. Now,
Harry doesn't think that Ginny knows the difference, and he doesn't think that she ever will. He didn't want a
girlfriend who thinks of him as her knight in shining armor. He wants a girl who can tell the difference, and he was
very aware that the only one that he knows that exists is the girl in the photo album.

He didn't know if Hermione thought of him as more than a friend. She did seem more interested in Ron this year. But what
about before then? After all of those years, he still remembered her kiss at King's Cross. For a short time, he wondered
if she liked him, as more than a friend. Harry once again mused, that if Hermione did like him, there was only one thing
that would be separating them, regardless. A temperamental redhead that just happened to be Harry's best friend and a
very secret admirer of Hermione by the name of Ron Weasley. Should he just stay out the way or let Hermione choose.

Harry sighed heavily as he placed the note back on his bed and grabbed the album once again. He spoke into the closed
album, “Hermione Granger,” in a soft voice.

The album cover immediately flipped open, and the smile of Hermione's picture was a little brighter than Harry
remembered.

“Hi, Harry,” she said brightly.

Harry's smile matched hers. “Hi, Hermione, er, Hermione's picture, er—”

Hermione giggled at Harry's awkwardness. “Just Hermione will do, thank you.”

“Um…okay, Hermione. I've never seen the real Hermione giggle before.”

“Well, you never feel uncomfortable with the real Hermione either, so I can never catch you when you're feeling a bit
awkward.”

Harry grinned. “Are you saying that I'm the only one who makes you giggle?”

Hermione suddenly looked like her cheeks were spray painted a light pink, before she replied, “I didn't say that, it's
just that Ron would constantly tease me—well, the real me—if I giggled like a girl.”

“But, you are a girl.”

“You are the only one who seems to notice that.” She said to him.

Harry noticed that she had seemed like she didn't care about the fact that Ron hadn't noticed that she was a girl, and
Harry did. Of course, Ron had noticed that Hermione was a girl since a little before the Yule Ball. Harry had always
known, but had never thought much of it until the Ball itself.

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Do you have like, every personality of your creator? I mean, will you know how the real Hermione would feel and react
to a question or something?”

“Yes, I do. I am her up until the twenty-ninth of June. That was the day this picture was taken.”

“And, is there any way for you to contact the real Hermione?”

“Why? Are you going to complain about my gift?” Hermione replied, and Harry could almost hear a bit of panic in her
voice as her face slowly dropped.

“No,” Harry quickly exclaimed, “of course not! You're great company! The best I've ever had, actually.” This cause
Hermione to smile brightly again. “It's just that…If I asked you a personal question, would you be able to tell Hermione
what I ask, and can you mimic Hermione's reaction when…or if…I ask her?”

“I have no other frame to walk into,” Hermione said slowly, looking left and right, “so there is no way she can
communicate with me unless she talks to me from your photo album. My and the real Hermione's reactions will be similar,
but her reactions or answers would most likely be a little more mature. What questions do you want to ask me?”

“Well…firstly, why did you send me the photo album?”

“Well, I thought that reason was already written in the note. I did it as a small `thank you' gift for putting up with
me all year. You were my first and only true friend, and I don't want to lose you over a stupid book. You are pretty
much the best friend anyone could ask for.” Hermione told him, and her eyes told the world that she was not lying.

Harry did not notice, as he was thinking about something she said earlier.

“Hermione…you said that I was your only true friend.”

“Yes, I did say that.”

“What about Ron and Ginny?” He curiously asked.

“Well…I could never think of Ron as a close or good friend, but merely as a friend. Have you seen how much we've argued,
Harry?” This caused him to snort in light laughter. Hermione ignored it and continued. “Best friends don't argue like
that. Have you noticed that we've only been in two big arguments in the past, while me and Ron have had too many to care
about? As for Ginny, well, we haven't really been close these past few weeks…from early June.” Hermione grazed over the
fact that is was right after Ginny started dating Harry.

“Yeah…well it feels kind of weird to apologize to a picture, so I want to apologize to Hermione about our arguments. I
assume it's about the book and my Firebolt?”

Hermione gave a small and excited squeal, bolstered about the fact that Harry wanted to apologize to her origin. She
then frowned a little. “But it was my fault. I should've told you about it before I turned it in to Professor
McGonagall. And of course I wouldn't have done it unless you agreed. I could've simply talked to you about it, but I
didn't. I just went behind your back and—”

“Stop, Hermione.” Harry interrupted. “It was mainly my fault, and you know it. I sided with Ron the whole time, even
though he was wrong and you were right. If they did find a curse, if a Death Eater or someone had sent it, I would've
been on my knees begging for forgiveness. It wasn't cursed, but I still think that you—or rather, she—deserve some
begging.”

“Thank you, Harry,” she said sincerely, wiping the tears that might leak soon. “Did you know that Ron had never
apologized for any argument that we were in? Now you know why you are my first and only true friend. And I hope you can
stay my friend.” She mumbled the last part, putting her head down.

“You will always be my best friend, Hermione. To tell you the truth, I think you are my only true best friend, also. And
you know I'm useless without you on our journey.”

Hermione sniffled a smile and a small tear ran down her cheek. “Thank you,” she said softly, then looked up at Harry's
emerald eyes. “You do realize that if I could come out of this picture, I'd hug you until your bones break. Although,
I'm sure Ginny wouldn't appreciate.”

Harry smiled and blushed at this nice thought. “Well, I did break up with Ginny.”

“You broke up with her?” She asked concerned, yet Harry didn't notice the hint of happiness in that question. “I thought
you two were happy together.”

“Things weren't…well… Ginny…I don't know how to explain it, really. I like her…but every time I kissed her, it felt like
I was kissing my sister, if I had one. It was more like kissing Aunt Petunia.” Hermione made a face that Harry had to
agree with. “I've never been in a relationship before. Cho kissed me, and all I did was freeze up. Not exactly how I
pictured a kiss. Then she broke up with me `cause she's jealous of our friendship (He didn't notice Hermione smiling at
that point). When I kissed Ginny, it was…not what I was expecting. It seemed dull. All our other kisses were the same.”

“Were you expecting fireworks, Harry?” Hermione asked him.

“Kinda…what is kissing supposed to be like?”

It took a few seconds for Hermione to realize that Harry was not asking himself, but her. “How would I know? I never
kissed anyone. Except my parents, but I was little.” Before Harry could voice the obvious, Hermione interrupted. “Viktor
is my friend. He was never anything more than that, and he never will be.”

Harry scratched his head, amazed at what he had just heard, before he continued. “So that's why you didn't go with him
to Bulgaria.” At Hermione's quick nod, he decided to drop that topic and go back to the original one. “I don't ask for
much. I'm just asking for a girlfriend that likes me and not that guy everyone says I am. I want her to like that psycho
that the Prophet slandered about Voldemort's return and not the guy that faced twelve Death Eaters and Voldemort
himself. Well, that's what the News said, at least.”

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. “You do realize that not a lot of girls can look past that, right? You may have to
end up dating someone who don't even know about you, like a Muggle.” `Or a Muggle-born', Hermione thought.

`Or a Muggle-born', Harry thought. “I know. But if she doesn't care about the guy that saves lives annually, and likes
the one that desperately needs a steel comb and axle grease for hair gel, then that's all I care about. Of course she
could have other qualities, like brains, too.

“Harry?” Hermione asked uneasily after a moment of silence.

“Yes?” He asked carefully, hearing her voice tremble a bit.

“I know a girl at Hogwarts who is a little bit of your description. I mean she's really smart and likes you for you. And
as far as I understand, she likes you a lot.” She said a little hesitantly.

Harry raised an eyebrow; he found that pretty hard to believe. “Who's that?”

“She told me not to tell you. If it helps, she's in your year, I think. You'll have to figure it out on your own.” She
said, looking at the bottom frame of the picture.

“Alright,” He said slowly, wondering who it is; part of him desperately wanted that person to be Hermione, the other
part hoped that it would be someone Ron wouldn't get jealous of. The latter was slowly diminishing. “I've been pretty
good at solving stuff. I do have another question, though.”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Do…do you like Ron? As more than a friend?”

Hermione was a little taken aback by Harry's question. Slightly hoping that Harry's next question involved him and her,
she replied, “Well as I told you before, I can only think of him as a friend. I admit, I did have a small crush on him
this year, but,” she shrugged, “I think I had an off year. Besides, I think we all know he's a prat. I wasn't really
thinking straight. Any other questions?”

Harry felt enlightened by this revelation, but refrained from asking her the most important question that he had been
burning to say along those lines. He wanted to ask that question to the real Hermione Granger. Instead, he asked her a
few questions, talked, and enjoyed his imaginary company for over half the night until sleep overcame the Wizard. Before
the album magically closed itself, he didn't see the kiss that was blown his way.

(DH) (HP) (DH) (Take—Two) (HP) (DH) (HP)

A little over two weeks later, a brunette bushy-haired witch was sitting in a window-seat on a plane, reading a book on
one of the darkest artifacts in the world called Horcruxes, returning to London. She had charmed the books that she had
brought with her to look like a few encyclopedias. She had just closed up the memories of anything involving her of her
parents and left them in Australia, for their safety. She decided that Crookshanks could be cared for by Mrs. Weasley at
The Burrow.

She may have been reading the book, but she wasn't exactly paying attention to it. She had been worried sick about how a
certain green-eyed Wizard would react to the note and present she put into his bag the day that they left. She was still
not sure whether Harry would talk to her picture or not, or whether he had even seen it yet. His bag was rather messy,
but she decided to leave everything where it was, so he wouldn't suspect something and find it immediately after she put
it in the morning before they left Hogwarts, most likely for the last time.

She had thought about her past year's decisions and the things that she said to Harry. She had thought about how cruel
she had been to him while he had been nice to her all year, the Lavender fiasco being one of Harry's many nice moments.
She prayed that her friendship would slowly mend even if it would never be healed to the way it was before. She knew
that she loved him, but she also knew that he would never love her the way that she loves him since Ginny has him, and
now, she most likely lost the close friendship she had with Harry.

She knew that even if he forgave her, they would never be the closest friends they once were again. But for now, she
hopes that her picture doesn't tell Harry things that she doesn't want it to tell.

It took her a lot of time to make the present for Harry. It left her physically and magically exhausted for each page,
tireless non-stop hours to work on every detail, even the right color of Harry's eyes for the cover and the impervious
charms placed on each stitch. She began on the project a day after the Headmaster died. She had realized that Professor
Dumbledore died only because she refused to listen to Harry's suspicions about Malfoy and Snape, and now, Harry thought
that it was all of his fault. And the only reason she refused to listen to Harry and distance herself in the process was
for two reasons. Two incredibly stupid reasons that made it all her fault and not Harry's.

The first reason was because she tried to pursue Ron the entire year. Even the excuse made her sick to her stomach. The
only reason she had even tried to be with Ron was because she realized that after the prophecy, she really thought that
Harry had a chance of dying. She knew that he was an extremely powerful Wizard, but the logical side, which takes up
about 98.2 percent of her mind, spoke rationally; this was Lord Voldemort he was talking about, the man whose name those
with common sense wouldn't speak. The man who has tortured, killed and manipulated thousands of people for eleven years.
The man who was killed by a baby, Harry Potter. She knew that since Harry was victorious one time after another after
another, he would be victorious until the end of Voldemort, right? But, how was she going to take that chance? How could
she continue to be in love with a man who was destined to have a 50 percent (or more) chance of death?

She just couldn't handle, let alone live with it. At the time, the task was impossible when she heard the prophecy; find
the `power he knows not', a power that the most powerful Wizard ever - save Dumbledore - knows, and kill him. How was he
supposed to kill him again? She knew that she could not be able to handle the heart-break of even the possibility of
Harry being dead, so she did the only thing she could do at the time—she tried to fall out of love with him. A task that
she knew would most likely fail from the beginning. But she had to at least try; after all, she had never failed
anything before. But the question was: If not Harry, then who?

That was a fairly simple answer—Ron. He was the only one who showed any interest in her besides (possibly) Harry,
besides being the big, ignorant prat that he was. And he was the only one besides Harry who she hung out with, who she
considered as a true friend…sometimes. But she had to ask herself something… did Harry ever like her back?

She remembered when her consciousness was slipping at the Department of Mysteries after she was hit of Harry's plea for
her to be okay. She sensed a tone of desperation, regret, and it could have been the blood loss and light-headedness
playing tricks on her, but she swore she could've heard a faint tone of love. That alone would've made her stay with him
for all eternity until he set his feelings for her straight…were it not for the interference of the prophecy.

She had always pictured herself with one of the boys that she had always hung out with in the future. But what if the
one she really wanted and ever really cared about was not in the future to be with her. She would not be able to survive
if she let that love grow. She had to choose the other option—Ron. Sure they argued a lot, but what if it was a way of
saying that he liked her. She knew that he liked her, but she didn't want to bring up that she didn't like him in that
sense and hurt his feelings.

She knew that tiny peck on the cheek before Ron's Quidditch game was going too far and Ron thought too much of it. Never
mind the fact that she gave Harry a hug before and after every game. She dropped several hints on Ron that she wasn't
interested in him during fifth year; subtle, but several: the disappointment in her eyes when announced that Ron was the
prefect and not Harry…distancing herself from Ron during prefect rounds…telling Ron to do his work and to study harder
while in those rare times that Harry asks, helps him with his essays…comforting Harry after every Detention with that
slag Umbridge. They were obvious rejections towards Ron, but apparently, with his single-mindedness, he did not notice,
and neither did Harry, apparently. That is, possibly, until that day at the Ministry. It was not his fault that he knew
so little about girls and not being aware of their feelings.

And then she started pursuing Ron at the beginning of sixth year, with very little success. She helped get Ron on the
team. She snorted when she pictured the thought of what would happen if Ron ever found out. `But Ron, I did it to help
you!' `Help me what?' `Help you get on the team, of course!' `You don't think I would've gotten on the team myself, did
you?' `No, I didn't say that! It's just that he was as good as you!' `Then it would've been fun trying to beat him. Just
face it, you wanted to end the tryouts fast so you could go to the Library!' `Ron, I could've gone to the library any
time I want!' `No, you couldn't, because you wouldn't be able to cheer on Harry!'

She wondered if that conversation would really take place if he confronted her. She probably would've slapped him in the
face and proudly admitted that he was right.

She then remembered another impossible task that appeared later in the year, making Hermione think that maybe Harry
would die and she was making the right decision, even though she knew deep in her heart that her love for him hadn't
faded in the least, if not, then became stronger. Voldemort's Horcruxes. The complete mission was for Harry to find some
secret power that Voldemort didn't know about, destroy all of his Horcruxes, finding out later that there were six in
total (SIX!!), and destroy the last bit of soul that was harbored in the body of Tom Riddle himself. She thought that
the task was near impossible, even with Dumbledore's help. Some friend she was.

The second reason was even sicker than the first. A book. Just a book. Not a cursed book. Not a Horcrux'ed book. Just a
book. That was her excuse to leave Harry the time he needed a friend the most. His godfather died and she distanced
herself away from her best friend because of a book and a relationship she knew wouldn't ever work. Not again.

Hermione absently wiped the many tears from her eyes that she wasn't aware of. She steeled herself and hooked her
seatbelt when the light came on, signaling the plane would be landing soon. She placed the book back in her bag and
pushed it under the chair in front of her.

This was it. In just a few minutes, a new and determined Hermione Granger would arrive at the Burrow. Ginny might still
have had Harry, but Hermione swore she would still try to retain the little of her friendship with him. Only time can
heal their almost broken relationship; it just depended on the amount of time to mend it.

(DH) (HP) (DH) (Take—Two) (HP) (DH) (HP)

Hermione took a deep breath as she took in the sight of the impossibly tall, crooked, and run-down house called The
Burrow. She stepped towards the front door, letting her breathing go back to normal. Either she was nervous for some
reason, or she had to get used to apparating. She let down the half-kneazle and knocked on the door.

Fifteen seconds later, the door was opened and she was attacked by a rather enthusiastic redhead.

“Ron…” Hermione gasped, “…can't breathe. Please…let go!”

Ron grudgingly let go with a pink tinge on his cheeks. “Sorry. Hey, Hermione.”

“Hey, Ron,” Hermione said, rubbing her sides and trying to expand her ribcage. She could've sworn she heard a crack.

“What are you doing here?” Ron asked curiously as he let her and Crookshanks inside.

“Well, if we're going to get Harry away from the Dursleys, I'm not going to stand in the background. And besides, we're
meeting here anyway,” She replied. She didn't want to tell anyone yet about what she did to her parents. Even if they
agreed to it, it almost felt…wrong, even if it was to keep them safe.

“Oh,” Ron said as he closed the door and started following Hermione up the stairs. “Mum, dad, Bill, Fred, and George are
at an Order meeting right now. They're gonna announce when we pick up Harry.”

“I hope it's soon,” Hermione muttered.

“It probably will be,” Ron replied. “They said that You-Know-Who thinks we're going to pick him up on the thirtieth, but
I bet McGonagall's got a plan to pick him up earlier.”

“Oh, so she is the new head of the Order?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Between her and Mad-Eye, yeah.”

Hermione absently nodded while looking around for Ginny. She needed to patch things up with the fiery redhead; it
wouldn't be good to have your friend's girlfriend to be against her, and at the moment, she didn't think that their
friendship was as powerful as a strong-willed beautiful silk-haired girl who wanted Harry for herself for her entire
life and had been jealous of any girl close to Harry. Hermione knew that Ginny had been slightly jealous of her for
hanging with Harry before sixth year, where it all started going downhill from there. “Where's Ginny?” she asked after a
moment.

“I'm guessing she's in her room sulking.”

“Why?” She turned around when she reached the half-way up the stairs, walking backwards so she wouldn't run into Ron.

“She didn't tell you? Harry broke up with her.”

Her eyes widened in complete shock and she almost fell backwards. She quickly turned around and kept her balance by
running up the rest of the stairs, hoping he didn't see her widening smile. She left a slightly baffled Ron behind,
watching her retreating bum (Not that he was complaining, mind).

She got to the second floor landing and knocked on the door to Ginny's bedroom, almost melting over with answers.

“No, Ron! I'm not going to ask Hermione if she likes you when she gets here! You know she does!”

Hermione was torn between amusement and terror for a few seconds; she was amused that Ron would tell Ginny to get her to
ask Ron out, and terrified that Ginny sounded confident when she yelled that she liked Ron. With a slightly trembling
voice, she replied. “Sorry to disappoint you both, Ginny, but I don't.”

She heard a few footsteps and the door creaked open. A flaming red haired witch faced her with an incredulous look on
her face. She did not look like she was just sulking. “Hey H-Hermione,” she tentatively said. “W-what did you mean you
didn't like Ron?”

Hermione then had an amused look. “Well, I do like Ron as a friend, but nothing more.”

Ginny smirked and her hand let go of the door to wave it off. “Oh, don't be so modest, Hermione, we all saw you and Ron
cuddled up at the funeral—”

“I'm not being modest,” she interrupted politely, “I just don't like Ron that way. He's an insufferable prat, and I
wasn't as you say, `cuddled up' with him.” Ginny could hear the disgust in her voice. “I needed a shoulder to cry on,
and I was sitting between you and Ron. If I knew you two were going to make a big case out of it, I would've leaned on
your shoulder. I admit, I did like Ron and I tried to get him to like me this year. I knew he did, but I wanted him to
say it. I honestly can't stand him and I regret everything that I did this year. I don't mean to hurt his feelings, but
snogging a girl in front of someone you supposedly like isn't saying `I like you, too'. Besides, the relationship would
never work out, anyway. I gave him a chance, and he blew it.” She noticed the rising anger on Ginny's features. “Why? Is
that a problem?”

Ginny groaned and pulled Hermione into her room none-too-gently and closed the door, not letting go of her.

“Why don't you like Ron?” She went straight to the point. Hermione shook her head. Ginny was always straight-forward.

“Why should I?” Hermione said, ripping her arms out of Ginny's death-grip. She was really starting to get annoyed.

Ginny sighed. “Look, He's a good guy…sometimes. Just give him some more time…”

“No,” she simply replied. She already gave him a bloody year.

“But you have to—” Ginny barely screamed.

“I don't have to do anything,” Hermione told the younger girl, “and I didn't come in here to be hassled by my so-called
friend. I came here because I wanted to see if you were okay. I heard that Harry broke up with you and you didn't tell
me. Why is that?”

“Because it's none of your business,” She angrily retorted.

“Ginny,” Hermione started angrily, and tried to calm down. She took a breath and said, “What happened when we were best
friends? What happened to when you told me all about your past boyfriends? You talked to me after Neville asked you to
the Ball. You asked for advice about Seamus. You ran to me the moment after you said `yes' to being Dean's girlfriend.
We talked about everything, Ginny. Dating, how far you go with a bloke, I even gave you `The Talk'. But…after you
started dating Harry…you hadn't talked to me girl-to-girl since. Why?”

Ginny stubbornly kept her head down. While during Hermione's speech, they both sat down on the bed.

“Ginny.”

“I'm not telling you,” She said in a final-like tone. Hermione was having none of it. She knew the answer.

“It's because it's Harry you're dating, isn't it?”

She flinched a little, but her chin was firmly attached to her chest. Hermione hit the mark.

“Why, Ginny? I thought we were friends.”

Ginny finally looked up. She would have looked calm, were it not for the fire in her brown eyes. “But you and Harry are
better friends,” she said softly, yet it felt cold on Hermione's ears. “Why doesn't he tell you everything?”

Hermione frowned at the younger girl. “Surely you've noticed that Harry had other things on his mind. For God's sake, he
watched his Headmaster die!”

Ginny gasped, her anger forgotten for the moment. “He saw Dumbledore die? He didn't tell me!” Her eyes then narrowed in
suspicion, the anger returning. “Why did he tell you and not me?”

“Because I've been lucky to know him for six years, and he is my best friend. We tell each other everything.” Hermione
said, like it was completely obvious. She then noticed Ginny's rising anger once again. “What?”

Ginny stood up to the bed and towered over the still sitting Hermione, who looked almost amused. “Harry said that he had
to do something to stop You-Know-Who. Is that right?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied, crossing her legs and folding her arms.

“Is he going to do that job alone?”

“Of course not!” Hermione yelled, appalled that Harry will be searching for the darkest Wizard in the world's bits of
soul all by himself. “Ron and I are going.”

“What?” Ginny screamed. Hermione sighed and pulled out her wand as she stood up and waved it around the room. “Silencing
charms,” She explained to Ginny, who really didn't care what the bi- um, witch, was doing. When Hermione was done, she
pocketed her wand and turned back to Ginny. “What's so bad on helping my best friend kill Voldemort?”

“Alone!” Ginny yelled with a small flinch, this time not holding back her voice since no one but Hermione can hear her.

“Yes, Ginny. The less people know, the lesser the chance that we get caught. You have to promise not to tell anyone. I
don't think Harry wants you to know anything about this trip.”

“Why does he always tell you everything and I'm always left in the bloody dark?” She yelled angrily.

“I thought we already went through this,” Hermione replied, exasperated, yet strangely, still amused. “I've known Harry
for six years, and even I'm on thin ice with him. You know how I haven't been the best friend to Harry this year.” Her
voice broke at the end and she sniffed. “I might not go on the journey. I might even lose his friendship…” She had her
head down, and took a quick peek at Ginny. To her horror, she saw a triumphant smile quickly replaced with a sympathetic
frown. Trying to mask her features as Ginny did, Hermione said, “But if he does let me go, I swear I'll make it up to
him. I'll be his best friend again, I swear. If I don't, then I don't know what I'll do. I'm not going to lose my only
true best friend over a bloody book!”

Ginny inwardly cursed, but her face took on a look of hurt. “So you're saying I'm not your friend?”

Hermione looked up fully at Ginny with cold, deep brown eyes that truly scared Ginny, who hadn't been that scared since
first year. “You think about that, Ginny, because I'm not sure.” She said in a hard voice, not in a yell, yet powerful,
none the less. She stood up and prepared to leave.

Ginny just thought about what she's doing. She was being cowed by Hermione Granger! She wasn't the one to be scared
easily. In fact, she should've been the one scaring Hermione. She isn't backing out of this. She regained her full
height to Hermione, although she was still considerably shorter. Before she could say anything, Hermione turned back
around, knowing that Ginny wouldn't back down that easily. They met eyes, Ginny's chocolate ones to Hermione's cinnamon.
“If you even try to steal my boyfriend—”

“Who's your boyfriend?” Hermione asked in fake curiosity.

“You know bloody damn well who my boyfriend is!” Ginny seethed.

“No, not really,” She said, discreetly pulling out her wand. “You don't talk to me much, remember? Is it Dean? Seamus?
Neville? Countless other boys you hadn't told me about? Because Harry broke up with you, didn't he. Unless you've been
cheating on him…”

“I HAVE NOT BEEN CHEATING ON HARRY AND WE ARE STILL TOGETHER!!” Ginny screamed right into Hermione's face. Fortunately,
Hermione secretly cast a weak `Muffliato' around her face right before the outburst (she expected it) so she could still
hear Ginny's screaming as if it were an urgent whispering from a beehive. She removed the spell and calmly said, “Ginny,
what did you mean Harry didn't break up with you? I heard it from—”

“Let me guess, from Harry?” Ginny spat angrily. “I am sick and tired of you being so bloody close to Harry!! Why do you
have to be near him so much? It's so pathetic! Just because you don't have a boyfriend and probably never will doesn't
mean you have to hang around someone else's boyfriend!”

She had struck a nerve; a very fragile and delicate nerve that anyone with common sense would never even attempt to
touch. She knew she had said something wrong and immediately and immensely regretted it. She saw the coldness grow in
Hermione's eyes and slowly began to back up. Ginny almost felt the magic uncoil off of her, riding in waves and
reverberating around the room. She could swear she heard something near her crack, but she did not dare take her eyes
off of Hermione. She saw Hermione slowly walk towards her, extending her wand arm, but the wand was forgotten. If
possible, Ginny felt even more scared than before. She was too scared to move, almost petrified. Hermione's hand was
getting closer. She closed her eyes. She could almost feel Hermione's hand already slowly wrapping around her throat,
making her gasp for air, choke on her tongue, and at that moment, she thought that Hermione was actually going to kill
her. She closed her eyes tighter, and waited…and waited…

It never came.

After a few seconds of silence, minus her staggering breathing, she slowly opened her eyes. They were slightly blurry
from her eyelids shutting so tightly, but as soon as her vision cleared, she jumped back with a small shriek to see
Hermione eye-level with her, the coldness still on her face and in her usually warm brown eyes, her finger pointing
between Ginny's eyes.

“Are you saying that you were dating Harry since Halloween of 1991?” She questioned angrily. “Are you saying that you've
been through everything with him and shared his pain since he learned that Voldemort was out to get him in first year?
Are you saying that you would do anything for him, even die for him, even if he hated you?” Hermione felt a tear drop
down her eye, but made no move to wipe it away. She was very sure that this tear would not be the last. “No. I didn't
think you did, have, or will. Look, Ginny, I didn't have a problem with you dating Harry. I was very proud and
supportive of you since the day I noticed Harry asked more questions about you and gave glances at you. Just remember
who told you to just run up and kiss him because `you just might be surprised.'” Hermione sarcastically mimicked from
just a few weeks before. Her tears were flowing freely down her cheeks by now. She didn't care.

“Now listen, Ginevra! I don't want you to hassle him on where we're going, how long we'll be gone, or what we're looking
for. If Harry wants you to know, he'll let you know, but only if he brings it up. I don't want you to persuade him to
not go. What we're about to do in just a couple of weeks just might destroy Voldemort once and for all. I'll be going
with him, but either as an ally, an acquaintance…or the best of friends that we used to be, eventually. I'm not going to
let you - or Ron - get in the way of that…unless Harry lets you.” Hermione's voice cracked a little at the end.

She struggled on. “Although I doubt that it may happen, if it does, I won't put up a fight. Then you won't have to worry
about Hermione Granger again.” The breeze that was surrounding her suddenly stopped flowing and she quickly turned away
from her, lifted her wand, and removed the charms. She opened the door and turned back to face Ginny, her face now in a
sad smile. “I might not be able to give him something to fight for, a reason to live; I wish I could, but something
tells me that you would be a bit persuasive.” She winked and left the room.

`So much for patching things up,' she thought with a sigh. She was this close from strangling Ginny until her hair
clashed with her face color, but decided against it at the end. Harry would definitely be mad if he found out, but she
knew that Ginny would never tell anyone what had just happened. She knew that Harry would hold up against the persistent
redhead's attacks, but she didn't know how long. For now though, she had to worry about getting Harry from those
cretins.

A short moment later, Hermione realized that Harry, at the moment, was officially single. This brought a slightly
hopeful smile to her tearstained face.

________________________________________

Author's Note: Was it good? I hope you liked it. I wrote this chapter (and four following) after my very first story, so
it's not very good. One day, I might rewrite it. As said on my Profile Page (which you guys need to check more often; I
update a lot), this story is one of those `one thing that happens that wasn't supposed to happen can change all of
history' fics. I believe there was a saying that says `if a butterfly flies the way it wasn't destined to go, a man
dies'. I probably bollixed that saying up, but it's somewhere near close to accurate…almost. Family Guy (Brian) said
that `If you kill a butterfly in the past, it can drastically alter the future.' That probably describes it better.

The photo album idea…last time I checked, I thought of that idea. I don't think Wizards would've thought of that. They
had only thought of interacting portraits and moving pictures, but had never thought of hand-held portraits. As you can
see, it might be a minor or major twist of the book. I'm leaning on minor, but it may be major on some parts. I'd like
to think of it trying to help Harry think more rationally, so Harry will not be the clueless, mostly confused, and
unloved Harry Potter we've all come to know (and little does he know, love.). I hope I see a few reviews. Please, don't
flame, though. At least give the fic a chance.

As you can tell, by the size of this chapter (which is longer than what I usually write), I will not be updating
regularly. The rest of the chapters will be longer.

Note: Harry opened his bag one week after he arrived at the Dursleys in this story (and not the night he leaves, as in
canon), and since Harry spent exactly four weeks (28 days) at the Dursleys, He would be having the album for three weeks
talking to the photo of Hermione. Thanks to a little brainstorming, I've figured out that Dumbledore's funeral was on
June 30. I have enough evidence for it to be fact, since hp-lexicon is wondering hat the date was for the funeral. More
explained in the next chapter or in replies to reviews if you ask.

Next Chapter, we go Canon!

Oh, and review, please! Don't forget to check out my one-shot, `It's Good to Feel Remorse'.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

2. Leaving Privet Drive

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter, and I never will.

I will be doing two canon chapters per chapter from now on. These are chapters three and four.

* * *

Chapter Two—Leaving Privet Drive

Harry never had any company over the summer except for Hedwig, and since Dudley couldn’t beat up a photo album, Harry
had talked with Hermione’s picture for the remainder of his last stay on Number four, Privet Drive. Not that the
Dursleys found out about it, of course.

He didn’t know why, but he felt more comfortable sharing stuff with Hermione than he ever did with anyone else. He felt
comfortable and safe around her, even if it was just a picture. He knew he always felt the same with the real Hermione
as well, but never really noticed it. Harry also never really noticed how beautiful Hermione really was before (although
the Yule Ball was a real eye-opener). He wondered why he never figured out all of this before. He subconsciously knew
it, but it never came to the front of his mind. And then he remembered three weeks ago in his first conversation with
her; He thought she liked Ron, so he didn’t try to think of her that way. Now that he was almost positive that she
didn’t like Ron, his feelings started returning, and he welcomed them this time instead of shunning them. He wasn’t sure
if it was a crush, love, a strong like, or if he was just confused. He just knew that he cared more for Hermione than
anyone—even Ginny. That scared him a little.

Harry felt that the more he spoke with Hermione, the guiltier he felt about Ginny, even though he broke up with her. He
knew that Ginny would probably think that Harry would get back together with her after the war. He knew that he had to
end his relationship with Ginny permanently when he arrived at the Burrow. He would probably do that after the wedding,
to keep the happiness in the air for a while. Harry was almost positive that Hermione had at least a small crush on him.
Either that, or she was trying too hard to get their old friendship back together; it definitely worked, with a bonus.
Harry would’ve thought that was the reason, if he hadn’t seen the blush on her cheeks every time he gave her a
compliment since the beginning, which must’ve meant that the real Hermione must’ve liked him, too.

The morning after, Harry felt that he needed something to do to prepare for Horcrux searching, so with a little bit of
coaching from P. ‘Mione (his new nickname for her, which she pretended to gag at every time he called her that), he
started exercising. She explained to him that while he was nowhere near fat, he had little to no muscle. Harry had no
choice but to agree. Every morning, Harry would wake up and do a few push-ups and crunches a few times and run laps
around his small, but good-enough room. Hermione suggested that she should be able to watch him in the morning to count
how many of each he has done and to see if he was doing each one right (and, of course, to enjoy the view, which she
cheekily told Harry as a taunt. She was rewarded with a heated blush that had nothing to do with the workout.) Now, two
and a half weeks later, he was wiry; not well-built, but still stronger than he was before. That was one of the many
things she helped him with. With her help, he was able to learn how to control his temper. Even he had to admit that he
had a few temper tantrums in the past.

When Harry came back from the bathroom, he almost fell to the ground on Dudley’s stupid idea of a prank. A white,
now-broken teacup that used to hold tea was at the entrance to his room. He automatically knew it would be Dudley—It was
porcelain, and his aunt and uncle wouldn’t have left it out to be broken, no matter how much they wanted to beat him for
breaking it. When Harry voiced his concern with P. ‘Mione, thinking that Dudley may be thinking of a huge farewell prank
and if she could figure it out, she asked what the first prank was. When he explained about the teacup, Hermione mused,
“Well, I don’t think that was really a prank. I mean really, who would leave the teacup on the ground next to the door
filled with tea? Maybe he was going to give you a going-away present instead of a prank? I mean you saved his life a
couple of years back, and from Dementors, by the way. You seem to have a knack for doing that, actually.”

“But he’s not nice, ‘Mione,” explained Harry. “I told you all of my horror stories during fourth year. He wouldn’t do
something like that. Leaving tea for someone who you beat up since you knew how to ball up a hand isn’t something he
would do.”

“Well, you did save his life,” Hermione countered. “I think the tea-cup was a small thank you. From your stories, I
wouldn’t think he would say out-right, ‘Thanks, mate, you really saved my life. Sorry how I treated you like bull your
whole life, but I finally realized that you’re better than me in every way and Dad and I should go join my pack with the
manatees so I wouldn’t get in your way again. I could talk Mum to going back to her stable, too.’”

Harry howled with laughter and almost lost his footing. He cleared his mirthful eyes, about to say something, when he
heard a door slam and a howl from downstairs.

“Oh! You!”

Harry slowly got up and sighed. “Wish me luck.” He was about close the album before P.M. stopped him.

“Take me downstairs,” she explained, “I can hear everything in the outside world around me when I’m not activated and I
can amplify my voice. If they lay a finger on you, they’ll regret it.”

Harry stopped himself from breathing a sigh of relief. If Harry said anything out loud about his feelings for Hermione,
she would’ve heard it.

Keeping his mind on the task he knew was about to come, he shook his head and replied, “I don’t think Vernon will be
intimidated by a picture. It took Mad-Eye to scare him, and you’re just a picture of a pretty girl. Not very scary.”

“BOY!”

“Just keep me in your hand, Harry. I’m not going to yell at them. Screeching is a good word for it, though.”

Harry chuckled and closed the book. He kept it in his hand and walked out of the room. He walked down the stairs and saw
them all dressed for leave. “You took your time!” roared Vernon Dursley, Harry’s nightmare f an uncle, when Harry
appeared at the top of the stairs. “Get down here. I want a word!” Harry almost chuckled when he heard a low growl on
his right.

Harry walked down the stairs two at a time and sat on the couch, putting his hands in his lap, leaving the album in
plain sight. Vernon glared at it for a moment before pacing while Petunia sat down adjacent to him on the sofa and
craned her giraffe’s neck to see the album title. “Where did you get that from?” She asked suspiciously. Harry knew she
would’ve expected he stole it if it were not for the fact that Harry never left the house.

“Gift from a friend. If we have enough time, you might meet her soon.” No one except Harry noticed the small giggle that
was stifled immediately.

Vernon stopped pacing and looked suspiciously at Harry for a long moment before saying, “I’ve changed my mind.”

Harry was about to retort until he realized that technically, Hermione was in the room. This wasn’t the time to start an
argument. “Oh,” he said in an amused tone.

“It’s all a lot of claptrap,” said Uncle Vernon, glaring at Harry with piggy little eyes. “I’ve decided I don’t believe
a word of it. We’re staying put, we’re not going anywhere.”

Harry smirked at his foolish uncle. He had been changing his mind for four weeks and frankly, Harry was getting tired of
it. “You do realize that you will die if you stay, right?”

“Is that a threat, boy?” Vernon growled as he locked beady little eyes with calm emerald eyes, taking a step closer.

“No, it’s a promise, straight from the Dark Lord, mind you.” Harry heard a small girlish snort. ‘Merlin, even her snorts
sound cute!’ “Please, tell me why you changed your mind once again for the twenty-seventh time,” He said, not masking
his sarcasm.

Vernon scowled and began pacing again. Harry took this moment to look at Dudley. He had his head down and his hands
squeezing his knees, as if contemplating in his mind, or whatever that was up there. Harry wondered if he really was
trying to apologize to him. Before he could say anything to him, Vernon Dursley turned back to him.

“I don’t believe it,” he said. “I was awake half the night thinking it all over,” (‘while eating ham the whole time in
the kitchen when you thought everyone else was asleep,’ Harry thought) “and I believe it’s a plot to get the house.”

Harry had no choice but to laugh at this. It was just typical of him to want the house that he’s been abused in for a
full ten years and six summers. He could hear Hermione faintly laughing, but his voice drowned it, or so he thought.
When he stopped laughing, he noticed that all three Dursleys were looking around for something.

“Who was that?” Dudley asked.

“I suppose it was someone laughing,” Petunia Dursley said as she got up and went into the kitchen. Harry supposed that
she was about to crane her neck out of the window as she had done countless times before. Harry just hoped that it was
the last time. He knew the jig was up when Vernon looked at him suspiciously and said with tiny narrowed eyes, “What was
that, boy? Was it some of your freakish business?”

Harry thought quickly and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I was laughing at the ridiculous stuff you said. Why
would I want this house? I already got one.”

Vernon narrowed his eyes into tiny slits, and Harry wondered if his uncle could see him anymore. He started pacing
again. “So you’re saying this Lord Thing, er, Voldymore, is trying to kill us unless we move out of this house.”

“Firstly,” Harry said, sounding stern, “his name is Voldemort. He can be called Moldybutt, The Dark Tosser, Tom Riddle
(his real name by the way, which he hates), The Guy-Who-Died, Voldyboy, Moldefoot, U-No-Poo, and many other creative
terms, but never Voldymore. Give the man some dignity.” He could actually feel his hand vibrate with stifled giggles.

“Secondly, yes, he will kill you. He showed no hesitation when he killed my parents, and they were magical. He would at
least put the Cruciatus—the torturing curse, by the way—on you guys since you have no magic in your veins. Voldemort
hates Muggles; one of his missions in his immortal – for now, at least – life is to kill all of the Muggles. You know
how you hate my lot? He hates your lot with a passion, and will kill you if he finds the people who were – well, I guess
you could call it ‘raising’ me. He probably might bring a Dementor or two to finish you off after he’s done torturing
you.”

Harry heard a sharp intake of breath and turned to see Dudley looking frightened, as if the bogeyman came out of his
closet and was actually bigger than him. “De…Dementors?” Dudley asked with a terribly frightened voice. “There are
m-more?”

Harry gravely nodded, although he was sure that this argument would be over soon. Dudley is scared, and they would do
anything for Dudders. “Hundreds. Maybe thousands. They’re all on Voldemort’s side, now. All of those mysterious things
on the news where people are attacked and killed, buildings are burned, bombs set off, looks like a tornado hit a place,
but nobody’s alive to see the tornado, so it can’t be proven? He does it all. He is the most evil man in the world and
the darkest creatures in the world are his followers. Aunt Petunia?” He looked at the paler than usual woman who had
heard everything from the kitchen door. “Do you know why Voldemort killed my dad and your sister? You blamed it on the
Wizarding world, my dad, your own sister – and me, for some reason – that she was dead, but I think that I should tell
you the truth. The truth of why she really died.”

Harry had never seen Aunt Petunia Dursley more scared in his entire life. She looked ready to faint at the moment.
However, he knew that she would be curious, as this just might be the last time he saw her, the last link to her long
gone sister. A few seconds of tense silence later, she nodded stiffly, shaking mildly.

“It was because of me,” Harry said softly, putting his head down. “A bit before I was born, there was a prophecy
concerning me and Voldemort made. I’m sure even Muggles know what prophesies are, tales that are destined to happen in
the future, near or far. My headmaster was the first to hear it. But someone else heard it. Snape,” he spat out the name
like a particularly awful curse word, “heard it. But only half of it. He was kicked out before he heard the whole thing
and ran straight to Voldemort to tell him.” He looked back up to see his aunt choking back a sob, and it appeared as if
she was trying to speak, but was too broken down. “What?” he asked curiously. He hadn’t expected her to cry this early
into the story.

“The…the man…that you said…his full name.” She said brokenly. ‘Surely it couldn’t be the same person…’

“Severus Prince Snape. What? Has he shown up here before?” Harry asked, fully curious. He saw that she gasped softly
when he said Snivellus’s full name. He wanted to probe further, but her hand motioning him to continue stopped him.
“Anyway, Voldemort spent a year trying to find me because of that prophecy. He didn’t know that we were hidden in a
cottage. There was a charm on the place so that the house couldn’t be seen and it can’t be traced. One of my parents’
friends knew where it was, too. They didn’t know that he was bad, though. He went to Voldemort, and then Voldemort went
after us.

“My dad – you know, that awful boy you complain about – saw him first. He told her to take me and go upstairs while he
fought him off. He died. He died from the first curse. The killing curse, if you wanted to know. That is the only spell
that can kill you without putting a mark on you. Only one person ever survived it. Sometimes I wish that person wasn’t
me.

“Back to my parents, or ‘parent’, at the moment. He went upstairs and found my mom and me. She put me in my crib and
blocked him from me. She could’ve run. He told her to run. He gave her so many chances. Truthfully, she should’ve run.
It wouldn’t have made a difference, anyway, what with me being destined to die and everything. I’ll tell you about that
later, though.” At this moment, he heard a few sharp intakes of breath. He still had his head to the floor, and wasn’t
planning on lifting his head so they could see his tears slowing falling.

“But she didn’t,” Harry continued after a few seconds. “She cared for me enough to stay and protect me. She kept begging
for him to spare me and kill her while he told her to get out of the way. That bastard killed her with the same curse.
I’ll make sure to pay him back one day, hopefully soon. Then, he came to me, a defenseless fifteen month-old baby. He
used the killing curse again. But it rebounded on him. It half-killed him. It would have killed him, if it weren’t for
the dark ritual that he went through. He came back thirteen years later, and has been haunting my life since then. It
was all because of a prophecy I just told you about. He killed my parents, a friend of mine, Cedric, (in a way) my
godfather, Sirius, and recently, (in another way) my headmaster and mentor, Professor Dumbledore. All of it was so he
could get to me.” He blinked back his tears. That was still a painful subject to approach for him.

He paused to let them all soak in what he just said. He slowly looked up, half-expecting to see Vernon snickering. He
was shocked to see a lone tear falling off of his face, leaning against the wall. He really hadn’t expected that. He
looked over to Dudley. He was also surprised to see the hulking figure of a cousin, which reminded him so much of a
miniature Grawp, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket.

What surprised him the most, though, was his aunt Petunia. She was freely crying, sniffling, and he had not noticed when
she had sat down, but she did, holding a box of tissues. It seemed to Harry that they were finally going to leave Privet
Drive after all.

“Now,” Harry continued, standing up from the sofa and walking towards the middle of the room, “I told you about
Voldemort trying to kill me. I told you why he wants to kill me. But what I didn’t tell you was why it was so important
for him to kill me. In other words, the prophecy’s contents. I memorized it, so I’ll tell it to you. But only on one
condition. You have to leave. If you don’t, then you are open targets. Since you’re my last living relatives, he will
assume that I told you the whole thing. He still hasn’t heard the entire thing because I destroyed the only recording of
it. He’s going to torture you for information. I’m sure you know about the blood wards around here. The second I turn
seventeen, He’ll know exactly where you are. He can appear right in front of your bed if he wanted to!” He took a deep
breath. “Look, I’m not trying to scare you, because if you go into hiding, then you’ll have nothing to be scared about.
Just…just nod if you want to go into hiding so I can tell you the prophecy.”

First, Harry’s eyes found Dudley. He instantly nodded. Then he looked at Petunia. She seemed hesitant at first, but he
knew that she was just as curious, if not more, about the words that led her only sister to her death. In the end, she
nodded.

Harry then looked at the man of the house. He was almost sure that if Vernon said no, they would all stay. Unless
Petunia could talk him out of it. He knew Dudley could also easily persuade his parents, but if Vernon were too
dedicated to his house of Number Four… “Well, Mr. Dursley?”

Vernon’s watery eyes seemed to widen in shock at what he just called him. Mister?

Harry just kept staring. Soon enough all six eyes were staring at him. He began fidgeting under them. It seemed like it
was a few minutes of him deciding and contemplating what to do under their stare.

Harry didn’t even bat an eyelash, even with the tears from earlier.

“A-alright,” Vernon finally said, a little choked. “Alright, alright! We’ll move!”

Harry had to hold back a triumphant grin. He was barely successful.

“I guess that means I can tell you the prophecy now, and what it means.

“‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the
seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal, but he will have the power the Dark Lord knows not…
And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives.’

“Let me start with the translation. The one who can kill Voldemort has parents who has faced against them and survived
three times. My parents fit that description.” He stuck out his index finger to indicate ‘one’. “I was born on July the
thirty-first, which is the seventh month, and since it is at the end of the month, it is sometimes known as the death of
a month.” His middle finger joined his index. ‘Two’. “The Dark Lord marked me as his equal. That one is
self-explanatory.” He used his three extended fingers to point at the lightening bolt scar on his forehead. “I got this…
that night.” He barely refrained himself from taunting him with ‘during that car crash’.

“So, apparently, I have this power the Dark Lord knows not. That would obviously scare him. He will get close to
everyone I love and even those that I barely tolerate,” at this, he sent a glare towards them, “and torture them for
information, weaknesses, how to find me, ransom, you know. Anything it takes for him to get rid of the last and only foe
in his way. So basically, I’m the last hope for both worlds. The ‘Normal’ and ‘Freak’ worlds. If something happens to
me, I hope you’ll take it literally when I say that all hell will break loose.”

Deathly Silence. Nobody said a word. Harry felt that his throat was dry. He needed to get something to drink soon.
“Hestia Jones,” he continued, “and Dedalus Diggle will be coming shortly to help you move and go into hiding.”

Vernon nodded shakily.

Seconds later, the doorbell rang. Harry calmly walked over to the door and turned the knob.

“Harry Potter!” Squeaked an excited voice the moment the door was opened. Harry looked to see a small man with a mauve
top hat give a deep bow to him. “An honor as ever!”

“Thanks, Dedalus, Hestia,” He smiled and nodded at the dark-haired woman behind the short man.

“Good day to you, Harry Potter’s relatives!” the man said happily as Harry let him into the house. He noticed that they
were quite tense, but shrugged it off, assuming that it was because they were leaving their home. He looked around. “I
see you are all packed and ready. Excellent! The plan, as Harry has told you, is a simple one,” said Dedalus, pulling an
immense pocket watch out of his waistcoat and examining it. “We shall be leaving before Harry does. Due to the danger of
using magic in your house – Harry being still underage it could provide the Ministry with an excuse to arrest him – we
shall be driving, say, ten miles or so before Disapparating to the safe location we have picked out for you.

“You know how to drive, I take it?” He asked Uncle Vernon politely.

Before Vernon could retort on how ridiculous a question that was, Harry said politely, “Yes, all three of them can.” At
then, he pointed a glare at Vernon. He had never been taught how to drive himself. Surprisingly enough, Vernon flinched.
It took all Harry could to not flinch himself.

He was moved out of his shock by Dedalus. “Fascinating…simply fascinating. Anywho… you, Harry, will wait for your guard.
There has been a little change in the arrangements to smuggle you out. From what I have heard, a good number of the
Order will help you escape. Mad-Eye will explain later.”

Harry nodded in understanding. Mad-Eye never followed schedules. He briefly wondered who was coming with him – Hermione
and Ron were the first on the list – before a loud “HURRY UP!” woke him from his reverie. His eyes immediately snapped
to Dedalus, and then to the watch he was holding.

“Quite right, we’re operating on a very tight schedule,” Dedalus said after taking a peek at the watch and placing it
back in the pocket of his waistcoat. He continued talking to Harry. “We are attempting to time your departure from the
house with your family’s Disapparition, Harry, thus the charm breaks the moment you all head for safety.” He turned the
Dursleys, who were still looking at the pocket where the watch was placed. “Well, are we all packed?”

Harry inwardly groaned at the three, who looked like they hadn’t even heard the man, before he answered for them. “Yes,
they’re packed and ready to go.”

Hestia finally spoke, “Perhaps we should wait outside in the hall, Dedalus.”

Harry smirked to himself as he watched the two move into the hallway. He turned to the Dursleys. He had to admit, even
though he was sure that he would never miss them, he also hoped that they were safe. Although when they crossed paths
again, he just might give them a permanent spot at St. Mungo’s. At leas Lockhart will have company.

“Well,” Harry started, since it looked like they certainly weren’t going to start, “I guess this is goodbye.” He
casually walked up to Vernon and held up his hand. Vernon’s eyes widened in disbelief and shock. He automatically lifted
his hand up and they shook, but both let go immediately.

Harry chuckled. “That’s the first time you touched me and I didn’t get a mark.” He walked past a suddenly slightly
guilty-looking Vernon to a shaking, pale, Petunia.

“How would my mum have raised Dudley if you had died? Would she have abused him? Would my dad have? Would I have beaten
him up on a daily basis?” He almost decided to just walk by her, but refused before he moved. “I don’t want you to
answer those questions. You already know the answers. Although I still want to know how you knew Severus Snape. What do
you know?”

Petunia started of with a few words in tears, and Harry couldn’t understand her, but before she could continue, Dedalus
and Hestia entered the living room.

“Sorry,” Dedalus started, “truly sorry, but we must leave.”

“Oh, umm, well, come along, then,” Vernon said as he practically ran out of the door, not looking back.

Harry turned to Dudley. He seemed to be seriously contemplating something that must have been too incomprehensible for
his brain. Harry decided to let him off, to see if it was a joke or a thank-you. “Thanks for the tea, Dudley.”

Dudley’s eyes widened. How did Harry know that?

As if Harry had heard his thoughts, he replied, “You shouldn’t leave the good china on the floor, Dud. Like Petunia or
Vernon would ever put that on the floor next to a door. So tell me, why did you leave me some tea at my door?”

There was a few seconds of silence before Dudley said something that Harry had never heard before from him, not even to
his parents. “Thank you.”

Harry grinned. “You’re welcome. If you were thanking me for those Dementors, I have a bit of a ‘Saving People Thing’.”
He lifted his hand to the burly boy who, moments later, took it.

“Good luck,” he whispered, and for a second, Harry thought he hadn’t heard it from Dudley.

“I’ll need more than luck, but that’s a start,” Harry joked as he pulled his hand away, but was interrupted by a
sniffling Petunia.

“S-such a lovely b-boy…s-saying thank you—”

“And I suppose you’re going to try to be sweet?” Harry said with a chuckle. “Or are you going to scoff at me, tell me
how much you detest your sister, complain about how much I look like that awful boy, and—”

“What?”

Harry had forgotten that Hestia was still there. He didn’t know how he would cover that up, so he didn’t try lying. He
wondered how Petunia was going to cover this up.

“I never called his father awful!” Petunia shouted as Hestia glared at her.

“Yes,” Harry corrected, “you did. Didn’t he tell you about Azkaban?”

Petunia stiffened. She didn’t think the boy would remember that. He was bound to find out anyway, she realized a moment
later. “Your father wasn’t the b-boy I was t-talking ab-bout,” she stuttered helplessly.

“What?” Now it was Harry’s turn to be confused. If it wasn’t James Potter, then who else had talked to Petunia? Wait a
minute…if it was his father in the first place, she would have not said ‘boy’. It had to be someone younger than
eighteen who told Petunia about Azkaban, and his dad was eighteen when his mum started tolerating/dating him, so she
would never invite him to her house before then. But... who could that person be, if not his dad?

But before he could ask, Petunia said, “You’ll figure it out…Potter.” And with that, she turned on the spot and left to
the car. Harry almost thought she moved so fast, she apparated away. Dudley followed his mother, but before he reached
the door, he said in a small voice that Harry thought he was not capable of using (or even possess, for that matter), “I
hope you win.”

After Dedalus and Hestia gave him parting words and the promise that they would be the best of chums (from Dedalus, at
least), Harry shot up to his room with a strength and speed he didn’t know he had and picked up Hedwig’s cage. “We’ll be
leaving soon, girl,” Harry said to her as he walked through the hallway, Hedwig’s cage and Hermione in his hands.

“Open me up,” Hermione demanded in a muffled voice.

“I didn’t forget about you,” Harry said as he flipped the cover open, “not with all those noises in the background.”

“That was some good telling off,” Hermione said, “but why didn’t I get a turn?”

“I didn’t have enough time,” Harry said apologetically.

“That’s OK, Harry,” Hermione replied, “after all, you were the one that was raised by them. All I did was listen to what
they said earlier and I want to kill them. I wish my original had found a way to sneak out of the Burrow and ‘meet’ the
Dursleys.”

They spent a few minutes walking around the house, talking about what Hermione would’ve done to the Dursleys, had she
been there.

(DH)(HP)(DH)(Take—Two)(DH)(HP)(DH)

Harry walked in the shadows of the dark and empty house, showing Hedwig the house and talking to Hermione. He stopped at
the small cupboard under the stairs, the horrid room he had lived in for the first ten years of his life before his true
identity was revealed.

Hermione noticed that he stiffened and looked out of the side of her picture to see the cupboard.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.” She whispered with small tears in her eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, ‘Mione,” He said soothingly, “I’ll never have to set foot in it again. But I do want to look
inside, don’t you, Hedwig?”

The snowy owl hooted in what seemed to be anger, her amber eyes staring piercingly into the room.

“Right, then,” Harry said as he slowly walked past the cupboard as Hermione giggled.

He walked into the kitchen to get some water when he heard the telltale pops of Apparition. He set the cage on the table
and quickly looked out of the kitchen window, his wand in his right hand and the opened album in the other, and saw the
disillusionment charms lifted. There was the huge, hulking, and lovable giant, Hagrid, in the darkness with a helmet in
his arm and Sirius’s motorcycle with a sidecar attached. He also saw the smaller figures stepping gracefully off the
Thestrals and broomsticks.

He whispered to the album, “They’re here. I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

“Okay, Harry, but if anything happens to you,” She started with a fierce look in her eyes.

Harry really did not want to know what she was about to say. “Relax,” he politely interrupted when he found out that she
was still thinking of something to say. “I’ll be alright…P. ‘Mione.” Before she could retort, he closed the book and put
it in his pocket while he ran to the door and ripped it open to be attacked by a similar looking, yet somehow more
mature woman, in a crushing hug for a full second, before she whispered, “Did you get my present?”

Harry smiled at the beautiful girl as he hugged back. “Yes, and it’s the best present I’ve ever gotten…even better than
the Firebolt.”

“Great!” she squeaked, kissing him on the cheek before Ron came up to pat Harry on the back. Hagrid came to the door and
barked, “All righ’, Harry? Ready fer the off?”

“Definitely,” Harry said as he finally let go of Hermione and joined them outside. Luckily, the night air was slowly
fading the blush that came when she kissed his cheek. “I was expecting less people, but,” he grinned and looked straight
towards Mad-Eye, who seemed to be roaming the entire neighborhood with his magical eye, “I guess there’s a change in
plans? Should we all go inside so we won’t be overheard?”

Moody focused both of his eyes on Harry for a moment in surprise; he certainly learned thing or two about constant
vigilance. “Yes, Potter, we should,” he growled with a bit of amusement as they all started walking back in the kitchen.
Harry looked around to see the dedicated soldiers who were breaking him out; Fred and George, Bill, Ron, Tonks, Mr.
Weasley, Remus, Fleur, Mad-Eye, Kingsley, Mundungus, Hagrid, and Hermione; he felt a little dismayed to see Mundungus
there, but he still felt amazingly happy at the moment (probably because he was still thinking about the kiss). He
looked over to Tonks as he saw a shimmer of light in her direction out of the corner of his eye. His eyes bulged when he
saw that the shimmering came from her left hand ring finger. He looked at Remus and grinned like mad at him. Remus
became pink with embarrassment, but smiled back. He looked back at Mad-Eye, who was still swiveling his magical eye
around.

“So, what’s the plan?” Harry asked Mad-Eye.

The grizzled auror explained the situation. “As Dedalus probably told you, we had to abandon Plan A.” Harry nodded.
“Pius Thickness has gone over, which give us a big problem. He’s made it an imprisonable offense to connect this house
to the Floo Network, place a Portkey here, or Apparate in or out. All done in the name of your protection, to prevent
You-Know-Who—” Harry rolled his eyes, “—getting at you. Absolutely pointless, seeing as your mother’s charm does that
already. What he’s really done is to stop you getting out of here safely. Second problem: You’re underage, which means
you’ve still got the Trace on you.”

Harry nodded his understanding. The picture Hermione told him what the Trace was once. “And I can’t wait for the Trace
to break…So I guess we’ll be flying? That’s the only way I can think of.”

“Spot on, Potter!” he barked with a grin. “Now, your mother’s charm will break under two conditions: when you come of
age, or” – Moody gestured around the pristine kitchen — “you no longer call this place home.”

“I never did before. Are we ready to go?” he asked, leaning off the wall.

“Hold on, Potter!” Moody grinned at him with a bit of pride in his growl. “There’s one more part in the plan. We planted
a fake date at the ministry, the day before your birthday. However, this is You-Know-Who we’re dealing with, so he most
likely has Death Eaters patrolling the skies in this general area, just in case. So, we’ve given a dozen different
houses every protection we can throw at them. They all look like they could be the place we’re going to hide you,
they’ve all got some connection with the Order: my house, Kingsley’s place, Molly’s, Auntie Muriel’s – you get the idea.
But you’ll be going to Tonks’s parents and they’ll have a Portkey to go to the Burrow. Any questions?”

Harry took a quick glance around the room and turned back to Mad-Eye. “I’m guessing not all fourteen of us are heading
towards Tonks’s parents, right? So do you have some sort of diversion?

Moody broke into a genuine smile. “You’re a real strategist, Potter. I didn’t say the key point. There will be seven
Harry Potters roaming the skies—”

“Polyjuice Potion?” Harry asked, hanging his head down. He saw Moody nod. “So that means we’ll be moving in pairs,
right, since there will be seven others, and each pair will be heading for a different house?” He saw Mad-Eye looking at
him with praise. He was about to complain, until he heard what the note from Hermione said earlier.

‘When we arrive at your house, I want you to promise that you would do nothing to interfere with us or our plans,
whatever they are. We are coming to save you and we know the risks, Harry, we know that we could all lose our own lives,
and we will risk it!’

He sighed and after a moment, grinned. “I guess not even Voldemort can split himself into seven,” He muttered.
Hermione’s mouth twitched. After a few seconds of thought, he spoke again. “I have an idea to add on to that, though.”

“Yes, Potter?” The retired Auror focused his eyes on Harry.

“What if I’m one of the escorts? To throw them off? They’ll start aiming for the other Potters, not the escorts.”

Moody eyed him with both eyes, as if wondering if this was the real Harry Potter, or if he was under the Imperius. He
immediately doubted the latter. Seconds later, he gave a brief nod of a approval with a smile of pride (the best smile
Mad-Eye could give, anyway) as he pulled out a flask of what appeared to be mud while he pulled a small glass out and
poured a little of the flask into it. He must be waiting for a chunk of hair. Harry pulled a pair of scissors out of his
pocket and snipped a little bit of hair off.

“Why do you have scissors in your pocket?” Moody asked in a curious growl.

“I suspected that the plan might have something to do with Polyjuice potion or some other type of trickery. Always be
prepared,” Harry said when he dropped the hairs in the flask. When it came in contact with the mud, it turned into a
clear, bright-gold color.

“That looks much tastier than Crabbe and Goyle, Harry,” said Hermione as she watched the bright flask, causing Harry to
colour a little.

Ron looked at Hermione for a second with his eyebrow raised before he shrugged it off.

Moody walked over to an empty space in the kitchen and said, “Fake potters over here and a volunteer, please!”

Hermione left his side and walked over to join Ron, Fleur, Fred, George, Kingsley, Fleur and Moody.

“We’re one short,” said Lupin.

“Here,” said Hagrid gruffly, and he lifted Mundungus by the scruff of the neck and dropped him unceremoniously down
beside Fleur, who wrinkled her nose in disgust and walked over to stand between Fred and George instead.

“I’m a soldier, I’d sooner be a protector,” said Mundungus.

Moody was about to yell, when Harry beat him to it. “Shut it, Mundungus. I still hadn’t forgiven you for taking Sirius’s
stuff. If you bail out on us now, I’ll be looking for you when I’m seventeen.” Harry said with a bit of an evil glint in
his eye.

Mundungus swallowed heavily and looked back at Mad-Eye. He didn’t look like he was going to complain anytime soon. His
hair was plucked from behind by Harry, who dropped it in the small cup that still had mud in it. It started to smoke and
turned black and slimy, like tar. Harry almost heaved at the thought of having to drink this.

Meanwhile, Moody pulled out six more small glasses from inside his cloak and poured a bit of Harry’s potion into each
glass. “Altogether, then …”

Harry, Hermione, Ron, Fred, George, Fleur, Kingsley and Mundungus drank. All of them gasped and grimaced as the potion
hit their throats; At once, their features began to bubble and distort like hot wax. Hermione, Fleur and Mundungus were
shooting upward; Harry, Ron, Kingsley, Fred, and George were shrinking; their hair was darkening, Hermione’s and Fleur’s
appearing to shoot backward into their skulls. Kingsley’s hair was growing.

Moody, quite unconcerned, was now loosening the ties of the large sacks he had brought with him. When he straightened up
again, there were six Harry Potters and one Mundungus Fletcher gasping and panting in front of him.

Fred and George turned to each other and said together, “Wow…we’re identical!”

“I dunno, though, I think I’m still better-looking,” said Fred, examining his reflection in the kettle.

“Bah,” said Fleur, checking herself in the microwave door, “Bill, don’t look at me – I’m ‘ideous.”

“Just be glad that you’re not Mundungus,” Harry said irritably as he was standing next to Fleur.

“I’ve got a sack of clothes to change into.” Moody growled over the conversation.

Harry and his six clones walked over to the bag, putting on his clothes and glasses, while Mundungus traded clothes with
him. He saw that they were displaying his body a lot more than he wanted them to, and didn’t appreciate his own body at
the moment.

“I knew Ginny was lying about that tattoo,” said Ron, looking down at his bare chest.

Hermione placed on the glasses and clothes and slid her finger down his noticeably stronger arm, nodding appreciatively,
not noticing the real (blushing) Harry.

Once dressed, the fake Harrys took the bags and owl cages, each containing a stuffed snowy owl, from the second bag.

While they were doing this, Moody called Harry over. “A bit of advice if you’re going to use Mundungus, lad,” Moody
growled, but it was not the aggressive growl that Harry usually heard. “Your pet owl…Hedwig, isn’t it?” At Harry’s
hesitant nod, he continued. “See, Mundungus usually doesn’t care about an animal dying, he wants to save his own arse.
If you show any feelings towards that owl, it will tip them off. What I suggest is that you give Hedwig to someone else
and get one of the dummies. You don’t have to, but there’s a chance that you and Hedwig and your partner will die if you
do anything out of his character.” And he left a gawking Harry to address the others. Seconds later, Harry recovered,
wondering who to trust with Hedwig. Hermione, of course. But it would be wise to hand her to another escort and not a
partner. He could give Hedwig to Ron, but his escort was Tonks… he didn’t think that was wise. It was a unanimous
decision—Remus.

“Good,” said Moody, as at last seven dressed, bespectacled, and luggage carrying Harrys and one Mundungus faced him.
“The pairs will be as follows: Mundungus will be traveling with me, by broom. Fred and Arthur by broom. Remus and
George, on broom. Bill and Fleur, Thestral. Harry and Hermione, Thestral. Ron and Tonks, broom. Hagrid and Kingsley,
motorbike. “Any questions? Good, now let’s get moving.”

Ron looked like he was about to complain, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

Harry and Hermione beamed. After he talked to Remus for a moment to fill him in on Moody’s idea, he handed over Hedwig
and his broom, which was leaning against the corner in the kitchen. He patted Hedwig on the head one more time, and
recieved the usual expected nip on the finger and an affectionate hoot, before he wished good luck to her, Remus and
George and turned to walk back over to his beautiful partner.

They started walking outside, and Hermione asked, “Harry, why did you change into Mundungus?”

“Because he’s not worth a killing curse,” he smiled, causing Hermione to chuckle.

“So…did you bring—?”

Harry patted his pocket and said, “Yep, it’s right here, ‘Mione.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “‘Mione?” she chuckled.

Harry’s cheeks pinkened again with embarrassment. “Well, er, the picture Hermione liked that name, sort-of, so I
assumed—”

“Don’t worry Harry,” Hermione assured him, “I like that nickname, and only that nickname. But please don’t call me that
in public. If Ron finds out, he’ll think he has the right to give me goofy nicknames like Hermy.”

Harry smiled as Hermione continued. “You must have grown really close to her. I mean, me.”

“I have,” Harry said earnestly when he mounted the Thestral and held his hand out for Hermione, who took it. “Now the
picture and I are the best of friends. Can you and I be?”

Hermione swung her legs around Harry and held him close. She put her head on his shoulder and said, “Of course, Harry.
Thank you for letting me be your friend.” She kissed his cheek again. Harry blushed and looked out of the corner of his
eye to Ron. He was busy helping up Tonks after she fell off her broom.

“You’ll always be my best friend, Hermione. You’ll never need to worry about that.”

Hermione felt a tear coming down her cheek, and wiped it away before it reached Harry’s shoulder. Harry chuckled.

“I can’t believe that you just kissed Mundungus Fletcher. I can’t believe that I just kissed me.”

Hermione giggled, which did strange things to Harry’s stomach, and said, “What can we believe anymore, Harry?”

Whatever reply Harry would’ve said was cut off by Mad-Eye.

“All right, then,” said Moody. “Everyone ready, please. I want us all to leave at exactly the same time or the whole
point of the diversion’s lost.”

Everyone nodded.

“Hold tight now, Ron,” said Tonks, and Harry and Hermione saw Ron throw a forcing, guilty look at Lupin before placing
his hands on each side of her waist. Hagrid kicked the motorbike into life: It roared like a dragon, and Kingsley
started shaking from the violent movement in the sidecar.

Harry steadied himself on the Thestral while Hermione clung a bit tighter to him. “Just like old times,” Harry whispered
to her, causing her to blush.

“Good luck, everyone,” shouted Moody. “See you all in about an hour at the Burrow. On the count of three. One …two
...THREE!”

There was a great roar from the motorbike, and the Thestrals and brooms kicked off of the ground, and flew high into the
air, getting a small, barely audible shriek from Hermione. She held him tighter, making him slightly uncomfortable. He
tried to keep reminding himself that Hermione was holding him and not himself. It did feel a little weird to have
Hermione’s medium and muscular arms hold on tight to him as his own breath was hitting his ear. He was sure that if it
was Hermione’s form was doing this, then he would be extremely uncomfortable, and so would Hermione, seeing as her hands
were so close to his waist. He looked back behind Hermione to take one last look at Number Four, Privet Drive, and knew
that one thing was for certain. He definitely won’t miss it.

And then, out of nowhere, out of nothing, they were surrounded. At least thirty hooded figures, suspended in midair,
formed a vast circle in the middle of which the Order members had risen, oblivious screams, a blaze of green light on
every side. The moonlight hit them in an eerie way, almost like Vampires, each with a lust for blood and torture.

Death Eaters. Damn.

Harry silently cursed and thought quickly. He quickly looked around. The Order Members had already split up and were
being chased. He swiftly raised the Thestral while Hermione pulled out her wand. Harry did so a moment later and
immediately aimed at one of the Death Eaters. He almost shot an ‘Expelliarmus’, but knew that he would be the only one
shooting that spell, which would make him suspicious. He shot a stunner at one Death Eater, and another, and another,
before he swiftly flew over the Death Eaters, who seemed to break the circle and followed the seven pairs who split up,
apparently confused about which on was Harry Potter, as they all flew around randomly for a few seconds, then broke up.
The Thestral seemed to know where it was going, like the Thestrals flew to the Ministry building. Harry and Hermione
quickly cast spells at the dark-robed flyers that seemed to know no other spells but one.

Harry looked over to see Hagrid and Kingsley blast out of sight before they created a big black wall out of the exhaust
pipe. He prayed that Hagrid was alright, and everyone else.

Quickly focusing on his task, he saw a green curse heading towards them and Harry, grabbing Hermione, leaned over just
in time. They would’ve fallen over, if not for the wings on the Thestral. They pulled back up and shot together at the
Death Eater with two powerful stunners, both nonverbal.

Another Death Eater behind the one who fell and turned to a stop as if he was parking a motorbike.

“We found him! Mundungus is Potter!”

He turned and left, not bothering to catch the still falling Death Eater.

“Where did he go?” Hermione said, her voice quivering.

Harry cursed under his breath. “Mundungus doesn’t know a lot of spells, he could never do one nonverbally, and I didn’t
hold back. I’ll bet anything he’s getting Voldemort right now. We need to go faster.” The Thestral, seeming to know how
much danger they were about to be in, flapped its wings harder.

“Do you think we’ll make it, Harry?” Hermione asked, her wand pointing at different areas of the night sky.

“I’m not sure…Can we apparate to Tonks’s house?” Harry said, looking around the place to where Tom was going to come
from.

“Anti-Apparition wards, and I’ve never seen the house before,” Hermione said, holding her wand like a rifle, ready to
pick off the first person she sees as a threat to her or Harry.

Harry’s scar suddenly appeared on his forehead and flared like white-hot fire inside of his head, almost making him drop
his wand. “Get ready,” he gasped, “he’s here!”

Hermione immediately paid full attention to her surroundings and waited with bated breath. Fortunately, she was pointing
to her side when two Death Eaters that appeared from under them were in wingspan length of them on each side. She was
thankful that Thestrals have long wings, so she easily took out the one on the left side. Before she got to the right,
she heard a whooshing sound, approaching fast. From experience, she knew what it was and immediately ducked, bringing
Harry with her. The green light completely missed them, followed by another in quick pursuit, and Harry squinted back to
see who shot at them from behind, his scar searing. He knew who it was before he even turned.

And then Harry saw him. Voldemort was flying like smoke on the wind, without broomstick or Thestral to hold him, his
snake-like face gleaming out of the blackness, his white fingers raising his wand again…

Hermione shot a spell at him while Harry blindly steered the Thestral downwards, only to be swatted away like a pesky
fly with a swish of his wand. Hermione turned to the Death Eater on the right and stunned him, causing him to disappear
below.

The deadly jets of light passed them again, but none reaching their target. They were glad that the animal that they
were riding on couldn’t be affected by the killing curse, as it was a dead horse with wings.

Harry could barely see with his scar burning, he could barely think; all he knew was that if he saw a bit of green get
too close to him or Hermione, he would duck or swerve, or do anything to keep the both of them alive. His scar flashed
once again in an immense amount of pain, causing him to almost lose consciousness. He could barely hear the heir of
Slytherin gleefully wheeze the beginning of the dreaded curse, “AVADA—”

As Harry tried desperately to think of how to get Hermione out of the way of the green curse instead of focusing on the
rising pain on his forehead, he didn’t notice his wand hand slowly raising up like a magnet to Voldemort, his arm
trembling. What fully woke him up was the bright gold fire that blasted out of his wand towards his foe. He heard a
small explosion and a raspy screaming of “NO!”

He didn’t know what happened, (but apparently Hermione did, as her green eyes almost popped out of her head) but he
couldn’t look back at Voldemort. He held his left arm around the Thestral’s neck tighter and leaned forward, wishing
that it would go a bit faster. He could hear the raspy screaming of Lord Voldemort. “Your wand, Alecto! Give me your
wand!”

He saw as Voldemort started to approach him, he felt his presence coming nearer. Thinking that Hermione would be in more
danger, as she was the only thing between him and Voldemort, he steered the Thestral to drop from the sky, still going
forward. He looked back to see Tom Riddle flying gracefully at them, slowly raising his wand to taunt him.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Without even thinking of what to do, acting on instinct, He pulled Hermione over the back of the Thestral and around to
the stomach, falling off the Thestral and grabbing onto the front leg as he held onto Hermione’s waist. He heard a
sickening pop in the arm holding the Thestral’s leg. Harry stifled a cry of pain; Mundungus was not built for strength.
Seconds later, he felt his arm lengthen and become stronger. He looked over to see if Hermione was alright. If the
reflection of Hermione’s glasses wasn’t playing tricks on him, he would have seen a green flash that hit the Thestral in
the back (but no harm was done) and Voldemort vanishing with not even the smallest pop. Hermione was in a bit of a daze
from the dizziness of being thrown across a horse, but he—or rather she—looked fine, except for the shock in her emerald
eyes, looking at Harry. With relief, Harry noted that her eyes were turning into its usual chocolate brown. It must’ve
meant that his arm was returning, along with the rest of him.

“How…how…how did you do that?” She screamed, her eyes almost as wide as her glasses.

“I’ll explain later…if I can,” Harry said, still wondering how his wand moved and shot a powerful spell by itself.

At this moment, the Thestral started lowering itself towards the ground. Harry had no way of climbing back up, as his
left hand was holding the leg of the Thestral while his right arm held Hermione. The Thestral let them fall about two
feet from the ground, before landing on the ground itself a few meters away to drink from a muddy pond.

Harry looked over to Hermione, for one last look to make sure she was okay. She was breathing hard, her black hair
growing, muscles fading. She smiled at him. He smiled back at her, before he promptly passed out into her now shrinking
arms, as the pain in his scar finally receded.

* * *

A/N: Well, I liked this action scene, although it was a bit shorter than Rowling’s. I bet you’re wondering why they
aren’t injured? Simple. This is my first ever action scene, and Harry did pop his arm for a brief moment. Eventually we
will skive off a little from the story and go our own way. I’ll make longer (and better, hopefully) action scenes later
in the story, and longer chapters while I’m at it.

I hope you all liked Harry telling off his relatives, at least.

I’m just gonna tell you now, for a warning. This isn’t the Harry that will lie down and let people step over him. This
Harry will not stand aside to keep other people happy. This Harry will not bow down to those that think that they are
superior. This Harry won’t just nod his head and do something if he objects to it without making sure it’s the only way.
This Harry won’t take any crap from other people, he’ll serve it plus some. This Harry will realize that this is a war.
Harry, in other words, not only has a brain, but the guts (or an explicative that rhymes with 'smalls') in this fic.

Back to my theory from the previous chapter: Harry’s aunt and uncle were persuaded by the Order to move for four weeks.
Most likely, they would warn them at the train station, as before. Harry & co. were on the train on the day of
Dumbledore’s funeral. That means that it took 26-28 days for the Dursleys to permanently make their decision. That
moment was when the Dursleys left, then Harry. Considering that Harry’s birthday was three days afterwards (two days
chores, then birthday), then it would be 28 days, equaling 31. Thirty-one days ago would be June 30th i.e. Dumbledore’s
funeral and the last day seen in HBP. Am I right? It feels good to know something before HP-Lexicon, so I hope I'm
right.

Something you probably didn’t know about me: Today, August 20, is the anniversary of the day I joined the Harmony gang.
I feel quite proud of that. Before then, I didn’t support any pairing. I just liked the stories. I have read a few
Harry/Ginny stories before then (most noticeably, Melindaleo’s stories), and various other pairings, including HHr, but
I never really cared about the pairings. Until I got a little more insightful and realized that Harry/Hermione is the
best pairing, in my opinion. Note that I read Deathly Hallows before I chose a pairing, so I had no qualms while
reading. Looking back, however...

Please review. As you can all tell by now, I love reviews, and I love every single review I've gotten so far.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

3. Corpses and Chores

Disclaimer: Don’t own it, yada yada…this is how JK keeps her power, you know.

Again, thanks to Alix33, my beta. I did not know I had that many errors!

Chapter Three—Corpses and Chores

He blearily opened his eyes and saw that he was lying on a sofa in an unfamiliar, lamp-lit sitting room. A fair-haired,
big-bellied man was watching Harry anxiously, next to a familiar brown-eyed, bushy-haired witch, who was holding his
hand and looking at him, relief obvious in her eyes. Harry could see dry tearstains on her cheeks.

“How are you feeling?” She quietly asked.

Harry managed a weak smile. “I’m alright. I’m not dead, so I’d call that an accomplishment.”

Hermione gave a small smile of her own. “This is Tonks’s father, Ted. I explained everything that’s happened. He told us
that Voldemort disappeared because he couldn’t get within one hundred yards of this place. The Portkey leaves in four
minutes.”

Harry nodded his thanks and looked at Ted. “Hello, Mr. Tonks.”

The man shook his hand and said, “Hello, Harry. Do you still have a fever?”

Harry was about to reply when a woman came up behind Ted and put a cold wet cloth on his forehead. At first, a pang of
fear came across him, but once he saw the light brown hair and eyes that didn’t have a manic gleam in them, he relaxed
and came to the conclusion that this was Bellatrix’s sister. Hermione must have seen the small terror in his mind, as
she gently squeezed his hand.

“I’m Andromeda,” the woman said, “but we don’t have time to talk. You two have a Portkey to catch.”

Harry and Hermione nodded, and Harry got up and followed Hermione and Andromeda along a short hallway and into a
bedroom, never letting go of Hermione’s hand.

“There you go, son. That’s the Portkey.” Mr. Tonks was pointing to a small, silver-backed hairbrush lying on the
dressing table.

“Thank you,” Harry said to them as he and Hermione placed a finger on the Portkey.

They waited a few more seconds, before the hairbrush glowed bright blue, and a familiar jerk behind the navel following.

A few seconds later, Harry and Hermione’s feet hit the ground hard and they fell on their knees in the backyard of the
Burrow. He heard screams. Harry quickly stood up and dropped the hairbrush. He helped Hermione get to her feet as well
before Mrs. Weasley and Ginny ran down the steps by the back door.

“Harry? You are the real Harry? What happened? Where are the others?” cried Mrs. Weasley.

“No one else is back?” Hermione asked, swaying slightly, but the fear was clearly heard in her voice.

“The Death Eaters were waiting for us,” Harry told her, “We were surrounded the moment we took off – they knew it was
tonight – Snape probably knew – I don’t know what happened to anyone else, and then Voldemort showed up. How many
Portkeys showed up already?”

“Two,” she said shakily. “Ron and Tonks should have been here first.” She said, looking at the rusty oil can, as if
afraid to point at it.

Ginny was pale for a second before she spoke. “Dad and Fred were supposed to show up with that shoe.” She pointed to it
on the ground. “But I thought Hermione—”

Her question was interrupted by a flash of blue light in the darkness, larger and brighter, until Lupin and George
appeared, spinning, then falling. Harry immediately knew that something was wrong. Lupin was supporting George, who was
unconscious and whose face was covered in blood. Harry let go of Hermione’s hand, ran forward and grabbed George by the
legs. Together, he and Lupin carried George into the house and through the kitchen to the living-room, where they laid
him on the sofa, Molly, Ginny, and Hermione following. A lamplight fell across George’s head. Ginny and Hermione gasped
as Harry held his stomach, hoping nothing will leave it; one of George’s ears was missing.

Before Harry could ask a question, Lupin grabbed his and Hermione’s arms and dragged them into the kitchen.

Lupin approached Harry first. “What creature sat in the corner the first time that Harry Potter visited my office at
Hogwarts?” he said, giving Harry a small shake. “Answer me!”

“A grindylow in a tank, wasn’t it?”

Lupin released Harry and turned to Hermione, who obviously expected this, as she was waiting patiently for her question.
“Tell me something only Hermione Granger knows.”

“I used a time-turner in third year, I helped Harry and Ron save Sirius, my patronus is an otter, and I detest
Divination.” She answered immediately. Lupin looked at Harry for confirmation.

Harry grinned and nodded. “’Cause no one believes in prophesies and the grim.”

Hermione grinned back and then a look of seriousness crossed her face. “Someone betrayed us,” she began, “and Snape
didn’t know about it,” she added as Harry opened his mouth to speak.

Harry sighed. “They knew exactly when we were going to leave,” he mused, “and the only person I know that would even
think of betraying us is Mundungus. I’m just glad that Voldemort caught up with us at the end. I couldn’t have handled
him if it was any sooner.”

“Voldemort caught up with you?” Remus asked, his back against the wall of the kitchen, leaning slightly. “What happened?
How did you get away?”

And Harry explained how he sent a nonverbal stunner at a Death Eater, which must have tipped the other one off. He fell
back and then Voldemort came a minute later, flying without any support. Hermione told about how Harry’s wand raised and
shot golden fire out of his hand, destroying Voldemort’s wand. She explained how Voldemort got another wand and shot the
green curse at them, and Harry’s quick thinking after that.

Remus stared at Harry in awe. “How did you do that?”

“Too much adrenaline and luck,” Harry said.

“And agility,” Hermione continued, “and strength, and bravery, and brains and…”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Harry said, more embarrassed with each praise. He decided to change the subject. “Will George be
okay?”

“He’ll be okay, but it’s been cursed off.”

Harry only knew of one dark cutting curse, which made him become more furious at the hook nosed greasy git known by some
as Snivellus Snape.

He was about to voice his thoughts before he heard scuffling in the yard. Lupin dived for the back door while Harry and
Hermione sprinted into the yard.

Two figures appeared in the yard, and Harry instinctively knew who the first figure was. He ran over to Hagrid and
hugged him before Remus got there. He couldn’t hear what Kingsley said to Remus, when Hagrid boomed, “Harry, yer still
alright!”

“I can see you’re still alive too, Hagrid,” he said as Hermione ran over to Hagrid’s other side and hugged him.

Harry heard the great baritone of Kingsley yell, “But somebody betrayed us! They knew, they knew it was tonight!”

“So it seems,” replied Lupin, “but apparently they did not realize that there would be seven Harrys.”

“Small comfort!” snarled Kingsley. “Who else is back?”

“Only Harry, Hermione, George, and me.”

“What happened to you?” Lupin asked Kingsley.

“Followed by five, injured one, might’ve killed two,” Kingsley reeled off, “and Hagrid knocked a couple off their
brooms. We saw You-Know-Who as well, he joined the chase halfway through but vanished pretty quickly. Remus, he can—”

“Fly,” supplied Harry. “I saw him too; he came after Hermione and me.”

“So that’s why he left, to follow you!” said Kingsley, “I couldn’t understand why he’d vanished. But what made him
change targets?”

“Disguised as Mundungus, I sent a nonverbal stunner at a Death Eater.”

“Well I probably would’ve done the same thing, but I certainly wouldn’t have lived if I actually had to confront him.
I’ll ask how you two escaped later.”

Hagrid looked around. “Where’s George? I ‘adn’t seen im!”

Harry and Hermione finally let go of the half-giant as Hermione quietly said, “He’s lost an ear.”

Shacklebolt’s eyes widened. “He what?” He spoke, his baritone voice raising slightly.

“I think it was done by Snape if the curse was Sectumsempra,” Harry said.

Remus scowled. “You’re right. He lost his hood during the chase. Sectumsempra was always a specialty of Snape’s. I wish
I could say I’d paid him back in kind, but it was all I could do to keep George on the broom after he was injured, he
was losing so much blood.”

Harry finally remembered something that George didn’t show up with, and a tear fell from his eye as he already knew the
answer to the question that he already knew the answer to. He needed to ask, at least. For her sake.

“Remus,” he said shakily. Hermione notice his eyes were now filled with tears and walked over to him. She put slipped
her hand in Harry’s as he asked, with his head down, “Where’s Hedwig?” Hermione gasped. She had forgotten about Hedwig.

Remus immediately dropped his head in shame. He was hoping that Harry would ask a little later, after everyone arrived.
“When—” he started hesitantly, realizing how close Harry was to his familiar, “When George’s ear was cut off, he tried
to cover the place where his ear was, forgetting what he was holding. The cage smacked against his head, and he
screamed, and threw the cage in pain, and I guess, frustration. Then we both heard a screech and realized what he did.
He tried to make me steer the broom down to catch her, but unfortunately, the other five Death Eaters heard the screech
too, and they all…” he stopped and looked up at Harry, who’s face was tear-filled as he landed on his knees, still
holding Hermione’s hand. Hermione kneeled down on one knee and put her arm around him. She, too, had tears streaking
down her face at the thought of five Death Eaters shooting the dreaded green curse at the beautiful snowy owl.

Hagrid started bawling. He pulled out a handkerchief that rivals a tablecloth and wiped his eyes. They were in silence,
mourning the loss of Harry’s familiar, the white amber-eyed angel who’s been with him since his life changed completely.
Harry slowly stood up after the elongated moment of silence and they quietly walked back into the house to keep his mind
off of his best animal friend and first ever friend, now dead. He walked into the sitting room, where Mrs. Weasley and
Ginny were still tending to George. Mrs. Weasley had staunched his bleeding now, and by the lamplight Harry saw a clean
gaping hole where George’s ear had been.

“H-how is he?” Harry asked hesitantly.

Mrs. Weasley looked around and said, “I can’t make it grow back, not when it’s been removed by Dark Magic. But it
could’ve been so much worse…He’s alive.”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “Thank God.”

“Did I hear someone else in the yard?” Ginny asked, eyeing Harry and Hermione suspiciously.

“Hagrid and Kingsley just got here,” said Hermione, thinking why Ginny was looking at them like that.

“That’s good,” Ginny whispered as she looked at them for a few more seconds for seemingly no reason, then turned away to
look at her brother. Harry and Hermione were about to walk to a couch before they heard a loud crash from the kitchen.

“I’ll prove who I am, Kingsley, after I’ve seen my son, now back off if you know what’s good for you!”

Harry had never heard Mr. Weasley shout like that before. He understood his pain, as he himself would have jumped on a
broom and sped off at the slightest chance of Hedwig being alive. He burst into the living room, his bald patch gleaming
with sweat, his spectacles askew, Fred right behind him, both pale but uninjured.

“Arthur!” sobbed Mrs. Weasley. “Oh thank goodness!”

“How is he?” They both asked frantically, then their eyes set on the palest figure in the room.

Mr. Weasley dropped to his knees beside George. For the first time since Harry had known him, Fred seemed to be lost for
words. He gaped over the back of the sofa at his twin’s wound as if he could not believe what he was seeing.

Perhaps roused by the sound of Fred and their father’s arrival, George stirred.

“How do you feel, Georgie?” whispered Mrs. Weasley.

George’s fingers groped for the side of his head. “Saintlike,” he murmured.

“What’s wrong with him?” croaked Fred, looking terrified. “Is his mind affected?”

“Saintlike,” repeated George, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother. “You see… I’m holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?”

Mrs. Weasley sobbed harder than ever. Colour flooded Fred’s pale face. “Pathetic,” he told George. “Pathetic! With the
whole wide world of ear-related humour before you, you go for holey?”

“Ah well,” said George, grinning at his tearful mother. “You’ll be able to tell us apart now, anyway, Mum.” He looked
around and his eyes set on Harry. “I…I’m sorry, Harry,” He said as his face dropped. “I didn’t know what happened…I
wasn’t thinking straight…I—”

“It’s not your fault,” Harry said as he walked over to George. “If I should blame anyone, it’s Snape.”

“Why is George apologizing for getting his ear cut off to you?” Mrs. Weasley asked curiously, and Harry could sense a
bit of anger in her voice.

Harry whispered silently, “Hedwig’s dead.”

The entire room gasped at that information, and Harry and Hermione left the kitchen and went outside, not wanting to see
their reactions.

When they were walking, Hermione squeezed his hand and asked, “Are you alright, Harry?”

“As good as I can be, I guess,” Harry said softly. Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder and wrapped her other hand
around his elbow. She knew that he only needed comfort at the moment. She would happily give it to him.

Kingsley was striding backward and forward, glancing up at the sky every time he turned. Harry was reminded of Uncle
Vernon pacing the living room. Hagrid and Lupin stood gazing upward in silence. None of them looked around when Harry
and Hermione joined their silent vigil.

The minutes stretched into what might as well have been years. The slightest breath of wind made them all jump and turn
toward the whispering bush or tree in the hope that one of the missing Order members or Ron might leap unscathed from
its leaves…and then a broom materialized directly above them and streaked toward the ground.

“It’s them!” Hermione whispered in a thankful breath.

Tonks landed in a long skid that sent earth and pebbles everywhere. “Remus!” Tonks cried as she staggered off the broom
into Remus’s arms as Ron tripped dazedly toward Harry and Hermione.

“You’re okay,” he mumbled as Harry and Hermione broke apart and ran to him. Hermione gave Ron a loose hug as Harry
patted his back.

“I was worried,” Hermione said as she pulled back from her hug. She then hit him on the shoulder. “Try scaring people
like that again, Death Eaters won’t be who you’ll need to worry about.”

Ron smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks for being worried for me.”

“Ron was great,” said Tonks warmly, relinquishing her hold on Lupin. “Wonderful. Stunned one of the Death Eaters,
straight to the head, and when you’re aiming at a moving target from a flying broom—”

“Really?” Harry asked in surprise as Hermione smiled a satisfied smile.

“Always the tone of surprise,” he said a little grumpily. “Are we the last back?”

“We’re still waiting for…” Harry counted off with his fingers, “…Bill, Fleur, Mad-Eye, and Mundungus. So why didn’t you
two come with the Portkey?”

“Bellatrix,” said Tonks. “She wants me quite as much as she wants Harry. She tried very hard to kill me. I just wish I’d
got her, I owe Bellatrix. But we definitely injured Rodolphus. Then we got to Ron’s Auntie Muriel’s and we missed our
Portkey and she was fussing over us. So anyway, what happened to you lot?” She asked as she turned to Harry, Hermione,
and Kingsley.

Harry and Hermione told them what happened to them as they stared wide-eyed at their story, except Lupin, but he was
grinning like mad at Harry. Ginny joined them halfway through and they all gasped when they heard what Harry did at the
end.

They were quiet for a moment after Kingsley finished, before he broke the silence. “I’m going to have to get back to
Downing Street; I should have been there an hour ago. “Let me know when they’re back. And Harry,” he said with a small
smile, “Dumbledore and Mad-Eye would be proud.” He turned and walked beyond the boundaries as everyone heard a small pop
of apparition.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came outside to see their youngest son, running faster to go hug them.

“Ronald, what took you? We thought you were dead!”

Ron’s explanation was cut short by a Thestral that flew into sight, Its great wings flapping, making it look like a
unicorn in the night without a horn. The Thestral landed a few feet in front of them. Bill and Fleur slid from its back,
tired, but no fresh marks were seen.

“Bill! Thank God,” Mrs. Weasley cried as she ran towards Bill, who was frowning. “Thank God!” She gave him a crushing
hug that he didn’t return. He seemed empty for a moment before he looked straight at his father and spoke in a cold,
empty voice.

“Mad-Eye’s dead.”

Nobody spoke, nobody moved. Harry felt as though something inside him was falling, falling through the earth, leaving
him forever. He thought of Moody as a mentor, almost. He was never taught by Moody, but he had the feeling earlier that
night that Moody would think of him his apprentice—if given the chance.

“We saw it,” said Bill. Fleur nodded, tear tracks glittering on her cheeks in the light from the kitchen window. “It
happened just after we broke out of the circle: Mad-Eye and Dung were close by us, they were heading north too.
Voldemort—he can fly—went straight for them. Dung panicked, I heard him cry out, Mad-Eye tried to stop him, but he
Disapparated. Voldemort’s curse hit Mad-Eye full in the face, he fell backward off his broom and – there was nothing we
could do, nothing, we had half a dozen of them on our own tail…”

Bill’s voice broke.

“Of course you couldn’t have done anything,” Lupin said shakily. They all stood looking at each other. Harry could not
quite comprehend it. Mad-Eye dead; it couldn’t be…Mad-Eye, so tough, so brave, the consummate survivor…

At last it seemed to dawn on everyone, though nobody said it, that there was no point of waiting in the yard anymore,
and in silence they followed Mr. And Mrs. Weasley back to the Burrow. Hermione got closer to Harry and could see the
emptiness in his emerald eyes, the shade somehow duller. She wordlessly and tenderly wrapped her fingers around his arm
and pulled herself closer to him. Harry felt a teardrop trickling down his arm and put his arm around Hermione to pull
her closer.

They walked through the kitchen and into the living room, where Fred was laughing and George was forcing a chuckle.

“What’s wrong?” said George, scanning their faces as they entered, “What’s happened? Who’s—?”

“Mad-Eye,” said Mr. Weasley, “Dead.”

The twins’ grins turned to grimaces of shock. Nobody seemed to know what to do. Tonks was crying silently into a
handkerchief: She had been close to Mad-Eye, Harry knew, his favorite and his protégée at the Ministry of Magic. Hagrid,
who had sat down on the floor in the corner where he had most space, was dabbing at his eyes with his tablecloth-sized
handkerchief.

Bill walked over to the sideboard and pulled out a bottle of fire-whisky and some glasses.

“Here,” he said, and with a wave of his wand, he sent twelve full glasses soaring through the room to each of them,
holding the thirteenth aloft.

“Mad-Eye.”

“Mad-Eye,” they all said, and drank. Hermione grudgingly let go of Harry to drink her own.

“Mad-Eye,” echoed Hagrid, a little late, with a hiccup. The Firewhiskey seared Harry’s throat. It seemed to burn feeling
back into him, dispelling the numbness and sense of unreality firing him with something that was like courage.

“So, what I suspected was right? I mean Mundungus did disappear,” said Harry, his voice a little louder than usual.

The atmosphere changed at once. Everybody looked tense, watching Harry, hearing the venom in his voice at that
statement. Both wanted him to go on, it seemed to Harry, and slightly afraid of what they might hear.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Bill, “and I wondered that too, on the way back here, because they seemed to be
expecting us, didn’t they? But Mundungus can’t have betrayed us. They didn’t know there would be seven Harry’s, that
confused them the moment we appeared, and in case you haven’t been told, it was Mundungus who suggested that little bit
of skullduggery. Why wouldn’t he have told them the essential point? I think Dung panicked, it’s as simple as that. He
didn’t want to come in the first place, but Mad-Eye made him, and Voldemort went straight for them. It was enough to
make anyone panic.”

“You-Know-Who acted exactly as Mad-Eye expected him to,” sniffed Tonks. “Mad-Eye said he’d expect the real Harry to be
with the toughest, most skilled Aurors. He chased Mad-Eye first, and when Mundungus gave them away he switched to
Kingsley—”

“Yes, and zat eez all very good,” snapped Fleur, “but still eet does not explain ‘ow zey know we were moving ‘Arry
tonight, does eet? Somebody must ‘ave been careless. Somebody let slip ze date to an outsider. It is ze only explanation
for zem knowing ze date but not ze ‘ole plan.”

She glared around at them all, tear tracks still etched on her beautiful face, silently daring any of them to contradict
her. Nobody did. The only sound to break the silence was that of Hagrid hiccupping from behind his handkerchief. Harry
glanced at Hagrid, whom he loved, whom he trusted, who had once been tricked into giving Voldemort crucial information
in exchange for a dragon’s egg…

“No,” Harry said aloud, and they all looked at him, surprised: his loud voice seemed to not fit him. Harry would have to
change that. “I mean…if somebody made a mistake,” Harry went on, “and let something slip, I know they didn’t mean to do
it. It’s not their fault,” he repeated, again a little louder than he would usually have spoken. “We’ve got to trust
each other. I trust all of you; I don’t think anyone in this room would ever sell me to Voldemort.” Harry saw Remus
shaking his head slowly. Harry thought he knew why. “I don’t believe that there is a Pettigrew here, because you all did
this dangerous mission. Did Peter ever do something like that?” he asked, looking in Remus’s general direction.

More silence followed his words, except for Remus shaking his head somberly, his neck scratching against his collar.
They were all looking at him; Harry felt a little hot again, and drank some more firewhisky for something to do. As he
drank, he thought of Mad-Eye. Mad-Eye had always been scathing about Dumbledore’s willingness to trust people. Harry
figured that as long as he continued constant vigilance, he could trust anyone he wanted to, but he couldn’t let his
guard down around anyone either.

“Well said, Harry,” said Fred unexpectedly.

“Year, ‘ear, ‘ear,” said George, with half a glance at Fred, the corner of whose mouth twitched.

“Well said, Harry,” Hermione said quietly, smiling a little that warmed his stomach more than the firewhisky did.

Remus turned to Bill and said, “There’s work to do. I can ask Kingsley whether—”

“No,” said Bill at once, “I’ll do it, I’ll come.”

“Where are you going?” said Tonks and Fleur together.

“Mad-Eye’s body,” said Lupin. “We need to recover it.”

“Can’t it—?” began Mrs. Weasley with an appealing look at Bill.

“Wait?” Bill interrupted with an appalled look at his mother. “Not unless you’d rather the Death Eaters took it?”

“Unless they already took it, at least the eye,” Harry said. “It doesn’t hurt to check. I’d join you, but I have a
feeling that no one here will let me.”

Lupin smiled at his surrogate son and said, “We wouldn’t let you come with us.” Bill and Lupin bid their good-byes and
left.

The rest of them dropped into chairs, except Harry and Hermione, who leaned on the wall. Hermione tried to start a
conversation with a question that she had been wanting to ask for ages. “Harry, how did you blast that flame at
Voldemort?” The room shuddered at the name.

Harry sighed while he felt a twinge in his scar. “I honestly don’t know. I was almost unconscious. I think the wand
moved on it’s own towards him. I didn’t even notice my hand move until the fire came out of my wand.”

Hermione was in confusion. Wands don’t act like that and they never had the history of acting like that. Hermione
decided not to voice her concerns, and to give Harry a chance to explain. “Do you know how that happened?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say it was because I have his brother wand,” he said.

The room gasped at this statement. Harry just realized that he never told them about the connection. He may as well say
the rest. “We both have a phoenix feather core wand,” he said as his scar was still burning, “but it came from the same
phoenix, Dumbledore’s familiar, Fawkes.”

The whole room gawked stupidly at him. His scar flared even more. He put his hand on his forehead, hiding his hand from
his finger, which was delicately tracing is scar with his finger so Hermione could easily see and no one else. He heard
a sharp intake of breath from Hermione as he slowly walked out of the sitting room, her following, conjuring a dry
cloth.

As Harry and Hermione walked outside, he heard Hermione muttering “Aguamenti” and light trickling of water. Hermione
handed him a now wet cloth and said, “It won’t subside the pain a lot, but—”

Whatever she said was lost to him as his scar flared at its peak. He clutched at his forehead and closed his eyes,
hearing a voice that was by now, very familiar to Harry.

“You told me the problem would be solved by using another’s wand!”

And into his mind’s eye burst the vision of an emaciated old man lying in rags upon a stone floor, screaming, a horrible
drawn-out scream, a scream of unendurable agony…

“No! No! I beg you, I beg you…”

“You lied to Lord Voldemort, Ollivander!”

“I did not…I swear I did not…”

“You sought to help Potter, to help him escape me!”

“I swear I did not…I believed a different wand would work…”

“Explain, then, what happened. Lucius’s wand is destroyed!”

“I cannot understand…the connection…exists only…between your two wands…”

“Lies!”

“Please…I beg you…”

And Harry saw his white hand raise his wand and felt Voldemort's surge of vicious anger, saw the frail old main on the
floor writhe in agony—

“Harry!”

Suddenly, he flashed out of the vision as fast as he had entered it. His eyes opened and looked up, noticing that he was
shaking against two figures he was leaning on who he recognized a few seconds later as Ron and Hermione, the latter’s
arm around his waist, holding him tightly. His scar was still tingling, and a damp cloth was folded and placed on his
forehead by Ron, who was applying pressure to it.

“Are you all right, Harry?” Hermione asked with a quiver, her eyes leaking.

He looked over to Hermione and tried to form a small smile, but couldn’t, seeing her tear-streaked face. He said, “Yeah,
better than Ollivander at least. He’s being tortured by Voldemort right now.”

“How do you know, mate?” Ron asked curiously.

“The scar,” Harry explained in two words. “Anyway, Voldemort knows about the brother wands, now. He’s trying to get
Ollivander to talk right now. I think that was Lucius’s wand I destroyed. He thought that if he used another wand,
there’d be no surprises.” He gave a feeble grin. “He was wrong, it seems.”

Hermione held him even tighter and led him back into the house. “I thought he couldn’t enter your head anymore.” She
whispered frantically.

“Hermione, I don’t think he used Legilimency on me. He’s supposed to be a master Occlumens, yet I can easily read his
mind. I think he sent the vision through my scar, on accident, I’m sure. He does that when he gets a powerful feeling.”

“I’m going to look that up,” Hermione replied with a determined look, “but he’s taking over the Ministry, the newspapers
and half the Wizarding world! Don’t let him inside your head if you can fight it!”

Harry agreed with a silent nod as they walked back into the house in silence.

(HP)(DH)(HP)(Take—Two)(DH)(HP)(DH)

The shock of losing Mad-Eye and Hedwig hung over the house in the days that followed; Harry kept expecting to see him
stumping in through the back door like the other Order members, who passed in and out to relay news, and occasionally
remind people of his mantra of constant vigilance. Harry felt that nothing but action would lessen his feelings of guilt
and grief for Mad-Eye Moody and that he ought to set out on his mission to find and destroy Horcruxes as soon as
possible.

When he voiced this concern with Ron at breakfast when they were the only two at the table, Ron replied, “Well, you
can’t do anything about the” – he mouthed the word Horcruxes – “till you’re seventeen. You’ve still got the Trace on
you. And we can plan here as well as anywhere, can’t we? Or,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “d’you reckon you
already know where the You-Know-Whats are?”

“No, but I have an idea of where one might be,” Harry admitted. “I’m not telling anyone incase I’m wrong, though.”

Ron seemed to accept that answer. “I think Hermione’s been doing a bit of research,” he said a moment later. “She’s been
going non-stop since she got here. Couldn’t even talk to me unless she says ‘hey’ and ‘good night’. Ron muttered
something that sounded a lot like ‘mental’.

Harry silently made a note to ask her not to overstress. “Well, the Trace will break on the thirty-first,” Harry mused,
“So we’ll only have to stay here for four, wait, five days. Then we can leave, right after the wedding. Is Mrs. Weasley
asking questions?”

“All day, every day” Ron said with a sigh, “until you showed up. She’ll try you next, so brace yourself. Dad and
Lupin’ve both asked as well, but when we said Dumbledore told you not to tell anyone except us, they dropped it. Not
Mum, though. She’s determined.”

Harry expected Ron to say this, and Harry prepared for it, mentally countering every question she might and will throw
at him. Ron’s prediction came true within hours. Shortly before lunch, Mrs. Weasley detached Harry from the others by
asking him to help identify a lone man’s sock that she thought might have come out of his bag. Once she had him cornered
in the tiny scullery off the kitchen, she started.

“Ron and Hermione seem to think that the three of you are dropping out of Hogwarts,” she began in a light, casual tone.

“Yes, we are, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry easily said, focusing his eyes on Molly’s brown ones.

“May I ask why you are abandoning your education?” said Mrs. Weasley.

“Dumbledore left me a job to do, and Hermione and Ron wanted to help,” he replied, not breaking eye contact with her.

“What sort of ‘stuff’?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Well, frankly, I think Arthur and I have a right to know, and I’m sure Mr. And Mrs. Granger would agree!” said Mrs.
Weasley.

Harry smirked. “Actually, Mrs. Weasley, Hermione’s parents respect her privacy, and I thought you would, too. If you
don’t want Ron to go, then it’s not my choice. Technically, since Ron’s of age, shouldn’t he be the one to decide to
tell you or not?” In truth, the picture Hermione already told him about her plans when he was still at the Dursleys, and
Hermione confirmed that they were already done when he brought it up that morning. Hermione had altered her parents’
memories and, at the moment, they were residing in Australia.

He took another look at the sock. “And I don’t support Puddlemere United,” He said as he left the gaping woman and went
back up to his room before she could say another word.

From that moment on, Mrs. Weasley kept them all busy with wedding preparations. Harry knew immediately that she was just
trying to separate them, but he was one step ahead. He kept his cloak in his pocket while doing the preparations, and
thanks to the many years of chores he had to do all of his life, it only took him half the time than the others to do
his load of the work. When he was done, he’d place on the cloak and help out either Hermione or Ron (mostly Hermione)
and talk to them for about ten minutes, then return to the place he was working for Mrs. Weasley to walk in and give him
another assignment.

“Harry, how are you working this fast?” Hermione asked him the third time he visited her.

“I just pretend that Mrs. Weasley would hit me in the back of the head with a frying pan if I didn’t finish quickly
enough,” He said absently. He just realized what he said when Hermione gasped and fumbled the box of Fireworks that she
confiscated from Fred and George’s room on Mrs. Weasley’s orders. Thankfully, she didn’t drop it.

“W-why would you think that?” Hermione asked, knowing and fearing the answer.

“Umm…” Harry tried to think fast, trying to get a way out of this one. Then he sighed. He knew that she would find a way
to get him to tell her anyway, and besides; she knew him well enough to know when he was telling a lie. “Well, I guess
it’s because it always worked at the Dursleys.”

Hermione turned her head away from Harry for a moment, and Harry swore he could hear a sniffle. After about a minute of
standing there, she asked, “I hope she gave them a good screaming.” No one could mistake the venom in her voice.

“Well, you had a good rant ready, but my rant took up too much time. Sorry,” He mumbled to her. And that’s what he gets
for telling the truth.

Hermione immediately softened. “Harry, I don’t care who yelled at the Dursleys. I just wanted them to get yelled at. I’m
glad you did, considering you were the one that was raised by them.”

Harry chuckled. That was close to what P. ‘Mione said. Before he could say anything, Hermione said, “but the next time I
cross paths with them, they’ll wish they stayed at Number Four. Voldemort’s more merciful.”

Harry chuckled at Hermione until he realized that she was serious.

For the first time in his life, Harry felt sorry for the Dursleys.

After two days of this, Harry was getting irritated, so he started preparing everything in sight; de-gnoming, cooking,
cutlery cleaning, and any other nonsense that she would usually ask for. By the pace that he was going, he could guess
that he could be done by the morning of his birthday.

“I think Mum thinks that if she can stop the three of you getting together and planning, she’ll be able to delay you
leaving,” Ginny told Harry in an undertone, as they laid the table for dinner on the third night of his stay.

“It won’t work,” said Harry confidently, not giving her eye contact. “We’re still leaving. Even Mrs. Weasley can’t stand
up against Hermione Granger’s schedules.”

Ginny smirked a little and looked up at Harry, who was quickly placing the utensils on the table. She knew that he had
been avoiding her ever since he broke up with her; however, in her mind, it meant their relationship was on hiatus. For
some reason, or was it her imagination, that he and Hermione had spent an awful lot of time together lately. She knew
that Granger was absolutely no match for her, but she also knew that she had little to no time until he left. A boy has
needs and will be desperate for the closest girl near him after a while, meaning Hermione. She would make sure to give
him something to remember her by…

Meanwhile, Harry was contemplating in his mind as why he didn’t think of Ginny any more than a friend. Ginny is right
here, right here in front of her. He could, at any time, go around the table to hold her… to kiss her… he knew she
wanted him to… but oddly, he had no desire to do so. It almost disgusted him. Hermione had really gotten to him, he
realized. The thought that came in his mind about three and a half weeks ago was still fresh in his mind. He couldn’t
see anything in Ginny except the little sister of his best friend who screamed at the top of her lungs that she saw
Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, at the train station so long ago…

Ginny slightly jumped and Harry snapped out of his thoughts as the door opened, and Mr. Weasley, Kingsley, and Bill
walked in.

They were often joined by other Order members for dinner now, because the Burrow had replaced number twelve, Grimmauld
Place as the headquarters. Mr. Weasley had explained that after the death of Dumbledore, their Secret-Keeper, each of
the people to whom Dumbledore had confided Grimmauld Place’s location had become a Secret-Keeper in turn.

-

“And as there are around twenty of us,” Mr. Weasley said, “that greatly dilutes the power of the Fidelius Charm. Twenty
times as many opportunities for the Death Eaters to get the secret out of somebody. We can’t expect it to hold much
longer.”

“But surely Snape will have told the Death Eaters the address by now?” asked Harry.

“Well, Mad-Eye set up a couple of curses against Snape in case he turns up there again. We hope they’ll be strong enough
both to keep him out and to bind his tongue if he tries to talk about the place, but we can’t be sure. It would have
been insane to keep using the place as headquarters now that its protection has become so shaky.”

-

The kitchen was so crowded that evening it was difficult to maneuver knives and forks. Harry found himself crammed
beside Ginny and Hermione. He didn’t know whether he was uncomfortable or very comfortable.

He decided to stick on ‘moderately comfortable’ as he asked, “No news about Mad-Eye?”

“Nothing,” replied Bill. “The Daily Prophet hasn’t said a word about him dying or about finding the body, but that
doesn’t mean much. It’s keeping a lot quiet these days.”

“And they still haven’t called a hearing about all the underage magic I used escaping the Death Eaters?” Harry called
across the table to Mr. Weasley, who shook his head. “Because they don’t want me to tell the world Voldemort attacked
me, right?” Harry grinned.

“I think so. Scrimgeour doesn’t want to admit that You-Know-Who is as powerful as he is, nor that Azkaban’s seen a mass
breakout.”

“Yeah, why tell the public the truth?” said Harry, clenching his knife so tightly that the faint scars on the back of
his right hand stood out, white against his skin: I must not tell lies.

“Isn’t anyone at the Ministry prepared to stand up to him?” asked Ron angrily.

“Of course, Ron, but people are terrified,” Mr. Weasley replied, “terrified that they will be next to disappear, their
children the next to be attacked! There are nasty rumors going around; I for one don’t believe the Muggle Studies
professor at Hogwarts resigned. She hasn’t been seen for weeks now. Meanwhile Scrimgeour remains shut up in his office
all day; I just hope he’s working on a plan.”

“We must decide ‘ow you will be disguised, ‘Arry,” said Fleur, once everyone had pudding. Harry nodded. He really didn’t
want to be seen at the wedding. “Of course,” Fleur continued, “none ov our guests are Death Eaters, but we cannot
guarontee zat zey will not let something slip after zey ‘ave ‘ad champagne.”

Harry gave Fleur a look that meant ‘I know who you’re still blaming.’ Fleur flinched and looked away.

“Yes, good point,” said Mrs. Weasley from the top of the table where she sat, reading spectacles perched on the end of
her nose, scanning an immense list of jobs that she had scribbled on a very long piece of parchment. “Now, Ron, have you
cleaned out your room yet?”

“No, mum.” Ron said, boredom in his voice, although Harry could see a small smile that Mrs. Weasley didn’t notice.

“Then you’ll need to do that,” Mrs. Weasley tutted. “And Harry, dear, I need you to help Arthur much out the chickens,
and Hermione, I’d be ever so grateful if you’d change the sheets for Monsieur and Madame Delacour; you know they’re
arriving at eleven tomorrow morning.”

But as it turned out, there was very little to do for the chickens. “There’s no need to, er, mention it to Molly,” Mr.
Weasley told Harry, blocking his access to the coop, “but, er, Muriel sent me most of what was left of Sirius’s bike
and, er, I’m hiding—that’s to say, keeping—it in here. Fantastic stuff: There’s an exhaust gaskin, as I believe it’s
called, the most magnificent battery, and it’ll be a great opportunity to find out how brakes work. I’m going to try and
put it all back together again when Molly’s not—I mean, when I’ve got time.”

They walked into the coup, and after a few minutes, Harry broke the silence that was occasionally disturbed by the
occasional cluck.

“Mr. Weasley,” Harry asked slowly, not knowing if he could go through with this.

“Yes, Harry?” Mr. Weasley asked, abandoning the chickens for a moment, hearing the hesitancy in Harry’s voice.

“Er, would it be alright if I… borrowed the motorcycle?”

Mr. Weasley furrowed his brow at the young man in front of him. “Harry, you can have it if you want. I’m sure you would
need it for wherever you three are going, and I’m sure Sirius would give it to you. And, I think, if I’m correct, that
you were to obtain this when you were seventeen, anyway. No matter, I was going to give this to you right before you
guys leave.”

“Thanks, Mr. Weasley,” Harry said sincerely.

“Now, Harry, I also have something to ask of you.” Now, it was the red-head’s turn to fidget.

“Yes?” Harry asked.

“Please…please keep my daughter safe, Harry. She’s my only daughter, and I—”

“She’s not coming with us, Mr. Weasley,” Harry said sternly, not showing any regret in his voice.

“Oh thank Merlin,” he said as he visibly deflated for a moment before he looked at Harry again, curiosity shown in his
eyes. “Well, then it’s just you, Hermione and Ron?”

“Yes, Mr. Weasley.”

“Why isn’t Ginny coming with you? Aren’t you two a couple now?” Harry was glad to hear that Arthur was completely
curious. He wasn’t sure what reaction he was going to show after this next statement.

“I, er, broke up with her, sir.”

Arthur showed no surprise which, in turn, surprised Harry. Arthur noticed, and chuckled. “I’m sorry, Harry, but I can’t
say I didn’t see this coming. I see you remember when I told you never to go for looks alone. I may be speaking ill of
my own daughter, but remember, she liked you as the Boy Who Lived first and always. I’ve heard countless times that you
don’t like the fame and privileges of the Boy Who Lived, and I’m sure that you want to be with someone who doesn’t think
of you like that. She thought of you as only that since she was four. I don’t think she ever knew the difference…unlike
the rest of us, of course!

“Don’t worry, I’m not mad about your decision to break up with her. However, I don’t think Molly should know yet. Maybe
after you two leave I’ll tell her, so it wouldn’t be uncomfortable for you. Ginny hasn’t told anyone, so she must still
think…well, you know.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Weasley,” Harry said sincerely. He did not know an Ex’s father could be so nice to him.

“Please Harry, it’s Arthur. You’ll be of age tomorrow, so there’s no point of still calling me that.”

“Er…okay, Arthur.” To say that it would be weird sensation would be a major understatement.

“Now, hopefully you’ll make the right choice on a girl. Just because you’re in a war, doesn’t mean you can’t have a plan
beyond it.” And with that, he moved back to the chickens. And while Harry was feeding one, he could’ve sworn that he
heard Arthur say, “I just hope Ron can accept it.”

When they returned to the house, Mrs. Weasley was nowhere to be seen, so Harry slipped upstairs to Ron’s attic bedroom.

“I’m almost done, I’m—! Oh, it’s you,” Ron said in relief, as Harry entered the room. Ron lay back down on the bed,
which he had evidently just vacated, telling by the wrinkles. The entire room had been cleaned and straightened out by
Harry two days ago, knowing that Mrs. Weasley would tell Ron to do it sooner or later. The only sign of a mess was a
pile of clothes at the end of the bed, intentionally put there by Harry in case he needed to look like he was cleaning
by picking up some clothes in the pile. He also changed the sheets for the guest room yesterday which was why Hermione
was sitting in the far corner of the room with Crookshanks at her feet, sorting books into two enormous piles. The
fluffy ginger cat trotted over to Harry and walked between and around his legs, tickling them.

“Hi, Harry,” Hermione said as she watched Crookshanks and Harry, smiling.

Harry carefully walked over to the corner where Hermione was vacating, careful not to step on Crookshanks, and sat down
next to the books. “Hey,” he said, looking over at the books. He noticed some of them were his own, including (he had to
hold back a laugh) Hogwarts, A History. “Where are those Horcrux books you told me about?”

Hermione looked at Harry quizzically—she didn’t talk to him about that yet. Then realization dawned on her when Harry
softly patted his pocket. She rummaged for a moment and then extracted from the pile a large volume, bound in faded
black leather. She looked a little nauseated and held it as gingerly as if it were something that was recently deceased.

“This is the one that gives explicit instructions on how to make a Horcrux.” She said as she handed it to Harry.
“Secrets of the Darkest Art – it’s a horrible book, really awful, full of evil magic. I wonder when Dumbledore removed
it from the library…if he didn’t do it until he was Headmaster, I bet Voldemort got all the instructions he needed from
here.”

“When did you get that book?” Ron asked curiously.

Hermione shrugged. “After his funeral, I said, ‘Accio Horcrux books’ and they just flew to me into the girls’ dormitory.
I was desperate for answers.”

Harry flipped through the book. “These are some really dark and gruesome curses,” he said, wide-eyed. “And I bet
Voldemort knows all of these.” He finally found the section on Horcruxes. “It also says that your soul will become
extremely unstable even if you make one Horcrux. I do remember Dumbledore saying that he’s above ‘usual evil’. The only
way for the soul to be put back together is to…feel sorry for what you’ve done? I know for a fact that we’ll be doing
this the hard way.” Ron and Hermione chuckled at this. “The way to destroy a Horcrux—he tenderly flipped through the
pages, “—is to use something so destructive that it can’t repair itself. Like Basilisk venom, apparently. I wonder if
the Killing Curse would work. Of course we won’t use the curse,” he added quickly, seeing Hermione about to reprimand
him “but it was just a thought.” He looked back down to read the next few paragraphs. “And a Horcrux is very vulnerable
if it is in an object that can easily be destroyed, like a diary if Ginny just threw it in the fire.” He said, not
noticing Ron pale.

“I wonder how Dumbledore destroyed the ring, though?” Harry quietly asked. “There was a crack in it. It had to be a
really powerful spell.”

Ron and Hermione were in thought for a few seconds before Ron gave up and broke the silence. “Oh yeah, Harry, I forgot
to show you something!” He stood up and said, “C’mon.”

“What is it?” Harry asked, handing the book back to Hermione and following Ron out of the room onto the tiny landing.

“Descendo,” muttered Ron, pointing his wand at the low ceiling. A hatch opened right over their heads and a ladder slid
down to their feet. A horrible, half-sucking, half-moaning sound came out of the square hole, along with an unpleasant
smell like open drains.

“This is where your ghoul lives?” Harry asked curiously, who had never actually met the creature that sometimes
disrupted the silence of the Burrow aside from loud bangs from the twins’ room.

“Yeah,” said Ron, climbing the ladder. “Come and have a look at him.”

Harry followed Ron up the few short steps into the tiny attic space. His head and shoulders were in the room before he
caught sight of the creature curled up a few feet from him, fast asleep in the gloom with its large mouth wide open.

“But it…it looks…are you disguising the ghoul to look like you?” he asked after he looked over the body. It was human in
shape and size, and was wearing an old pair of Ron’s pajamas. He was also sure that ghouls were generally rather slimy
and bald, rather than distinctly have red hair and covered in angry purple blisters. “Is that some kind of disease for
people to catch if they get too close? Or at least pretend, because you let me be this close.”

“How the bloody hell did you figure all that?” Ron asked incredulously as he climbed back down the ladder, Harry
following, which Ron returned to the ceiling, and rejoined Hermione, who was still sorting books.

“Well, I guessed it. It was obvious from the fact that it had red hair and your pajamas.” Harry said.

“Okay…yeah, that’s exactly what I was planning,” Ron said. Hermione smiled to herself as she kept sorting through the
pile. “Once we’ve left, the ghoul’s going to come and live down here in my room,” said Ron. “I think he’s really looking
forward to it—well, it’s hard to tell, because all he can do is moan and drool—but he nods a lot when you mention it.
Anyway, he’s going to be me with spattergroit. Good, eh?”

“Well, I don’t know what spattergroit is, but I’m guessin’ that the side-effect is purple blisters and that it’s really
contagious. It must be a pretty bad disease if you think no one’s gonna go near him.”

Ron stared at him in shock while Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. Even she didn’t know what spattergroit was until Ron
told her. She had to remember to study up on Wizarding first aid potions and spells.

They were interrupted when the door banged open, Hermione shrieked and dropped Secrets of the Darkest Art; Crookshanks
streaked under the bed, hissing indignantly; Ron rushed over to the foot of the bed, skidded on the pile of clothes, and
hit his head on the ground wall; and Harry instinctively pulled his wand out of his front pocket and pointed it at a
steaming Mrs. Weasley. Sighing, he put his wand in his pocket, but he did catch her flinch.

“I’m so sorry to break up this cozy little gathering,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m sure you all need your
rest…but there are wedding presents stacked in my room that need sorting out and I was under the impression that you had
agreed to help.”

“Oh…we’re sorry,” Hermione said as she calmly got to her feet and carefully extracted herself from the books, looking in
Harry’s direction, who gave a small smirk. His hand was hidden from Mrs. Weasley as pointed out three fingers. She gave
a small nod and a smile as she left with Mrs. Weasley.

Ron was confused about the entire exchange. “What was that about?” He asked when she was out of earshot.

Harry simply padded over to where Hermione sat and carefully looked over the books. When he finally understood the order
Hermione placed them in, he started picking up the books and added them to the pile, hoping he was placing them in the
right order. A few seconds later, he answered.

“I sorted the presents last night, all night. She’s coming back in three minutes.”

The Delacours arrived the following morning at eleven o’ clock. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were feeling quite
resentful toward Fleur’s family by this time; and it was with ill grace that Ron stumped back upstairs to put on
matching socks, and Harry attempted to flatten his hair. Once they had all been deemed smart enough, they trooped out
into the sunny backyard to await the visitors.

“Maman!” cried Fleur, rushing forward to embrace her. “Papa!”

Monsieur Delacour bounced towards Mrs. Weasley on high-heeled boots, and kissed her twice on each cheek, leaving her
flustered.

“You ‘ave been so much trouble,” he said in a deep voice. “Fleur tells us you ‘ave been working very ‘ard.”

“Oh, it’s been nothing, nothing!” trilled Mrs. Weasley. “No trouble at all!”

Ron relieved his feelings by aiming a kick at a gnome who was peering out from behind one of the new Flutterby bushes.

“Dear lady!” said Monsieur Delacour, still holding Mrs. Weasley’s hand between his own two plump ones and beaming. “We
are most honored at the approaching union of our two families! Let me present my wife, Apolline.”

Madame Delacour glided forward and stooped to kiss Mrs. Weasley too. “Enchantée,” she said. “Your ‘usband ‘as been
telling us such amusing stories!”

Mr. Weasley laughed, but was cut short by Mrs. Weasley’s glare, then took the look of a man who had just visited a
morgue.

“And, of course, you ‘ave met my leetle daughter, Gabrielle!” said Monsieur Delacour. Gabrielle was Fleur in miniature;
eleven years old, with waist-length hair of pure, silvery blonde, she gave Mrs. Weasley a dazzling smile and hugged her,
then threw Harry a glowing look, batting her eyelashes. Ginny cleared her throat loudly. Hermione looked around in the
garden, pretending not to see what had happened.

The Delacours, it soon transpired, were helpful, pleasant guests. They were pleased with everything and keen to assist
with the preparations for the wedding. Monsieur Delacour pronounced everything from the seating plan to the bridesmaids’
shoes (“Charmant!”). Madame Delacour was most accomplished at household spells and had the oven properly cleaned in a
trice; Gabrielle followed her elder sister around, trying to assist in any way she could and jabbering away in rapid
French.

On the downside, the Burrow was not built to accommodate so many people. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were now sleeping in the
sitting room, having shouted down Monsieur and Madame Delacour’s protests and insisted they take their bedroom.
Gabrielle was sleeping with Fleur in Percy’s old room, and Bill would be sharing with Charlie, his best man, once
Charlie arrived from Romania. Opportunities to make plans together became virtually nonexistent, and it was in
desperation that Harry, Ron and Hermione took to volunteering to feed the chickens just to escape the overcrowded house.

“But she still won’t leave us alone!” snarled Ron, and their second attempt at a meeting in the yard was foiled by the
appearance of Mrs. Weasley carrying a large basket of laundry in her arms.

“Oh, good, you’ve fed the chickens,” she called as she approached them. “We’d better shut them away again before the men
arrive tomorrow…to put up the tent for the wedding,” she explained, pausing to lean against the henhouse. She looked
exhausted. “Millamant’s Magic Marquees…they’re very good. Bill’s escorting them…You’d better stay inside while they’re
here, Harry. I must say it does complicate organizing a wedding, having all these security spells around the place.”

“I’m sorry,” said Harry humbly.

“Oh, don’t be silly, dear!” said Mrs. Weasley at once. “I didn’t mean—well, your safety’s much more important! Actually,
I’ve been wanting to ask you how you want to celebrate your birthday, Harry. Seventeen, after all, it’s an important
day…”

“I don’t want a fuss,” said Harry quickly, trying to loosen the additional strain this would put on them all, even
though Mrs. Weasley was adding onto it. “Really, Mrs. Weasley, just a normal dinner would be fine! It’s the day before
the wedding!”

“Oh, well, if you’re sure, dear. I’ll invite Remus and Tonks, shall I? And how about Hagrid?”

“That’d be great,” Harry smiled. “But please, don’t go to loads of trouble.”

She looked at him, a long, searching look, then smiled a little sadly, straightened up, and walked away. Harry watched
as she waved her wand near the washing line, and the damp clothes rose into the air to hang themselves up.

“If she was already worried about the wedding and the birthday party, why is she adding on the stress by hassling us?”
Harry grumbled.

“That’s Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione groaned, “an overprotective mother. I’m sorry, Ron, but she is tiring us out. I can’t
wait until we leave!”

--------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Pretty long, huh? It looks similar to Deathly Hallows, but in actuality…it’s not. I don’t know how that works,
but…okay, it’s pretty similar. But it’s longer. And Harry’s not being stepped on as much.

By the way, I love Hedwig and Mad-eye, and I’m sorry if you didn’t want either of them dead.

I HAVE A WEBSITE! I always wanted to make one for my fanfictions, so here it is.

Rihaansfics.webs.com

Like WWE? I have a new One-Shot in my collection called ‘HP-One-Shots’.

Please Review.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

4. The Wills of Marraige

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter…wow…

* * *

Chapter Four—The Wills of Marriage

He was walking along a mountain road in the cool blue light of dawn. Far below, swathed in mist, was the shadow of a
small town. Was the man he sought down there, the man he needed so badly he could think of little else, the man who held
the answer, the answer to his problem…?

“Oi, wake up.”

Harry opened his eyes. He was lying again on the camp bed in Ron’s dingy attic room. The sun had not yet risen and the
room was still shadowy. Pigwidgeon was asleep with his head under his tiny wing. The scar on Harry’s forehead was
prickling.

“I was in the middle of a vision,” Harry said as he rubbed at his scar.

“So that’s what that mumbling was,” Ron said. “You said something about Gregorovitch.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “That must be who Voldemort’s going to meet in the vision, then. I guess I should tell
Hermione, then. Maybe she might know who that is. He sounds so familiar to me, though…” then a smile came across Harry’s
face. “I almost forgot. It’s my birthday!” He reached for his wand and said “Accio wand!” The wand flew into his hand,
giving him a feeling that he never felt before pulsing through him. Ron stared at him in disbelief for a moment, but
Harry didn’t notice, as he was summoning his glasses.

He continued moving things throughout the room until Ron held out a present for Harry. “Unwrap it up here, it’s not for
my mother’s eyes.”

“A book?” said Harry as he took the rectangular parcel. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“This isn’t your average book,” said Ron. “It’s pure gold: Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches. Explains everything
you need to know about girls. If only I’d had this last year I’d have known exactly how to get rid of Lavender and I
would’ve known how to get going with...well, Fred and George gave me a copy, and I’ve learned a lot. You’d be surprised;
it’s not all about wandwork, either.”

Harry felt a brief pang of guilt, for he had a fair guess on who Ron was about to say. He put himself out of those
thoughts. Why should Ron choose? Shouldn’t Hermione? He was determined to let Hermione be the one to choose, not Ron. He
followed Ron down stairs.

When they arrived in the kitchen they found a pile of presents waiting on the table. Bill and Monsieur Delacour were
finishing their breakfasts, while Mrs. Weasley stood chatting to them over the frying pan.

“Arthur told me to wish you a happy seventeenth, Harry,” said Mrs. Weasley, beaming at him. “He had to leave early for
work, but he’ll be back for dinner. That’s our present on top.”

Harry was hugged from behind, and a tender kiss on his cheek proved who it was. Harry noted that her lips were softer
than Ginny’s.

“Happy Birthday, Harry!” Hermione said. She pulled out a gift and handed it to Harry.

His cheeks slightly pink, he opened the package to reveal a Sneakoscope. He whispered “Thanks. Merlin knows we’ll need
this for a while. How you keep me alive, I don’t know…” He then went to opening the presents, not noticing the blush on
Hermione’s cheeks, the narrowed eyes on Ron’s face, and the discomforted look on Molly’s. He contained an enchanted
razor from Bill and Fleur (“Ah yes, zis will give you ze smoothest shave you will ever ‘ave,” Monsieur Delacour assured
him, “but you must tell it clearly what you want...ozzerwise you might find you ‘ave a leetle less hair zan you would
like…”), chocolates from the Delacours, and an enormous box of the latest Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes merchandise from Fred
and George.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione did not linger at the table, as the arrival of Madame Delacour, Fleur, and Gabrielle made the
kitchen uncomfortably crowded.

“I’ll pack these for you,” Hermione said brightly, taking half Harry’s presents out of his arms as the three of them
headed back upstairs. “Thanks for doing the wash for me, Harry, you really are a life-saver—”

Harry’s blushing and response was cut short by the opening of a door on the first-floor landing. “Harry, will you come
in here a moment?”

Ron and Hermione came to an abrupt halt, and Hermione looked distinctly uncomfortable. They both slowly walked away as
Harry nervously and slowly walked into her room, not making eye contact. He didn’t expect this, not today. He had to do
it, now, before she got any ideas. Before he could say anything, Ginny closed the door and spoke first.

“Happy seventeenth.”

Harry looked straight back at her and forcibly smiled. “Thanks. I see you have better taste than Ron,” Harry said as he
looked away towards the Holyhead Harpies’ Captain on the poster. He saw that there was a Wizarding picture of him on the
quidditch pitch – from his early years, he noted – next to her bedside. He also noted that there was a large crack in
the glass. Closer inspection would tell him that the crack was the same shape as a lightning bolt. He put it off as her
being mad at him for breaking up with her in the first place.

She smiled a little. Her face then dropped as she said, “I couldn’t think of what to get you.”

“That’s okay, it’s not like I’m used to getting presents from someone every year,” he joked. To tell the truth, he
didn’t even notice Ginny was not downstairs.

“I didn’t know what would be useful. Nothing too big, because you wouldn’t be able to take it with you.” He noticed that
she took a step closer to him. She was already too close for comfort. “So then I thought, I’d like you to have something
to remember me by, you know, if you meet some veela when you’re off doing whatever you’re doing.”

He knew where this was going; and he didn’t particularly like it. “And if I do?” he challenged.

Ginny’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?” She asked bluntly.

“Ginny,” he started in a soft tone, “I hope you noticed that I’m not your boyfriend anymore.”

Her eyes went wider than saucers. “What do you mean?” She asked again.

Harry stepped closer and put his hands on Ginny’s shoulders. “Ginny. We broke up. I’m not your boyfriend anymore. We are
through. I know you’re thinking that I’ll come back to you after all this is over. You’re wrong, Ginny. We will most
likely—no, definitely never be together again. I want you to move on. You can get any bloke you want, I’m sure. Sorry to
say that one of those guys isn’t me. Try Neville; he likes you a lot.”

Ginny started sputtering. “But I…I love you…”

“Are you sure? Or do you love the Boy Who Lived?”

Ginny started angrily, “I—” but she stopped suddenly, wondering what he meant by that. “Harry… you and he are the same
person.” She explained this as if she were talking to a small child.

Harry sighed and walked towards the door. Just as he touched the knob, he turned back towards her. “No, they’re not. I’m
sorry, Gin.” He opened the door to find Ron about to open it. Harry looked relieved; Ginny wouldn’t continue this
pointless argument in front of her brother. Without taking a glance at Ginny or Ron, he walked out of the room, and
swore that he saw a thin string of flesh round the corner.

He shrugged and walked outside, Ron following. When they got outside and onto the back lawn, Ron put his hand on Harry’s
shoulder rather roughly.

“What happened?”

Harry turned around to face him and smacked his hand away. “I broke up with her.”

“What?” Ron said as he rubbed his hand. ‘Dammit, Harry must have gotten stronger,’ Ron thought. “You already did that!”

“Yeah, well, she didn’t hear me that time.”

By this time Hermione walked up to them with a curious expression, although a smile was tugging the corners of her
mouth. “Harry, what hap—?”

But Ron put up a hand to silence her.

“You mean you broke up with her for real? Why?”

Harry frowned. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“What?” Ron asked in pure curiosity.

“You don’t just put your hand in people’s faces, Ron.”

“You’re ignoring the question!” Ron snapped, not seeing the smile of gratitude to Harry from Hermione, replacing the
scowl she had earlier towards Ron.

Harry replied, “I broke up with Ginny and I probably won’t ever get with her again, even by the off chance I live
through all this.”

“Harry, don’t talk like that,” Hermione said fiercely. “When we leave, I don’t want to hear you talking about not
winning anymore. Ron and I will make sure that you survive this journey and this battle!”

Harry smiled at her. “Thanks, but I want you two to survive also. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”

Ron cooled down and grudgingly said, “Yeah, well, we couldn’t live without you either. Literally. We’re attached to you,
Potter.” He finished with a grin as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Harry smiled at his (hopefully) friends-for-life. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Ginny did not try to seek another one-on-one meeting with Harry for the rest of the day, although he saw that her eyes
were a little red and puffy. With a smile, Harry also noticed that Hermione had been in a considerably lighter mood
after they talked in the backyard. Or was it since he officially broke up with Ginny? Nevertheless, Charlie’s arrival
came as a relief to Harry. It provided a distraction, watching Mrs. Weasley force Charlie into a chair, raise her wand
threateningly, and announce that he was about to get a proper haircut. Harry was confused by this statement. Couldn’t
Charlie grow his hair back as he did when his Aunt Petunia would make him have a haircut? He had to ask Charlie later.

As Harry’s birthday dinner would have stretched the Burrow’s kitchen to breaking point even before the arrival of
Charlie, Lupin, Tonks, and Hagrid, several tables were placed end to end in the garden. Fred and George bewitched a
number of purple lanterns all emblazoned with a large number 17, to hang in midair over the guests. Thanks to Mrs.
Weasley’s ministrations, George’s wound was neat and clean, but Harry was not yet comfortable to the dark hole in the
side of his head, despite the twins’ many jokes about it.

Harry and Ron walked outside to see Hermione making purple and gold streamers erupt from the end of her wand and drape
themselves artistically over the trees and bushes.

“Nice,” Harry and Ron said at the same time. Hermione turned her head curiously over to them as she finished turning the
leaves on a crabapple tree to gold. “What?” Harry grinned. “That was a really cool spell. Aunt Petunia would have killed
for it. She probably would’ve accepted magic. Probably.”

Hermione blushed. “Thanks, Harry. Thanks, Ron.” She walked away, looking for another tree to charm.

Ron turned to Harry with a curious expression and Harry thought he saw a small bit of anger. “How far did you get in
that book?”

Harry shrugged. “I didn’t open it yet.”

Ron slowly nodded and walked in the house; Harry guessed that he was going upstairs to verify.

“Out of the way, out of the way!” sang Mrs. Weasley, coming through the gate with what appeared to be a giant,
beach-ball-sized Snitch floating in front of her. Seconds later, Harry realized that it was his birthday cake, which
Mrs. Weasley was suspending with her wand, rather than risk carrying it over the uneven ground. When the cake had
finally landed in the middle of the table, Harry said, “That looks amazing, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, dear,” she said fondly. Over her shoulder, Harry saw Ron went downstairs grumbling and his jaw
dropped as he saw the cake. He looked at Harry incredulously for a moment before shaking his head before he walked over
to the table.

By seven o’clock all the guests had arrived, led into the house by Fred and George, who had waited for them at the end
of the lane. Hagrid had honoured the occasion by wearing his best, and horrible, hairy brown suit. Although Lupin smiled
as he shook Harry’s hand, Harry thought he looked rather unhappy, while Tonks was beaming. He would ask Remus what the
matter was after the party.

Harry received a mokeskin neck pouch from Hagrid that won’t open for anyone except the owner. He found out from Charlie
that Norbert is a Noberta.

After a few minutes, a silver weasel patronus came from the sky and onto the table. It got on its hind legs and spoke in
Mr. Weasley’s voice.

“Minister of Magic coming with me.”

The Patronus dissolved into thin air, leaving Fleur’s family staring in astonishment at the place where it had vanished.

“We shouldn’t be here,” said Lupin at once. “Harry—I’m sorry—I’ll explain some other time…”

He seized Tonks’s wrist and pulled her away; they reached the fence, climbed over it, and vanished from sight.

Mrs. Weasley looked bewildered. “The Minister—but why—? I don’t understand…”

But there was no time to discuss the matter; a second later, Mr. Weasley had appeared out of thin air at the gate,
accompanied by Rufus Scrimgeour, instantly recognizable by his mane of grizzled hair.

The two newcomers marched across the yard toward the garden and the lantern-lit table, where everybody sat in silence,
watching them draw closer. As Scrimgeour came within range of the lantern light. Harry saw that he looked much older
than the last time that had met, scraggy and grim.

“Sorry to intrude,” said Scrimgeour, as he limped to a halt before the table. “Especially as I can see that I am
gatecrashing a party.”

His eyes lingered for a moment on the giant Snitch cake. “Many happy returns.”

“Thanks,” said Harry bitterly.

“I require a private word with you,” Scrimgeour said, unphased. “Also with Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione
Granger.”

“Us?” said Ron, sounding surprised. “Why us?”

“I shall tell you that when we are somewhere more private,” said Scrimgeour. “Is there such a place?” he demanded of Mr.
Weasley.

“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Weasley, who looked nervous. “The, er, sitting-room, why don’t you use that?”

“You can lead the way,” Scrimgeour said to Ron. “There will be no need for you to accompany us, Arthur.”

Harry saw Mr. Weasley exchange a worried look with Mrs. Weasley as he, Ron, and Hermione stood up. As they led the way
back to the house in silence, Harry started thinking why he came here. He couldn’t have known that they weren’t
returning to Hogwarts. And he would’ve asked him to be his supporter alone, not in front of Ron and Hermione. There had
to be another reason.

And then he remembered what he and the picture were talking about back at the Dursleys, of how Dumbledore always takes
precautions, even if he didn’t know he was going to die. A small smile appeared cross his face as he, Hermione, and Ron
bunched together side-by-side on the sofa.

Before Scrimgeour could speak, Harry started.

“Does this have anything to do with Dumbledore’s will?” he asked bluntly.

Scrimgeour nodded as Hermione and Ron stared at him in appraisal and confusion, respectively. “Yes. He left something
for all of you.”

“And you waited this long to tell us? Have you been snooping through everything he left us?” Harry asked, his eyes
narrowing.

“Well, I had every right,” the Minister said dismissively. “The Decree for Justifiable Confiscation gives the Ministry
the power the confiscate the contents of a will—”

“That law was created to stop Wizards passing on Dark artifacts,” retorted Hermione, “and the Ministry is supposed to
have powerful evidence that the deceased’s possessions are illegal before seizing them! Are you telling me that you
thought Dumbledore was trying to pass us something cursed?”

“Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law, Miss Granger?” asked Scrimgeour.

Harry snorted. “That’s like asking her if she wants to work for you!” Hermione and Ron fake-laughed hysterically at this
thought.

Scrimgeour glared at them, and Harry suspected that if he started growling, he would be perfect for Gryffindor mascot.
He turned on Ron and said, “Would you say you were close to Dumbledore, Ronald?”

“Me? Not—not really…It was always Harry who…” Ron looked around to see Harry and Hermione; Hermione was giving him a
venomous look and Ron guessed that he would be called stupid over and over again after the meeting, but the damage was
done; Scrimgeour looked as though he had heard exactly what he had expected, and wanted, to hear. He swooped like a bird
of prey upon Ron’s answer.

“If you were not very close to Dumbledore, how do you account for the fact that he remembered you in his will? He made
exceptionally few personal bequests. The vast majority of his possessions—his private library, his magical instruments,
and other personal effects—were left to Hogwarts. Why do you think you were singled out?”

“Because Ron and I’ve gotten in enough trouble to be remembered by,” Harry said. Hermione had to stifle a laugh, and Ron
had to duck his head in embarrassment.

Scrimgeour put his hand inside his cloak and drew out a drawstring pouch much larger than the one Hagrid had given
Harry. From it, he removed a scroll of parchment which he unrolled and read aloud.

“‘The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,’” he said in a drone. He looked through the
Will for a few seconds before nodding to himself. “Yes, here we are... ‘To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my
Deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me when he uses it.’”

Scrimgeour took out what appeared to be a lighter (who Harry for some reason wanted to call a putter-outer). Scrimgeour
leaned forward and passed the Deluminator to Ron, who took it and turned it over in the fingers looking stunned.

“That is a valuable object,” said Scrimgeour, watching Ron. “It may even be unique. Certainly it is of Dumbledore’s own
design. Why would he have left you and item so rare?”

Ron shook his head, looking bewildered.

“Dumbledore must have taught thousands of students,” Scrimgeour continued, “yet the only ones he remembered in his will
are you three. Why is that?”

“Well,” Harry mused, “I suppose it might have something to do with us being Harry Potter, his favorite student/hero,
Hermione Granger, the most brilliant student of our age, and Ron Weasley, the best keeper in Hogwarts and the reason we
had the Quidditch Cup for two years in a row. And we’ve all been called the Golden Trio of Hogwarts. Is that enough of
an explanation?”

Rufus scowled as he looked back at the will. Harry didn’t notice Ron with a small smile and Hermione’s reddening cheeks.
“‘To Miss Hermione Jean Granger,” he continued from the Will, “‘I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, in the
hope that she will find it entertaining and instructive.’”

Scrimgeour now pulled out of the bag a small book that looked as ancient as the copy of Secrets of the Darkest Art
upstairs. Its binding was stained and peeling in places. Hermione took it from Scrimgeour without a word. She held the
book in her lap and gazed at it. Harry saw that the title was in runes; he had never learned to read them. As he looked,
a tear splashed onto the embossed symbols.

“Why do you think Dumbledore left you that book, Miss Granger?” asked Scrimgeour.

“He...he knew I liked books,” said Hermione in a thick voice, mopping her eyes with her sleeve. Harry put his arm around
her shoulders to both comfort her and to take a closer look, making her blush a little more and Ron slightly scowl,
while Scrimgeour asked another question.

“But why that particular book?”

“I don’t know. He must have thought I’d enjoy it.”

“Did you ever—?”

“Just get on to my name,” Harry said irritably. Hermione shot Harry a grateful smile before Scrimgeour made a grunt and
continued.

“‘To Harry James Potter, I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the
rewards of perseverance and skill.’”

As Scrimgeour pulled out the tiny, walnut-sized golden ball, its silver wings fluttered rather feebly, and Harry could
not help feeling a definite sense of anticlimax.

“Why did Dumbledore leave you this Snitch?” asked Scrimgeour.

“Technically, it is mine. I mean, I caught it,” Harry said, also wondering why he left the snitch to him.

“You think this a mere symbolic keepsake, then?”

“Well, yeah.”

“I notice that your birthday cake is in the shape of a Snitch,” Scrimgeour said to Harry. “Why is that?”

“Oh, it can’t be a reference to the fact Harry’s a great Seeker, that’s way too obvious,” Hermione answered laughing a
little. “There must be a secret message from Dumbledore hidden in the icing!”

“I don’t think there’s anything hidden in the icing,” said Scrimgeour, “but a Snitch would be a very good hiding place
for a small object. You know why, I’m sure?”

Harry shrugged, Hermione, however, answered: Harry thought that answering questions correctly was such a deeply
ingrained habit she could not suppress the urge. He found that endearingly cute.

“Because Snitches have flesh memories,” she said.

“What?” said Harry and Ron together; both thought that Hermione knew nothing about Quidditch.

“Correct,” said Scrimgeour. “A Snitch is not touched by bare skin before it is released, not even by the maker, who
wears gloves. It carries an enchantment by which it can identify the first human to lay hands upon it, in case of a
disputed capture. This Snitch—” he held up the tiny golden ball, “—will remember your touch, Potter. It occurs to me
that Dumbledore, who had prodigious magical skill, whatever his other faults, might have enchanted this Snitch so that
it will open only for you.”

Harry’s heart was beating rather fast. He was sure that Scrimgeour was right. How could he avoid taking the Snitch with
his bare hand in front of the Minister? He had to think of something fast.

“You don’t say anything,” said Scrimgeour. “Perhaps you already know what the Snitch contains?”

“No,” Harry said calmly, thinking of what to do. He then remembered that his wand was in his pocket.

“Take it,” Scrimgeour said quietly.

Harry shrugged with a smirk as he pulled out his wand. “Okay,” he said and with a swish and a flick, the Snitch flew out
of Scrimgeour’s hands. He tried to make a grab for it, but Harry flicked it again and it soared up the stairs.
Scrimgeour looked at Harry, his eyes wide, along with the others. “Where did you put it?”

“You think I would tell you? Is that all?” Harry asked as he stretched out his legs, preparing to get up until he saw
Rufus with a small smirk.

“Not quite. Dumbledore left you a second bequest, Potter.”

“What is it?” Harry said uneasily, wondering why Scrimgeour was smirking. He did not bother to read from the will this
time.

“The sword of Godric Gryffindor,” he said. Hermione and Ron both stiffened. Harry looked around for a sign of the
ruby-encrusted hilt, but Scrimgeour did not pull the sword from the leather pouch, which in any case looked much too
small to contain it.

“So, then where is it?”

“Unfortunately, that sword was not Dumbledore’s to give away. The sword of Godric Gryffindor is an important historical
artifact, and as such, belongs —”

“It belongs to Harry!” said Hermione hotly. “It chose him, he was the one who found it, it came to him out of the
Sorting Hat—!”

“According to reliable historical sources, the sword may present itself to any worthy Gryffindor,” said Scrimgeour.
“That does not make it the exclusive property of Mr. Potter, whatever Dumbledore may have decided.” Scrimgeour scratched
his badly shaven cheek, scrutinizing Harry. “Why do you think—”

“—he left it to me?” Harry finished, breathing through his nose. “Maybe because I’m a Gryffindor?”

“Was it because Dumbledore believed that only the sword of Godric Gryffindor could defeat the Heir of Slytherin? Did he
wish to give you that sword, Potter, because he believed, as do many, that you are the one destined to destroy
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

“Say ‘Voldemort’, you’re supposed to be our leader, for Merlin’s sake,” Harry said, rubbing his temple with his free
hand. “Let me answer your question with another one—has anyone ever tried sticking a sword in Voldemort? Has anyone ever
tried to get that close? Maybe the Ministry should put some people onto that, instead of wasting their time stripping
down Deluminators or covering up breakouts from Azkaban. So this is what you’ve been doing, Minister, shut up in your
office, trying to break open a Snitch? That’s one mystery solved. People are dying—we were nearly two of them—Voldemort
chased me and Hermione across three countries, he killed Mad-Eye Moody, but there’s no word about any of that from the
Ministry, has there? And you still expect us to cooperate with you?”

“You go too far!” shouted Scrimgeour, standing up. Scrimgeour limped toward Harry and jabbed him hard in the chest with
the point of his wand; It singed a hole in Harry’s t-shirt like a lit cigarette.

Before he could gloat, before Ron could stand with his wand out, and before Hermione could try to jump up and tackle him
(not in that order) his wand flicked out of his hand. Harry, using his Seeker skills, carefully moved his arm from
Hermione and caught it. He let his Phoenix wand join his other hand so two wands were facing a now shaking Scrimgeour,
who was slowly backing up. When he was at a safe distance from the Boy-Who-Lived, who was still seated, he smirked.

“Now, I’ll have an excuse to arrest you. Remember that I am not Dumbledore, who forgave your insolence and
insubordination. You may wear that scar like a crown, Potter, but it is not up to a seventeen-year-old boy to tell me
how to do my job! It’s time you learned some respect!”

“I’ll do that once you get off your lazy arse and actually do something to earn it.” Harry slowly stood up and grinned.
“And you can’t arrest us. I have caused no harm to you. Sure, I may have hurt what little pride you had left, but I
don’t think I can go to jail for hurting someone’s feelings. After all—Umbridge and Draco are free, right?” Harry looked
down at his shirt for a second. “Thanks for the present, Minister. I’ll make sure to show everyone how generous you
are.”

The floor trembled; there was a sound of running footsteps, then the door to the sitting room burst open and Mr. and
Mrs. Weasley ran in.

“We—we thought we heard—” began Mr. Weasley, looking thoroughly alarmed at the sight of Harry pointing two wands at the
Minister of Magic.

“—raised voices,” panted Mrs. Weasley.

Harry smirked and threw the wand back at the minister, who fumbled the wand and dropped. Hermione and Ron were trying to
contain their laughter throughout their whole ordeal, mirth in their eyes. And when Scrimgeour picked up his wand and
bustled out of the room, rushing past Mrs. Weasley, who followed, they broke into laughter, Hermione standing up and
leaning on Harry’s shoulder, trying not to fall down. Ron, between laughs said, “That—was—bloody brilliant!”

“Couldn’t have done it better myself,” said Hermione, wiping the tears of laughter from her face.

“Thanks,” Harry said, amused at seeing Hermione laughing at the most respected man in the Wizarding world.

A few seconds later, they heard Mrs. Weasley shout, “He’s gone!”

“What did he want?” Mr. Weasley asked, looking around at Harry, Ron, and Hermione as Mrs. Weasley came hurrying back to
them.

“Scrimgeour’s just now giving us what Dumbledore’s left us,” Harry said, “and then he started being a pain after that.”

Minutes later, outside in the garden, over the dinner tables, the two objects Scrimgeour had given them were passed from
hand to hand (save for Harry’s Snitch, which was safely in his get-away emergency bag. Everyone exclaimed over the
Deluminator and The Tales of Beedle the Bard and hated the fact that Scrimgeour had refused to give Harry the sword, but
none of them could offer any suggestion as to why Dumbledore would have left Harry an old Snitch. As Mr. Weasley
examined the Deluminator for the third or fourth time, Mrs. Weasley said tentatively, “Harry, dear, everyone’s awfully
hungry and we didn’t like to start without you…shall I serve dinner now?”

They all ate rather hurriedly and then after a hasty chorus of “Happy Birthday” (which almost brought Harry to tears—he
never heard that song sung to him before) and much gulping of cake, the party broke up. Hagrid, who was invited to the
wedding the following day, but was far too bulky to sleep in the overstretched Burrow, left to set up a tent for himself
in a neighboring field.

“Meet us upstairs after everyone’s gone to bed,” Harry whispered to Hermione, while they helped Mrs. Weasley restore the
garden to its normal state.

About a quarter hour later, up in the attic room, Ron examined his Deluminator, and Harry filled Hagrid’s mokeskin
purse, not with gold, but with those items he most prized, apparently worthless though some of them were the shard of
Sirius’s enchanted mirror, R.A.B.’s locket, and a small pocket-sized photo album with the same color as his eyes. He
pulled the string tight and slipped the pouch around his neck, then sat holding the old Snitch from the bag and watched
its wings flutter feebly. At last, Hermione tapped on the door and tiptoed inside.

“Muffliato,” she whispered, waving her wand in the direction of the stairs.

“Thought you didn’t approve of that spell?” said Ron.

Hermione looked over the room, and when her eyes brushed over Harry, she said, “Times change,” with a smirk. Harry
smirked back. Hermione then turned to Ron. “Let’s see the Deluminator.”

Ron obliged at once. Holding it up in front of him, he clicked it. The solitary lamp they had lit went out at once.

“The thing is,” whispered Hermione through the dark, “we could have achieved that with Peruvian Instant Darkness
Powder.”

There was a small click, and the ball of light from the lamp flew back to the ceiling and illuminated them all once
more. Hermione had moved to sitting next to Harry.

“Still, it’s cool,” said Ron, a little defensively. “And from what they said, Dumbledore invented it himself!”

“I know but, surely he wouldn’t have singled you out in his will just to help us turn out the lights! Although…”

“What if there was something else special about it?” Harry asked before another row started.

“I’m not sure about that,” Hermione said as she flipped through the pages of her new book, “but he did make it himself,
so it’s probable. Harry, could you go get the snitch, there’s a chance there’s instructions in it.”

“It didn’t work,” said Harry as he took the snitch back out of his pouch. “I touched it, and I put it in my
mouth—remember, I almost swallowed this before I touched it—but the only type of hint I got on it was this.” He kissed
it and handed it to Hermione. Hermione, looking extremely perplexed, just looked at the snitch and gasped at the slanted
words that appeared on it and immediately disappeared.

I open at the close.

“What does that mean?” Hermione slowly said.

“Is it some kind of code for us to figure it out?” Harry asked. “I mean, when has Dumbledore ever given us a straight
answer?”

“Well,” Hermione said, picking back up her book, “we’ll worry about that later. But why did he leave me a book? I’ve
never even heard of this?”

“You’ve never heard of The Tales of Beedle the Bard?” said Ron incredulously. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not,” said Hermione in surprise. “Do you know them then?”

“Well, of course I do!”

Harry was surprised for a second (for obvious reasons), before he thought of the title of the book. “Is that a book for
children, ‘cause it would explain why Hermione and I don’t know about that book, since we’re Muggle-raised. And it
sounds to me that everybody’s read it.”

Ron nodded. “It’s got all of these really old kid’s stories in it. ‘The Fountain of Fair Fortune’, ‘The Wizard and the
Hopping Pot’, ‘Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump’”… Harry and Hermione chuckled at this one.

“That’s a weird name,” Harry noted, “but why did he give us the book?”

“I don’t know,” Ron said, “another riddle, I guess.”

There was a crack downstairs.

“Probably just Charlie, now Mum’s asleep, sneaking off to re-grow his hair,” Ron said nervously.

Harry was confused for a second. When he grew his hair back, it just grew silently. He wasn’t even aware of it being
back to normal until he was swatted on the head for his freakiness costing her money. He shook his head from the past.
“We should still sleep, anyways,” He said as he went through the items in his bag one more time. “It’s getting late. I
want to be awake and ready tomorrow. It just might be the last day we’re going to see happiness for a while.”

<DH><HP><DH><2—2><DH><HP><DH>

Three o’clock on the following afternoon found Harry, Ron, Fred and George standing outside the great white marquee in
the orchard, awaiting the arrival of the wedding guests. Harry had taken a large dose of Polyjuice Potion and was now
the double of a redheaded Muggle boy from the local village, Ottery St. Catchpole, from whom Fred had stolen hairs using
a Summoning Charm. The plan was to introduce Harry as “Cousin Barmy” and trust to the great number of Weasley relatives
to camouflage him.

All four of them were clutching seating plans, so that they could help show people to the right seats. A host of
white-robed waiters had arrived an hour earlier, along with a golden jacketed band, and all of these Wizards were
currently sitting a short distance away under a tree. Harry could see a blue haze of pipe smoke issuing from the spot.
Behind Harry, the entrance to the marquee revealed rows and rows of fragile golden chairs set on either side of a long
purple carpet. The supporting poles were entwined with white and gold flowers. Fred and George had fastened an enormous
bunch of golden balloons over the exact point where Bill and Fleur would shortly become husband and wife. Outside,
butterflies and bees were hovering lazily over the grass and hedgerow. Harry was rather uncomfortable. The Muggle boy
whose appearance he was affecting was slightly fatter than him, but thanks to the wonders of magic, he had increased the
size of his fanciest Dress Robes, the one he wore several years prior.

“When I get married,” said Fred, tugging at the collar of his own robes, “I won’t be bothering with any of this
nonsense. You can all wear what you like, and I’ll put a full Body Bird Curse on Mum until it’s all over.”

“She wasn’t too bad this morning, considering,” said George. “Cried a bit about Percy not being here, but who wants him.
Oh blimey, brace yourselves, here they come, look!”

Brightly colored figures were appearing, one by one out of nowhere at the distant boundary of the yard. Within minutes a
procession had formed, which began to snake its way up through the garden toward the marquee. Exotic flowers and
bewitched birds fluttered on the witches’ hats, while precious gems glittered from many of the Wizards’ cravats; a hum
of excited chatter grew louder and louder, drowning the sound of the bees as the crowd approached the tent.

“Excellent, I think I see a few veela cousins,” said George, craning his neck for a better look. “They’ll need help
understanding our English customs; I’ll look after them…”

“Not so fast, Your Holeyness,” said Fred, and darting past the gaggle of middle-aged witches heading for the procession,
he said, “Here—permetiez moi to assister vous,” to a pair of pretty French girls, who giggled and allowed him to escort
them inside. George was left to deal with the middle-aged witches and Ron took charge of Mr. Weasley’s old
Ministry-colleague Perkins, while a rather deaf old couple fell to Harry’s lot.

“Wotcher,” said a familiar voice as he came out of the marquee again and found Tonks and Lupin at the front of the
queue. She had turned blonde for the occasion. “Arthur told us you were the one with the curly hair. Sorry about last
night,” she added in a whisper as Harry led them up the aisle. “The Ministry’s being very anti-werewolf at the moment
and we thought our presence might not do you any favors.”

“It’s fine, I understand,” said Harry, speaking more to Lupin than Tonks. Lupin gave him a swift smile, but as they
turned away Harry saw Lupin’s face fall again into lines of misery. He did not understand it; maybe it was marital
problems; but there was no time to dwell on the matter. Hagrid was causing a certain amount of disruption. Having
misunderstood Fred’s directions as he had sat himself, not upon the magically enlarged and reinforced seat set aside for
him in the back row, but on five sets that now resembled a large pile of golden matchsticks.

While Mr. Weasley repaired the damage and Hagrid shouted apologies to anybody who would listen, Harry hurried back to
the entrance to find Ron face-to-face with a most eccentric-looking Wizard. Slightly cross-eyed, with shoulder-length
white hair the texture of candyfloss, he wore a cap whose tassel dangled in front of his nose and robes of an
eye-watering shade of egg-yolk yellow. An odd symbol, rather like a triangular eye, glistened from a golden chain around
his neck. Harry had a pretty good idea who this man was, but wondered what the charm was on his necklace.

“Xenophilius Lovegood,” he said, extending a hand to Harry, “my daughter and I live just over the hill, so kind of the
good Weasleys to invite us. But I think you know my Luna?” he added to Ron and continued. “She lingered in that charming
little garden to say hello to the gnomes, such a glorious infestation! How few Wizards realize just how much we can
learn from the wise little gnomes—or, to give them their correct name, the Gernumbli gardensi.”

“Ours do know a lot of excellent swear words,” said Ron, “but I think Fred and George taught them those.”

He led a party of warlocks into the marquee as Luna rushed up.

“Hello, Harry!” she said.

“Er – my name’s Barmy,” said Harry, confused. He knew that Luna was…special, but he didn’t think anyone could see
through Polyjuice Potion.

“Oh, have you changed that too?” she asked brightly.

“How did you know—?”

“Oh, just your expression,” she said. “Do you have something for me?”

Harry blinked twice and tried his best not to channel Ron. A ‘Bloody Hell’ seemed necessary at the moment. “Um – yeah,”
he said as he pulled out a sheet of parchment and handed to her. “Don’t open it til you get to Hogwarts. Are you a
seer?” He couldn’t refrain himself from asking.

Luna only smiled at him mysteriously.

Like her father, Luna was wearing bright yellow robes, which she had accessorized with a large sunflower in her hair.
Once you get over the brightness of it all, the general effect was quite pleasant. At least there were no radishes
dangling from her ears. Apparently, Ron had noticed, as he kept taking small glances at her, but Harry didn’t know
whether Ron thought her dress looked ugly or very pretty. He gave no signs of a frown so Harry relaxed.

Xenophilius, who was deep in conversation with an acquaintance, had missed the exchange between Luna and Harry. Biding
the Wizard farewell, he turned to his daughter, who held up her finger and said, “Daddy, look—one of the gnomes actually
bit me.”

“How wonderful! Gnome saliva is enormously beneficial.” Said Mr. Lovegood, seizing Luna’s outstretched fingers and
examining the bleeding puncture marks. “Luna, my love, if you should feel any burgeoning talent today—perhaps an
unexpected urge to sing opera or to declaim in Mermish—do not repress it! You may have been gifted by the Gernumblies!”

Ron shook his head, honestly trying his hardest not to laugh, and slowly walked away.

“My father has done a lot of research on Gernumbli magic.” Luna said to Harry.

“Really?” he asked, who had long since decided not to challenge Luna or her father’s peculiar views. “Are you sure you
don’t want to put anything on that bite, though?”

“Oh, it’s fine,” said Luna, sucking her finger in a dreamy fashion and looking Harry up and down. “You look really nice,
Harry. I thought that you would wear bright colors for luck, but you really pull it off. I wonder if she’ll appreciate
it…” She said, seemingly to herself.

Before he could question her, she drifted off after her father. A second later, Ron reappeared with an elderly witch
clutching his arm. Her beaky nose, red-rimmed eyes, and leathery pink hat gave her the look of a bad-tempered flamingo.

“…and your hair’s much too long, Ronald, for a moment I thought you were Ginevra.” She said. “Merlin’s beard, what is
Xenophilius Lovegood wearing? He looks like an omelet. And who are you?” she barked at Harry.

“Oh yeah, Auntie Muriel, this is our cousin Barmy.” Ron explained. Apparently only the immediate Weasley Family and the
Order (and Luna) knows about the disguise.

“Another Weasley? You breed like gnomes. Isn’t Harry Potter here? I was hoping to meet him. I thought he was a friend of
yours, Ronald, or have you merely been boasting?”

“He couldn’t come.”

“Hmm. Made an excuse, did he? Not as gormless as he looks in press photographs, then. I’ve just been instructing the
bride on how best to wear my tiara,” she shouted at Harry. “Goblin-made, you know, and been in my family for centuries.
She’s a good-looking girl, but still – French. Well, well, find me a good seat, Ronald, I am a hundred and seven and I
ought not to be on my feet too long.”

Ron gave Harry a meaningful look as he passed and did not reappear for some time. When next they met at the entrance,
Harry had shown a dozen more people to their places, and was beginning to worry where Hermione was. “Nightmare, Muriel
is,” said Ron, mopping his forehead on his sleeve. “She used to come for Christmas every year, then, thank God, she took
offense because Fred and George set off a Dungbomb under her chair at dinner. Dad always says she’ll have written them
out of her will – like they care, they’re going to end up richer than anyone in the family, rate they’re—”

“Wow,” Harry interrupted, his eye’s practically bulging out at Hermione. She was wearing a floaty, lilac-colored dress
with matching high heels; her hair was sleek and shiny. Harry had never thought he had seen anyone more beautiful
before. “You look… really good.”

Hermione blushed. “Thanks, you look quite dashing yourself” she said. They both didn’t notice the frown on Ron’s face
for a few seconds.

Harry looked over Hermione’s shoulder and froze for a second. He’s seen this man before, a few years ago. He was a
little jealous over him for some reason, but he didn’t know why. Now he knew.

“Hermione,” Harry said, “Krum’s behind you.”

Hermione quickly looked back at Krum, smiled and waved a little. The man approached Ron, whose ears were red, and looked
at Hermione. “You look vunderful.”

Ron’s ears had turned bright red again. After glancing at Krum’s invitation as if he did not believe a word of it, he
said, much too loudly, “How come you’re here?”

“Fleur invited me,” said Krum, eyebrows raised.

Harry tried to shake off the feeling for a moment. He shook Viktor’s hand and showed him to his seat.

“Your friend is not pleased to see me, or is he a relative?” asked Krum, as they entered the now packed marquee.

“Cousin.” Harry muttered a little too grumpily, but Krum was not really listening. His appearance was causing a stir,
particularly amongst the veela cousins: He was, after all, a famous Quidditch player. Harry wondered how much gawking
everyone would do if he was out of his disguise. While people were still craning their necks to get a good look at him,
Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George came hurrying down the aisle.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron sat side-by-side in the second row. Ron’s ears were still scarlet. Hermione whispered to Harry,
“Why did he grow a beard? It looks so…weird.”

This brought a smile to Harry’s face. “You don’t like beards?” He rubbed his chin to show his stubble of the body he
borrowed.

Hermione giggled. ‘It’s good to actually hear the original giggle.’ “I like some beards. I kinda like your stolen beard.
Not Viktor’s, though. It looks pretty silly.”

“Maybe I should grow some stubble…” he said, more to himself. Hermione blushed.

A sense of jittery anticipation had filled the warm tent, the general murmuring broken by occasional spurts of excited
laughter. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley strolled up the aisle, smiling and waving at relatives; Mrs. Weasley was wearing a
brand-new set of amethyst colored robes with a matching hat.

A moment later Bill and Charlie stood up at the front of the marquee, both wearing dress robes, with larger white roses
in their buttonholes; Fred wolf-whistled and there was an outbreak of giggling from the veela cousins. Then the crowd
fell silent as music swelled from what seemed to be the golden balloons.

“Ooooh!” Hermione whispered, swiveling around in her seat to look at the entrance. Harry raised an eyebrow at her.
Something told him that this was the first magical wedding she had been to, also.

A great collective sigh issued from the assembled witches and Wizards as Monsieur Delacour and Fleur came walking up the
aisle, Fleur gliding, Monsieur Delacour bouncing and beaming. Fleur was wearing a very simple white dress and seemed to
be emitting a strong, silvery glow. While her radiance usually dimmed everyone else by comparison, today it beautified
everybody it fell upon. Ginny and Gabrielle, both wearing golden dresses, looked even prettier than usual and once Fleur
had reached for him, Bill did not look as though he had ever met Fenrir Greyback.

Hermione took a quick glance at Harry. He was looking at Ginny. Her heart felt as it was breaking for a second, until
she realized that he was roaming the aisle and just happened to look at Ginny the same time herself looked at Harry.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said a slightly singsong voice, and with a slight shock, Harry saw the same small, tufty-haired
wizard who had presided at Dumbledore’s funeral, now standing in front of Bill and Fleur. “We are gathered here today to
celebrate the union of two faithful souls…”

“Yes, my tiara set off the whole thing nicely,” said Auntie Muriel in a rather carrying whisper. “But I must say,
Ginevra’s dress is far too low cut.”

Ginny glanced around, grinning, winked at Harry, then quickly faced the front again. Hermione chanced to look at Harry
again. He almost groaned exasperatingly. Hermione smiled and looked up at the speaker.

“Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle…?”

In the front row, Mrs. Weasley and Madame Delacour were both sobbing quietly into scraps of lace. Trumpet-like sounds
from the back of the marquee told everyone that Hagrid had taken out one of his own tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs.
Harry noticed that Hermione’s eyes were also full of tears, so he conjured a handkerchief with his wand in his pocket.
He pulled out the handkerchief and handed it to Hermione, who gratefully accepted it.

“…then I declare you bonded for life.”

The tufty-haired Wizard waved his wand high over the heads of Bill and Fleur and a shower of silver stars fell upon
them, spiraling around their now entwined figures. As Fred and George led a round of applause, the golden balloons
overhead burst. Birds of paradise and tiny golden bells flew and floated out of them, adding their songs and chimes to
the din.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” called the tufty-haired Wizard. “If you would please stand up!”

They all did so, Auntie Muriel grumbling audibly. He waved his wand again. The chairs on which they had been sitting
rose gracefully into the air as the canvas walls of the marquee vanished, so that they stood beneath a canopy supported
by golden poles, with a glorious view of the sunlit orchard and surrounding countryside. Next, a pool of molten gold
spread from the center of the tent to form a gleaming dance floor; the hovering chairs grouped themselves around small,
white-clothed tables, which all floated gracefully back to earth round it, and the golden-jacketed band trooped toward a
podium.

“Smooth,” said Ron approvingly as the waiters popped up on all sides, some hearing silver trays of pumpkin juice,
butterbeer, and Firewhisky, others tottering piles of tarts and sandwiches.

“We should go and congratulate them!” said Hermione, standing on tiptoe to see the place where Bill and Fleur had
vanished amid a crowd of well-wishers.

“We’ll have time later,” shrugged Ron, snatching three butterbeers from a passing tray and handing one to Harry.
“Hermione, cop hold, let’s grab a table…Not there! Nowhere near Muriel…”

Ron led the way across the empty dance floor, glancing left and right as he went; Harry felt sure that he was keeping an
eye out for Krum. All of his jealousy disappeared when Hermione had complained about his beard, so he didn’t really care
if they sat next to Krum. By the time they had reached the other side of the marquee, most of the tables were occupied:
The emptiest was the one where Luna sat alone.

“All right if we join you?” asked Ron.

“Oh yes,” she said, a little dreamier for Luna standards. “Daddy’s just gone to give Bill and Fleur our present.”

“What is it, a lifetime’s supply of Gurdyroots?” asked Ron as he sat next to Luna, as Harry and Hermione were seated
together across.

Hermione kicked Ron under the table. Wincing and eye-watering, he didn’t hear Luna’s response.

“I like this song,” said Luna, swaying in time to the waltzlike tune, and a few seconds later she stood up and glided
onto the dance floor, where she revolved on the spot, quite alone, eyes closed and waving her arms.

“She’s great isn’t she?” said Ron admiringly. “Always good value.”

Harry whispered into Hermione’s ear, “Do you want a dance, Hermione?”

Hermione looked shocked for a second, but then said, “I’d be honoured.”

Harry smiled and took her hand. They walked onto the dance floor, leaving a very flustered Ron and an approaching
Viktor.

“Do you know how to dance now?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, a little.” Harry said as he put his arms around Hermione’s waist while Hermione put her arms around his neck.
They both blushed at the contact, but began to sway to the music, nonetheless.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, ‘Mione?”

Hermione blushed a bit more at the nickname, but continued. “Have you talked to the picture lately?”

“Well, I didn’t really have time, since I’m in a room with Ron. The picture ‘Mione told me not to ever let Ron see the
picture, but she never told me why.”

“He might be jealous.”

“That’s what I thought. He has a book to try to win you over, you know.”

“He does? What is it?” She asked, a mix of curiosity and anger in her voice.

“Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches. I didn’t tell you about that, though. If you happen to mention it, just say
that you saw my book while I wasn’t looking.”

“You have it, too?” Hermione asked, sounding a bit scandalized.

“It was a present from Ron and I hadn’t opened it,” Harry said immediately. “I think it’s cheating. Besides, witches are
already charmed by me,” he said while forming a lopsided grin that gave her trouble swaying with him to the music, “I
don’t think I have any actual charm, though.”

“You are definitely underestimating yourself with that statement, Harry,” Hermione said with a small blush.

Harry smiled again. “That’s good to hear.”

Hermione blushed a little more and rested her head on his chest. Harry smiled for a second and looked up to see Ginny a
distance away, glaring daggers at Hermione’s back, as if she wanted to pull out her wand on the spot. She started to
approach them until she saw Harry with a fierce look in his eyes that truly scared her. His glare spoke of power and
anger, and he did not know it, but the couples immediately around him were unnerved for a moment before dancing again.
His eyes flashed green for a moment. It sent a simple message. ‘Step off, ex.’ Ginny whimpered a little and slowly
walked away to find someone to dance with.

She would have a little talk with Hermione after the wedding, Ginny thought with rising anger.

After Harry breathed a silent breath of relief, he looked around to see an unusual sight. Ronald Weasley was dancing
with Luna Lovegood. He tapped Hermione’s shoulders, trying not to chuckle. She put her head up with a questioning look
before following Harry’s gaze, and smiled at the sight.

“Looks like Ron’s having fun.” She said happily.

“Looks like he is,” Harry agreed. He took another look at her. She looked heavenly, smiling like that. The words seemed
to escape from his mouth, “You know, you look really beautiful.” It took all Harry could not to cover his mouth with his
hands.

Hermione’s face made a new color. She gulped nervously. “Really?” She asked, mentally scolding herself for the
hopefulness pouring out of her. She decided to add, “I mean, Ron’s Aunt Muriel was talking about my ankles being too
skinny. I agree with her, but I want to know about my dress, mainly.”

“Hermione, Ron’s aunt talks about everyone. She even said something negative about Fleur. Believe me when I say that you
look perfect. You look even more beautiful than you did at the Yule Ball.”

Hermione almost gawked at him. He had called her beautiful…twice. He thought that he was beautiful at the Yule Ball,
too. “Th-thank you, Harry. It m-means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome, anytime.” Harry fumbled for a moment with the back of Hermione’s shawl before he said, “Sorry for
ruining the moment, but I’m pretty sure that you want to know that I had another vision yesterday morning.”

Hermione’s eyes widened a little in fear, before she breathed deeply and put her head on his chest again. “Go on.”

“He was looking for a man named Gregorovitch.”

“The wandmaker?”

“Wandmaker?” Harry asked.

“Yes. I read that next to Ollivander, he’s the most famous wandmaker in the Wizarding world.”

“So it has something to do with wands again? I think it has something to do with using a wand that can beat my phoenix
core wand.”

“So, what happened next?”

“Dunno, Ron woke me up.”

“He has impeccable timing, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, he really does.”

“Do you know anything about a wand that’s unbeatable?”

“No…It’s the wizard that controls the wand. The wand just chooses the caster. I don’t remember it having any other
special qualities.”

They elapsed into another moment of silence. Harry looked around to see Ron loosening up somewhat, still dancing with
Luna. He looked to his left and saw Ginny dancing with Viktor Krum, of all people. They were close to each other, but
Harry noted with a smile that he didn’t feel sad.

Hermione was in her own trance at this moment. She had always pictured this moment in her life, but never had she
believed it would happen. Well, not this exactly; she had pictured Harry as a mussy-haired green-eyed lean man instead
of a slightly pudgy red-head, but she wasn’t complaining, as she knew that it was Harry on the inside. She had wondered
what had ever made him ask her to dance with him. Did her picture threaten him? Did she bribe him? Or did she… no, she
couldn’t have…

Had she actually shown Harry that she was pretty?

If she had, she would always listen to her mother’s advice, as she was the one who bought the sundress for her. She
still felt disappointed by what she had done to her parents, changing their names to Wendell and Monica, sending them to
Australia, all memories of her blocked out. Her parents had understood, and had willingly asked for it all to be done,
but she would remember he talk she had with her mother.

They were silent, slowly rocking to the song, until Hermione’s feet tired. Since she did not want to finish dancing, she
decided to pick up a conversation with him.

“So…why did you break up with Ginny, Harry?” Harry chuckled at the way she seemed to fish for something to talk about.

“Like you don’t already know,” Harry said, still chuckling. “I saw the extendable ear, Hermione. You heard every word of
it.”

Hermione blushed, and Harry could almost feel the heat on her cheeks transfer to his chest.

“I-I was curious,” She said simply.

“About what?” Harry asked, trying hard to mask the hopefulness in his voice.

“Er, I thought she was going to go telling you not to go.” Hermione said half-truthfully.

“Oh. Well, I’ll accept that answer for now, Miss Granger,” Harry said in a stern tone.

Hermione gave a small chuckle and suddenly went quiet.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked her, worried.

Hermione sighed, but not the contented sigh that Harry would like to hear, but a resigned sigh. “We have to leave soon,
you know.”

“Yeah, we’ll probably have to leave tonight if my guess is right.”

“Why’s that? We need some rest, right?” Hermione asked curiously, but Harry could tell that she was still willing to
leave, and he could also hear suspicion in her voice.

“Death Eaters might attack here,” Harry whispered in her ear. She would’ve shivered at his hot breath if it wasn’t for
the urgent message that came with it.

“Yes, I have thought of that as a possibility,” Hermione said after a few seconds of silence.

“Why am I not surprised,” Harry muttered playfully, earning an equally playful swat on the back of his neck.

“As I was saying,” Hermione continued, “I took the liberty of packing some clothes for us and I have the bag here.” She
pointed to the purse on her shoulder. Harry hadn’t noticed the bag before and was surprised when he saw that it was made
out of leather and the color was green…emerald green.

“I see you have great taste in color,” Harry noted, coloring a bit. Hermione blushed also.

“Thanks,” she said. She leaned back and looked at him, her arms still around his neck, his hands still on her hips, and
she wished she could stay like that forever. She gave a sly grin. “You’ve been working on your moves, Mister.”

“Which ones?” Harry asked with waggled eyebrows.

“Both,” Hermione said, looking down. She had an incredible urge to kiss him on the cheek (or the corner of his mouth),
but she relented and looked down before the compulsion grew stronger.

Harry smiled at her as his stomach flipped. She looked incredibly beautiful. Who knew that pink cheeks could make her so
kissable? He had planned on talking to her, to confront and ask of her real feelings for him. He couldn’t ask her then,
or there would be a chance that she wouldn’t dance with him any more. He wanted it to last as long as it could and make
it as enjoyable as possible.

‘Then why not try and make it enjoyable?’ He asked himself. He finally decided…to hell with it.

He slowly lifted his hand up to cup her chin. She looked up at him in confusion for a second until she realized how
close they were. She didn’t look back down, and Harry took that as a sign. He leaned in closer to her, keeping his eyes
opened for any signal of her wanting him to stop.

She leaned in closer.

They closed their eyes at the same time.

They could’ve sworn that they saw fireworks in the corner of their eyes.

Before their lips touched, a deep baritone voice interrupted them. They opened their eyes at the same and turned around
to see the source of the interruption and the ‘fireworks’. It was in the middle of the dance floor; a bright and silver
lynx – a patronus, no doubt – standing on its hind legs with its mouth open. They knew it was Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”

* * *

Please review. Next chapter, the action starts. Of course you guys know this. Blame JK for the cliffhanger.

I know that about half (or more) have the exact wording of the book. But I’m breaking out of that. Slowly…

I don’t understand how people could think that this is a completely different book from the Seventh. ‘Deathly Hallows:
Take Two’ is a remake of ‘The Deathly Hallows’. The name is the same. Should the story be different? I don’t want to
make too many changes in the book too early. 1. More time for me. 2. More waiting time for you. 3. There’s a chance the
entire story will botch up, since I am still, for the most part, a beginner as a writer. Yet, since you all would like
it that way, then I guess you guys have to wait while I re-type some chapters.

It didn’t help that I got less reviews than expected, too. So I am more than obliged to accommodate your requests. So
longer waits, here you go!

TTFN, folks.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

5. Hidindg for Horcruxes

Chapter Five—Hiding for the Horcruxes

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, there would’ve been a Harem. He deserves it after all the things I made him do.

Warning: dark themes, here. The War begins with a bang...

* * *

It all happened in a slow motion sequence. Harry and Hermione looked at each other with serious expressions on their
faces and nodded after some non-verbal communication. They stepped back from each other and quickly drew their wands.
This was a time for happiness and joy for the most well-known light family in the Wizarding World. Of course Voldemort
or his lackeys were going to make an appearance. Many people were only just realizing that something strange had
happened; heads were still turning toward the silver cat as it vanished. Silence spread outward in cold ripples from the
place where the Patronus had landed. Then somebody screamed.

Hermione was about to run into the now quickly turning chaotic crowd before Harry grabbed her arm gently. Before she
could question him he rose up his wand toward the crowd and yelled, “Accio Ron!” He turned towards the Burrow’s
direction. “Accio escape bag!” Nothing happened for a second, just yells and shrieks and cracks of Dissapparition. Then
a figure flew over the heads of everyone still there towards them—a red-haired figure. Harry caught Ron with a grunt
while Hermione caught a black suitcase that seemed fairly small to pack a bunch of clothes. Harry grabbed Hermione’s arm
and looked at her again. They nodded and Hermione turned on the spot. Harry could’ve sworn he saw either a stray curse
or a perfectly aimed curse come his way, which most likely announced the arrival Death Eaters, depending on the spell
that was cast by the sickly purple color. Apparently Dolohov wasn’t the only one who knew that spell. Before he could
ponder this, the nauseating feeling of air leaving ones entire body overcame Harry. He felt like he was traveling
through space, and couldn’t breathe. He held a tighter grip on Hermione and Ron. When his feet touched the ground, Harry
chanced to open his eyes. He was on a sidewalk of a wide street. He looked over to Hermione curiously.

“We’re at Tottenham Camp Road,” Hermione said as she opened Harry’s bag a little. “It just popped into my head. Are you
and Ron alright?”

Harry looked down at Ron and noticed that his head had a small scrape on it. He also heard Ron’s ragged breathing
starting to ease. “I’m alright. He’s alright too, just out of it. I’m not sure if it was a stray curse or he got hit by
something when I summoned him. Should I revive him?”

Hermione looked around to see nobody watching at the moment. “Yes, please do that…we need to find somewhere to change…”

“What the bloody hell was that?”

Harry let Ron on the ground so he could walk on his own after reviving him. “Death Eaters, I think, came when we left. I
guess that means our little trip starts now?” Hermione nodded confirmation while Ron shook his head.

“I know that those were Death Eaters coming, but how did I fly through the air like that? And how did we get here? And
where are we? And why?”

“I summoned you, Hermione disapparated us, we’re on Tottenham Camp Road, and we need to change out of this,” Harry
replied, smiling at the overly curious redhead.

Hermione handed him the Cloak and some clothes. “Thanks for remembering to pack, Harry, and being prepared. I told you
about my bag, but I can’t open it now…too many organized books that might fall. I suggest you put on the cloak when no
one’s looking…Harry, this is an ingenious expansion charm!” She said with pride. How did you do it?”

“I asked Mrs. Weasley,” He said when they stepped into an alley. “I talked with her, and she finally decided that if we
were going to go, she would make sure we were going to be prepared. She actually said she was going to start baking
treacle tart tomorrow morning. Life is very unfair,” he muttered, causing Ron to laugh and Hermione to yell (in a
whisper) at Ron to stop attracting attention, although he could almost feel the smile when she yelled. He put on the
cloak and changed while Ron got his clothes from Hermione and she turned her back. “Where are your clothes, Hermione?”
Harry asked when he was done dressing.

“They’re in the bag, but I’m not going to change until we find some place to go… We could always go to my house, but
it’s not really a safe place to go. Grimmauld Place is out because Snape can go there—”

“Wouldn’t they have protection there against Snape? It’s not like they left him a note at the front porch telling him to
stay out or something.”

Hermione chuckled a bit but flinched as two drunks across the street yelled to her.

“All right, darling?” the drunkest of the men yelled. “Fancy a—?”

But he stopped in mid-sentence. Hermione looked across the street in curiosity to see that he was still yelling, but no
sound came out of his mouth. She looked at Ron questionably. He shrugged. When she was about to ask if Harry did it, she
heard a whisper in her ear.

“Silencing charms are a wonderful spell, aren’t they?” Hermione laughed.

“Let’s sit here,” Hermione said after a few seconds of looking at the places of where to rest, looking at an all-night
café. Harry casually walked in and clipped to the first table with Hermione following, leaving Ron to sit on the
opposite, his back facing the door. Harry could finally feel the Polyjuice effects wearing off and his body returning to
normal. He snuck out his wand and shrunk his clothes to fit him. He put back on his glasses when Ron said, “You, know,
we’re not far from the Leaky Cauldron here—”

“It’ll be easy to find us there!” Harry whispered urgently.

“I know, but we need to know what’s going on, at least.”

“Voldemort’s taken over the Ministry. Anything else?”

“Okay…no, I guess that’s about it.”

The waitress came over and Hermione ordered three cappuccinos: she said two for her and one for Ron. Harry had to
remember to thank her later, as he knew that she wasn’t going to drink two. A pair of strong looking workmen entered the
café and squeezed into the next booth. He felt something buzzing in his pocket, but he was too busy eyeing one of them
suspiciously. He whispered to Hermione, “That guy looks familiar.”

She turned her head to look back at them and Harry could swear that she froze up for a second as a small wheeze came
from the back of her throat, causing his heart to skip a beat. She quickly looked back, her eyes wide. “I would know
that face anywhere,” She said to herself, but Harry heard her. “That’s…that’s…”

“Who is it, Hermione?” Harry asked, worried. “Is it a Death Eater?” She slowly, hesitantly nodded. Harry looked over at
the two men, who were taking discreet glances at them. He finally remembered who he was. He had to choke back a growl.
“Dolohov,” He said in a low, anger-filled voice.

Ron tensed. “W-what?” he said softly.

Hermione shushed him quickly and quietly. “Be quiet, Ron!” She whispered as Harry lifted his legs up and sat with his
feet on the seat. “And don’t make a scene, Harry,” Hermione said, sensing his movement.

“It’s not like they aren’t going to,” Harry, said, his voice soft, but Hermione could feel the anger in him at the
moment. Apparently, he could remember that night at the Ministry quite well. There was still a small mark on her chest
from that incident. “Besides, this is just the element of surprise on our side. I’ll be right back. I have some
unfinished business to attend to.” He raised himself to full height and jumped over the seat swiftly and silently. Wand
still in hand, he crouched down low and whispered to Hermione, “Act normal and don’t try to leave until I cast a spell.
And I would look away if I were you.”

“Harry, wait!”

“Yes,” Harry asked patiently, his eyes still focused on the ‘workmen’.

“I-…I- be careful,” She stuttered softly, tears filling her eyes.

He tore his eyes away from them and looked at her for a second. “You, too,” He said just as soft and looked back at
them. He raised his wand at the Death Eaters, who were oblivious to the approaching Wizard. He took a few steps closer
and pointed it at the back of Dolohov’s head. He waited until the waitress was rudely waved away from their table and
let all of the anger and pure hatred that he had on Dolohov for over a year transfer into one word.

“REDUCTO!”

The dazzlingly bright red beam shot out of his wand and through the cloak towards Dolohov and hit him straight in the
nose when he tried to face the man who chanted the spell. He was blown back brutally into his partner, his entire head
now missing, his crimson blood sprayed, covering a fairly large section of the restaurant.

The waitress seemed to freeze for a moment in horror before she screamed and ran for the door.

“What the hell—Dolohov!” He said after finally figuring what happened. A beheaded figure was lying on top of him, the
caster unknown, while his targets ran out of the restaurant at full speed. It looks like he wasn’t going to get paid
after all.

He saw a spell that seemed to appear out of nowhere shoot at the waitress, hitting her in the back into the waiting arms
of the Mudblood who he struck a year ago and took his chance. “Expulso!” He yelled towards the invisible source, and was
amazed and frightened to see it hitting a shield that he couldn’t see before, barely two feet away from him. He scuttled
out from underneath the body before he saw a red jet coming towards him and his wand force out of his hand, seeming to
stop in mid-air. Seconds later, he felt something hard and fairly big stamp his chest and he cried out painfully from
the force. He started blinking fast from the pain, not noticing his wand being thrown higher into the air, and after a
rustling sound, he opened his eyes wide to find the Boy-Who-Lived pointing a wand at him, and a second later, another
wand that seemed to come from the sky. He realized with fright that it was his own wand.

“How did you find us?” Harry asked with a deadly calm, pointing his wand at the Death Eater’s throat. He definitely did
not look like the boy he remembered before.

Ron and Hermione came back in the café, carrying the waitress. “Harry, we obliviated her, we—Harry, what did you do?!”
She half-screeched. Ron was so shocked that he dropped the woman’s legs on the ground.

“I killed him,” Harry said as he took his new wand and pointed it at the waitress. With a swish and flick, the woman’s
body was raised and her body was taken behind the counter and in a chair, assuming a sleeping position. His Phoenix wand
was trained on the Death Eater the entire time. “Sorry you had to see his body,” He continued sincerely.

“Harry…you just can’t kill him!”

“I already did. He didn’t hesitate to try to kill you, so I didn’t when I tried to kill him. Only I succeeded. I’m
sorry.”

Hermione understood his logic, but the shock of Harry killing a human being was discomforting. Would she have to get
used to it? Was he going to do it again? She would have a talk with him later. “Th-that’s okay,” she stuttered as she
walked over to Harry. She stopped and looked at the man who had permanently scarred her. She kicked him on the side
roughly. “I didn’t see you cast the spell. I just heard you shout and I ran outside to wait. It was just a shock, is
all.”

Harry nodded at her with a smile, looking at the Death Eater through the corner of his eye. “Ron, turn off the lights
and close the door.”

With a bit of fumbling, then a click of the Deluminator and a click of the lock on the door, Harry’s wand ignited at the
tip, showing the newly-scared Death Eater. “Look, you, I don’t know what your name is, and frankly, I don’t care. How
the hell did you find us?” Harry asked the man.

The man gave a grin, but Harry could tell that he was trying to mask his fear unsuccessfully. “Never underestimate the
power of The Dark Lord. He always know where you are.”

“Cut the bull,” Harry yelled as he stuck the wand to the burly man’s throat. “I don’t have the Trace on me, so tell me
how you found us. I’m loosing my patience!” Harry narrowed his eyes and pushed his foot down harder, causing the man to
scream. Harry sighed, frustrated as he realized the Death Eater wasn’t going to say any more. “Hermione, could you
please Obliviate this guy and Ron, please start cleaning up this place. I’ll get rid of the body.” He pointed his wand
at the decapitated body and said, “Incedio,” softly. The moment the spell hit the body, Harry placed an opaque shield
around him so no one could see a body burn up in flames.

By this time, Hermione carefully stepped over to Harry and pointed her wand at the man’s face. “Obliviate,” she said
nervously. The man’s eyes became unfocused and dreamy.

Harry stepped off and looked over to Hermione. “Bloody brilliant,” he said, a bit of pride in his voice.

She blushed at his praise, but before she could thank him, Ron absently noted while he was repairing the window, “You
know, that looks a lot like Luna’s complexion.”

Harry and Hermione both smiled, but didn’t say anything else on the matter.

“We need to go somewhere,” Harry said as he turned off the shield. Black smoke immediately rose out, and black dust fell
on the ground in a pile. Harry pointed his wand at the pile and repeatedly waved his wand. The dust swirled around and
scattered around the café until they were unnoticeable specks on the floor that needed to be swept up. “I still
recommend we go to Grimmauld Place.”

“I know, Harry,” Hermione said as she Scourgified all of the blood and turned the table back up, “but what if Snape is
there?”

“We’ll just look around it. There’s three of us and one of him. And I still think that the house has protections around
it. We don’t have any other choice. But I still need to figure out how they tracked us. We should at least stay there
until we find out what mistake we made. It’s still unplottable, so we’re still safe. And besides, if Snape is there,
we’ll have another head to mount next to the elves,” He replied with a sadistic grin.

Hermione thought for a second, then nodded. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Harry,” she smiled.

Harry gave a genuine smile as he levitated the man outside and onto the sidewalk. “Yeah, well, not all of us can know
everything.”

“True,” she replied as she and Ron followed, clicking the light with the Deluminator as he did so.

They turned to the waitress and Hermione reversed her spell. She immediately grabbed Ron’s arm and Harry’s hand and
Dissapparated. As it turned out, Harry was getting a bit used to traveling this way now. The summer workouts did
wonders; now that he didn’t have such a fragile ribcage before, he could just hold in his breath when he succumbed into
darkness. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the familiar, albeit gloomy home of 12 Grimmauld Place. He walked up to
it, still absently holding Hermione’s hand while Ron followed the pair, lightly scowling, and tapped his wand on the
door. He could hear several clicks of metal locks and the door swung open. They slowly stepped inside, Harry going in
first.

When Ron closed the door behind him, old-fashioned gas lamps sprang to life he saw the dingy, dirty, cobwebbed, yet
familiar surroundings of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. “Stay close for any jinxes,” Harry said as he took a step
forward.

“Severus Snape?” The voice of Mad-Eye Moody asked from seemingly nowhere. At first, Harry thought he was delusional. ‘He
can’t be alive…can he?’ But he came back to reality a second later. This was the trap. “Duck,” Harry yelled. They all
ducked as a slight breeze blew over their heads. They stayed there for a second, Hermione using her other hand to grab
Harry’s arm, for her safety or his reassurance, he did not know. Harry looked behind him to see Ron still standing, two
of his fingers in his mouth. “Ron?” Harry asked in a bit of an alarm. Hermione’s head snapped back as Ron took his
fingers out of his mouth.

“S’alright,” he mumbled, trying to stretch out his tongue. “Only a tongue tying curse.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and stood up slowly, Hermione coming up with him, not letting go of him. Not that he was
complaining. “Is that it?” He asked. That couldn’t have been it. He took another step forward. Something shifted in the
shadows at the end of the hall, and when Harry pointed his wand at it in a flash. A figure had risen up out of the
carpet, covered in dust, or in dust color, Harry couldn’t tell; what he was worried about was the shape of the figure.
Hermione gasped and clung tighter to his left arm as the figure glided toward them, faster and faster. He could even
feel Ron pale behind him. It glided and it held a hand up towards Harry. Harry could see Hermione trying to step in
front of him and he knew he had to act.

“We didn’t kill you, Head—!” He started calmly, but on the word ‘kill’, the apparently fake Dumbledore exploded in a
huge cloud of dust. Harry quickly put up a shield so they wouldn’t be affected by the dust.

“Harry,” Hermione said, a little timidly. “That was…”

“A dust zombie?” Harry asked incredulously. At Hermione’s confused look he continued. “I mean, this is Snape we’re
talking about. A Defense Against the Dark Arts Prof—”

But he was cut off by Sirius’s mother’s portrait. “Mudbloods, filth, stains of dishonor, taint of shame—!!”

Whatever she would have said next would never be heard. Harry pulled out a glowing, pale blue knife from his pocket, and
with a deadly accuracy, he threw it as hard as he could at the portrait, slicing into her head. Her screams filled the
entire house and Harry quickly ran towards the portrait and grabbed the handle. He slashed across the portrait and
endured her screams until they were muffled and slowly dying. He slowly pulled out the knife, sweating a little. That
was a tough portrait. He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead as he looked over at Hermione and Ron and smirked at
their gobsmacked expressions. “I think Sirius wanted me to do that.”

Hermione smiled at him and shook her head. “Is that Sirius’s knife?” At Harry’s nod, she walked over to him and looked
at the knife. It looked the same as it did when Sirius gave it to him. “H- how did you get that fixed?”

Harry shrugged. “I just took all of the charms off of it ‘til it was a normal knife, then I cast ‘Reparo’, and then I
put the charms back on there. It was easy, really. I did it when I had some time before Mrs. Weasley came to check on
me.”

Hermione groaned. “I tried every spell I could, and I still couldn’t get it. It was that simple?”

Before he could apologize, a familiar flare of his scar came to him. He let out a gasp of pain. He suddenly saw a large
shadow and a flash of absolute rage like electricity through his body, if only a shock.

“Harry!” A familiar voice screamed. He opened his eyes to see Hermione looking at him frightfully, not out of being
scared, but concern. “Harry, did your scar…” She stopped at his shaky nod.

“What did you see?” Ron asked, advancing on Harry. “Did you see him at my place?”

“No,” Harry gasped out, “he’s just really angry… really angry—”

“But that could be at the Burrow!” Ron yelled. “What else? Didn’t you see—”

Hermione interrupted him. “Ron, shut up! Give Harry a moment! I don’t think he saw a vision. It was too short.”

Ron gave Hermione a fierce glare, but she couldn’t see, as all of her attention was focused on Harry. “Harry, are you
okay?”

Harry gave a shaky smile. “Ye—well, not really,” he switched courses as he saw the glare from Hermione that said ‘Don’t
you even try!’ Hermione then smiled and led him up the steps. “Boys and their pride,” she snorted as Harry tried to lean
off of her and walk up the steps on his own, only to immediately fall back onto Hermione’s embrace.

“I had to try at least,” Harry grumbled, although he liked leaning on Hermione if she let him. “Gryffindor lion pride
and all that.”

When they reached the top steps, a silver patronus flew through the window and landed on the floor in front of them. It
slowly morphed into a weasel, and by the time Ron reached the top, it spoke as the voice of Mr. Weasley.

“Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched.” The weasel then disappeared.

“Oh, thank God,” she whispered as she shivered slightly in the cold room. Knowing that the Weasleys were safe, Harry’s
happiness overcame the pain in his scar. He straightened up and placed warming charms around the room while Ron dropped
onto the sofa unceremoniously and smiled, then he frowned. “Er, Harry, I’m sorry. I just flew off the handle a bit. I—”

“It’s alright, Ron,” Harry said, putting his hand on his forehead. “I understand. You were worried. I’d feel the same
way.” He then felt a slightly damp washcloth touch his forehead. “Thanks,” he whispered, sending a grateful smile at
Hermione.

“You’re welcome. It’s a curse scar, so I don’t know if it’s working. Is it?”

“A little—ah!” He gasped as the scar was reaching its peak. He fell into Hermione’s immediately outstretched arms and a
much longer shock of rage split through him as he was sent into another vision. He saw a large, blond Death Eater
writhing on the floor of a dimly lit room. He tried to open his mouth and speak, but it would not move. He was looking
through Voldemort’s eyes, he knew. He felt another mouth open far away, and guessed that it was his own. When Voldemort
finally spoke, Harry mimicked his own mouth to match his second.

“More, Rowle, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini? Lord Voldemort is not sure that he will forgive this time. You
called me back for this, to tell me that Harry Potter has escaped again? Draco, give Rowle another taste of our
displeasure. Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!”

A log fell in the fire, its flames licked out, lighting the room for a fraction of a second, giving Harry a short view
of Draco’s terrified and paler than usual face.

He blearily opened his eyes to see an alarmingly pale Ron, but his vision was blurry. He looked around for a second for
his glasses until he realized they were still on. Then the blurriness slowly disappeared, and Harry finally realized
that it was Hermione’s brown hair that was blurring his vision. Hermione was clinging to him tightly, silently sobbing.
He realized that he was lying on the sofa. He gave a small groan to alert her that he was awake. Hermione shot up and
looked at him for a second, eyes glistening with many tears, and hugged him even tighter, her face burying itself in his
neck.

“I thought we lost you… I thought I…” her voice trailed away, muffled by his neck.

“Bloody Hell,” Ron whispered at the same time.

“Ron,” Harry rasped out. “C-could you… wa-ter…?”

Ron immediately ran downstairs to get some water. Just as his head was out of view, Harry turned his head to Hermione.
“D-did you hear?”

Hermione nodded quickly, her long brown locks trying to keep up. “Did that ever happen before?”

Harry shook his head, but immediately regretted it when his head started to ache again. “I mimicked his voice… so you
c-could hear. For some reason…he doesn’t know about…the second attempt at killing us.”

Hermione crinkled her brow, tickling Harry’s neck. “How could he not know?”

There was silence for a moment. They could hear a small trickling of water downstairs. Finally Hermione spoke.

“Harry… at the wedding…”

“What happened and why d-did it?” he finished her sentence. She nodded and he continued. “I don’t know, really. I mean
did you want that to happen, well, what was about to happen? You c-couldn’t say ‘heat of the moment’ because that
happened afterwards.” Seeing her hesitation, Harry whispered, “I don’t know about you, and you probably didn’t mean to
do it, but I did. Sorry.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise. “You… you did?” She asked hopefully. Not waiting for an answer, she looked down and
muttered, “Well, I guess that makes the two of us.”

Harry would have leaped for joy if it wasn’t for the fact that his head was splitting open in pain. At least one of his
questions was answered during the summer. Hermione fancied him, at least.

Silence followed. This time, companionable silence. Hermione reached out to hold Harry’s hand while Harry gratefully
smiled at her. This time, Harry broke the silence.

“Hermione…I have to show you something… tonight. It’s about the Horcruxes. Okay?”

Hermione gently squeezed his hand as she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. “Of course Harry,” she whispered, “but
you need your sleep, and I don’t think the middle of the night is wise. I really don’t like this place. Is eight o’
clock alright?”

Harry nodded as Ron bounded into the room with a tall glass of water. “Thanks,” he muttered as he drunk the cold water
almost steadily and placed it on the floor next to him. Ron nodded and walked away from them back to the kitchen,
preferably to get something to eat. Harry looked at Hermione one last time with a smile, receiving one in return, then
faded off into the sleep he desperately needed, the scar’s pain residing. He felt his glasses being removed by gentle
hands before he blacked out.

(DH)(HP)(DH)(Take-Two)(DH)(HP)(DH)

“Harry,” a gentle voice whispered, “Wake up. It’s eight.”

Harry slowly opened his eyes to sight that he wished he could wake up in the morning to see: Hermione. He saw that his
glasses were placed on his face. He smiled his thanks and slowly sat up from the bed. “G’morning, Hermione,” He
whispered.

“Good morning to you too, Harry. How is your scar?” She said after a few seconds.

“I don’t feel it now, but I got a twinge every now and then when I was sleeping.” He whispered as he looked around the
room. He noticed that Ron was on the other side of the room, snoring quite loudly. He was about to ask Hermione where
she slept when he stood up from the sofa when he noticed that there were a pair of cushions next to the sofa and
Hermione was sitting on them, now standing up. He smiled at her and she blushed heavily when she realized what he was
looking at before. “Y’know, I knew I was holding someone’s hand in my sleep,” He said softly, but made sure Hermione
could hear.

“So, um, you said something about a Horcrux,” She said, trying to avoid her embarrassment.

Harry grinned at her before turning serious. “Yeah… and if I’m right,” He said, grasping Hermione’s hand and silently
gestured for her to follow, which she obliged, “I think one is here.”

He heard a gasp of excitement. “Harry are you sure? A Horcrux in Grimmauld Place? Certainly the Order would’ve found it
by now.” By now, her voice changed to disappointment.

“I think we did pick it up once,” Harry said as he went down the steps to the family tapestry. He stared at it for a few
seconds, as if looking for a name, then smiled. “Yeah, we did.” He turned to Hermione. “Okay, I was talking to your
photo about who RAB was, and we thought about all of the families that had ‘B’ as a last initial. Suffice to say, the
first name that came up in my mind was ‘Black’.” He stopped for a moment, and could almost see Hermione mentally
slapping herself. “Then we talked about any clues the note left us. The only clue we saw was that he said, ‘To the Dark
Lord’. I would guess that he had to be a Death Eater since they call Voldemort ‘Dark Lord’ and ‘My Lord’. Sirius told me
about his brother once. He was a Death Eater, and Voldemort himself killed him, or so he heard.” At Hermione’s slow nod,
he continued by pointing at a name on the tapestry.

Regulus Arcturus Black
1961-1979

Hermione gave a small squeal and hugged Harry tightly. “You found R.A.B.! You found him!” She whispered excitedly.

“Technically, you found him,” Harry said as he hugged her back, “but we still hadn’t found the locket. It’s the one that
we had a couple of years ago, but it wouldn’t open. I should have noticed it, though. It had an ‘S’ on it, not a ‘B’! It
was the Slytherin locket, and I missed it.”

“No, Harry,” Hermione said as she pulled him along by the hand somewhere, “we missed it. We all held it and we just put
it in a box. Oh, I hope it’s still in there…”

“Where?” He asked curiously.

“Here,” Hermione said after a few more seconds of walking, “right here.”

Harry looked on the door to read:

Do Not Enter
Without the Express Permission of
Regulus Arcturus Black

Hermione pointed her wand at the door and whispered excitedly, ‘Alohamora!’ There was a click and Hermione swung the
door open. The first thing that Harry noticed were the Slytherin colors, silver and green, all around the room; covering
the bed, draping the windows, and painting the walls. He saw the crest over the bed excellently painted.

“Nice room,” Harry commented, “but it looks like it’s been trashed.”

“Yeah,” Hermione replied as she looked around, “I like the color green. Emerald’s my favorite, you know.”

Harry felt his face burn as Hermione smirked and raised her wand again towards the room. She said in a soft, firm voice,
“Homenum Revelio.”

When nothing happened, Harry turned to her, his embarrassment forgotten for the moment. “What did it do?” He asked
curiously.

“It checked for any dark magic or traps,” Hermione said calmly as he stepped inside and went straight to his bed, which
had old newspaper clippings. She flipped through them, and when Harry stepped closer, he saw that they were all about
Voldemort. He could see some green in almost all of the pictures, and wondered if they were killing curses in battle or
the Dark Mark. He shrugged and walked over to the desk. He saw a picture in a frame, the people inside waving at him. He
saw the crests on their robes with a small snake on it. He also noticed that there were eighteen people in the frame, in
two rows.

“They’re Quidditch players,” Harry mumbled as he looked closer at the picture. He could easily tell which one was
Regulus. He was in the middle, in the front row. If he was in the middle, then—

“He was seeker,” Hermione said silently, almost making Harry visibly jump. He didn’t notice her approaching. “I mean he
was seeker, right? I mean, he’s in the middle, and if you look close enough, he’s holding a snitch, I think.”

Harry turned to face her. “How did you know that seekers are in the middle?” He asked. “He could’ve been captain?”

This time it was Hermione’s turn to blush as she mumbled something intelligibly.

Harry’s eyebrow rose, but decided that he shouldn’t probe any further. He walked around her to the wardrobe to look
around. He got on his knees to crawl under. A few seconds later, he heard Hermione’s voice.

“Harry? Why did you ask to meet me and didn’t tell Ron?”

“Oh. Umm…” He backed out of the closet and got on his feet, shaking his legs to continue the circulation as he did so.
“I wanted to ask you to help me look for a picture of Sirius so I could add to the picture book.”

“Oh.” Harry noticed her crestfallen look.

“Hermione,” he started slowly, half- afraid of the answer, “there’s something… more… between us, isn’t it?”

“Well, I thought that was obvious,” she said, still looking down, her feet softly kicking the emerald carpet.

“So… you really do like…?”

“Yes,” she said in a whisper. She looked up at him with glistening eyes. “Do you?”

Harry could do nothing but nod dumbly, but a second later he choked out, “Yeah.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You do? But… how? And why would you?”

“How could I not?” Harry asked, confused. “And, just so I’m not confused, we’re talking about me liking you, right?”

“Yes, that’s what we were talking about…but… I’m a bossy bookworm, you of all people should know that!” She spoke in a
hard whisper.

Harry walked forward to her and cupped her chin, forcing her to look in his eyes. “I never complained about it before.
That was Ron. And I don’t really care if you’re bossy or a bookworm. If you weren’t bossy, I would’ve never left first
year. And if you weren’t a bookworm, then I would’ve been dead a long time ago. Probably by the end of first year…”

Hermione gave a sad smile, and wiped away a tear. “I have to admit, you would be dead without my help, but I would’ve
been dead in my first year and, if I remember, almost every year after that. I fear that I need you to live,” she said
with a grin.

Harry smiled back as he let go of her chin and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You’re strong, Hermione. You could
live without me. I’m not exactly expected to live, after all…”

“Harry,” she said in a warning tone.

“I’m sorry, ‘Mione,” He said, frustrated that she wouldn’t see reality, “but you know it’s the truth. I either have to
kill Voldemort or be killed. And I really don’t think I can do what Dumbledore failed to do. I just can’t—”

“You can,” Hermione said fiercely, but softly as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I know you can. I won’t let you
feel any different. All you need…” she said as she stood up on her toes, keeping her face inches from Harry’s, “… is
hope.” She finished by pulling him into a tender kiss.

Harry’s breath hitched when their lips met, but immediately replied. It was nothing like he had ever felt before. Harry
felt that he didn’t need his Firebolt anyway, he was soaring so high. He felt hope, power, Desperation, and… love. That
was the strongest feeling. Harry didn’t know it was possible to feel anything in a kiss. It just felt so…

“Wow,” Harry said silently when they parted seconds later, red-faced and content.

“Yeah,” Hermione said in a somewhat dazed expression. Harry had to suppress a snigger; he never thought that Hermione
could look like Luna.

“So… are we…?” Hermione started hopefully.

“Together?” Harry finished, just as hopeful. Hermione slowly nodded, her smile growing, eyes glistening. “Well… as much
as I want to… I can’t say that you’ll be in danger, because you’re here with me, and Voldemort already knows that you’ve
been my best friend for six years. But there is one problem…”

“Ron?” Hermione said tensely, the smile now morphing into a small frown.

“Yeah. He’s my best mate, he’s done so much for me, and I know he likes you. He’ll think I betrayed him or something.
What do you think we should do?”

“Keep it a secret?” She said the first thing that came to her mind. She knew that Harry wouldn’t want to do that.

“We can’t go behind his back.” Hermione noted that Harry was not irritated or appalled by her suggestion. Something told
her that Harry had considered it. His next statement confirmed it. “No matter how much I want to, we can’t.”

He turned to face her. He wasn’t even aware that he had been pacing, but mentally shrugged it off. He took on a look of
sadness and averted his eyes after a second. “I really don’t think that we should… you know… be together.”

Hermione had to choke back something between a gasp and a sob, releasing as a small whimper. She knew that he was going
to say it, she was thinking it herself, as she knew that’s what they eventually had to choose to do. But she wasn’t
prepared to hear it. It sort of made it… final… when pronounced out loud. Her tears of happiness were replaced with a
tear of sorrow and anguish. It was going to be hard for her to be nice to Ron from then on.

She once again felt a hand cup her chin. She looked up into those brilliant, but sad green orbs. “For the moment,
Hermione,” He whispered as he put the other arm around her waist. “I don’t mean forever, I mean for the moment.” Harry
gave a small smile. “For the greater good, ‘Mione.”

Despite the circumstances, Hermione chuckled a little. “Why does that saying come up in the worst of situations?”

“Alas, that is one of life’s greatest mysteries, my dear Ms. Granger. I must contemplate this issue when the time is
right; for now, let us go and feast on some lemon drops.”

Hermione had a full-on laugh at his raspy voice imitation. “Let’s go to bed, Harry.”

“As appealing as that sounds,” Harry said in a suggestive tone that made her blush, “I want to look around for a picture
of Sirius and for the locket, if it’s here. It is morning, after all.”

“Yeah, but since this place has only two windows, I wouldn’t know. This place needs some redecorating. I’ll help you,
but earlier, when I looked around in Sirius’s room, I didn’t see any single pictures.” Harry saw that she hesitated for
a moment before she added, “And Harry, I forgot to tell you something about the album.”

“Yeah,” He asked.

“It only works for Muggle pictures. I found out that a Wizarding picture has small recording cycle motions, you see. And
they can’t talk. It took me a long time to manipulate the album to take the signature of a regular Muggle picture, but
Wizarding pictures have too many spells on them already. It is more of several pictures into one, actually. More like a
fast slideshow. Possibly, I might be able to take a Muggle picture of a Wizard picture, but I don’t think the person
will be comfortable in the picture when it’s placed in the album.”

“Why not?” Harry asked.

“Because…well…okay, think of this. The quality of an old picture is pretty bad, right?” Harry nodded. “But the Wizard
picture was made that way, if it gets older, then the picture becomes older. But if you take a picture of an old
picture, and trying to get only one face in a group picture, it becomes a little…distorted.”

“I imagine that’ll probably hurt… but can pictures feel?”

“Have you ever thrown a picture in the fire or lit one.”

“Ohhh,” Harry said after a second, remembering a certain reporter screaming in pain when he threw away her toilet paper
Prophet. Music to his ears.

They spent more time talking about the advantages and disadvantages of the photo album, and after Harry’s constant
reassurances that it was still the best present that he ever received, they spread around the room, looking for a photo,
and if found, a locket with a green ‘S’.

While they were looking, not knowing how long they were searching, they heard a sound. “Ron,” they said to each other
with a smile. They resumed their business as they heard footsteps getting closer. They waited until Ron came crashing
into the room. Hermione looked up at him, her hair tied back. He looked furious for some reason, but calmed when he
actually noticed them. ‘Of course,’ she thought with little regret, ‘He thought we were snogging behind his back. If
only!’

“This is what you two been doing?” He asked exasperatedly. “What are you doing anyway?”

“Good morning to you too, Ron,” Hermione said grumpily as she stood up and wiped off the dust off her flannel pajamas.
Harry, with his sweaty mop almost covering his eyes gave a small wave to Ron and disappeared into the closet to hold
back a snigger (and his blush from earlier). “We were looking for the locket. Harry found him; Regulus A. Black,
Sirius’s brother.”

Ron quickly stepped back and checked the outside of the door to confirm it. He then came back into the room and looked
around from the middle. “But he’s a Black,” Ron said uneasily. “Why would he want to kill You-Know-Who?”

“Sirius is a Black,” Harry said with an eyebrow raised.

“You know what I mean,” Ron snapped, “He himself said his whole family’s evil, except for the Tonks’.”

“Sirius also said that Regulus Black was a Death Eater,” Harry replied smoothly.

“And?” Ron asked. “That just proves my point. He’s on You-Know-Who’s side.”

“How do we know for sure?” Harry asked.

“Umm… because… well, look at his room. He’s a Slytherin!”

“And…?” Harry asked, motioning his hand for Ron to continue.

“That means he was evil!” Ron said as if it was completely obvious.

“Ron, why else was he killed by Voldemort himself when he was only eighteen?” Harry asked. “What if it was because he
knew about the Horcruxes? That’s the only excuse I can think of. And, if you have a better choice on who RAB is, then
say it! Otherwise, I really think that this is him.” He sat silent for a few moments, appearing to be in deep thought,
before he looked up at him and smiled. “Well, I guess I’ll have to ask someone who knew Regulus personally.”

“Who?” Ron challenged.

Harry simply stood up and cleared his throat.

“Kreacher!”

There was a thunderous crack throughout the house as a short, shriveled house-elf with batlike ears and a filthy rag as
clothing.

Hermione whispered, “How come I didn’t figure it out sooner?” Followed by a small smack on the head by herself.

“Master,” Kreacher croaked to Harry as he bowed low to him, but was caught off.

“Kreacher, before we converse, I must ask that you not insult Hermione Granger or Ron Weasley. That means not saying the
offensive term for anything involving the purity of blood. Do I make myself clear?”

Kreacher stood straight up and seemed to tremble for a second, as if trying to disagree, but one look at the fierceness
in Harry’s emerald eyes made him give in immediately. “Y-yes, Master.”

“Secondly,” Harry continued, “Don’t call me ‘Master’. I want to be called Harry, or at the most, Mr. Potter. But I
prefer Harry.”

“Y-yes, M-M-Harry.”

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry said. Just as he was about to start, he looked up to see Ron and Hermione staring at him,
gobsmacked. Hermione was the first to recover, and smiled at him, tears threatening to come out. Ron came to a moment
later, but said, “Blimey, mate, he killed Sirius and you treat him…with respect?” Earning a flinch, then a glare from
Hermione.

“The past is in the past,” Harry shrugged. At the raised eyebrows from the two, he smirked and turned back to Kreacher,
who had wide eyes. “What?” Harry asked curiously.

“M-Harry said ‘thank you’,” He said, awe evident in his voice.

“Yes, and you’ll receive more thank you’s, and possibly a prize, if you answer these questions truthfully. Alright?”

“Yes, Harry.” Harry noticed that he didn’t struggle at all with that sentence and answered immediately. Something told
him that he had rarely heard ‘Thank You’. He wondered if S.P.E.W. would be a hit if it had a different name.

“Alright, then…” He squatted down and made sure he was eye-level with Kreacher. He took a deep breath. “Have you stolen
any lockets lately? One that had an ‘S’ on it. Couldn’t open? Belonged to Regulus Black?”

Kreacher’s eyes widened in shock. It was actually quite comical, seeing as his eyes took up about a fifth of his body.
“Harry knows?” He said in disbelief?

He looked up and smiled at a jubilant Hermione and a gleeful Ron. “Told you,” he said to them, then he turned back to
Kreacher. Do you have it?”

“No.”

“What?” Ron shouted as Hermione’s face fell.

“Hold on Ron,” Harry said almost calmly, while on the inside he was panicking. ‘He doesn’t have the BLOODY LOCKET!?’
“Kreacher, do you know who has it?” he asked gently.

“Stop being so nice to him,” Ron yelled. “He doesn’t deserve it!”

Hermione restrained herself from giving Ron what he deserved with her fist and walked over to Harry. She crouched down
next to him and looked Kreacher in the eye while Harry spoke again. “Kreacher, do you know who has the locket?”

“Mundungus Fletcher,” croaked the elf, his eyes still tight shut. “Mundungus Fletcher stole it all; Miss Bella’s and
Miss Cissy’s pictures, my Mistress’s gloves, the Order of Merlin, First Class, the goblets with the family crest, and –
and—”

Kreacher was gulping for air: His hollow chest was rising and falling rapidly, then his eyes flew open and he uttered a
bloodcurdling scream.

“—and the locket, Master Regulus’s locket. Kreacher did wrong, Kreacher failed in his orders!”

Before Kreacher could lunge for the poker standing in the grate, Harry already had his wand out. He pointed it at
Kreacher, making him stop in midair. The house-elf slowly floated back towards Harry, frozen stiff. Harry heard Hermione
mutter something and she ran over to the house-elf’s rigid form. She pulled out her wand and conjured a small glass
bottle.

“Going to extract his memories?” Harry asked as he slowly lowered the body.

“Yes, I am. I want to see what happened. But first, I want to see how it was obtained. Ennervate.”

Kreacher groggily opened his eyes. When his vision cleared, he realized his surroundings. He immediately scuttled away
from Hermione. He wisely didn’t say anything, since he remembered that he was not allowed to say ‘Mudblood’.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Kreacher,” Hermione said, mistaking his disgust for shock. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Kreacher stayed silent, still sputtering.

“He did that because of your lineage,” Harry said in an unmistakable growl, watching the house-elf’s actions. He
breathed through his nose and tried to calm himself down. “She was just trying to help you. She was just trying to ask
you if you knew anything of how the locket was obtained. Please, at least make an effort to be nice to her.”

The threatening tone in Harry’s voice did not go unheard in Kreacher’s large ears. “Y-yes, Master Harry.”

“Kreacher,” Hermione started in a soft tone, “Could you please bring everything about the locket to the front of your
mind?”

“Kreacher will try,” he slowly and tentatively, narrowing his eyes at the girl. He closed his eyes and concentrated on
the few memories he had of his master’s locket until he felt something at the side of his head. Something told him not
to move. He didn’t think that they would hurt him. He felt something slightly cool slithering out of his mind like a
small snake, making him almost shudder. He felt the process repeat over and over again, until nothing happened when the
wand, he found out, was placed on his temple. The wand drew back from him, taking nothing with it.

“I think that’s all, Harry,” he heard the girl say.

“It does look like a lot, but we know who has the locket, so we’ll look at the more important ones first,” his master
said. He finally opened his eyes to see Harry and Hermione looking at a vial with, it looked like silver hair, with a
mix of curiosity and excitement. He saw the redhead in the back slowly approach the two, also curious. He had seen those
before, he knew.

“M-memories?” he asked with hesitancy.

“Yes, Kreacher, we needed these memories for reference. We need to…erm…get it back.” Harry almst let slip that they were
going to destroy it. He didn’t think that Kreacher would take it well.

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a locket which made Kreacher’s eyes widen. To Kreacher’s utter shock and to
the shock of the other two, Harry placed the locket in front of the old house-elf. “Kreacher, thank you. I said that I
would say it again, along with something else, if you agreed to helping us. You did, so here is a small token.”

“Oi, that’s just too much! Shouldn’t you wait ‘til we watch those memories. We don’t know if they’re fake memories!”

“Ron, first of all,” Hermione said, clearly getting upset, “Kreacher didn’t know what we were doing until he saw the
vial.”

“And we don’t have a pensieve, so how are we going to watch the memories now? It would just be better to give him the
locket right when we get the memories!”

And, out of nowhere, a basin appeared in the center of the room with the softest pop, making the three jump out, and
Harry with his wand back out and a curse on his tongue, Hermione following after a half-second. Ron fell back since the
black basin was closer to him, and he fell on his elbows. “Ouch! Damn, that hurt!”

“Wait… is that a pensieve?” Hermione said, slowly lowering her wand.

Harry kept his wand up and slowly approached the ‘pensieve’. He found it very strange that the moment they wished for a
pensieve, it appeared in front of him. He looked inside of the basin when he got close enough. It was empty.

“How did a pensieve pop up out of nowhere when we needed it?” Harry asked more to himself, and was surprised when he
heard a reply. He surprised even more by the one who said the reply.

“Kreacher summoned one,” The old house-elf said grudgingly. It seemed as if he felt like he was betraying someone. Harry
quickly figured that it might be Mrs. Black. A brief pang of guilt hit him as he realized what he did to Mrs. Black’s
portrait. He hoped that Kreacher wouldn’t find out anytime soon.

After a moment of fumbling nervously, and Harry noted that the fake locket was now on his small, shriveled neck, he
said, “Thank you, Master Harry Potter, sir.” Before Harry could ask him to say ‘It’s just Harry’, he disappeared with a
crack.

Hermione took no time to run towards the pensieve and pour the vial into the giant basin. Harry looked at them swirling
around for a moment – it seemed as if the memories extended and became a giant pool of memories – before he turned and
walked to the doors and placed several security and locking charms. Then he walked back towards the pensieve and spoke.

“Ready to go in?” he asked the two. At their now determined nods, he had no hesitation in diving head first into the
pensieve. The effects were no different than in fifth year, Harry mused. He still felt like he was falling from the sky,
but in slower form. He saw Hermione dive in next, and shortly following, Ron. Harry turned to look down and saw a very
familiar and unpleasant sight.

He saw a large black sea in the dead of night, a rocky cliff that seemed to have a small source of light, and a
shoreline… with a small old boat on the end. Before he could ask any questions, he saw something that almost made him
choke on his caught breath.

He saw a dark figure approach the boat, followed by a clumsy elf. Harry had to squint through the darkness to see that
it was Kreacher, only younger. A lot younger. He knew who the dark figure was for certain, but his scar wasn’t prickling
like usual. It took him a few seconds to realize that since he was in a pensieve, that was only an image of Tom Riddle.
He finally landed on the shore when he saw Voldemort push Kreacher into the boat, followed by himself. Harry looked at
the lake. Since it was an image, he shouldn’t be able to drown, right?

He heard Hermione whisper behind him, “Is your scar okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied in a normal voice, “It’s an image. He can’t hear us, you know.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, “it just seemed so real.

“How do we get across?” She asked when Ron joined them, the same time the boat departed the shore.

“I don’t know,” Harry said honestly. “I could try…”

He walked over to the shore and looked at the waves, wondering if he could step onto the waters, since it was only an
illusion. He stepped onto the black sea, expecting to step onto the shore underneath. Although it didn’t matter, Harry
realized, since he was fairly sure that he shouldn’t be able to drown in an illusionized sea. He briefly wondered if his
pants leg would be wet before his foot hit a hard, yet uneasy, surface. He looked down and smiled.

“I think I found out how we get across,” Harry said to the two behind him. He looked over to Voldemort and Kreacher,
still in the boat. They were still far from the cave. It was at that time that Harry had to wonder why Kreacher was
there in the first place. Surely he didn’t replace the locket in front of Voldemort?

He almost stumbled from the waves. It felt similar to a black marble floor, but with jagged and pointy edges that kept
moving, followed by small waves. Harry wondered how the boat could possibly and steadily row towards the cave when the
waves were heading towards the shore. He mentally slapped himself as the simple answer appeared in his head. Magic.

Harry slowly walked onto the waves, stumbling as he did so. He really wished that he could fly like Voldemort did. Harry
figured that Tom must’ve used some sort of spell on the cave, making it so the boat was the only way to travel to that
cave, which was probably why he was in the boat himself.

He looked back to see Ron and Hermione approaching the waves, Hermione stepping onto the water first while Ron observed.
Moments, he stepped onto the shoreline the moment a particularly nasty wave approached. Harry and Hermione jumped over
it, while Ron stumbled and fell, stopping his fall with his hands. He push himself up.

“Maybe I should’ve kept watch over the pensieve,” Ron grumbled.

“You just need to – ugh – get the hang of it,” Hermione grunted as she walked over to Harry, who was a few feet away,
snickering at Ron’s fall.

“Just hope that the Inferi aren’t gonna attack,” Harry pointed out with a grin. He caught Hermione’s arm as she stumbled
into Harry, and she looked up to give a grateful smile. He made a move of moving his arm, but Hermione used her other
hand to hold it.

“I don’t want to fall and you walk faster,” she simply said.

Harry accepted that excuse and they continued their trek across the sea, Ron catching up about a minute later. When the
next wave came, they simultaneously jumped over it and continued. They finally reached the boat seconds before it hit
the shore.

Voldemort looked no scarier than he is now, Harry thought. The scarlet, slitted eyes were still there, the bald head,
the long and slim fingers that pushed the not-as-old house-elf out of the boat, and the slightly sharp, bared teeth that
showed when he smiled as Kreacher fell out of the boat onto the stone floor. Harry suppressed the urge to pull out his
wand and attempt a Crucio on the Dark Lord right then. He could almost feel Hermione grimace.

Voldemort stood up with ease – considering the boat might tip over by one wrong movement – and stepped off onto the dark
stone of the cavern. Harry could see the faint green glow from the goblet in the cave, and stepped closer. He then
experienced an unexpected fall into the sea. Harry almost panicked when he fell, letting go of Hermione as he did so,
but he landed with a hard ‘thump’ on the bottom. Was it the bottom? Harry opened his eyes. Harry was only waist deep in
the water, which was quite weird, actually. He didn’t feel wet. He realized that Hermione was on her knees on the above
surface with wide eyes, with her hands still on his arm.

“Harry, what Happened?” She asked with fright.

“I—I don’t know,” Harry said. How did that happen?

Ron came up a second later, crouching down to get Harry’s hand. “Did some Inferi grab your ankles or something?” he
asked as Harry grabbed on to his hand and pulled himself out, Hermione helping.

“No…at least, I don’t think so.” Harry was completely confused. Why did he fall through that one spot when he could’ve
fallen earlier? Why did it have to be the spot that was right next to the boat and the cave? He didn’t feel something
grab his ankles, and besides, the Inferi’s hands were supposed to go right through his legs, should they attempt to grab
his legs. He looked back at the spot he fell in. It didn’t look any different from the rest of the sea. He reached out
with his hand to touch the surface. It went through. He felt around the semicircular ring around it.

Harry was still perplexed when a blood-curdling scream broke the silence. He looked over into the cave to see Voldemort
holding Kreacher by his throat, pouring the awful green liquid down his throat. Harry wanted to kill Voldemort right
then and there. Then, Voldemort did something that made Harry’s blood boil. Tom laughed. Hermione stifled a sob.

Harry instinctively pulled Hermione close as they all helplessly watched Voldemort cackling as Kreacher kept screaming
for someone to help him. Either Mrs. Black or Regulus, he didn’t seem to care. Harry remembered Dumbledore yelling as
Harry forced him to drink the potion that eventually led to his downfall. He turned away from the scene with Hermione
and closed her ears with both hands. Since Hermione made no attempt to move, Harry could tell that she was very grateful
for it.

When the screaming stopped, Harry turned his head to see Tom dropping a locket inside the basin of the goblet. He
refilled it shortly after. Harry looked at Kreacher, who was wheezing and snapping his fingers together to conjure water
on the ground, then proceeding to lick the stony floor. Voldemort didn’t take notice; He did not even seem to realize
that Kreacher was still there as he nonchalantly walked back to the boat, leaving the house-elf on the floor. Harry
wanted nothing more than to flip the boat over the second Tom was in, but resisted. Tom slowly sailed away, and only
then did he look back to see Kreacher gasping and wheezing. He laughed a purely evil, insane laugh as he turned back
around and sped the boat up.

Kreacher slowly dragged himself over to the edge of the cavern to drink some water. And that was when it clicked.
Voldemort knew that Kreacher was going to get the water from somewhere. He left him to be attacked by the Inferi. He
left Kreacher to die.

Then, how did Kreacher escape the inferi?

Before Harry could voice this question, the water began shaking. Harry repeatedly kept stumbling. Hermione was clinging
on to him, while Ron was trying to grab for her arm, but she kept swaying, resulting in Ron falling. Harry didn’t
notice. What he did notice was Kreacher putting his hand in the water and scooping it up, drinking greedily. Harry knew
what would happen next, according to the moving waves, which Kreacher didn’t pay attention to. Harry grabbed Hermione’s
arm and jumped over the sinking spot onto the stone floor. When he turned around into Hermione’s embrace, Harry noticed
three things. The first thing was that Ron was having a pretty tough time standing up. The second was that Kreacher was
drinking from the same spot that Harry sunk in. ‘That must be why I sunk in,’ Harry thought. The memory appeared as
everything Kreacher saw. Kreacher couldn’t see past the interior of the sea, so it didn’t exist in the memory. The
question was, though, how could Kreacher see waist deep into the sea. ‘Well, he does have rather large eyes, but—’

Before he could finish his thought the third thing appeared. Inferi. They instantly grabbed for Kreacher, who had
panic-filled eyes. They didn’t give him the chance to fight as he was dragged under the water before he knew it.
Hermione, still turned away from the scene, heard a muffled scream from Kreacher and turned towards the source. She saw
two shriveled feet disappear into the water before every thing turned black.

“Harry!” She instinctively yelled.

“I’m right here,” He murmured into her ear. He absently rubbed her arm as he looked around the darkened place, wherever
it was. “Ron, you alright?” Harry yelled.

Harry heard an affirmative grunt. “I don wanna gedup right now,” Ron slurred. Harry almost thought he was seasick.

“Where are we?” Hermione asked. “Did Kreacher black out?”

“I don’t think he did,” Harry said, and before he could continue, Another scene reappeared. Harry looked at the
surroundings. It looked like a clean – very clean, actually – version of Regulus’ room. Ron was on the floor next to a
wall, almost on the verge of sleep. He looked elsewhere and saw someone who looked very similar to Sirius – Harry
assumed that it was Regulus himself – was pacing about his room, muttering something. It seemed as if he was waiting for
someone, Harry noted. Harry really didn’t care. He wanted to get out of the memory after what he had just seen, but knew
that Hermione wanted to stay and research and analyze. She would probably want details on the last scene since her head
was turned most of the time.

A loud crack brought him back to the present, making Ron fully awake and Hermione to attention.

“M-master…”

“Kreacher!” Regulus yelled, brimming with fear. He ran over to his house-elf as he pulled out his wand and performed a
drying spell on the once soaking wet Kreacher. “Are you okay? Tell me, what happened?” He asked frantically.

The three listened to the explanation that Kreacher gave to his master. They were very angry at Regulus for sending
Kreacher to Voldemort in the first place. But more importantly was, “How did he escape?”

Their question was answered at the end of Kreacher’s stuttering explanation.

“Then…K-Kreacher was dragged in water b-by those t-things… and Kreacher came to you.”

“Kreacher,” Regulus said soothingly, “why didn’t you pop over here before you were dragged in the water?” It seemed as
if Regulus was on the verge of tears from what happened earlier.

“Apparition,” Hermione said silently, realization dawning on her. “Kreacher apparated to Grimmauld Place.”

Harry recounted Dobby apparating in his house all those years ago and popping around Hogwarts. Both of those were
impossible. A House-elf could apparate out of any ward, apparently. He would have to remember that next time they were
in trouble.

Kreacher explained. “The D-Dark Lord was still there. I d-didn’t want him t-to see me. You t-told me—”

“That’s okay, Kreacher, I understand. So, it was a locket?”

“Y-yes, Master.”

“Very well. Kreacher, I prepared my bed for you tonight. You need at least a ten-hour sleep, no questions asked.”

Kreacher looked at him with pure disbelief for a few seconds, before he became extremely happy. He happily trotted over
to the bed and fell into a deep sleep, not bothering to move the covers.

Regulus shook his head sadly at the house-elf before he picked him up. He pulled back the covers and placed Kreacher
back in the bed, wrapping the covers around Kreacher’s small form to the neck as he did so. He quietly walked out of the
room and silently closed the door.

Then the memory shifted again. This time it was a slow shift, not pitch black. This left Harry perplexed only for a
moment. “It was all one memory,” Harry said slowly. “When we were in the dark, that was when Kreacher apparated.”

A small ‘O’ formed on Hermione’s lips as she considered this, while Ron started to stand up.

Only to fall once again when the memory appeared. They were back at the cave, only this time, Harry and Hermione were on
the edge of the stone floor, while Ron appeared on the sea. They were at the same place when they disappeared the first
memory.

“Accio Ron,” Harry said, and seconds later, Harry was helping Ron stand up on the opposite side of Hermione, who was
looking around for Kreacher. So far, there was no one else in the scene but the three.

“Thanks, Mate,” Ron said uneasily. Ron looked like he was going to spew any minute now. Harry looked behind him to see
the faint green glow. He walked over towards it, followed by Ron. Hermione was still looking for Kreacher. Harry looked
into the goblet and squinted his eyes to see a golden locket that looked almost like the fake. Harry wanted to reach in
and grab it, but knew it couldn’t happen. He took a deep sigh.

“Just wish you could take it, huh?” Ron asked. “Wish I could, too. Can we just go? I want to hunt down Mundungus now.”

Before Harry could agree, Hermione warned, “Here they come!”

Harry looked over to where Hermione was pointing towards a small boat, with two foggy characters. Harry knew it was
Kreacher and Regulus. He walked back over to Hermione, shortly followed by Ron, to take a closer look. When they came
into clearer view, Regulus looked distinctly nervous. And scared. Truly Scared. Harry could understand why he was so
scared, stealing from Voldemort and all.

Harry saw Regulus saying something to Kreacher, and he saw Kreacher’s face turn from scared to downright terrified. He
must have told Kreacher to drink the potion again, Harry thought with growing anger.

Soon enough, they reached the cavern and Kreacher got out first, Harry realized with no shoving. Regulus looked
uncomfortable for a second before he steeled his resolve and stood up. With a face like that, Harry realized, he
should’ve belonged in Gryffindor.

Regulus confidently walked over to the goblet and held it up. “To the demise of the Dark Lord,” he chanted. What he did
next amazed all three of them. He drunk as fast and greedily as he could until he fell and cried out in pain. Kreacher
closed his eyes and reached blindly for the goblet that had not spilled a drop. He grabbed it and approached the source
of the scream. Kreacher opened his eyes to tiny slits as he forced open Regulus’ mouth and began pouring the foul liquid
down his throat. The screams became louder and more agonizing, and Kreacher openly sobbed, but still resumed pouring the
toxin; after all, it was an order.

When no more could pour out of the goblet, Kreacher took the fake locket out of the shaking man’s pockets and replaced
the real one in the cup. Kreacher wrapped the chain around his wrist. He summoned a large cup and conjured water in it
and tried to hand it to the still shaking Regulus. “P-please, sir,” Kreacher pleaded after a moment of forcing him to
drink, “Y-you have to d-drink!”

“N-no, Kreacher,” Regulus stuttered. “I-I c-c-can’t. You know w-what I-I have to d-do.”

“What’s that, M-Master Regulus?”

Regulus, still lying down, looked out over the black sea, the waves calmly hitting each other and lapping over, giving
it an all over, peaceful look. It wouldn’t last long, Regulus knew. He took a very deep breath.

“My work is done.”

There was no stuttering in his voice, no hesitancy whatsoever. He knew his time was up, whether then or the very next
day.

“M-Master Regulus?” Kreacher said after a few moments. Regulus looked over to Kreacher and saw him holding out his hand.
He shook his head at the old elf.

“No. Kreacher, my work is done. I must g-go.” Kreacher pushed his hand closer. He still did not understand. “No,
Kreacher. I want you to g-go home…and d-destroy that thing.” Regulus slowly stood up, grunting in pain as he did so.
“T-tell no one of what happened. Except s-someone you know that will k-kill him one d-day. Help him in any w-way you
c-can.”

“But Master Regulus,” Kreacher asked, befuddled, “what of you? You are my master!”

“And you have been a great servant, and a better friend,” he replied with a raspy voice. He placed he goblet onto the
pedestal and watched as the goblet automatically filled back up with the green, vile liquid, not knowing that the thing
that is being protected is fake. He faced the sea one more time, before he walked towards it, as if in a trance.
Kreacher watched on in curiosity, then understanding, and finally, terror. He made a lunge for Regulus, but Regulus
simply raised a hand towards Kreacher, signaling for him to stop as he himself stopped. He didn’t look back towards
Kreacher. “Remember what I have said,” he silently whispered and pleaded. He resumed walking towards the edge of the sea
next to the boat. “Apparate straight out of here, Kreacher.” He finally looked at Kreacher in the eyes. “Do you
understand?”

Kreacher nodded. He couldn’t say anything. His master…his friend…was about to…but why? “Why, master?” He voiced his
question.

“I want to make a fool out of the Dark Lord, but I won’t be alive to do it. He will be looking for me with all the Death
Eaters he has, and he won’t know that I am already gone from this world.” He gave a dry chuckle, which made Kreacher
shudder, before he resumed. “I’ve left several hints as to who I am. If I survived today, and he finds out tomorrow, I
will be dead tomorrow night. Try to destroy that thing. Don’t go hard on yourself if you cannot, but give it to someone
if you are absolutely positive that you cannot yourself. Someone who is good, powerful, and wants to kill the Dark
Lord…no…Voldemort.”

There was a long silence that ensued. The air seemed to wait for another action before it breezed again. The waters, for
a moment, looked as if it needed something to swallow, to consume. Regulus resolved himself once again, for the last
time. He figured that if he was so thirsty for water, it would be appropriate to die by water, and its creatures. He
took a deep breath, but a second later, realized that… he didn’t need it. He lost the air by saying his last words,
looking back at Kreacher and smiling one last brilliant smile, as if he had been waiting for this moment, yearned for
it.

“Take care of mother for me. I love you both and my brother. Goodbye.”

Out of breath, Regulus quickly turned back and stretched out one leg and sat on the ledge, dipping his foot into the
water. He hoisted himself in, but not before a claw could come and grab his head under. Reguius Arcturus Black was gone.

Kreacher fell to his knees and cried. Hard. He had lost his master…his friend…because of the locket that was in his
hand. Seconds later, he popped away silently, still on his knees, but with a steely resolve. The locket in his hand was
in for a universe of pain.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron stumbled out of the pensieve with fresh tears in their eyes.

“I – I had no idea,” Hermione said softly, clinging to Harry, wetting his t-shirt as she did so. “That…that was so
awful!”

“I-I need to go,” Ron said softly, trying to hide his tears. He stumbled out of the door to look for Kreacher.

Harry made no move to hide his tears. He let them freely flow. He couldn’t believe what he had just seen… and Sirius
called him a coward. Harry thought that he was anything but.

And, at that moment, Harry had found a new respect for Regulus Arcturus Black…and his little friend. A few minutes
later, Harry, after talking to Hermione, decided to ask Kreacher to look for Mundungus Fletcher the next day. Ron did
not come upstairs after that. They assumed he was crying. They were both thankful for that. They had a few things to
discuss.

* * *

Author’s Note: I think I did a pretty good job on the pensieve memory. If I got any theories wrong, tell me. Although I
really don’t want to change this. I was almost compelled to turn it into a one-shot.

Today’s my birthday today, so I decided to post this. Shortly after I posted the last chapter, an anonymous person
(pansy) on FF.Net told me that I pissed him off because I wanted everyone to wait, along with a few other choice words.
I didn't say I was going on a freaking hiatus! And if you want to flame me, then use these two rules.

1. Use your Username. I could either report you or flame back. Trust me; I know how to flame back.
2. Make them funny. It's just plain stupid if it's not funny.

But then again, since the pansy started the review with 'Hey, Asshole!', I'll classify it as funny/retarded. I deleted
it. That was my first flame, but it was... for the lack of better words... lame. Try again, asshole.

I need to start writing some more chapters, but I can never find the time. I just hope everyone knows that I do writing
because I enjoy it (like all FanFiction Authors), and like JK, I have no deadline (And she gets paid, although I'm
nowhere near her level.)

I forgot to mention this in the last chapter: Who likes Fairly Oddparents? Ever seen a crossover with Harry Potter? Now
you can. It's one of my new stories. Check it out.

Next Chapter: The first half is original, while the other half involves Remus...

Please review.

This chapter was posted September 21 on my Website.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

6. Time to Train - The Bribe

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, All hell would break loose. Let’s just leave it at that.

----------------------------------------------------

Chapter Six—Time to Train-The Bribe

The next morning, after Harry gave him his condolences (No matter how much Harry hated them himself, Kreacher had never
received them to hate them), Harry asked Kreacher to hunt down one Mundungus Fletcher and to bring him back to
headquarters. It did take some persuasion for Kreacher to bring Mundungus back alive, however. When asked how long it
might take to find him, Kreacher replied, “As soon as possible, Mr. Potter.” When Harry asked for an estimate time,
Kreacher grudgingly explained that it would take, at the least, a week. Harry didn’t really like that, but he was happy
that he had a lead, at least. Remembering Dobby’s devotion, he told Kreacher that he could eat and sleep whenever he
felt hungry or tired, no exceptions. He also ordered Kreacher (politely, of course) to report back every other night for
dinner. Kreacher popped away, planning on what state Mundungus should return to Grimmauld Place. Harry felt that he
didn’t need to mention that he was going to cook dinner himself and not Kreacher.

Harry then proceeded to trot up the stairs for a quick view through the short memories that they hadn’t seen the day
before. Harry realized when he jumped into the pensieve, that they were the memories of Kreacher trying to destroy the
locket Horcrux. Kreacher and the locket were in a giant metal box-room. Harry had no idea where that was, and was
certain that it wasn’t in Grimmauld Place. It looked like the place that Remus might go to during his ‘furry little
problem’. He would have to ask Kreacher later.

Harry watched, astounded, as Kreacher cast a wide spectrum of colours at the locket. He seemed to only use his fingers.
As time moved on, Harry realized that he had seen pretty much every colour except for the sickly green colour that he
was very familiar with. He wondered if House-elves had to be given permission to use Unforgivables. He would have
something else to ask Kreacher.

After about an hour, Harry decided to skip to the last one. The others were basically repeats. Every scene, Kreacher
glares at it as he tries to shoot all of his magic at the locket on the ground, trying to drain his magical core itself.
Harry wished he could perform magic like that, even if he still needed his wand to do it. He wondered if Kreacher would
give him a few lessons.

Harry groaned. It seems that he had a lot of stuff to do and ask. He needed to make a schedule, a daily one. He hoped
Hermione could help him organize.

Hermione. She was on Harry’s mind a lot lately, although it would be terrible if she hadn’t been. It was by a mutual
agreement that they could not be together at the time. Not only would it make Ron uncomfortable and left out, but
extremely jealous. Sometimes, Harry really didn’t care. He just wanted to kiss her until they both lost the feeling in
their knees. His legs wouldn’t be okay at that moment, but his heart would. They pretended that what happened the
morning before never happened while Ron was downstairs apologizing to Kreacher. They both knew that it just wouldn’t be
right if they just went against Ron like that. While Harry suggested that Hermione drop a few hints that she was not
interested in Ron or tell him outright, Hermione countered by asking him to remember what happened when she went to the
Yule Ball with Viktor. This left a very upset and dreadfully unofficial couple.

Harry was still surprised that Hermione liked him. He was sure that it didn’t have anything to do with being the Boy Who
Lived… so what was it? Girls were confusing, Harry finally decided. He would update P. ‘Mione soon. He felt a little
ashamed that he hadn’t even spoken to her in a while. Granted, he had the real thing to talk to, but it was almost as if
P. ‘Mione was another person. He would talk to her when Ron was not around. He guessed that Hermione would want to talk
to P. ‘Mione, too, if not to gossip.

Shaking his head out of those thoughts for later, Harry watched the last of the memories. He noticed that Kreacher
seemed to be looking older and more tired each time he had faced the locket. As he watched the last memory, Harry
wondered how recent it was. He guessed it was most likely right before Mundungus took it. When Harry thought that
Kreacher couldn’t get any more impressive as he watched Kreacher give it his all, he saw something that almost made him
wish he was a house-elf. He saw Kreacher, with all of his fingers, cast large bright white curses at the locket,
bombarding it with what seemed to be sword slashes. If Harry wasn’t mistaken, and he was almost sure he wasn’t, he had
just seen ten wandless and nonverbal Sectumsempra curses aimed perfectly at the locket, full-power. Kreacher stumbled
and fell, exhausted, not even having enough energy to look at the locket. Harry looked at the locket. It had a few
scratches and a few new dents, but it was otherwise unharmed and intact. Harry wondered what it took to destroy a
Horcrux, but more importantly, a locket. He thought about that as he left the pensieve.

Basilisk Venom? That was confirmed already. Harry had wondered if the venom was still in the chamber. He didn’t know if
the chamber room was sealed, however. If it was, he should’ve been notified, but he was sure Dumbledore would do it
without telling the one who discovered the chamber.

Gryffindor’s sword? That would explain why it was in the will. It had to be powerful, since Godric Gryffindor made it
himself.

Chemicals? It would certainly be possible, since Voldemort didn’t know much about Muggle technology and sciences. There
were acids that could melt even the hardest metals.

The Killing Curse? It would be valid, but Harry was not going to take any chances. Harry wondered, when faced with a
Death Eater, could it be a shield against the Avada Kedavra? Could anything be a shield to the Avada Kedavra, for that
matter?

And then Harry realized… the inside of a locket was more vulnerable than the outside. But they never were able to open
the locket. But if it was Salazar’s…

Harry smiled at this possible theory as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He saw Hermione, curled up on the couch and
reading a book, as she usually did at Hogwarts. At closer inspection, Harry noticed that the book was ‘The Tales of
Beadle the Bard’. Harry silently skulked over to look over Hermione’s shoulder to read how much she had translated on
the paper beside the book. Before he could read, however, he noticed something that looked very familiar to him. It was
a triangle with a circle inside it. There was also a line of symmetry in the circle. It was a weird kind of symbol, but
Harry could’ve sworn that he had seen it before…

“Good morning, Harry,” Hermione said, not looking up from her book.

Harry almost jumped back in shock. He used to always be able to sneak up on her when she read a book. “Morning,
Hermione. How did you know I was behind you? You should be absorbed in that book by now.”

She blushed. That had happened many times in the past. “You groaned,” she explained a second later. “It was a depressing
groan. Something on your mind?”

Harry nodded and pointed at the symbol drawn on the page. “I’ve seen it before,” he explained. “I’m not sure, but it was
recently. It wasn’t here, I’m sure of it…”

“Was it at the wedding?” Hermione inquired. She had been wondering what that scribble was. It was on a lot of pages,
mostly hidden.

“I don’t know… It could’ve been anywhere at the Burrow.”

“Let’s ask Ron,” she suggested as she stood up and bookmarked the kids’ story.

“Erm…okay,” Harry said uneasily.

“Something else on your mind?” she asked him as she put a hand on his arm.

“Other than the obvious,” he said with a grin, which made Hermione blush slightly, “yeah. I was thinking of different
stuff that can destroy a Horcrux. So far, I’ve thought of the Killing Curse, Gryffindor’s Sword, basilisk venom, of
course, and Muggle chemicals. Can you think of anything else?”

Hermione stayed quiet for a long second before she replied, “I’ll get back to you on that. We won’t be able to get
chemicals easily, and the basilisk venom is at Hogwarts, along with Gryffindor’s sword. I’m not going to even try the
Killing Curse, and I don’t want you to, either!” She said it as if daring Harry to argue.

“And I agree with you,” Harry said hastily, “but if that was the only option left—”

“We’ll have an Auror do it who had a lot of experience.”

“What are we supposed to say to him?”

“Oh, I don’t know, but I don’t want to use that spell!”

“Why not? We’re not killing someone, and now it’s not illegal.”

“Well, I-I know that, but—”

“And I certainly hate Voldemort enough to use it.”

“Harry!” Hermione instinctually yelled. However, once she began to think about it, she would certainly hate Voldemort
enough to use the curse, so Harry could do it plenty of anger to spare. But it felt so…wrong…and dirty…but if that was
the last option…

Harry saw the wheels in Hermione’s head turn. He knew her too well. She was thinking of the advances and disadvantages
of using the killing curse. There weren’t many disadvantages at the moment, and the advantage is a step closer to
killing Voldemort, so Harry was fairly sure which side Hermione would choose. He wanted to see what Hermione would do if
there were no laws or rules to follow. She would probably loosen up a little, he hoped. It’s been a week since the Order
broke him out of the Dursleys already and she had done so much for him.

Harry snapped out his thoughts as Hermione finally came to a decision. “Okay…” she said slowly, not completely
convinced, “but who is going to do it?”

“Me,” Harry easily volunteered. “I’m the one with the most hate towards him.”

“I really hope we find another way,” Hermione said silently.

But Harry still heard her. “Think we can get McGonagall to smuggle out Gryffindor’s sword?” He asked her.

Hermione smirked at him, then she sobered. “That wouldn’t work,” she said seriously. “They would suspect her if
Gryffindor’s sword went missing. They would suspect she gave it to you, since you inherited it.”

“But I thought only Scrimgeour knew,” Harry said, perplexed.

“The people who handle the wills and testimonies knew,” Hermione explained, “and they work for the ministry, who now
works for Voldemort. I’m sure that they are paying a lot of attention to Dumbledore’s will, mainly what they left you,
me, and Ron. I bet they’re just as perplexed as us.”

“I hate riddles,” Harry said with a sigh.

“There’s a double meaning in that statement, Harry,” Hermione said with a smile.

Harry smiled back as he figured it out. “I still do.”

They spent the rest of that morning and half of the afternoon thinking about an alternative to destroying a Horcrux,
completely forgetting about the symbol. They talked about everything from Muggle weaponry, such as machine Guns or
powerful rifles. Harry briefly thought about a bomb, but remembered the Sectumsempra barrage that he had seen earlier
that day. When he showed Hermione the last (and in Harry’s opinion, the best) memory, Hermione was speechless. Harry
found this terribly amusing. After that short moment passed, she immediately wondered why house-elves were slaves if
they could easily overpower their masters. Harry guessed it was because they were bonded and/or not allowed to escape or
retaliate. Hermione gave a resigned sigh, then suggested that they ask Kreacher to train them, but Harry wondered if
they could learn it, since they were humans. House-elves could even have different magical cores. They would ask
Kreacher at dinner the next night.

When reminded of dinner, Harry’s stomach grumbled. He hadn’t eaten since the night before, and it was three in the
afternoon. They both went back downstairs and found Ron already in the kitchen, working on a piece of steak. They were
shocked for a brief moment – they had only found scraps of food in the kitchen and some cans of baked beans and spinach.
Harry wasn’t complaining – after all, he had seen Popeye once or twice in his life – but Ron on the other hand, refused
outright and attacked the baked beans, saying that the spinach even smelled funny.

“Where did you find that?” Hermione asked Ron.

“Fond if,” Ron said, his mouth full.

“I know you found it, Ron,” Hermione said, pinching the bridge of her nose. So many years of teaching him table manners,
all gone to waste, apparently. “Where did you find it?”

Ron took a deep gulp water to swallow his food before he said, “It was in a part of the basement, under a really
powerful cooling charm. There’s a load of steaks in there, for some reason.”

Harry and Hermione spared a glance before Harry asked Ron, “Where is the basement?”

Ron wordlessly pointed at a door in a darkened corner of the kitchen that looked too small to lead to a basement in
Harry’s opinion. Harry walked over to it and opened the door to see a completely dark room. He instinctually pulled his
wand out. “Lumos.”

The first thing he noticed was a dresser at the bottom of the stairs with the bottom drawer open. There was a tattered,
but warm-looking blanket inside of the drawer. Harry noticed with disgust that it was Kreacher’s sleeping place. He
wouldn’t dare call it a bed. Harry slowly crept down the stairs as he tried to brighten the lumos, becoming successful.
He realized a moment later that Hermione was following, according to the hand on his arm. When he reached the bottom,
she lit up her wand.

“Your light is much brighter,” she commented.

Harry had noticed; it looked like a Christmas tree bulb compared to a low-powered household bulb. “Are you trying to
brighten it? That’s what I did.”

Hermione seemed to concentrate then the wand tip began to glow brighter. It was still not as bright as Harry’s, but
bright enough to light up a small room. She then appeared to be in deep thought again. Harry led her to a metal door
that wasn’t very hard to find with the ignited tip of Harry’s wand. Harry knew he had seen that door before. And it was
just that morning…

He immediately opened the door and gasped, Hermione following a short moment later. There was frosty raw meat scattered
around in a giant metallic room. There wasn’t an enormous pile, but it would certainly last a while. But Harry noticed
the room, even with the frost covering it.

“This was the battle room Kreacher used,” Hermione whispered.

“Yeah,” he said, “it is.” Harry walked into the room and cast a warming charm on himself and Hermione. She went straight
to the steaks to pick them up, while Harry walked around the perimeter. It was a small room, but it would be perfect for
a training room, Harry finally decided. They could move all the steaks into a bag – using Hermione’s expansion charm, of
course – and place the bag in the freezer.

As they walked out of the giant icebox, Harry finally realized that this was the place Remus took care of his furry
little problem. They must have heated the place on those nights, leaving Moony to a buffet of steaks to avoid biting
himself. Then they would freeze the steaks in the room to save them for later. Harry shared this with Hermione, and she
said that she had already figured that out and agreed with him. They went back up the stairs and found a durable grocery
bag. While Hermione was muttering a long string of spells for an expansion charm, Ron had finished eating and asked what
they were doing. When Harry told them that they were going to put all of the steaks in the freezer and use the room to
train, he grudgingly agreed that they did have to train, but begged Hermione not to make a schedule. He claimed that he
didn’t skip school to learn.

As Hermione was about to yell at him the real reason they left, Harry stepped in and grabbed the bag. “Come on,” he said
to them as he walked down the stairs, not waiting for an answer. He was going to change their arguing constantly. He
didn’t want to deal with it for who knows how long.

Soon, all of them were picking up frozen steaks and placing them in the bag. Harry had put an impervious charm on the
bag, hoping it would work. It did. They had, in total, one hundred and thirty-two steaks in the bag. Some quick math
from Hermione revealed that each could have forty-three steaks in total. After they placed them in the freezer, Harry
placed warming charms around the room, getting rid of the frost and eventual water and grease. After the place was a
little bit slippery, but warm enough, Harry cast fire spells around the room. One time, Harry could’ve sworn that he saw
some bright blue rings.

After the room was warm enough, Harry went back upstairs to find Ron and Hermione arguing…again.

“But he is still a living thing!” Hermione yelled, exasperated.

“Has everyone seemed to forget that he was still a ruddy traitor?” Ron retorted.

“Ron, he’s useful now, isn’t he? He is loyal to Harry now!”

“I didn’t see him take an Unbreakable oath, did you?”

“He told us about the locket!”

“And Harry sent him after it. He could be with Bellatrix, planning on how to kill us right now!”

Hermione’s eyes showed a tear about to form. She seemed to not have a reply. Harry almost wanted to curse Ron when he
saw the growing smirk, as if he had won something. It was time to end it.

“What is the problem?” Harry yelled. In all honesty, he thought they would’ve started arguing sooner than two days after
they left.

Hermione turned to him, her tone considerately softer. “Ron was arguing about how Kreacher doesn’t deserve any steaks
because he still isn’t trustworthy enough.” Her voice may have softened, but the venom in her voice was unmistakable.

“Well, you can’t blame me,” Ron retorted, this time towards Harry. “You know what Kreacher did! Why should we trust him?
Why shouldn’t we just give him clothes right now?”

“Because we saw what Kreacher has been through,” Harry explained to him as if he were a very small and incredibly stupid
child. “The way I see it, the only person who was nice to him was Regulus, and since he died, he became bitter and hated
everyone. Bellatrix and Narcissa were probably nice to him. So, the way to understand it is: Be nice to him, and he’ll
be nice back.”

Ron was speechless; this didn’t surprise him as much when he saw Hermione speechless. Ron then seemed to think about
what Harry said.

“Fine,” he said after a few long seconds, “but I’ll still be suspicious.”

“And you have every right to be,” Harry said as he pulled out his wand. “But he’ll still get a steak for dinner the
nights he gets here. Anyone up for a duel?”

Hermione smiled a mischievous, playful, and revengeful smile at Ron. Ron gulped. Harry smiled at the two. It looked like
he had found a new way for them to argue at each other. Ron would probably be the one crying in the end, though.

They spent the rest of the day, not actually dueling, but practicing spells. They agreed that they should train first,
duel later. Harry used one of Hermione’s books on defense and spellcasting.

The next day, Harry was engrossed in the book, forgetting to eat, until Hermione slammed the book shut and handed him a
grilled steak.

“Thanks,” Harry said, finally noticing his stomach growling as if it wanted Harry to swallow the steak whole.

“Harry,” Hermione started, “you need to eat more. While I love the fact that you’ve developed muscles,” she said with a
small blush, “you’re still impossibly skinny. I think you should eat at least twice a day. No excuses.”

“But what if I want to read my book all day?” Harry asked innocently.

“No excuses,” she repeated, and blushed a moment later. Harry had just reminded her of the many times he pulled her from
the library to eat. Harry smirked and ate as he flipped to the page he was on and continued reading the book.

“You know we can’t live on steaks,” Harry said after a few minutes.

Hermione looked at him curiously. Since when has Harry worried about eating the proper food groups?

“What?” Harry said, noticing Hermione’s gaze.

“Who are you?”

“Come again?” Now he was incredibly confused.

“You’re a completely different person, Harry. I hope you realize that.”

“I’m not that much different, am I? I think I’m just more… determined.”

“What do you mean? To kill Voldemort?”

Harry shook his head. “No. That’s not all. I’m more determined to finish this whole thing. This is a war. I’m destined
to kill the general of the opposing side. Voldemort is the general, of course. But I realized that Voldemort isn’t my
only target. There’s the rest of the Death Eaters. Voldemort may have been the one who caused me the most pain and
everyone else, but he has lackeys that helped accomplish most of it, while causing pain to others, also. I’m going to
seriously harm, possibly kill, all of them, next time I get the chance. They show no mercy when killing others; why
should I show them any mercy? This time, when I kill Voldemort, there will be no leftovers.” He said all of this with a
grim look.

Hermione blinked at the man before her. He seemed to finally understand the weight on his shoulders, and what surprised
her most was that he was handling it well, excellently even. This was not the Harry she had known before. This was a new
Harry. A Harry that was ready for war and the actions that came with the word. She could see it in his eyes. Those deep
emerald eyes that spoke of pain, power, courage, strength, and determination. She could see that in the forefront. It
shone brightly. Hermione wanted to share all of it. And that was when she realized that when that time came, when the
moment of life and death finally approached…Harry would give it his all against Voldemort, and she would make sure that
she was beside him, making sure that his lackeys were writhing in pain for all they had caused him.

For the first time ever, Hermione almost felt sorry for Tom Riddle.

“You won’t be alone,” she said firmly. Harry looked up at her in mild shock. He had thought that she would not do
anything of the sort. “You’re right, Harry. This is war. We need to act like it is war. No second chances; at least
Snape taught us something. No mercy. If they are on Voldemort’s side, we either kill or disable them…permanently.”

Now Harry was in complete shock. He hadn’t noticed that he dropped his fork on the plate, letting it clatter along with
the knife. “Hermione…” he started.

“No, Harry,” she said, knowing what he was abut to say. “I am in this war as much as you are. I chose you at my own
will. I will keep following you at my own will. The only way you can get rid of me is death, and I don’t plan on that
happening in about a century or two. This was the reason I sent my parents to Australia. To fight and live. If anyone
tries to do harm to us, we will harm back. I sometimes forget that we are not little kids anymore. That we just look
around for Horcruxes and find some way to kill Voldemort. It’s much more complicated, and we mustn’t forget that again.”

Harry felt ashamed that he had brought Hermione into all of this. He felt ashamed that she didn’t go hiding with her
parents. He felt ashamed that she had befriended him in the first place, being in constant trouble with him ever since
she had.

But he needed her.

And that would be his weakness, should anything happen to her.

He just had to accept it.

“We won’t,” he finally said after a few seconds of silence. “Finding the Horcruxes and killing Voldemort is our main
goal. There are…” He fished around for a word, “…sub-goals to accomplish, too. We have to make ourselves strong enough
to compete with his Inner Circle, at the least. We need to learn dark spells, too. Lupin said that George’s ear was
cursed off, so he couldn’t re-grow it. We will only use stunning spells, disarming spells, and other jinxes and hexes in
training duels. When we are faced with lethal spells, we fight back with lethal spells. No exceptions. We can’t hold
back, no matter their gender, strength…” He looked straight at Hermione with a serious expression that she didn’t know
he had. “…or age.”

That slightly faltered Hermione, but she knew that Harry was right. If they were faced with Draco, Pansy, Millicent, or
anyone who was on Voldemort’s side, they would die.

“Do you know how to become an Animagus?” Harry said out of nowhere.

Hermione heard his pleading voice and couldn’t bear to turn around to see his sparkling eyes she knew were there,
pleading with her. “I-I c-can read on it,” she stuttered, her resolve broken down. One of these days, she wouldn’t be
able to fight herself to snog him senseless. She had fought it down for years, but now that she knew that he would allow
it, the urge was getting stronger by leaps and bounds every day.

“Good,” he whispered, “‘cause that might be helpful in the future, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I agree. Should we tell Ron about the offer?”

“You want to become one, too?” Harry said with a grin.

“Yes, why?” Hermione asked, grinning back.

“Because you’d be an illegal animagus.”

“We don’t have laws anymore; remember, Harry?”

“I still think it’s amusing,” Harry muttered as he turned back to his now slightly warm steak.

“Do you have the book in the bag?” Harry said in between bites.

“I have a book on human transfiguration,” she told him after a second of mentally checking her inventory. “I’ll check if
there is a section on becoming an animagus.”

“I hope I have a powerful form,” Harry muttered, more to himself.

“I know you’ll have a powerful form, Harry,” she said reassuringly.

“But how do you—”

“Harry! Hermione!”

Harry shot up and ran toward the stairs, thinking Ron was in danger, Hermione shortly following.

“How could anyone have gotten in without us noticing?” Hermione said urgently, hot on his heels.

“I don’t know,” Harry said as they reached the top of the steps. “Ron!” he shouted for him.

“Over here!” Ron shouted back from Harry’s side. Harry looked over so fast and saw Ron looking out of the window.

“What?” Harry asked urgently as he ran over to the window.

Ron silently pointed out of the window to two men who were standing across the street, smoking and taking glances at the
place they couldn’t see.

“Death Eaters,” Ron explained, calming Harry down.

“You scared me,” Harry said, trying to catch his breath. “They’ve been there since yesterday!”

“Oh,” Ron said sheepishly, “I didn’t know that.”

“Now you do,” said an irritated Hermione, wheezing for breath. “Harry,” she said as Harry held her up by putting her arm
around his shoulders, “tell him.”

Harry sighed and told Ron about their discovery of not letting Death Eaters go easy next time they meet up with them. He
also told them of their need to become an animagus, and the topic of Horcruxes he and Hermione had the day before. To
say that Ron was shocked would be quite the understatement.

“We have to kill?” Ron screamed, still stuck on the first topic. He had waited until Harry was finished, but now he was
exploding with questions. “Have you gone off the deep end, Harry? Unforgivable Curses?”

As long as we don’t accidentally make a Horcrux, I don’t see what the problem is,” Harry said with a shrug. “It’s not
like it’s illegal. And if they tried to kill us, then—”

“Then we’ll knock ‘em out and send them to Azkaban!” Ron reasoned in a loud voice.

“And they’ll just get out again,” Hermione countered. “The Ministry owns Azkaban, remember. In this new Wizarding world,
there are only two rules you can choose to follow: One is to kill, and two…”

“Is to be killed,” Harry finished. “No rules, no boundaries. There’s also that sacred unwritten law that says, ‘Obey
Lord Voldemort at all times’, although I’m sure we broke that law. I’m surprised, Ron; you don’t want to break the rules
and Hermione couldn’t care less.”

“But these are laws,” he shouted.

“Which are obsolete until we take down Voldemort,” Hermione reminded him once again. “When I’m faced with a Death Eater,
I won’t hesitate to kill. I’m not saying we should use the Killing Curse, but at least a powerful ‘reducto’ or a very
powerful stunning spell to the chest. I’m not going to just stun him and give him the chance to be re-enervated by his
pals and get me while I wasn’t paying attention.” Hermione had still never forgiven herself for when that happened.
Thinking back on it, she was almost happy that Harry took out Dolohov.

“If you don’t want to use the AK, then I’ll use it on the Horcrux. You should work on some dark curses. I wish I had
that book with me. It had a few useful curses in there.”

He didn’t notice Hermione stiffen for a short second.

“I’m not using that curse on anyone or anything!” Harry groaned at Ron’s defiance, but accepted. There were only six
Horcruxes, anyway (if it worked, of course.)

“Fine,” Harry agreed, “but are you gonna at least stop using weak spells like a disarming spell?”

“I’ll think about it,” Ron promised after a few seconds of mulling it over.

“Alright,” Harry said after a tense silence, “Anybody want to actually start dueling?”

Hermione sighed as she leaned off of Harry. “I need to exercise,” she said, more to herself. “I think I should jog
around the room before I join you guys.”

They all left the room, Hermione to get towels for all three, and Harry and Ron to the room to duel. Harry and Ron
immediately took their stance and started casting spells. Ron was excellent in the beginning, thanks to his DA training,
but soon faltered; Harry guessed that it was because he was in better shape himself, proving his theory of being in
shape to be better in a duel.

Hermione was taking a short jog around the room, watching the two duel with interest. She had noticed how Harry was in a
crouched position and kept is eyes trained on Ron’s. He was taking slow steps and shallow breaths, according to the rise
and fall of his chest. She noticed that he was barely muttering the spells, while Ron was practically screaming them,
yet their spells seemed to match intensity and power, if not Harry’s were stronger. She finally saw Ron’s wand flick out
of his hand towards Harry, who deftly caught it, sweating lightly.

Ron, on the other hand, was sweating profusely, and seemed to be happy that the duel was over. This confirmed Hermione’s
thoughts as Ron promptly passed out.

“Is he alright?” Hermione asked with alarm as she ran over.

“Yeah, he’s alright,” Harry said as he levitated Ron’s prone body before Hermione conjured a simple folding chair for
him to sit in.

“Conjurations won’t last a long time, Harry,” she said in a warning tone as Harry sat Ron’s limp form down, his head
lolling over the edge of the chair.

“That’s gonna leave a crook later,” Harry said as he conjured a large pillow to cushion Ron’s back and head. “That’s
better…I guess.”

“Congratulations, Harry. You want to duel again?” Hermione asked with a challenging smirk towards Harry.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Harry stuttered.

“Why?” she questioned innocently. “Are you afraid that I might beat you?”

“That’s exactly why,” Harry said, raising his hands as if he was already giving up.

Hermione made a small humming noise before she slowly walked away from him. Harry was mesmerized by the swaying of her
hips before he ducked a red light. He looked up to see Hermione smirking, her wand raised. He smirked back at her
sneakiness.

“I need to learn nonverbal magic,” he whispered to himself as he took his stance.

(HP)(DH)(HP)(Take—Two)(DH)(HP)(DH)

Two days later, Hermione was reading a big book of Human Transfigurations that Harry teasingly called ‘light reading’.
She had found the chapter on becoming an Animagus. It seemed that it started with making a potion that had simple
ingredients to make, but Hermione was not sure where to get the ingredients. She figured she should find out how to get
the ingredients before she could continue. She really didn’t want to ‘harvest’ them herself, so she wondered if there
were any cabinets in Grimmauld Place for Potion ingredients. The Wolfsbane potion had to have come from somewhere. She
should’ve read the beginning before Kreacher arrived for dinner.

She smiled as she remembered the previous night. Harry was the most amazing cook she had ever seen. The things that man
could do with just steaks were simply unbelievable! When Kreacher arrived, he was quite taken aback when he noticed the
scent of Harry’s cooking, but didn’t complain. Ron was taken aback by Kreacher being there. He was never told of Harry’s
deal with Kreacher. When told, Ron just shook his head, mumbling something that sounded a lot like ‘mental’ and went
back to his steak.

Kreacher looked like he was ready to faint when Harry told them to join him for dinner, but once again, didn’t complain.
He seemed to be in bliss when he tasted the steak. Well, so was everyone except Harry, but Kreacher seemed to be on
Cloud Nine, if he knew what that meant.

When eating was over and conversations went around, Harry broke the iceberg by asking Kreacher to be his teacher.
Kreacher was shocked, to say the least. He was stuttering at Harry, who was trying to explain that he wanted to have a
better control of his magic and learn how to use nonverbal and (possibly) wandless magic.

He then asked a calmed down Kreacher if there was a major difference between magical cores of house-elves and humans.
Kreacher replied that he didn’t know, but he said that he would try to teach his master after he had found Mundungus. He
then proceeded to beg Harry to not let him return for dinner every other night. It seemed that Kreacher was desperate to
spend every bit of time to look for Mundungus and get that locket back. Harry reluctantly gave in.

Hermione was still smiling when the lights started blinking on and off. She looked to the left to see Ron click the
Deluminator on and off. She really began to believe that Dumbledore gave him that thing to turn off the lights. “Would
you mind?” she asked after a few minutes of frustration.

“Sorry,” Ron mumbled, “I don’t know I’m doing it.”

“There are other things to do around the house, such as exercising.”

“Will I feel the same as when I dueled Harry yesterday?”

“More or less.”

“No, thanks.”

“No pain, no gain.”

“That was a lot of pain, and I don’t think I gained anything.”

“It takes time, Ron.”

“And I’ll have plenty of time to do that…later.”

Hermione groaned with a smile as Harry walked in the room.

“If Snape shows up here with a dozen Death Eaters, you’re in trouble, Ron.”

Before Ron could reply, there was a small knock at the door, followed by metallic clicks.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron pulled out their wands as Harry ran to the shadows behind the elf heads, Hermione following.
Ron hid on the other side. Harry had a particularly lethal curse on his lips – Sectumsempra – before the door opened.
The three waited silently as a cloaked figure entered the house and stepped forward. Harry realized that it was not a
Death Eater; the cloak was brown, not the usual black. Before Harry could concentrate on the stranger’s features,
Moody’s voice rang out.

“Severus Snape?”

The familiar dust figure rose from the end of the hall and rushed towards the stranger, who calmly and quietly said, “It
was not I who killed you, Albus.” The dust exploded once more and the stranger became hidden behind the smoke. Harry had
realized that whoever the man was had been there before, as he knew exactly what to say. His voice was too soft to hear
him well. Harry pointed towards the middle of the dust closet.

“State your name and business or die, your choice,” Harry said with authority.

“Remus Lupin,” said the voice, slightly hitched.

Ron blew a breath of relief and lowered his wand. Harry and Hermione, however, kept the wands trained in the smoke that
was not clearing.

“Reveal yourself,” Harry said, reaching the bottom of the stairs to get better aim. He knew he couldn’t take any
chances.

Lupin moved forward into the lamplight, showing his graying hair and unkempt features. “I am Remus John Lupin, werewolf,
sometimes known as Moony, one of the fur creators of the Marauder’s Map, married to Nymphodora, usually known as Tonks,
and I taught you how to produce a Patronus, Harry, which takes the form of a stag.”

Harry tilted his head at Remus. “That’s common knowledge, isn’t it? I mean, Mundungus and Pettigrew could’ve provided
all of that. If you don’t mind, I’ll ask you a question.”

“Fire away,” the man who claimed to be Remus said, grinning with pride.

Harry seemed to consider his question before he smiled and tilted his head the other way. “What did we eat for
breakfast?”

“Brilliant,” Hermione whispered. She never would’ve thought of a question that sneaky.

“That is a very good question, Harry,” the man said, awe identifiable in his voice. His nose seemed to twitch for a few
seconds before he finally answered. “I see you’ve found my steak vault, then?”

Harry and Hermione smiled as they lowered their wands and ran down the stairs, Ron following, to hug the no-longer
imposter. “Good to see you, Remus,” Harry said to him.

“It’s good to see you, too, Harry, Hermione, Ron. Ron, you shouldn’t lower your defenses so easily.”

Ron grinned sheepishly and muttered a ‘Sorry’ before he asked, “How did you know we ate steaks?”

“Heightened senses,” Remus replied before ruffling Harry’s head while Harry groaned good-heartedly. “So, how are you
doing? I figured you guys will be here.”

“You were right,” Harry said, “but what happened on your end?”

“We are all alright, but we’re all being watched. There are a couple of Death Eaters in the square outside. I had to
apparate precisely onto the top step outside the front door to be sure that they would not see me. They can’t know
you’re in here or I’m sure they’d have more people out there; they’re staking out everywhere that’s got any connection
with you, Harry. Let’s go downstairs, there’s a lot to tell you, and I want to know what happened after you left the
Burrow.”

Harry nodded before they walked into the kitchen, where Lupin pulled a few butterbeers from his cloak. Hermione grabbed
a grilled steak from the stove and conjured a plate. She then handed it to Remus.

“Someone is quite the chef,” Remus noted as he took a small sniff of the steak.

“It was Harry,” Hermione and Ron said at the same time, causing Harry to duck his head in embarrassment.

“So, what brings you here?” Harry asked Remus before he got any more compliments.

“I wanted to check on you three since the attack, but I had a Death Eater tailing me.” Remus took a bite of his steak as
Hermione served the rest. “Harry, this is really good! Too bad the Dursleys gave you cooking skills; I would have to
make their death quicker to thank them.”

This brought a chuckle out of Harry before Remus continued. “Did you come straight here after the wedding?”

“No, we went to Tottenham Court Road,” Hermione explained as she sat down next to Harry, “but we ran into a couple of
Death Eaters.”

Remus dropped the steak onto the plate.

“What?”

Harry gave a quick re-cap. “Went to a café, deciding on where to go, Death Eaters came in and took a table across from
us, but we didn’t notice yet until Hermione recognized one of them; Dolohov.” Harry spat that name like a particularly
nasty curse word. So I killed him and Hermione gave his partner a memory charm. Stupid, now that I think about it. I
should’ve killed them both.”

Remus was gobsmacked and aghast, to name a few. “Harry…did you just s-say…you killed someone?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a nod and an unreadable expression, “And he won’t be the last.”

“But—”

“Remus,” Harry politely interrupted the man, “could you please tell me how they found us? I’ll answer your questions
about my actions later.”

Remus studied the man before him. He could definitely tell that Harry had changed. Harry seemed to finally understand
the difference between ‘disarm’ and ‘disable’. He still thought it too much to kill, but he did not fault Harry for it.
“Alright, Harry,” he finally said, “but only because you make a mean steak.

“I don’t know how they could’ve found you,” Lupin continued. “It’s impossible to track anyone who Apparates, unless you
grab hold of them as they disappear.”

“Are you sure there is no other way to find someone?” Harry pleaded. He had almost forgotten the danger of what they had
faced then, that every time they went out of the protection of a Fidelius Charm, Death eaters, possibly even Voldemort,
are immediately alerted to where they are.

“I wouldn’t know,” Remus said tiredly. “You don’t have the trace, so they couldn’t have found you that way.”

Before Harry could ask another question, Ron asked, “What’s up at the Burrow? Did anything happen?”

Remus sighed as he put down the steak once again. He longingly looked at the steak and looked at Ron. “I’ll give you a
summary.

“The Death Eaters searched the Burrow thoroughly for you and interrogated us for a few hours, but nobody but the Order
knew you were there. The Burrow wasn’t the only place searched; it was all of the other members’ houses, too, but
thankfully, no one was killed. Dedalus Diggle’s house was burned, but you knew he wasn’t there. They used the Cruciatus
on Tonks’s family. They’re both okay, thankfully.” He then proceeded to eat as much steak as he could before they could
ask another question.

When he finished, he noticed Harry had a thoughtful expression on his face. “Something on your mind, Harry?”

Harry nodded. “I’m a wanted criminal, aren’t I?”

Remus shook his head with a dry chuckle. “No, but you are very close. You’re wanted.”

“For what? Hermione asked curiously.

Lupin gave yet another tired sigh. Harry could tell that it wasn’t good news. “Dumbledore’s death. You’re wanted because
they want answers, since you… saw it.”

“What?” Ron and Hermione yelled at the same, and Hermione continued. That’s outrageous! That’s preposterous! That’s—”

“—Not so unbelievable, though,” Harry finished for her. They turned to see Harry with a thoughtful expression on his
face. “So, if the Daily Prophet is working for the Ministry, now – I’m guessing the Ministry threatened to take their
jobs or take out the newspaper company itself – then, according to the reactions from fourth year, I can’t even leave
the house…without Glamour Charms, of course.”

Lupin nodded. “I suppose so. I have a copy of the Prophet with me, if you want it.”

“That would be something to hang on my wall,” Harry jokingly said. “Tell me, if I stay out long enough, will they have
an old edited picture of me foaming at the mouth and laughing hysterically? It would mean a lot to Sirius.”

That broke the ice, as Remus gave out a full laugh that would’ve passed for a howl, while Hermione and Ron laughed along
with him.

“I don’t remember how long ago I laughed like that, Harry,” Remus said, still chuckling. After a few moments, he slowly
began to grow serious. I think I should tell you about Scrimgeour, as well. The official news was that he resigned, and
was replaced by Pius Thickness, who’s under the Imperius.”

“Figures,” Harry mumbled. “He still doesn’t want to get out in the open. He’s still running behind the scenes. I thought
he would’ve made himself known by now. I can’t believe no one’s figured it out. No one’s suspicious about Voldemort
taking over the world?”

“They do know,” Remus stated, “but they don’t know who to trust and who not to trust. Remember, most that have figured
it out are parents that would do anything to protect their children. The best thing to do right now is to keep quiet and
lay low.”

“Wimps,” Harry muttered, “but I guess it can’t be helped if you have children. Directing people to attack me and not
Tom. Controlling everything in the background while everyone remains oblivious. This is a clever game he’s playing, I
have to admit. I’m sure I’m not the only target, though. Is there someone else to look out for and bring in handcuffs?
The Order, maybe?”

“No,” Remus said, pulling out the Daily Prophet, “Muggle-borns.”

“Clever, but predictable,” Harry said somberly. Remus handed the paper to Harry. He saw the headline, ‘WANTED FOR
QUESTIONING ABOUT THE DEATH OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE’, before he chuckled lightly and turned the page. He read quickly
through the paper, paled and handed it to Hermione next to him.

“No one better fall for this,” he muttered darkly to her. Hermione gave him a confused look before she looked at the
newspaper. While she was reading, Harry explained to Ron, “They think that Muggle-borns stole their magic from
Purebloods, turning them into a squib. That’s what they said, anyways. They said that they need to be interviewed and
have their family history to prove that they had a relative or ancestor who does magic. Personally, I think he overdid
it a bit, but seeing as how everyone that reads the Prophet doesn’t have a lot of common sense, everyone’s gonna either
start turning people in or turn themselves in, if they’re stupid enough.”

“This is outrageous,” Hermione half-screamed, causing Harry to almost fall off of his chair, given that he was only a
foot away from her mouth. “Oh…sorry, Harry…. But who in their right mind would fall for this?”

“The wizarding world,” Harry answered, before he looked back at Remus. “Anything else? Like Hogwarts? Will everyone
there be safe?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Not completely, anyway. Attendance is now mandatory for every young witch and Wizard. That was
announced yesterday. That’s never happened before. Almost every witch and Wizard has been educated at Hogwarts, but it
was at their own discretion, and their parents’.”

“Pathetic,” Harry spat. “He has access to all of the children. Next thing you know, Death Eaters will be allowed in the
school. No Muggle-borns are allowed to go to school either, right?”

Remus shakily nodded. It seemed to Harry that Remus wanted to say something that was uneasy for him.

“Out with it, Moony. Something wrong?”

Lupin looked up at the name, then cleared his throat. “I-I’ll understand if you can’t confirm this Harry—”

“I’ll answer all of your questions, Remus. Most of them, anyway.”

Remus nodded, still uneasy, Harry noticed. “The Order is under the impression that Dumbledore left you a mission.”

Harry nodded, slightly understanding where this was going. “He did. Ron and Hermione are going to help me complete that
job.”

“Can you confide in me what the mission is?”

“I have to kill Voldemort.”

Remus went paler than he was before.

“You didn’t know?” Harry asked curiously.

“I did, but I don’t like hearing it,” Remus said, shaking his head, trying to get the colour back to his face. “But I
know that’s not what Dumbledore told you. There’s something else. Can you tell me what it is?”

“No, Remus… I’m sorry, but I can’t. Dumbledore told me not to tell anyone but Hermione and Ron. Although I really don’t
care anymore, I don’t think I should tell you. I just can’t.”

“What do you mean you don’t care anymore?” Remus asked him.

“Dumbledore sent me to the Dursleys and got me in danger every single year, seemingly without knowing. Now I got this on
my shoulders. Excuse me for being a little pissed off at him. I can tell someone who I really trust, but only when there
is no way that person will ever be near a Death Eater… or the ministry…or near any kind of danger from people who want
information from me.”

Remus seemed perplexed that Harry would say that, but continued with his ‘offer’, Harry knew.

“Although I wouldn’t say that about Dumbledore, I mean he tried his best,” he heard a light snort in Harry’s direction,
but didn’t question it, “but I still might be able to help you. You know what I am and what I can do. I could come with
you to provide protection. There would be no need to tell me exactly what you were up to.”

“No,” Harry said immediately.

“Why not?” Remus said, an air of anger surrounding him. “Could you at least hear me out first?”

“I did. No.”

“But why?” Remus asked again, this time with pleading in his voice.

Harry looked at him, his eyes searching for something on Remus for a full fifteen seconds. “What about Tonks?”

Hermione seemed to perk up when she heard Tonks’s name. Harry guessed that she was going to ask that question, also.
However, Remus seemed to pale once again.

“She’s alright,” he said. “She’ll be at her parents’ house.”

“Why?”

“Because she’ll be safe there.”

“Didn’t you just say that the Ministry could get through anything… except the Fidelius? She should be here, shouldn’t
she?”

“No, she shouldn’t. I—” Remus started, his throat suddenly gone dry. Harry got up and made a glass of water. He
immediately handed it to Remus, who looked at it with guilt. He took a sip. Before he could try to drink the whole
glass, the water disappeared. He looked at Harry. His arms were folded and he was looking at Remus as if he wanted
answers. He was demanding answers. Remus was so worried that he didn’t notice that none of the people in the room were
holding a wand. Remus took a long sigh.

“Tonks is having a baby.”

“How wonderful!” Hermione squealed.

“Excellent!” Ron said at the same time.

“What!” Harry yelled in shock, surprising the other occupants. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” Remus asked him, his ‘protect cub’ instinct emerging.

Harry was about to give him a good screaming, but stopped himself. He didn’t want Remus to feel any guiltier than he
probably was at the moment. He went back to the original conversation, wondering why the hell Remus would have a kid
with Tonks in the beginning of a war, especially if they were active soldiers.

“Remus, he started, “that had absolutely nothing to do with my question. Although it did strengthen it. It gives me more
reason why she should be here. So, why not, and this time, don’t avoid the question.” Harry had a serious expression
that made even Remus gulp.

“I…I made a grave mistake in marrying Tonks. I—”

“Hold it,” Harry interrupted in an icy tone. The temperature in the kitchen seemed to have dropped dramatically. “Are
you saying that you don’t love Tonks?”

“Of course I love her,” Remus said, insulted.

“It seemed to me that Tonks loves you. You two are having a child together, and now you’re leaving her?”

Lupin sprang to his feet, toppling the chair over. Harry seemed to have hit a nerve. “Don’t you understand what I’ve
done to my wife and my unborn child? I should never have married her, I’ve made her an outcast!”

Harry shook his head at Remus in disgust. “Continue,” Harry simply said.

“You have only ever seen me amongst the Order, or under Dumbledore’s protection at Hogwarts! You don’t know how most of
the wizarding world sees creatures like me! When they know of my affliction, they can barely talk to me! Don’t you see
what I’ve done? Even her own family is disgusted by our marriage, what parents want their only daughter to marry a
werewolf? And the child – the child—”

Lupin actually seized handfuls of his own hair; he looked quite deranged. Harry was still glaring at Remus, not
hindered.

“My kind don’t usually breed! It will be like me, I am convinced of it – how can I forgive myself, when I knowingly
risked passing on my own condition to an innocent child? And if, by some miracle, it is not like me, then it will be
better off, a hundred times so, without a father of whom it must always be ashamed!”

“You know what would make a kid ashamed of their father?” Harry asked him, not waiting for an answer. “Their dad leaving
them and not raising them like a dad should do.”

“Harry,” Hermione said in a warning tone.

“He needs to hear this,” Harry said as he turned away to acknowledge her. When Hermione didn’t argue, he turned back to
Remus. “Here’s the way that I see it.

“You love Tonks. She loves you. You two marry. You two have a kid together. I guess you would feel better if the baby
wasn’t yours so you’re sure he wouldn’t get lycanthropy.” He noticed the narrowed eyes of his former professor, but
continued. Someone had to tell him. “Yet she loves you so much, she wouldn’t even think along those lines, so I’m sure
that the baby is yours. You finally have a family. You finally have a chance to live a life, even in the midst of war.
You finally get the chance to raise your child and nurture him along with your wife.

“Instead you want to leave your wife and unborn child to enter the war. Your wife will miss you. Your son was never
given the chance to decide if he wanted you for a father. I don’t understand how you could be so selfish. You think that
you are the only one in danger? You seem to have forgotten her relatives. She is related to Bellatrix and Malfoy.
Voldemort most likely knows that you two are married. He’ll kill her and the baby without a second thought.

“I don’t want your help. I don’t need your help. Hermione and Ron are all the help I want and need. James and Sirius
would be sickened…although Peter would be quite proud.”

Lupin had finally had enough. He reached his wand faster than Harry ever did in his life.

But Harry didn’t reach for his wand.

He made no move to grab the wand in his front pocket.

Actually, he had forgotten the wand.

Who needed magic when you were a mere two feet away?

He forgot the wand, because he punched him in the nose.

Shocked by Harry’s action and the overwhelming raw energy in Harry’s punch, Remus staggered back and his wand slipped
from his fingers. Before he could attempt to reach the wand again, another blow got to his cheek, with even more
strength. Remus tried to block his face, but that only exposed his stomach…then chest…then both shoulders at the same
time…to Harry. Finally submitting to and shouting out in pain, Remus fell against the wall he didn’t know he backed up
against. His lip was bleeding. He felt blood arise in his throat, but fought it down. His eyes were blurry, unfocused.

And it just hit him. Remus Lupin, former Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, werewolf, and one of the best
duelists in the Order, had just been beaten by a seventeen-year-old.

Hermione and Ron were in a stunned silence. They watched as Harry simply walked over to Lupin’s dropped wand and picked
it up. Hermione read his expression. She saw a disturbing calmness in his physical appearance, but Hermione saw the pain
in eyes. He didn’t want to do that, she knew, but Remus would’ve just left after Harry was hit. She almost wanted to
curse Remus for what he tried to do. Harry walked back over to Remus and crouched over him before he looked at him for a
long second. Remus’s eyes were unfocused. Harry pointed Remus’s wand at his throat. That seemed to awaken him out of his
semi-unconsciousness.

“Try that again,” Harry growled, “and you’ll figure out why Voldemort could never beat me. And I didn’t even need my
wand this time.”

“Get…get off…” Remus said, also growling, and Harry could almost see the ferocity of a wolf in him.

Harry pressed on, unperturbed. “Are you going to hex me if I do? You know, you can’t really get out your anger with a
stick and words. I need my fists. Could be because I’m Muggle-raised. Could be because my hands and feet were the only
protection from Dudley and his gang. Or it could just be because I hadn’t done it in a while. Either you’re going to
listen to me, or I risk my life to go over to Tonks and bring her here. Your choice; go to her or you both stay with me.
No loopholes, no exceptions. What’s it gonna be?”

Remus was breathing raggedly, his mind trying to process the information given to him. How did Harry’s punching get so
bloody…bloody?

“He’s right, you know,” Hermione commented steadily. “You shouldn’t just up and leave her like that, especially after
getting her pregnant.”

“Look, Remus,” Harry said once he realized that Hermione was done, “if there is one thing I ever learned from
Dumbledore, it’s this; you have to choose between what’s right and what’s easy. The easy thing for me to do is to run
away to the Muggle world and live happily as a Muggle for the rest of my life. The right thing is to kill Voldemort, or
try, at least. Which one did I choose?”

“Go to your wife,” Hermione said calmly. “Help her. Endure through her mood swings. Be there when the baby is born. Be
there to take care of him or her. Most importantly; be there to love them both, no matter what condition the baby will
be in. You told me that your kind doesn’t usually breed. Then how do you know that your child will get lycanthropy one
hundred percent? Even so, if Harry was born with…” She searched for an appropriate word, “…AIDS…or cancer, would James
or Lily love him any less? I, for one, wouldn’t think so. I would have to agree with Harry that James would be very
upset at you. I am. Harry is. And you say that he is just like his father.”

Remus could just not stop paling after each an every sentence. He feared that he had gone whiter than Tonks ever could
with her metamorphmagus abilities. He knew that what Harry and Hermione were saying was absolutely right…but it was too
hard.

“It may be hard,” Harry said, as if hearing his thoughts, “but it’s right. Nothing in life is easy, so I’ve heard.
According to my life I think I have proved that theory correct.”

Remus opened his mouth, swallowing down the bile in his throat. “What ab-bout you?”

“What about me?” Harry asked warily.

“Your g-girlfriend…you left her...”

“I don’t have one,” Harry said.

“Ginny…was bragging about it…”

“Ginny’s not my girlfriend. Sure, she was for a short while, but I realized that she didn’t like me for me. She liked
the Boy Who Lived, just like everyone else. But Tonks loves you. Go to her.” Harry finally stood up and backed away to
give Remus a little space, but still kept Lupin’s wand trained on him.

Lupin steadily stood up. He needed the wall for support as he pulled himself up. Remus didn’t think that Harry was that
strong. He had taken more punches than this, but…this was too much. He could’ve sworn that at least one of his bones was
broken.

“Harry…” Remus said slowly, clutching at his stomach, “…I know what you are saying…I,” he made a small grunt of pain,
“understand what you’re saying. You’re right; James and Sirius must be disappointed in me right now. Although I bet that
they’re beaming with pride at you now. Not a lot of people could stand up to a werewolf, much less knock one out.”

Remus let a stuttering breath and sucked in quickly, as if he was trying to suck up the pain. “You win, Harry. I’ll go
to Tonks. And our baby. And Hermione was right; you are just like your father…although he would’ve reached for his
wand.”

The young Wizard gave a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry for attacking you, Remus, but you were sort of asking for it,
taking your wand out and trying to curse me and everything.”

The werewolf hung his head in shame. Yes, I guess I did deserve that…even if I didn’t attack you, for that matter. I
don’t think Tonks is going to be happy to see me when I go home.”

“You left your pregnant hormonal auror wife – who would kill anyone who called her by her first name – at home,”
Hermione said, amused. “Use a strong shield charm when you enter the house.”

“Good call,” Remus grunted. “But…before I go, the offer still stands. I want to help you. Any questions that you have,
anything that you need assistance.”

“There is,” Hermione and Harry said at the same time. They grinned at each other before Harry nodded for Hermione to
speak. “Well, I’ve been reading this book on how to become an Animagus, and I need a few ingredients for the beginning
potion.”

Remus gave a nod of understanding, but he was smiling as if he wasn’t in any pain at all. “You want to become an
Animagus? That would be very helpful. James and Sirius would definitely be proud of you. I’ll have the potion in a few
days. Anything else?”

“Yeah, there is…except I might need Tonks’ help for this.”

“What?” Remus asked curiously.

“Well... okay, well, how does a Wizard grow his hair?”

“If someone wants to grow their hair, he or she just needs to use a simple potion. The growing process does hurt a bit,
which is why few people use it, but the results are usually worth it. Do you want to grow your hair out for better
camouflage? I can get the potion if you want. Why do you need Tonks?”

“Well, when I was younger, and I had no knowledge about magic, Petunia used to give me unwanted haircuts. By the time we
got home, my hair grew to the same length it was before. I didn’t know that it even grew until Petunia…told me. I know
that it was accidental magic, but I wanted to ask Tonks – if it’s not any trouble – exactly how rare are
Metamorphmages.”

There was silence for a short moment from Remus, and Harry felt a little uncomfortable, if not incredibly stupid. It was
then that he realized that Remus was in deep thought. He looked around to see Ron look at him like he was barmy, no
doubt, and Hermione looking at him with an unreadable expression – Harry didn’t think he had seen that before. Before he
could question her, Remus spoke.

“That doesn’t sound like normal accidental magic,” he muttered. “Harry,” he said aloud, “I don’t want you to get your
hopes up; I’ll talk to Dora before I jump to any conclusions.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. He really wondered if he could be an Animagus. It would be incredibly helpful, he figured, if the
form was useful. He handed Remus his wand as he shook his hand. Remus pulled Harry into a hug before Harry could let go.

“Keep the one you love most close to you,” Remus whispered in Harry’s ear, so softly that Harry had to strain. “My nose
can smell a lot more than food, Harry. Such as fear… courage… lust… can’t smell love, but I can see that plainly. Lily
must be proud of you, too.” Before Harry could comprehend what Remus said, Remus broke apart and walked towards the
door. “If you need any help, I’ll be back soon. Best of luck.” And with that, he opened the door and immediately closed
it once he stepped out.

There was a short silence that followed, and Harry felt that he was tired. For some reason, he had felt weak since he
had punched Remus but put up a strong face. He walked to the stairs, intent on catching some sleep.

Ten minutes later, he groggily opened his eyes to a stern Hermione Granger and gulped. He didn’t know what he did wrong,
but he really wished he didn’t do it. She seemed to support Harry when he beat up Remus. He couldn’t remember what else
he did wrong, though.

“Explain,” she said rather calmly.

“Explain what?” Harry said. “I did a lot of stuff that needs explaining.”

“Explain why you didn’t talk to me about you possibly being a metamorphmagus. First.” It was the same calm tone that had
Harry suppressing shudders.

“I wasn’t sure I was right.”

“And that explains the entire situation?”

“I didn’t want to look like a fool.”

“Have I ever made you look like a fool before?”

“No. But I really wanted reassurance that I might be one. Your hopes might have been up.”

“They certainly would have been. And they are now. It just would’ve happened sooner than now. Remember when we used to
tell each other everything?”

Harry stayed silent, but nodded sleepily. It was the incident in sixth year that made Harry almost lose his faith in
Hermione.

Hermione’s glare immediately changed into a frown directed towards herself. She too remembered when Harry had stopped
confiding in her. She swore that it would never happen again. “Harry, please don’t try to keep secrets from me again.
We’re in this together. I told you that before. Ron and I tell you everything, so you have to tell us everything.”

“She’s right, mate,” A voice said from the door. Hermione turned to see Ron standing in the doorway approaching them. “I
don’t want to be kept in the dark. Sure, I might not agree with it at all, but I still want to know.”

They both nodded in Ron’s direction and smiled. “Of course, Ron,” Harry said, “you’ll never be kept in the dark. But can
you leave me in the dark? I need my sleep.” Before they could speak again. Harry turned around in his bed and closed his
eyes. Ron shook his head and laughed while Hermione smiled at the seemingly sleeping figure. When Ron left, Hermione
leaned over and kissed Harry’s cheek.

“I’m going have more questions for you tomorrow, Potter,” she said softly, but sternly. She kissed his cheek again
before she stood and was about to leave before something caught her eye.

She saw Harry’s pants that he was wearing only fifteen minutes ago hanging on the edge of a transfigured iron board.
They were obviously baggy beyond belief and were so tattered, transfiguration could only do so much. Hermione made a
mental note to find some pants around the house that will fit Harry or go to a department store.

The pair of pants wasn’t what caught her attention, however.

It was the large wallet-sized bulge in his front right pocket that did.

Hermione was frozen on the spot. She could not believe what it was. She knew that inside of Harry’s pocket was the
reason that Hermione had gotten her best friend back…the reason she received her first kiss…the reason she could finally
let out that she was madly in love with Harry Potter. Well, let it out to herself, at least.

She had to talk to it. She had to update her on everything that happened. She had to check if it had told Harry
something that she didn’t want to be told. She had to see if the charms were still up. She even had more charms to add.

She smacked herself. Literally and figuratively. Her forehead began throbbing with pain, and she was sure that it was
turning red. She deserved it, she figured. She didn’t take a picture of Remus! How could she forget something like that?

“You know, you could get a concussion like that,” Harry sleepily said. She turned around to see him facing her, his
green eyes half-lidded. “What got you so frustrated?”

Hermione ashamedly pointed at the bulge in Harry’s pocket. Harry stared at it for a short second, before he nodded.

“You want to talk to her?”

“Well, yes… but we forgot to get a picture of Remus!” she urgently whispered.

“We can get a picture of him next time,” Harry reasoned. “He was bruised, remember? I don’t want his picture grunting in
pain. Those cuts stay on him, don’t they? They can’t heal when they’re in a picture, right?”

“Oh, I…” Hermione formed an embarrassed blush redder than the print on her forehead, “…I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Let’s talk to her,” Harry whispered, preparing to get up.

“You sleep, Harry. I know you’re very tired. I’ll fill her in on everything. Good night.”

Harry was already asleep before she pulled the album out of his pants pocket. Hermione smiled at his sleeping form and
quietly left the room.

She was walking down the steps and barely said “Herm—” before she was interrupted by a crack. A familiar and – at the
moment – very pleasant voice yelled out around the house from the kitchen.

“Kreacher has returned with the thief Mundungus Fletcher, Master!”

-------------------------------------------------------

Author’s Note: Please review. I think I did good pacing on this one. This only covered half of one chapter in canon.
Remus is a pureblood first and foremost, he is new to physical blows. And don't tell me about his werewolf powers. they
don't exist when he is in human form.
I was trying to figure out where Remus goes all the time to handle his problem, and I was too lazy to check the books,
if that was listed. So I made up my own location.

Any catchier Titles?

Author’s Note 2: First Black President in the states! Woot!!! (Anyone catch that South Park episode, 'About last night?'
Classic...)
Anyway, this is all I have written so far in the story. Now I got to write up chapter 7 and beyond.

Something to think about while I try to get my creative juices flowing again: It was something I thought of a while ago:
How does everyone know about Harry's scar before he came to the Wizarding World? everyone knows, but the only witnesses
to the scar's creation was Harry and Voldemort. And the only ones who saw him after that, that knows of his location,
and keeps in contact with the Wizarding World is Dumbledore, Hagrid, McGonnagal, and Mrs. Figg (and possibly Petunia).
hmm... curious...

Once again, please review.

Updated on Site: November 10

------------------------------------------------------------------------

7. Changes

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I would have a suite on the Harmony cruise…

Chapter Seven—Changes

“Kreacher has returned with the thief Mundungus Fletcher, Master!”

Hermione froze. An exciting shiver slowly went through her spine. Kreacher was here? Now? With Mundungus? Why did he
have to have such bad timing? She turned towards Harry's room. She heard no noise, so Harry must still be sleeping. She
took one look at the emerald and gold album in her hand and sighed, before heading off towards the source downstairs,
pocketing the album as she did so.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw an unusual sight. She saw a straggly, unkempt man, full-grown, bound
and gagged in ropes by the mercy of a small, shriveled elf holding a large frying pan. She would've laughed, for it
immediately reminded her of a cartoon of a cat and mouse, but the seriousness of it all kept her face impassive.

She pulled out her wand from her back pocket, just to be safe. “Good job, Kreacher,” she said sincerely. She wanted to
hug the elf, but knew that he would be disgusted, and she didn't want that to happen. “Harry will thank you when he
awakes.”

The elf seemed to be at war with himself for a moment, as she had seen before. Finally, he gave her a stiff bow, which
slightly surprised Hermione. Even Mundungus's eyes widened at his behaviour.

“What shall Kreacher do with Fletcher, Miss?” He asked, the last word coming out in a half-hiss. Hermione took that as a
turn for the better.

“Just sit him in a chair, please,” she said politely, and was awarded with a three-second slack-jawed gape from
Kreacher. She really felt sorry for the house-elf, having very rarely heard `please' from anyone. He then summoned a
chair to him, facing Hermione, and practically threw Mundungus into it. Amazingly, he landed in an upright position.

Hermione looked at him for a long moment. His hair was matted, his Wizarding robes were incredibly dirty. He smelled of
tobacco, sweat, and she was sure that if he talked, his breath would be heavy with alcohol. But, thankfully, Kreacher
had him gagged, also. Focusing back on his face, Hermione realized that he looked very nervous. She decided that the
sooner she made him talk, the better.

She reached up and pulled the gag from Mundungus's mouth, and immediately regretted it.

“Wha've I done?” He yelled angrily, and her theory on Mundungus being drunk was correct. “Setting a bleedin' house-elf
on me, what are you playin'—?!”

Hermione pointed her wand at Mundungus. It was so close to his face, he almost went cross-eyed. He gulped and looked
back up at her.

She had no intention of actually hurting him, but she felt intimidation was the best approach here. “I'm going to ask
you a few questions,” she said primly, as if teaching a lesson, “and I want you to answer them all promptly and
truthfully. If I even think you're lying, I know enough cutlery charms to get a different answer from you. Is that
understood?”

The man gulped comically.

--

Harry woke up an hour later. He heard the flip of a page. He looked up to see Hermione sitting on the bunk bed she never
really slept on, reading. After they had thoroughly searched the house, they had deemed three rooms absolutely safe.
Hermione had decided that in case Harry was to have another vision of Voldemort's happenings, she would record the
messages if Harry repeated the messages aloud. That, of course, required her to stay in the room that Harry was sleeping
in. Harry was not sure what the motive was, and Ron was jumping to a conclusion in his mind. Unfortunately for him, he
was jumping to all of the right conclusions, but he dared not voice them.

They had a decision to make. They would either tell Ron or keep it a secret for now. That option was brutally stolen
from them on their last heart-to-heart conversation.

“I don't want to be kept in the dark. Sure, I might not agree with it at all, but I still want to know.”

They really didn't think much of it when he said it. They were really thinking about the war ahead of him, not what
happened earlier. And besides, he hadn't really told anyone about his relationship with Lavender, and this seemed like a
situation that they really didn't need public. Besides, they planned on telling him eventually. Harry and she didn't
even know what their relationship really was at that moment. However, they knew they had to tell Ron something in order
to keep his friendship.

However, Harry knew that Ron wouldn't forgive him. Ron would feel betrayed somehow. While nothing had ever happened
between Ron and Hermione, Harry knew Ron would still feel like he was stabbed in the back.

Although Harry nor Hermione had never understood why. Ron had liked Hermione for a few years now, yet he never made a
move. Unless you could count the disaster of `How to ask a girl to the ball.' To this day, Ron did not know what he did
wrong.

And this really irked her at times. She eventually came to realize that Ron was not very bright, nor was he very aware
of the things he says. He has never really said anything nice to her unintentionally; it was always either a very mean
thing to say, or just a joke that was taken as an insult.

Hermione shook her head as she kept reading, her mind on autopilot. She had little hope for Ron ever finding a girl that
could tolerate him. While Luna would be good for him, he wouldn't be good for Luna. Ron would never change, she knew.
She's been trying to change Ron for years, but he was the same as always.

She sighed softly. Some things never change.

It was then that she felt that someone was watching her. She looked up to see Harry, sleep-addled, looking at her
through misty eyes. She silently closed her book and stood. Harry's eyes followed as she approached him and knelt down
to him. “How was your sleep?”

Harry shook his head somewhat wildly and smiled that grin of his. “Refreshing. How long was I out?”

“About five hours,” She told him. And 43 minutes. But who's counting anyway? It's not like she had anything else to do.
No one could go to the Training room alone to do spellwork for safety reasons, and Ron never even wanted to enter the
room again. So she was stuck here. Not that she minded, of course.

Harry nodded and sat up gingerly. “What've you been doing while I was out?”

“Reading, mostly.” Hermione told him, plopping herself on the bed beside him. Harry only smirked in response, and she
swatted him in the shoulder, making them both chuckle.

This was what Hermione loved about Harry. Any slightly hurtful joke, comment, or sarcastic remark that may have formed
in his mind was never voiced. He had never once insulted her, intentionally or unintentionally. He was always aware of
her feelings on a subject, such as her love of learning, or her views of house-elves, and so on.

She loved that about him. She loved him.

And she wasn't going to let anyone think any different.

The two just stayed like that, sitting together on the bed, relishing one of the peaceful moments that they were sure
were going to be scarce in the near future. When they would be hunted.

No, Harry began thinking, already making the decision. When it was their time, they would be the ones hunting. They
weren't going to sit around while Voldemort hunted down his loved ones, then step out when there was no one left. No, If
Tom wanted a fight, then Harry was going to train enough to give him one.

Besides, he couldn't just hide. That would be too…Slytherin of him.

Hermione looked up to see the determined face of her…partner. “Penny for your thoughts, Harry?”

Harry shook his head. “Knut,” he corrected, and she smiled. “I was just thinking. I know we aren't strong enough to take
on Voldemort at the moment…but why do we have to hide like this? We can easily take out those guards outside. We can
take your bag and take everything we need with us, cook the steaks and put them on a warming charm or something, it
doesn't matter! We can't keep hiding like this, especially if they are pretty much sure that we are here.” He scratched
his hair, a sign of frustration marring his features.

“I don't think the steaks will last very long like that, but I'll see about a preservation charm.” Hermione thought for
a second. “I could go to a grocery for some bags.” She stopped and frowned. “We should use what little money we have
wisely, though. But I don't think the guards know that for a fact. The Weasleys have people looking at them and their
house as well. They might have people at places you might visit.”

Harry sighed. “In that case, maybe the safest place for me right now would be the Dursleys.”

Hermione gave a sound of distaste. “That reminds me. If they aren't killed yet, I'm going to pay them a visit someday.”

He saw the gleam in her eyes, and finally decided that whatever she was thinking, the Dursleys had it coming to them. He
still felt a bit sorry for them, though; He always steered clear of Hermione when she was mad, on those few occasions
that he couldn't get her to calm down. He leaned back into the headboard and Hermione rested on his shoulder. They were
silent for a few minutes, until Hermione broke the silence.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Have we always sat together like this before?”

Harry smiled and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, mimicking the way they sat together since third year. “Like this,
yeah.”

“This…this is the first time that I'm actually thinking that this isn't right.” She leaned up and looked at him. “Should
we stop? I mean, until we decide to tell Ron something.”

As a response, Harry pulled her closer, making her squeak. “If we're going to tell him anything, it might as well be
right now. I'd rather not wait; it'll only make things worse.”

Hermione considered his words. “I don't think he'll take it well. But if we wait longer, he'll think we've had a
conspiracy against him the entire time.”

Harry gave a sad smile. “That's how I feel sometime. Like someone knows something about me that I don't know.”

She wrinkled her forehead. “What do you mean?”

He leaned his head and stared at the ceiling. “Well, the Dursleys never told me about my parents or about magic.
Dumbledore never told me the real reason Voldemort wanted to kill me until fifth year, and I have the training of an
average wizard. I could understand if he trained me, and then tell me, but…he didn't. He waited until I was an emotional
wreck that had almost nothing else to lose.” By now, Harry had pulled Hermione closer to him, hugging her tightly, but
not the least bit uncomfortably. He was absorbed in his musings, slowly putting his life in hindsight. “No one bothered
to tell me about a prophecy that involved me. I don't think Sirius knew, but I'm beginning to think that everyone else
did.”

“I'm sure they didn't know Harry,” Hermione told him, a concerned frown on her face. They would've told him about the
reason Voldemort was trying to kill him if they knew, right? “I mean, Mrs. Weasley wouldn't have told you, but I'm sure
Remus or Mr. Weasley would have. And I'm positive Sirius would have!”

Harry shook his head. “They probably didn't tell know all of it. I mean, I guess he knew that a prophecy exists, but
that's all. Could be the same for everyone else. They probably didn't even know what they were guarding.”

“Dumbledore wouldn't tell them?” Hermione asked, puzzled.

He looked at her with a grim look. “Dumbledore never tells anyone anything.”

Hermione was about to speak, but her mouth closed with an almost audible pop. She was trying to think of an example
where Harry was wrong, where Dumbledore did tell them the complete story about something. The Philosopher's Stone? No,
he never told them why he hid it in the school, or why he just hadn't put it in his office, or even his pocket or
something. The fabled truth about Sirius being Harry's Secret-Keeper? Mr. Weasley knew, according to his talk with Harry
before they had left for Hogwarts four years ago. Why didn't the headmaster tell Harry? Sure, Harry likely would've gone
after Sirius, but he's a wanted man! Everyone was looking for Sirius, how was Harry going to find him, never mind escape
Hogwarts grounds? No, Dumbledore kept that information from him as well. Legilimency? Why did it take five years until
Harry found out about mind-reading? Harry didn't even know that Voldemort could invade his mind through his scar, or
that anyone with the mental arts could invade his mind just by looking at him. Dumbledore always gave Harry bits and
pieces of information, never the whole picture.

Did he even tell Harry why he liked socks so much?!

“That bastard.” Hermione muttered to herself. Every type of danger that Harry either found or was found in, he did with
partial knowledge. Well, except Quidditch. He only came out with just enough knowledge to stay alive! But why? Why would
he do all of this? How could he just let Harry get into all of this danger? Sure, Fawkes saved him once. And only once.
She only believed in Deus ex machina in movies, but this wasn't a movie. There were quite a few instances where
Dumbledore could've saved them, or told them about a danger, instead of standing in the shadows, his eyes twinkling,
presuming that everything was going to be alright. Why, though? Why did he have to go through all of those years at
Hogwarts, facing dangers every single year, clueless? She wasn't going to blame all on Dumbledore, though; Harry should
have studied once in a while. But study what? She was just as clueless sometimes when she was in the danger with him.
Fine, he was clueless for good reason. They never had the material to gain knowledge from…because Dumbledore didn't want
them to have the knowledge. Dumbledore, or an inside source, told them what was mandatory for them to know, and nothing
else. He didn't want them to know, because…because….

Harry chuckled out loud, surprised he wasn't shocked at her language. Hermione did not take notice. He wondered what
conclusions she had reached by now. Knowing her, she was almost at the conclusion he had reached a month ago.

“It was all a test,” She said numbly, her mind seeing no other logical conclusions. “It had to be. Dumbledore knew
everything, yet he told you almost nothing! From the Philosopher's Stone to the Horcruxes -” She stopped, seeming to
have remembered something else. “He even knew Draco was trying to bring Death Eaters into the school!” She turned to
Harry, his face impassive. “Wait - you knew?”

“I had a while to think about it after he died,” Harry confirmed. “I was trying to think about all he's done for me.
Then, I started thinking about things he could've told me, and things he hadn't done for me.” He frowned. “One list
heavily outweighs the other.”

Hermione turned and stared at the wall in shock. Their beloved headmaster, testing Harry (and probably Ron and her) the
entire time. Just so it could all lead to that “Final Battle” with Voldemort. Dumbledore was a warrior first, a
headmaster second. That was the only reason he would endanger so many students every year. `The third-floor corridor on
the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.' Yes, tell them the
warning without an explanation. They wouldn't be curious at all!

Hermione was silent for a few more minutes, until she finally said, “Do you think there's anything useful in that
children's book anyway?”

Harry had shaken his head, but nodded halfway through. “There's a symbol in it…I've seen it before, I know I have.”

“What symbol?” Hermione asked, furrowing her brows.

“Where's the book?” Harry asked, and Hermione grudgingly left Harry's embrace to get off the bed and stand. She walked
out the room and Harry quickly followed.

When they reached the downstairs room, Harry looked through the open doors to the kitchen to see a crumpled form sitting
on a chair, tied up in ropes. He looked towards Hermione, who flushed in embarrassment. She had completely forgotten
about Mundungus. She picked up her book on the table and explained. “Kreacher returned shortly after you went to sleep.
I didn't want to wake you back up, so I talked to Mundungus.” Hermione sighed. This was the hard part. “It's at the
ministry.”

Harry frowned. “Okay, we'll just ask Mr. Weasley to -”

“With Umbridge.”

“Shit.”

“I was thinking that,” Hermione said, glaring at her friend. “But I didn't say it.”

“You're welcome,” Harry said, looking at Mundungus's prone form before looking back at Hermione. He quickly looked back
at the figure in the chair and noticed a welt on the side of his head. “You…actually tortured him?” He looked over to
Hermione with a little bit of shock, and more than a little bit of pride.

She felt her cheeks heat up more. “That was Kreacher. He hit him with a frying pan.”

Harry couldn't help but laugh at the thought, and Hermione chuckled with him. After they shared a good laugh at
Mundungus's expense, Harry quickly sobered. “But what do we do with him? He knows where we are now, and since we're all
secret-keepers, he's one too.”

Hermione blanched. “You're right! And since he's a secret-keeper, we can't Obliviate the location from him. We can't
alter his memories at all about this place. He'll definitely tell someone where we are, especially if he gets caught
again. If The Ministry looks for him again, word will get to Voldemort and…wait. Why aren't we worried that Snape can
attack us at any time?”

Harry turned away, rubbing the back of his head.

“Harry?”

Harry gave a sheepish grin as he turned back to her. “Well…about that. I'm kind of…hoping for it…”

She quickly understood the meaning behind him and hit him on the shoulder. “Harry! How could you! You want him to come
in here! So you can kill him! At a time like this! What if he brings a group? We can't possibly take all of them out!
What was your plan?”

He absently rubbed his arm as he grinned sheepishly. “I was just kidding, Hermione. You're just cute when you're
frustrated.”

She didn't know whether to blush again or hit him again. So she did both. Harry laughed as he dodged it. “What's the
real reason, Harry?” She asked, shaking her head at him with mirth.

“Actually, I just figured that if he hasn't revealed where we are already, then he likely isn't going to. I mean, at
first I thought that since he killed the secret-keeper, that he was automatically out of the loop. But Mr. Weasley told
me Snape should still be a secret-keeper since he knew of the location.

“I also figured that Snape didn't want to tell Voldy just yet. I don't think he wants anyone to know. If he ever decides
to step through those doors, it would be by himself. You know as well as I do that he always wanted to kill me
personally, if he ever got that chance. Now he does.”

“But what if he doesn't want to kill you personally? What if he wants to watch while other Death Eaters…torture you.”

That gave Harry pause. “I didn't really think about that. I suppose that would be the more Slytherin thing to do.

“You're right; this place is not as safe as we thought. We should be ready to leave at a moment's notice.”

Hermione agreed wholeheartedly, and they began to pack.

After an hour, all of their own belongings were packed. Hermione only had out her toiletries, the two books (The Nursery
Book and the Human Transfiguration Book) and her clothes for the next day. Harry only had out his toiletries and his
clothes. He had transfigured one of his old cast-offs into a sack that Hermione could place the steaks into, after
applying the right charms (warming, weightless and stasis) and put all of the bags in the kitchen, between the stairs
and the basement. That way, wherever they were, they could easily get to it fast enough.

As Harry walked through the house once more, wondering if there was anything of value that he needed to bring with them,
Hermione sat at the kitchen table, evaluating the last few days of her life. In her hands, was a seemingly normal
pocket-sized photo album. Whatever was happening between Harry and her was because of this album. She just didn't know
how or what happened. Just a few months ago, he wouldn't even talk to her. Now, he smiles whenever he sees her. There
was no doubt she loved the change in him, but why so spontaneous? Harry had rarely shown affection for her before, but
after a month of talking to just a magical picture of her, she could practically see the connection between them mend
itself and tighten, going stronger every day.

That was what led her to the next topic. Ron. She set her elbows on the table and groaned tirelessly in her hands. She
had, in order to distance herself from Harry, come onto Ron the previous year. She felt that she should apologize to him
before Harry and she told Ron about them.

And then she remembered the lavender accident again. That always made her angry before. Even now, it did. But she was
never once jealous of that moment. It looked quite disgusting, actually, the way they were making out. She could have
sworn Ron's tongue entered her nostril for a moment. She shuddered.

No, she was just angry. Angry at Ron for being a prick. Yes, while she would admit to herself that she was a bitch the
previous year for all that she did, she had come to realize her mistakes. She had apologized to Harry, and Harry had
forgiven her. And she was slowly beginning to forgive herself. But Ron was completely oblivious as always. There was
absolutely no hint that he had given her that he was sorry for what he did. Hermione didn't need an apology. She had no
romantic feelings for him.

But it was just rude. How does he ever expect to get a girlfriend with that attitude? She knew Lavender. She was a nice
girl. She was a bit clingy, yes, and could never keep a secret if her magic counted on it, but she was pretty sure
Lavender had actual feelings for Ron, despite her…wild… past. Maybe, if Ron decided to return to Hogwarts, he would be
with Lavender, or maybe even Luna, and after the war, they could all be friends again?

`Friends again…' The thought more or less disturbed her. Ron and she had never really become friends, per se. Sure, they
both hung out with Harry a lot, but every time they walked together, Harry was always in the middle. True, they became
acquaintances, and Hermione did his homework, but that was it. Looking back, she really shouldn't have done most of his
homework. It was something she had done to herself back in Elementary School; she had done all of her `friends' homework
so they would stay around longer. They were more like bullies in the pretense of friends. Over time, she had gotten used
to it, and sometimes, she even enjoyed it. But doing it every week for Ron - who never even proofread it, just put it in
his bag and walked away, not even saying thanks, like it was her job as his friend - made her tired. Now, it made her
angry. Well, angrier.

No, after this, if Ron freaked out and got angry at either of them just because they were…well, seeing where things were
going, then she wouldn't forgive him. Ever. She was honestly bone-tired of being near him. His off-handed insults, his
hatred of learning anything worth learning, his utter cluelessness to anything that wasn't Quidditch or Chess. She just
didn't want to deal with it anymore.

What did Harry see in him?

Oh, right. He was Harry's first friend. And by default, or maybe because she was a girl, he was Harry's best friend.
Hermione couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if Harry had met her first, instead of Ron. She smiled at
what could have changed.

But there was one thing she was sure of; she wouldn't want to change it, to risk losing what she had now.

Another part of her couldn't help but wonder if Hermione had never become friends with Ron. They would have probably
been the worst of enemies.

She slowly rose from the table, her chair making an audible creak as it slid backwards. The only conundrum now would
obviously be the toughest; if, whatever the outcome, Harry stayed friends with Ron, and they still be best friends,
would she be able to spend the rest of her life being around Ron, being his friend, if only to not upset Harry?

Yes. Yes she would.

It wasn't a hard decision at all, in hindsight. As long as she had Harry with her, she could quite literally do
anything.

Just as she started smiling, Harry walked in the door, totally oblivious to her musings. “I told Kreacher what was going
on, and he said that all I need to do is shout his name wherever we are, and he'll hear me.” He stopped when she shook
out of her thoughts. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” she answered meekly. She decided to tell him after they told Ron. It was his reaction that depended on what would
happen next.

She took a deep breath. “He's probably sleeping. Should we tell him now?”

Harry dragged his hand through his hair, immediately understanding what she was talking about. He looked very
uncomfortable, and for a second, Hermione wondered if he was choosing who he was going to confess bad news to. Harry
looked back at her and saw the terror in her eyes. “What? What's wrong?”

Hermione shook her head and mumbled “nothing.” Harry quickly strode around the table, turned her to him and made her
look him directly in the eye. “Hermione? What's wrong? I don't want to tell him either, but We have to. He's our best
friend.”

She winced. This was going to be a very awkward conversation, and she was not looking forward to it. “Harry,” she
half-whispered, half-strained. “It's not that. Just…I…I'll tell you after we tell Ron. I think there's something you
should know, but it can wait.”

She almost blurted it out at the look of pure concern and worry on his face. “It's nothing important,” she stressed,
“It's just that I would much rather not say it now. I promise I'll tell you after we deal with Ron.”

He wasn't convinced, obviously. It was something that was obviously distressing her. He shrugged off the uneasy feeling,
trusting her completely. She'd tell him later.

No words were needed as they trudged up the stairs. Harry found this an opportune moment to open the book and look for
the symbol. He wasn't really that concerned about telling Ron. While Ron, in the privacy of his dorm, had shown hints
that he was attracted to Hermione, he had always been very vocal of the witches he would sleep with when talking to
Seamus and Dean. Hermione never came up in the conversation. Well, when Harry was around, at least. So, while Ron had
implied feelings for Hermione, there were plenty of other fish in the sea, and Ron had more than implied that he would
like to swim with any of them.

But…then again, he did read a book for her.

Harry shook his head of his own musings and flipped back a few pages. He had absently flipped a few that he hadn't
checked thoroughly. He was thinking to hard about this. Whatever happened was going to happen, his only job was damage
control. He slipped his wand from his pocket to his sleeve, hiding it from view while gripping it tightly. He didn't
expect to use it, but Ron had quite the temper and Harry wanted to make sure.

For some reason, Harry couldn't help but wonder if this was really going to change anything. He made his choice and,
hopefully, Hermione had made hers. If Ron wasn't going to accept it, then Harry wasn't going to put up an argument. They
couldn't have any type of tension while they were searching for the Horcruxes. He almost shuddered when he realized how
crazy he would've gone if he had to put up with Ron and Hermione's famous arguments until Voldemort was dead. He was,
however, thankful, that it was only one-way sexual tension.

Harry reached the door and without preamble, knocked. He waited a few seconds before he knocked again, harder. He
sighed. “No use. He snores like a construction site.” He tried again, this time practically punching the door.

“Alright, alright! I'm up already!” Several seconds later, a disgruntled Ron opened the door, looking as if he needed
just a few more days of sleepy. “Waddyouwan?”

Harry had to smile at his best friend's appearance. This would be the last amusing memory of Ron, something told him.
“Ron,” He started, deciding to get right into it, “we need to talk to you.”

Ron nodded and yawned widely before he let them in his room. He hadn't bothered taking off any of his clothes before he
went to bed, so he was only mildly embarrassed when he noticed Hermione was with him.

Hermione still had to sniff at Ron's lack of manners. He didn't even cover his mouth when he yawned! They both chose to
sit on the foot of the bed while Ron plopped back down, laying horizontally. “`Bout what?” Ron yawned again, feeling
sleepy again.

“Well,” Hermione started, “It could've waited -”

“So let it wait,” Ron interrupted, rolling over.

“You told us not to leave you out of anything.” Harry reminded him, wondering if he should douse him with cold water.
For his sake or Ron's, he wasn't sure.

“And? How important is it?”

“Very!” Harry and Hermione yelled at the same time, making Ron snort loudly in surprise and waking him up fully for the
time being. He sat up and looked at his friends' serious faces. “What? We found a horcrux or something?”

“No…well, yes, but,” Hermione stammered, “that's not why we -”

“We found a horcrux! Alright! Where is it?”

“Ron, calm down -”

“I can't calm down! We found a horcrux! Well, where is it?”

“Ron, we'll tell you where it is if you listen -”

“Listen to what? What could be more important than a horcrux?”

“Ron!”

“What?”

Harry looked between the two, wondering what made him believe that this was sexual tension. “Hermione was trying to tell
you,” He spoke slowly, expecting another explosion, “that we, as in `Hermione and I,' need to tell you something.”

Ron stopped glaring at Hermione and looked over to Harry, listening with mild interest. It couldn't be better than a
Horcrux, could it?

“You said a few hours ago, that you didn't want to be kept out of the loop. That you wanted to know everything that we
knew, and not be kept in the dark.”

Ron nodded, wondering where this was going.

Harry looked over to Hermione, who was still glaring daggers at Ron. She felt the need to blurt it out the second he
shouted, but that would end in an even louder shouting match. Harry restrained himself from putting his hand over hers
to calm her. This has to be done without bodily contact. That much was certain.

Harry released a sigh. “Hermione and I have…well…decided to start…a relationship.” Harry chose his words carefully.

Ron snapped his head towards Hermione, as if he had just been slapped towards her. Now he was fully awake. “What?” He
asked her, for the first time in a long time, speaking softly to her.

Hermione waited for a more concrete reaction, while Ron waited for a confirmation. Finally, she relented. “Harry and I
had an honest conversation about our feelings for each other,” Hermione started, and before Ron could interrupt, again,
she continued quickly. “And we decided to see where it would go from here.”

At first, Ron looked like he did not want to accept it. He just looked back and forth between Harry and Hermione, back
and forth, back and forth. They both had neutral expressions on their faces, trying not to show any emotions. They both
knew their friend; they waited to see Ron's reaction, before they jumped to any conclusions.

Sadly, Ron acted just as both Harry and Hermione expected. The tips of Ron's ears tinged red, and Harry had decided to
talk before Mt. Weasley erupted. “We decided on it today, Ron. And Hermione wanted to clear up a few things - ”

“What? What things?” he began, angrier than the two of them had seen in a while from him. “What could you possibly have
anything to say about, huh?! And how the hell did this happen? While I was sleeping?” Ron rolled over to the end of the
bed to stand, and Harry got up, pulling Hermione up with him. He didn't let go of her hand. “You know, I should've known
something when I realized that you couldn't have done that much sweating from casting spells!” Ron looked at them,
disgusted at them both. But they kept an impassive face, but Hermione's was starting to crack a little. “You know, this
is just fucking great! I try to impress you,” he almost hissed at Hermione, “with a bloody book - bet you love that I
know how to pick up one of those things - and now Harry decided that he's too good for my sister and to go after you! Of
all people! He could've chosen Ginny, Cho, Padma, hell, any girl at Hogwarts, or any girl in the whole bloody world! But
he just had to choose the one - the one girl I wanted!” He rounded back to Harry, missing Hermione's shocked face, as
she struggled to keep her emotions under control. “You knew…you knew I wanted her! And you just had to take that away
from me, too, didn't you?”

“I didn't take anything from you!” Harry spat, “And how was I supposed to know? You never said anything! I like
Hermione, so I told her. We talked. I didn't look from afar and make fun of her while I got my feelings straight! I
didn't argue with her just because I think she's cute when she cries! I didn't have to read a damn book to know what she
likes!”

“You're the boy-who-fucking-lived! You don't need to woo any girl to get into her knickers! I just didn't know Hermione
was that…that… EASY to—”

The very next second was a blur to everyone. Harry slid his wand down his hand and clenched his fist around it, the
glimmers of anger starting to adorn his features. Ron was turning to Hermione, who was on his left. He was busy avoiding
their entwined hands, and had not noticed Harry holding his wand in his other. He had plenty more words planned for both
of his former friends, and he had every intention of reducing Hermione to tears.

Therefore, when the next second passed, He didn't really know why he falling to the ground, the entire side of his face
feeling a large sting, that would, in a few seconds, turn into a hot-red burn on the entire side of his face. He landed
with a thump, and shook his lips as the wind in his lungs escaped him, still confused of why he was there, why was he
hurting, and which one of them did it.

Hermione shook her wrist, loosening her hand as Ron fell to the ground, sputtering. Harry quickly turned to her, almost
forgetting his mounting anger. Hermione, who had only slapped Ron, now balled up her fist, shaking with rage.

Hermione had never liked violence. She never wanted to do anything that involved violence. When she first received the
letter to Hogwarts, dueling hadn't even entered her mind until Defense Against the Dark Arts appeared on her schedule.

Then Harry Potter entered her life.

Hermione couldn't lie to herself; she had seen more violence than the average girl. Her first year until now was getting
bloodier and bloodier. It, of course, all came to a head when Harry killed the man who had haunted her dreams for the
summer after her fifth year. If she could be honest, he was partly the reason why she tried to distance herself from
Harry. Well, the damage that he caused.

Seeing a man decapitated… changed a person. In some way, shape, or form, he or she will always be changed by an extreme
act of violence, at least the first time. That, she knew. However, she had promised herself long ago that if she had
ever performed any act of violence, she swore she would never change for the worse.

But she also knew that however affected she was, nothing compared to what Harry had seen in his past. He had seen death
at one, lived in an abusive home, had inadvertently killed at eleven, was forced to kill again at twelve, saw the death
of a friend at fourteen, saw the death of his own godfather at fifteen, and saw Dumbledore killed just two months
earlier.

And now Harry had killed again. He wasn't forced to, but he did. Because he wanted to kill Dolohov. He had a choice, he
could've bound him and wait for the Aurors, who by then were all under Voldemort's control. It was the stupid thing to
do, but it was the right thing to do. He could've just stunned the two and they all escape scot-free, and let them live.
Of course, they would've been back, since it was still a mystery of how Harry was found there. But Harry had killed
Dolohov for simply no reason.

Or was it really just the reason she suspected? Was it really all because of her? Did Harry kill him simply for
Hermione's sake?

Hermione really didn't know what to feel about that. All she knew was right here, right now. If Harry was this
war-driven, she knew she needed to be helpful.

She had made another promise a long time ago; a promise that was much more important than becoming something she never
wanted to become, just for her own sake. She had promised herself that she would never, ever, ever leave Harry's side,
and to help him with her full abilities in whatever he needed help with. Wherever Harry went, she wasn't far behind. If
Harry was this far in the war he had technically started, but never wanted, she wanted to be in the center as well. And
if Harry had what it took to take a life, for her, then she knew that she wasn't far from having to take a life herself
in this time of war. Because when it came down to it, she wasn't going to choose their lives over her own. She had
someone to live for.

However, she had something to admit to herself as she shook her hand, and she voiced it aloud. “That felt good,” she
whispered. And it was about to feel better for her. Quickly sidestepping Harry, who made no motion to stop her, she
approached Ron, her ears ringing with what he had said not ten seconds ago, and kicked him hard in the ribs. Ron
screamed in pain as he hunched over. “What was that? What did you say? Easy? I'll show you how easy I am…” She raised
her foot.

“Hermione!” Harry's voice reached her. Only her head tuned to acknowledge him. Her foot was hovering above Ron's pelvis,
and she was going to bring it down with all her might. Hermione just stared at Harry, her eyes showing the hatred that
she held for the man below her. She was going to strike him again. Whether he wanted her to or not.

However, he had not called her to stop. He was angry as well, but Hermione more so. “Do whatever you want. Just…don't
kick him there. Please.”

Hermione considered it while Ron tried to scamper away. “It's not a kick,” Hermione replied as she swiftly raised a hand
and summoned him back. “It's a love-tap.”

Harry's eyes widened. Hermione had just summoned a human wandlessly. His books said that was impossible. He knew
Hermione was angry, but he felt that being in the same room with her at the moment was unsafe. He decided that it would
be best to supervise while Hermione let out all of her tension. Her purely physical tension.

“You demean my chastity, you think of me as an object, and you compare me to a common whore?! I am not something you
want, Ronald! I'm not a damn thing!” Hermione screamed, kicking him to give more emphasis to her words. “If Harry wasn't
in here, no girl would have the pleasure of being wanted by you again!”

She stopped to rest her foot. “You're lucky, you know,” She said casually, her glare being anything but. “You were our
friend. If you hadn't been, I wouldn't be holding back.” She paused to sit down on the bed. “I don't really think you
were ever my friend. In fact, if Harry never made friends with you, we'd have probably been enemies.”

Ron rolled over to face her, still in a fetal position. He was seething, even as he held his stomach dearly, threatening
to release the two steaks he had before he went to bed. “We were friends in the first place because I SAVED you!”

Hermione's glare intensified, and not seeing a reaction from Ron, she stood from the bed. “My feet aren't hurting
anymore,” she announced, and Ron tried to move, but his stomach was too sensitive to move around. Hermione had to smirk.
She always knew that one day, his stomach would get him in trouble. “If you're talking about our first year with that
bloody troll, you didn't save me,” she spat, approaching him. “You almost got me killed in the first place. And the only
reason you were able to use that spell was because I told you how to do it right!” Before she could finish the sentence,
her foot was in motion, her frustration and anger from the past six years, simmering, had now boiled over. He had used
her for six years, and a new thought surfaced; if she had continued to blindly pursue him, she would have been used for
many more. So, without holding back, she began giving him the beating that she knew Ron deserved.

This continued for a full five minutes. During this time, to keep his mind off of what was happening in front of him,
Harry had opened the book to search for the symbol again. He was still beyond angry at Ron, but he figured if anyone
needed this more, it would be Hermione. He quickly found it on the corner next to the number. He concentrated on the
symbol, so much that he had tuned out Ron's grunts of pain and Hermione's well-placed kick to his spine. That
symbol…looked so familiar to him. He knew it was recent, but he couldn't really trace it on anything.

Hermione stopped to look at what she had done. She looked and looked. Ron had started bleeding, his lip busted,
clutching his stomach and rolling on the ground, howling in pain. He always managed to keep one of his hands cupping
himself down there, but she had no intention of dirtying her shoes on it, though the thought had frequently crossed her
mind. Her adrenaline rush was not quite over, but she was level-headed enough to look on with shock as she realized what
she had done to him. She really didn't mean to go that far. She was planning on punching his face in a bit, but every
time she blinked and saw his face, she remembered every argument they had since year one. Her mind was running a mile a
minute, remembering every argument that had left her in tears or almost-tears.

“Eighty-three.” She paused to take a long, shuddering breath. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she kneeled to
“Eighty-three times I've had to deal with your shit! Two-hundred seven times I had to do your homework! Twelve of them
were mandatory essays! Two hundred and eighty-four days of my life I wasted on you, waiting to see if you, of all people
would change!”

She refused to cry. Ron would never make her cry again. She was going to admit it; she was proud of what she did. While
she had lost her temper, she was almost glad that she did. It was when she noticed the tears that she felt, for the
first time in her life, in control. She loved the feeling almost as much as she loved Harry.

Harry…she had just beaten up his best friend in front of him.

Her head snapped towards him; he was sitting on the bed now, his nose almost touching the page he was scrutinizing.

She looked back at Ron and then at Harry, whose lack of reaction she took as a good sign. She slowly took off her shoes
and socks and sat on the bed. She looked over at Harry, whose eyes slowly widened at the picture, as if he had just
rediscovered it. “You know where you saw the symbol from?” She asked. He didn't hear her. “Harry?”

His head shot up and looked over to her. “What?” He asked, confused.

Hermione gave a tired smile. “Did you know where the symbol came from?”

Harry smiled and nodded. “Krum. He wore this on his shirt, I think. I'll have to check with the pensieve, though.” The
he remembered why she looked so tired and looked down. Ron was lying on the ground, still and bloodied. “Erm, Hermione?
He's just unconscious, right?”

She lazily looked over to the prone form. “I think so.”

Harry frowned. “So how are we going to fix this? We can't just Obliviate him, he's a secret keeper.”

Hermione looked at him. “What do you mean?” She whispered. She had no idea that Harry still wanted Ron to stay.

Harry was about to continue, but seeing Hermione so distressed caused him to want to give in. “We can't kick him out,”
he tried to explain. “What about those Death Eaters outside?”

Hermione looked on the verge of tears. “I don't know, I'll apparate him out! I'll make a portkey! I'm not staying in
this house with him any longer! You don't know how…” she sighed the next word “addicting that was to me. When he insults
me again, and he will insult me again, I will hurt him! I will try get stronger every day just to make sure I can pack a
better punch! I am tired of this narcissistic, sadistic, incorrigible, alienating… bullying… despicable…”

“Prick,” Harry helped.

“Prick!” Hermione yelled immediately. She stopped and looked back at Harry.

Harry refrained from asking what she would've said if he supplied a swear. “Hermione,” he started, “Do you know how to
make a Portkey?”

Hermione nodded so fast, her hair was trying to keep up. “I'll set it for the Weasley's house!” She smiled, standing up.

“Wait!” Harry called as she was almost out the door to look for something to use. “Do you really want this?” Seeing as
she was confused, he clarified. “I mean, this is Ron, our friend of six years. You're ready to really end it? We may
probably never see him again. Plus that, we might have to move, since he knows where we are. We're gonna have to leave
here.”

Hermione leaned against the doorframe and thought to herself for a moment. “I suppose so…” She muttered. She looked over
to him. “So we'll be leaving after we kick him out?”

Harry didn't know whether to laugh or mourn. “I take it you want this?”

Hermione simply nodded and left the room to get her wand. Harry just stared at Ron's unmoving body, wondering if this
could've been avoided in any way. Figuring that while the pain he would be in would be extreme, but durable, he
enervated Ron and silenced him. When Ron's mouth opened in a groan, he decided to speak before he could say anything.
“So…” Harry started coolly, making Ron freeze. The dispassionate tone in his voice was meant to scare Ron, but it was
forced on Harry's part. “I know I'm the one that was supposed to be beating you senselessly. So I'll have to make up for
it next time I see you. It is Hermione's best intention that you stay as far as possible from her and me. With that
said, we've decided that it's best that you will not be with us while we search for Horcruxes. And besides, since I see
that you clearly don't approve of our relationship, I don't think that you'll like staying with us anyway.” His glare
turned into a frown, and his voice finally showed his true emotions. “I'm sorry it's come to this. I didn't think you'd
both go that far. You knew that you crossed the line, so I guess Hermione decided to join you.

“She went too far. We both know that. I'm sure she knew that. And, in all likelihood, she'll feel sorry for it later. If
I had been the one beating you, she would've stopped me before I could throw a third punch.” He closed his eyes. “But I
don't know her pain. It could be completely justified in her mind. I don't know how many times you guys have argued in
the past, and I don't know how many times she ran away crying, or had had her feelings hurt by you. You never seem to
learn that words can hurt.” He blinked in recognition. “So, in her mind, she thinks that the words that you said is
nothing compared to physical pain.”

He stopped and stood. “But that doesn't excuse what you said to Hermione. So I'll say it. In case you haven't noticed,
let me tick it off for you. One: Hermione never liked you. Two: We would have never done anything behind your back. It
was only this morning that we decided to start anything. Three: I could've stopped Hermione anytime I wanted. I didn't.
Why, you might ask? Because you went too far. And Hermione got to you first. And four, but I suppose you've figured this
out already, though: you remember a few years ago? When you betrayed me, didn't believe me, and overreacted? I forgave
you that time, because you were my best friend. No, scratch that. You were my first friend that I made at Hogwarts.
Hagrid was my first friend ever. Hedwig was my first friend in the magical word. And Hermione….she's my best friend. I
thought you were my best friend. She always had my best interests at heart, and I never paid attention. She was always
by my side, and I treated her almost like my secretary, never a true friend. Looking back…I was stupid.” His eyes almost
became misty reflecting on his past again, before they steeled. “But not as stupid as what you just did. What would you
have said if Hermione didn't hit you, and if I didn't decide to end you? Would you have kept going on about her? Would
you have called me a backstabber, and try to curse one of us? Or would you have just stomped out of here, not realizing
that there are two Death Eaters out there, waiting for us to slip up?”

Harry gave a tired sigh, very weary of all the events that happened just today. “Maybe, you were my friend. And maybe,
some part of me wants to stay that way. But I'll move on. Hermione will move on, of that I'm sure. We're going to do
what you couldn't and move on. Hopefully, we'll never cross paths again. Just…tell Mr. and Mrs. Weasley we're sorry for
what we had to do. But realize this, Ron. We're sorry. But we don't regret it.”

Ron only groaned. He was in too much pain to feel anything else. Deep in his heart, he knew that he had messed up. He
knew that he had completely severed the ties between his two best friends and himself. But there was nothing he could
do. His body wouldn't allow movement, and he could only make short gasps as he held his broken ribs close.

A few short moments later, Hermione strolled into the room with her wand. She was holding a freshly handwritten note,
with only a few sentences written, from what Harry could see. She kneeled next to Ron, who slowly peeked up at her.

Ron had nothing to say to her. He forced his eyes closed tight, conveying the message that he was ignoring her. Hermione
smiled at the sight. She had nothing else to say to him as well. She dropped the note on his body. Three seconds later,
and a bright flash of blue, Ronald Bilius Weasley had left both of their lives.

“I hate him.”

Harry's frown almost twitched into a smile. “I know.”

She got up and sat on the bed. “No,” she clarified, “I don't mean just today. I've always hated him.”

Harry had a look of pure surprise. “You…you did? Are you sure?”

Hermione gave another tired smile. “I'm pretty sure I know what hate feels like, Harry.”

“No, I mean…you're not yourself right now. I mean you just beat him up, that's not something you normally do. It's
adrenaline talking.”

Hermione turned to him, an almost amused smirk appearing. She could kind of see what he was talking about, but she had
to make him understand. “Harry,” she started, “I told you that I would tell you what was bothering me as soon as we were
done with Ron. I just did.”

Harry was dumbfounded to say the least. “You mean you…and he…I thought you two had at least…I mean, we were all together
for six years!”

“No, Harry,” she gently chided, “I was with you, and Ron was with you. I never got to know nor care about Ron until
sixth year, and even that was because I thought I had no other choice.”

“So…that famous `Golden Trio?'”

“I'd like to think of it as two separate Golden Duos. Or Golden Couples.”

Harry made a face. “Please don't say that again.”

“Say what?”

“Golden Couple… I'm a one witch, no wizard kind of guy.”

Hermione gave an unlady-like snort. “That's good to know.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and put her head on his
shoulder.

Harry immediately felt the difference. Hermione wasn't tense at all. She was completely relaxed in his embrace. If
anyone could compare the Hermione of a few hours ago and the Hermione of that very moment, one could say that she went
through weeks of therapy, and got rid of all of her troubles.

Harry had finally found the symbol in the book and recognized, but he dropped the book to the ground in favor of holding
Hermione. They both had to leave soon, they knew, so they enjoyed their last comfortable moment in Number 12, Grimmauld
Place.

After ten minutes, they stepped out the front door with the invisibility cloak and turned on the spot, their lives and
destinies changed forever.

And, I'm back. For the time being, anyway.

I was looking through some of my reviews and I swear, I sniffled a little. Thank you all for your kind reviews and
comments. I have no immediate plans to stop writing, and I think I'm getting back into the groove. This chapter was
supposed to be the halfway mark, but I figured this would be the best place to end it, and I didn't want you guys to
wait for another three years. I have a basic plan on what should happen for the rest of this tale, but I do not look
forward to cross-referencing the book every now and then. Now, I can't even read fanfictions that hint a Ron/Hermione
relationship. I honestly don't have anything against Ron; it's just that I love torturing him. It's so fun! I also think
he is the reason I've been in this 2 and a half year writer's block. I honestly saw no plausible way out of this, and as
a bonus, everything after this will definitely NOT be word-for-word of the original story, as some reviewers have put
it.

As incentive for staying with writing, I decided to finally buy the domain of rihaansfics dot com. Please support me by
visiting.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

8. Niveo Noctuam Lardum

﻿

The wheels are in motion. Neville decides to be more like his parents. Luna knows what to do, yet she doesn't. And Harry
and Hermione? Well, they're ready. Maybe too ready.

Disclaimer: I'm up at 7:50 AM, pulling an all-nighter, on a story I haven't updated in a year. I'm not on a Jet. I'm not
in my pool with my waterproof laptop. I'm just wondering to myself why people seem to hate Harry with harems.
…no, we're not getting into another argument about harems. There will be nothing of the sort in this story. I'm just
trying to make a point. People hate harems. Yet they want them. Strange.

What I guess I'm trying to say is I don't own Harry Potter. And that I might have ADHD, but that's another story.

Beta-ed by Alix33 - July 17, 2012

I was never really a big fan of Neville. He didn't do much, in my opinion, before he went all badass in the 7th book.
It's time to badassify him again. So expect some jump-arounds in this chapter and in the future.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Eight – Niveo Noctuam Lardum

It was when they set up one of Mr. Weasley's tents, deep in the woods, not ten miles from Grimmauld Place, that Hermione
truly realized the ramifications of what she did. The pain that she had caused what had been one of her best friends.
The consequences that were sure to follow.

She had gone too far. She knew that. She had known that the moment she slapped him. She went too far. But she did not
need consoling. She did not need a pat on the back. She didn't need pity or comforting. She only wanted peace.

And now, she finally had it. No needing to scream, no needing to defend every action she took, no one automatically
rebuffing her suggestions, no more damned clicking –

The clicking? The Deluminator! She had completely forgotten – where could it be?

She asked Harry, and he looked a bit concerned. Checking his watch, he noticed that only twenty minutes had passed. He
summoned Kreacher, and gave him three tasks. One, he would search for the Deluminator, and two, he would lock the house.
Properly lock it, not just let anyone turn the knob and stare at a dust cloud. Three, he wanted Mundungus out of the
house. Not in front of the watchers, but he really didn't care where else.

Hermione hastily added that Kreacher put a monitoring charm on the house before he popped away. He gave no indication of
whether he heard or not. She knew she should probably feel something akin to sadness for the elf, but she couldn't bring
herself to feel anything at the moment. She was tired. She wordlessly slipped into bed and fell unconscious.

Harry crashed down on the chair in the corner and gave her form a tired smile.

He was very unfamiliar with the entre concept of love, and he had a terrible track record at relationships. Sure, he
supposed he was a good boyfriend to Ginny. For two weeks. And she, for the first 13 years of her life, idolized him. He
had probably messed up, and she turned a blind eye. And Cho. He had ruined the first date. In hindsight, they both made
the mistake, thinking it would even work.

But, looking at her, he could never really put Hermione Granger and 'mistake' in the same sentence. The only people who
had, in a way, told him that they loved him in his life was his parents, Sirius, Hedwig, and Dumbledore. All dead. All
taken from him. And Harry knew who Voldemort's next target was if Ron decided to spread the news around Hogwarts about
his and Hermione's relationship. Of course he had considered the possibility. Ron could tell everyone, sure. He had no
reason to not tell everyone. They didn't exactly threaten him to not tell anyone. They were well aware of Ron's big
mouth. But all three of them were aware of Voldemort and what he could do. Every secret had to be kept. If Ron decided
to reveal anything, being Harry's 'best friend,' everything would be valid. There would be no question, it was the
truth. Even if he told lies.

Harry entertained himself with the idea of giving Ron a Blood Quill to write a few lines before he refocused on the
issue.

Harry and Hermione were already wanted people. So revealing that they were together, would that really make a
difference? They were already best friends, he had just as much to lose then as he did at this moment. He wasn't
planning on losing anything or anyone, either way. He amended his earlier thought – Ron could reveal to the world his
relationship status, it wouldn't matter. Hermione and he were on the run, that wasn't going to change. With Ron's status
as a pureblood, he would be able to go to school. If he publicly denounced his friendship with his former friends, he
would be okay. If he slipped out that they were once hiding at Grimmauld Place, they weren't there anymore, and well
hidden away. Everything would be just as it is now.

But only Harry and Ron knew that if he ever revealed anything that could put Hermione in more danger than she was
already in, he would kill him.

Harry wasn't stupid. The search for them wouldn't change. But he knew that if they were ever captured… Bad things would
happen to both of them. Worse to Hermione. Because of how much she meant to him. Tom tended to be a sadistic bastard
like that.

But Ron wasn't going to think that far ahead. He would stupidly open his mouth, preaching out against his 'betrayers.'
And then Harry would put his name somewhere on his schedule. Of course Hermione couldn't find out –

He was planning Ron's murder! Ron hadn't even done anything yet! He began to feel horrible for his train of thought.

Still, if Hermione had taught him anything, it was to always have a plan ready.

Kreacher returned with the deluminator, explaining that it was in Ron's room at Grimmauld Place, on the floor. He said
that the tasks were completed, before he popped away. The Black Manor was still unsafe to go to, however; they could
rough it out for a week or two.

Hermione groaned and turned over in her sleep. He got up and adjusted the covers on her and went to his own bed. He
found himself staring at the last empty bed and wished that it were filled. Hermione and he may have been the ones who
kicked Ron out, but they felt abandoned.

They felt alone.

And when Hermione grumbled Harry's name in her sleep and sleepily whisper that everything was alright, he couldn't help
but agree.

He wasn't good with the concept of love. But he was a quick learner. And Hermione was a good teacher.

He clicked the lights off with his new toy and quickly fell asleep.

He didn't even consider the thought that Ron could easily betray the Wizarding World with one word. A word that could
incite fear and paranoia in Tom's mind. A word that, if said loudly enough, could alter the entire adventure of the
Chosen One and his Chosen.

Horcruxes.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"The Phoenix."

"The Phoenix?" Hermione laughed, and Harry grinned sheepishly. "Don't you think that's a bit obvious?"

"The Order is not exactly supposed to be public," He countered. "If anything, people would think it's a proper member of
the Order."

Hermione smiled and took a sip of coffee. "I'd say we could be considered proper members."

"Mrs. Weasley wouldn't," Harry said quickly, a slight grimace on his glamoured face telling Hermione that he was aware
how much truth there was to his words.

Hermione tapped the rim of the mug as she pondered. "Fine, you can be the Phoenix. Now do me."

Harry simply raised an eyebrow as he stirred the sugar in his own mug.

She was quiet for a few moments, before she made a small peep and laughed, hiding her smile behind the conveniently
close newspaper. "Harry, you know what I meant!"

"I did," Harry chuckled, "but it's fun to imagine."

Hermione shook her head so the blush could not work its way to her face for what had to have been the twentieth time
that day. Her long blonde hair swished around her shoulders gracefully; distracting Harry for a moment.

"How-" he stopped himself. Hermione looked up at him, her face clear. She waited patiently for him to finish the
question.

Harry tried again. "How… do you handle all of that hair?"

Hermione cocked her head to the side. One part of her told her that now was the time to raise an eyebrow, but she was
certain Harry wasn't really asking about body hair and their favorite places to grow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean… your hair is much longer than – usual." He muttered, and she nodded in response. "How do you get adjusted so
quickly to it? I don't think I could."

She replied by taking a few strands by the ends and fiddled with them. "There's a reason I chose to glamour more hair,"
she started, and paused. "Want to know a secret?" She asked, and Harry nodded quickly, leaning forward in the booth. She
blinked at his eagerness.

"I, uh – " she began, slightly unnerved by his apparent need to learn something about her. She completely missed the
irony. "My hair – usually, it's a bit unmanageable, but it's actually this long."

Harry sat like that for a while, absorbing the information, before he fell back, look of shock on his face. Hermione had
to smirk – she was quite pleased that she could surprise him with such a useless fact.

Harry kept the look for a bit more before he tilted his head slightly, obviously trying to turn the hair into its usual
cinnamon color in his mind. It looked a bit… strange.

Hermione had decided that there was no real need to change her face, as she was most recognizable with her hair. Since
Harry was due to have WANTED posters around the Wizarding and Muggle world, he went for a full facial transformation,
courtesy of Hermione.

Actually, nothing drastic had changed. Harry, in his original form, had developed facial hair to the point where
Hermione could say 'ruggedly cute' but not yet 'ruggedly handsome.' However, in his current appearance, he was
completely clean-shaven. He had a bandage spelled to his forehead, since Hermione couldn't conceal it. She wasn't
exactly sure why. After performing the glamour spell a few more times, then a few concealment charms, as a joke Harry
just took one of the many bandages from her first-aid kit and crookedly stuck it to his forehead. An embarrassed Harry
just shrugged and a more embarrassed Hermione pointed out that it puts attention to that area of his forehead, and
people would surely compare. Then, in a fit of inspiration, he took another bandage and put it horizontally on his neck.
A few more glamour scars, and an eye color change (blue), and they left the tent to venture to a fast food restaurant
for a bit of breakfast.

His hair, while shockingly unmanageable, was unchanged. Harry joked that no one would notice him if it was actually
straightened and neat. Hermione refused to put any charm on his hair, for sentimental reasons. Harry rubbed at the
bandage on the side of his neck. "How come you don't wear it like that at school?"

Hermione grimaced. "It takes really strong conditioner to do the job," she stressed, "and it costs a bit of money. I
only tried it twice, when I was in France on vacation. It was… the complimentary bottle in the hotel room."

Harry chuckled. "I guess I have to look there for a cure."

Hermione frowned, but continued with their previous conversation. "Okay, now I have to think of a name."

"I thought I could choose?"

"You could have, until your dirty thoughts got us off-topic."

"Fair enough."

Hermione sat back, her hands clasped around the mug, holding it to herself. "I suppose I could be an animal name." She
looked up at Harry, and almost said something before rapidly shaking her head.

Harry got the feeling of reverse déjà vu as he waited patiently for what she was about to say.

Hermione was thinking of telling him that it was nothing, but she knew he wasn't going to let up until she told him.
Just as she always did. "I was only thinking that as a tribute of sorts that I name myself after…" She trailed off.

Harry's smile faded, and she could actually see the light in his eyes dim as his body noticeably slumped. "Hedwig," he
murmured, the emotion in his voice breaking her heart.

Hermione immediately realized what she did wrong. All this time, she thought he was adjusting to the snowy owl's death,
and slowly beginning to move on, and was healing the wound. Hedwig was never brought up since that night, and he was
fine with that – and now she was seeing why. It wasn't to adjust and remember fondly. It was to forget. He was trying to
forget. To forget about his first ever best friend, Hedwig.

Hermione immediately moved out of her booth to move to his side. She gently, but forcefully, nudged Harry over to sit
with him and wrapped her arms around him. Concentrating, she managed a small wandless notice-me-not charm around them.
She then concentrated the rest of her energy on holding him.

He felt Hermione hold him, and tensed. He was not completely used to physical touches. He loved Hermione's hugs, really;
he just liked the solace sometimes. In the years and summers he had spent with the Dursleys, he had learned something;
if he was by himself, he could do anything and not be judged. When he cried from a particularly painful beating, or even
verbal abuse, no one was there to judge him. Hermione could judge him. She could.

But she wouldn't.

So he began to shake. Then, for the first time in over a year, he cried. And Hermione began to sniff. Then she cried.
She cried for Harry. She cried for Hedwig. She cried for the whole bloody world.

The tears streaming down Harry's face were relentless. He could've laughed to himself if he wasn't so wracked with
guilt; why would he want to forget about Hedwig? Just the thought was nauseating, in hindsight. She was, animal or
human, one of his best friends. She was his confidant, his only companion when he was locked up for the summer, the only
one he could talk to when he didn't want to talk to anyone else.

And she was dead. Another friend lost to Voldemort.

The last friend lost to Voldemort.

"He dies," he muttered, his voice raspy.

Hermione, her tears drying, lifted her head from his shoulder and loosened her grip around his arms. He tilted his head
towards her.

"I don't want anyone else dying," He choked, "and I don't want to wait. I know we have to, but I don't want to wait! I
want him dead. I want them all dead. Not just for Hedwig. For Mad-Eye. For Sirius. For Cedric. Even for Dumbledore. I
will kill them all."

Hermione shook her head. "No, you won't." As Harry was about to argue, she continued. "We will. I didn't send my parents
to Australia to put Voldemort and his stooges in handcuffs." A new steely resolve became known in her, matching Harry's
own newfound determination, stronger than ever. They both had stopped crying, and the resolve that they seemed to carry
said that they were done for a while.

Harry leaned down and gave her a peck on the lips in appreciation. That lightened the mood and they both wiped their
tears away. Harry slipped out his wand and undid the charm and Hermione grabbed her coffee from the other side of the
table. She took a long gulp of the now-cold coffee, to calm her nerves.

They each enjoyed their coffee in silence, before Harry spoke again.

"If you named yourself H-Hedwig, our identities wouldn't be a secret."

Hermione grimaced. "I wasn't going to name myself 'Hedwig' - but I don't plan on having witnesses."

That got Harry smiling again. "We need a reputation. For that, we need a messenger. I don't want The Prophet making up a
name for us."

She agreed. "I wouldn't trust them if the paper wasn't rigged by Death Eaters."

"So we need a new name for you… what about Huntress?"

She cocked her head to the side. "Huntress? Seems a bit too… predatory, doesn't it?"

"Exactly."

"That doesn't exactly describe me, Harry."

"It sounds a lot like you. You may not know it, but when you decide you want something, it's a bit terrifying watching
you go for it. You've got determination like no one else. You put as much concentration into finding a spell as I could
put into doing a spell."

"That's hardly a good comparison, Harry."

"Fine, fine. You put more effort into freeing elves than I put into teaching Dobby that socks are supposed to match," he
said with a grimace, and Hermione chuckled.

"I wonder how he's doing now," Hermione wondered, setting down her now empty mug.

Harry shrugged. "I'll call him when we leave."

"No need, Mister Harry Potter sir."

Harry snapped his head forward, Hermione following shortly after. "What?" Hermione asked, confused.

"Dobby?" Harry asked, looking around the fast-food restaurant.

"You can't summon him here!" Hermione urgently whispered. "Everyone will see him!"

He turned to Hermione incredulously. "You didn't hear him? He's already here!"

"Hear… no, I didn't," she kept looking where Harry was looking, confused. "I didn't hear a thing. You heard him?"

"Yeah…" Harry muttered, looking at the seat across from him – he knew he heard a voice from right there, but there was
nothing in front of him.

"The Great Mister Harry Potter's Grangey cannot be hearing Dobby's voice, unless the Great Mister Harry Potter is
allowing it."

"Um…" Harry muttered, "Dobby, why can't Hermione hear you?"

Other than a gasp from the woman beside him, it was quiet.

"Dobby?"

"The Great Mister Harry Potter, he is a great and smart wizard. He knowses many things, yes he does."

"Oh, no," Harry muttered, and he peeked at Hermione. She was looking at the space that Dobby apparently held, utterly
confused. It was just the most adorable look Harry had seen on her, and appreciated the rare sight for a few more
seconds, before he looked back at the seat.

"I give you permission to let Hermione hear you, Dobby," Harry spoke, and he couldn't shake off the feeling that he had
just jumped into the veil.

"Great! Hello Mister Potter's Grangey!"

"Err… hello, Dobby," Hermione said slowly, after putting up yet another notice-me-not with her wand. "May I ask why I
couldn't hear you, but Harry could? Is it because he summoned you, and not me?"

The silence that ensued was deafening in Harry's ears.

"Oh." Apparently, that was all she needed to turn towards Harry. He refused to turn towards her until he confirmed with
Dobby that he was about to be yelled at for a reason.

"Dobby, did you –"

"Dobby is very, very sorry for interrupting the Great Master Harry Potter," he started, not realizing his slip of
tongue, "but Dobby is noticing some very bad men here. They is friends of Dobby's former Master."

"Very – bad – men?" Harry repeated slowly, then froze.

Hermione tensed and stared hard at the spot Dobby was supposed to be. "You mean – Death Eaters?"

They could hear the flop of his ears when Dobby nodded.

On instinct, Harry lifted his feet onto the seat once again, crouched for an easy escape. He slipped the invisibility
cloak from his pocket on his head and over himself, searching for the very bad men.

"Dobby," Harry started, "You're under a notice-me-not charm. I need you to be visible so you can point to them."

Dobby popped into view, already pointing to his right, their left. Two men were sitting across from each other,
whispering hurriedly. They were both dressed in trench coats – strange, but not uncommon for the early morning.
Occasionally, one of the men would glance around, with calculating, hurried eyes.

Harry leaped over Hermione and nimbly landed on his feet on the floor. He leaned back into Hermione's lap.

"How should I handle this?" Harry whispered, his eyes not leaving his targets.

Hermione knew he was basically asking what the least noticeable spell he could incapacitate with. Fortunately, she had
visited the Black Library before their departure, and had quite the collection of Dark and Grey Spells. She muttered one
such spell in his ear, before putting up her wand and tapping her head. Immediately, she felt the effects of the
disillusion spell, as she had the sensation of an egg splattering across her head, before dripping down her whole body.
She looked down at herself as the spell was complete and smiled at her work. The whole time, she had her hand on Harry's
shoulder, making sure he didn't move without her.

Harry waited patiently, not having a clue as to why she didn't release him yet, but not arguing unless his targets
decided to leave. So he was surprised when she asked him to move over, and when he did, he was surprised to see an
almost invisible Hermione crouch next to him. She winked before she took his hand.

Harry had to grin – Huntress was a good name for her.

As they slowly moved together towards the unsuspecting predators, Dobby snapped his fingers, making both Harry and
Hermione completely invisible. He then became invisible again and surveyed what was about transpire, ready to jump in at
any time; ready to protect his bonded Master.

Only a few feet away from them, Harry recognized one of them – Goyle Sr., one of the men that was captured in the
Ministry. He didn't recognize the other man, and he didn't care. They released each other and quietly took their seat
next to the two men, Hermione sitting next to the unknown man and Harry next to Goyle. They slowly raised their wands,
and for the first time they noticed that they couldn't see them, or the hands holding them. Harry stared dumbly at the
wand he knew he was holding until he looked over to Dobby. He couldn't see the little elf anymore, but he was pretty
sure he was smiling. Turning his attention back to Goyle, he slid his wand out of his cloak and pressed the wood into
his neck.

Goyle stiffened.

"Scabior," he muttered.

"What?" He asked, wondering why Goyle stopped in mid-conversation.

"Found 'im," He murmured, and Harry made himself known to the man named Scabior by pressing the tip deeper into the
vein, making a noticeable hole in his throat. Goyle winced with pain, but didn't dare bring attention to their table.

Scabior went for his wand, only to realize it was gone. Then he felt the tip of a wand embed itself into his temple, and
jumped in surprise, banging his knee on the table.

No one noticed. Harry once again suspected Dobby. Taking a gamble, he removed the cloak. He was still invisible. He
planned on using that to his advantage. "You know who I am?" Harry whispered, making sure to keep his voice disguised.
He was asking Goyle, but it was Scabior who replied.

"Can' bloody see ya…" he murmured, very aware of the wand poking the side of his head. "Damn blood-traitors, or are ya
Mudbloods?…Gaah, dammit!"

"I'd watch my tongue," Hermione growled, "if I were you. It'd be easier if your jaw wasn't in the way." Quick as a
flash, he felt another wand tip poke his chin.

Harry had learned something about himself on Tottenham Court Road; when there was business to be done now, there was
time to be nervous later. Other than a small, unnoticeable stutter in his breath, he was, for the most part, calm. It
did, however, help that he was remembering those he had cried for, and what group was responsible for that.

"Then he wouldn't be able to talk, dear," He murmured, and Hermione smirked at the casualness of his words. She felt no
reason to be nervous yet – just pleasant, mocking conversation, her mind temporarily blocking out what they had planned
for the two Death Eaters to help her focus better.

"We won't talk," Scabior whispered hurriedly. Goyle seemed to be too scared to speak.

"So what do you think, Phoenix? If they're not going to talk, we don't need them anymore, right?"

"You read my mind," He grinned.

"Like a book." A second later, she removed both wands from her captor.

Scabior released a breath he didn't know he was holding. "I don't know 'oo the bloody hell ya'are, but when we find you,
and we will find you…" he stopped as he felt his eyes droop. "We're… gonna… kill…"

He was asleep. Hermione put away Scabior's wand, but kept her own wand trained on him, as it was her first time casting
the dark spell that she had told Harry about. It was a spell designed to keep its victims asleep for however long the
caster wishes, which can be righted with a simple 'Ennervate', but only by the original caster.

What made the spell 'gray' was that it did not shut down the bodily functioning like regular sleep did. They looked,
acted, and sounded asleep. But they weren't, the brain didn't recognize it as such. It was a very useful spell, Hermione
had to admit.

Harry had already cast the spell on Goyle, and his head smashed violently against the table; Harry felt no real need to
stop it.

"You're not the only one that can read people like a book, Huntress."

Hermione shifted her head to him, even though she couldn't see him. "Then you'd know I don't like that name," she
chuckled. "I still have an hour to think of one. If you can read my mind so well, Harry, tell me what our plan is."

Harry didn't pause. "We take Scabior down. He's not going to talk, at least anytime soon. I trust Goyle to talk sooner.
We show him what we could do to him, he'll likely talk."

Hermione blinked. She blinked again. Then she just closed her eyes and sat back. She opened her eyes once more to see a
now visible Harry grinning smugly. "Cheeky bastard," she muttered, pouting.

"Language, Hermione."

"Oh, shut it, we're about to kill a man."

"It could be worse."

"How much worse could it be? We get killed?"

"Even worse – we could be expelled."

Hermione broke into laughter as Harry said it all with a straight face, which soon dissolved into chuckles. "I should be
insulted, I really should," she told him, trying to stay quiet. "But I'm more embarrassed that you remember me saying
that!"

Harry shook his head, still chuckling, as he stepped out of the booth, slipping his cloak back into his large pockets.
He pointed his wand at the unconscious fat man and flicked his wand. Goyle started levitating. He looked over to where
Dobby was supposed to be, silently communicating. He heard a pop and looked back at Goyle and himself to see nothing;
Dobby had done well.

Harry was very impressed with Dobby's magic. He still remembered Dobby blasting Lucius halfway down the hall years ago,
and hoped that he could ever be anywhere near that level of magic.

With an almost silent pop, Scabior was invisible as well. Hermione wordlessly stood up from the booth and levitated him.

Cancelling the charms around them, and leaving a ten pound note on the table, the two left the establishment. Seeing no
one around, they unceremoniously dropped the bodies to the ground and each placed a foot on them. With a pop, they
vanished – not that you could see them anyway.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Neville Longbottom was in danger. He knew that, and he knew it very well. He may have been a Pureblood, but he was a
Blood-traitor. It certainly didn't help that he had escaped Bellatrix Lestrange's wrath.

That night, sixteen years ago. Tuesday. It was three days after Voldemort's defeat, and Harry's parents' deaths. His
parents were organizing James and Lily's funeral, and had sent baby Nev to Augusta's house for the week. They sent him
that morning.

The Lestranges and Crouch came that night.

They refused to say where he was. They paid the price. It was so easy to blame his own parents for their demise – why
couldn't they just tell them where he was? He wasn't worth their sanity!

But they were foolish enough to think that he was worth it.

He wanted to be like his parents. Foolishly brave. Reckless. Fearlessly loyal.

He picked up a seemingly random galleon and cast a spell.

Dumbledore's Army was reforming.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luna was packing for the new year at Hogwarts.

It was a wonderful wedding she had gone to a few weeks ago. Bill and Fleur looked so happy before all that
unpleasantness happened.

Hermione and Harry seemed to have been getting along better as of late. She was pleased.

She knew the differences. She saw the changes. She was unsure of the consequences.

But they looked fun. She wanted to see it firsthand.

She found herself packing two suitcases.

She soon took a break and began writing a letter. She didn't know what was going to be in the letter, but she supposed
she would find out when she was done.

But, then again, it would be rude to read a letter meant for someone else, wouldn't it? Yes, she decided. It was an
invasion of privacy. She would finish it, quickly roll it up and send it off.

The spark in her eyes disappeared. She missed Hedwig. She was such a pretty and kind bird. She always delivered her
letters when she called, whenever Harry wasn't using her.

Or maybe she just loved radishes?

Who would deliver her letters now? The Wrackspurts would undoubtedly eat the parchment before it left the window, just
like last time. The Heliopaths would probably deliver it, but they were much too slow, since they were limited to the
ground. Not to mention that the parchment would burn.

Burn?

Burn!

She looked up from her desk just in time to see a flash of fire.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry and Hermione stared at the two unconscious figures before them. They were all twenty meters from the tent, outside
of its protections.

They knew their plan. They knew why they had to act on it. But they weren't sure if they should. Not the 'killing'. They
had admitted, while it was rather cynical of them, they would do it. It was a necessity. No, they weren't sure if it
should be Harry and Hermione that should take action, or The Phoenix and The Huntress.

"What do you think?" Harry asked her. "We're on the run – Tommy knows the first part of the prophecy – if we start
taking out his forces, it wouldn't be that hard to figure out. Not to mention… you know."

Hermione nodded with a grimace. She was well aware of his visions through Voldemort's eyes. Nothing much had happened
that wasn't in the newspapers. Ollivander was still alive, he hadn't finished making the first substitute wand yet. With
a little fishing, Harry found that Voldemort would give him four chances to make him the perfect wand. After that, he
would be killed, successful or not.

While using Voldemort's sight, he couldn't help but glance over the furnace to see a coat of arms. "Sanctimonia Vincet
Semper."

He knew one part from fourth grade history. Semper, as a part of Sic Semper Tyrannis, means 'always'.
Sanctimonia…shouldn't that mean sacred, or sanctuary maybe?

'Purity Always Conquers,' he thought idly. It angered him and pleased him in a way that he couldn't understand. His
muddy past kept him from enjoying the motto. While he indefinitely proved the motto wrong, he was preaching that it was
completely and utterly correct. Lucius's family motto was to be the stable of a new era, the most commonly known words
in the Wizarding World, and the new adage for all families in the future.

With a shock, Harry snuck out of Voldemort's mind and opened his eyes in a cold sweat.

He hadn't told Hermione about the vision he had a few hours ago, while he was sleeping. He was planning to tell her
during breakfast.

However, plans change.

"But if we do use our aliases, then Snape can't reveal anything. He probably wouldn't be able to connect it - he thinks
he knows you. Same goes for Ron," Hermione commented, looking somewhat distracted.

"Hermione," Harry put his hand on her shoulder, "you don't have to do this. I can handle it."

"Hm? Oh. Oh, no, it's not about this. I was just thinking of a better name."

"Oh." He looked back at the unconscious gentleman, who looked to be knocked out for a while.

It was strange, really. Looking at the people you were going to kill. With Dolohov, it was unthinking; poorly timed,
unplanned, and, in a way, rewarding. But with these two, it was pre-meditated. It was very disconcerting, telling
yourself that you wouldn't get more prison time because of that small difference, because you weren't going to jail.

They may have been the good guys, but they were criminals.

But it was best not to dwell on that at the moment.

"Had another vision last night," Harry muttered, not sure if she heard him.

Of course, with news like that, she had to. "Really? What did you see?"

"Malfoy's Mansion. His living room, I think. Tommy's there."

That got her full attention. "Their manor? That's his hiding place? How did you find out?"

"Tom told me. He was mentioning The Malfoy's motto, Sanctimonia Vincet Semper."

Hermione was silent for a moment. "…Purity Always…Conquers. It certainly sounds like the Malfoy family motto. But are we
sure it's theirs?"

Harry nodded. "He mentioned it being Lucius's family adage."

She sighed. "Okay. We know where he is. But we can't go after him – yet. We can hope he doesn't leave before we're ready
for him." She crossed her arms and looked ahead, towards the tent. "Hmm… I suppose that could work." She turned back to
Harry, smiling. "What do you think of the name 'Noctuanix?' (knock-chuh-eh-knicks)

"Noctuanix?" Harry confirmed, questioning. At Hermione's nod, he rubbed his shaved chin. "Is that Latin? Related to
Phoenix?"

"In a way, yes. It roughly translates into Snowy Owl. I think Hedwig would have liked it." She gave him a soft smile.

"I'm sure she would," Harry grinned with happiness. "The only thing that would make her happier is if you added the
Latin word for bacon."

They shared a brief chuckle with each other, until Goyle began snoring. That sobered them up quickly.

"We have to let him think that there is a threat to him bigger than Dumbledore could ever bring; we have to make him
think that if he makes a wrong move, or try to pursue us, we won't hesitate to destroy his forces. And, most
importantly, we don't want him – or anyone else, for that matter – to think that Golden Boy Harry Potter had anything to
do with this."

Harry nodded with his partner. "We need better disguises than this, though."

"Maybe," Hermione agreed, "but it's a bit too late to make wardrobe decisions right now. I have an idea."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Neville!" Susan grinned as she kneeled before her fireplace. "What's up?" She looked closer. "Oh, what happened! It
looks like you've been crying! What's wrong?"

She couldn't see him shrug. "Hey, Sue," he smiled back at her. "Nothing's wrong, right now, anyways. Can I come through?
I wanted to ask you something I should've asked a long time ago."

Susan blinked at his forwardness. "Sure," she said, getting up to step back. Neville had asked her out before the end of
school, before the battle. She hoped he wasn't proposing or anything. Not that she'd say no if he did ask. In fact,
she'd love to say yes. But not during a war. Of most people, she knew that no one was guaranteed to survive
You-Know-Who's reign.

Neville stumbled through the green flames and fell into Susan's embrace. They hugged each other for a moment, until
Neville stepped back to get a good look. "Are you alright?"

Susan hesitantly nodded. "Yes, I think so. It's been a year already. She wouldn't want me to keep crying over her. She'd
want me to help avenge her and my parents' deaths."

Neville gently tugged Susan to the sofa. "That's what I want to talk to you about."

"Oh, my DA galleon was buzzing this morning. So we're reforming? You didn't need to come here to tell me that," The
strawberry-blonde smirked.

Neville smiled a rather hollow smile. "It has something to do with it. We don't have a secure floo line, and I didn't
want anything about the DA being picked up." He frowned. "Speaking of which, we need a new name."

Susan couldn't help but feel a little sad that Neville's reason for visiting wasn't for personal reasons, but she
quickly got over it. "Why? Dumbledore's Army is a perfect name for a war."

Neville shook his head. "With what I have in mind, I don't think Dumbledore approves his name being in it."

Susan observed his grim look and decided that he was probably right. "I should wake Hannah up, then?" She asked him,
pointing towards the hallway.

Neville nodded wordlessly. He knew that she had been Susan's roommate ever since the last of Susan's guardians died.
They had always been each other's rock.

It was good to have friends like that. Especially in this time.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Scabior woke first. He saw nothing. He quickly surmised that he was blindfolded. He didn't dare move, not wanting to
alert his captors that he awoke.

"Oh, good. You're awake."

He almost growled at the definitely feminine voice. It was the same one that had knocked him out.

"Were you serious about saying you were going to find us and kill us?"

He tried to remember what she had gotten that from, and frowned at the decidedly stupid words he had said to someone who
had stolen his wand.

"Wha' d'ya wan'? Money?"

"I want you to answer the question." A small pause. "I already emptied your pockets."

"No, Ah didn' mean it." He did.

"I see." She didn't sound convinced. "So, if I asked you a few questions, and let you go, then I suppose you wouldn't
report this to anyone, right?"

"… Yeah."

"Oh. Okay, then. Name?"

He wasn't sure if she was genuine, faked being stupid, or being genuinely stupid, but he answered the question,
wondering if he really would be let go. "Scabior."

"Last name."

He paused.

"I don't want to kill you, Scabior no-name."

"Callows."

"Ah. I suppose you're the youngest brother." It wasn't a question, more of a confirmation. He found himself nodding
anyway.

"Now answer me this – why haven't you joined Volde – "

"DON'T speak his name!" He screamed, before blanching at his own stupidity. He could have been saved! His captors
obviously didn't know about the Taboo. More Snatchers could have arrived, captured his captors, and –

Probably would have killed him. Bounty hunters didn't really like competition.

The girl sounded pretty relaxed about saying his name, and he couldn't afford another mistake. With a grimace, he spoke
again.

"It's a Taboo. If'n you say 'is name, they send ou' people like me. I wouldn' do it."

"Hm. Good to know." In his perspective, it sounded like just another useless fact. She was silent for a few moments.
"Well? Answer the question."

He wracked his brains for the question. "Err…I can' be a Snatcher an' a Death Eater. Can' get paid tha' way. Death
Eaters can' work for th' Ministry."

"Paid? As in 'bounty'? What's the reward for anyone that says his name?"

"A thousan'."

"What about a Mublood? A blood-traitor?"

He frowned at the terminology. Was this girl on their side? Maybe she really was going to let him go, and she just
wanted a few answers. He felt better answering her questions. "Blood-traitors two thousan'. Mudbloods are twen'y five
'undred. More 'an they're worth, if ya'ask me."

"I didn't," the voice calmly noted. "I believe I asked you everything you'll be able to answer. I suppose I should thank
you in some way."

Scabior found himself smirking. He liked where this was going.

"I suppose Phoenix wouldn't mind," She muttered, and his blindfold slipped off his eyes. He saw an unfamiliar, but
shockingly beautiful face. He vaguely remembered 'Phoenix' being her partner's name. Boyfriend, maybe?

"Do you know who I am?" She whispered to him, but not as sexily as he wanted; it was more of a curious tone.

"No," he grunted. He went to reach out, and grimaced.

He had just realized his body was immobile, his hands bound behind the chair. He didn't even try to escape, not once.
But he had a feeling that he was going to be glad he stayed.

"Then perhaps you know my best friend." She spoke normally, hunching to meet his eye-level.

"Oh? And 'oo would tha' be, missy?" He was already thinking of her equally beautiful friend in part two of his
'interrogation'.

"His name is Harry Potter."

His eyes widened in shock. "Wha'? Wha'are you playin'!"

"Perhaps you know me – Hermione Granger?"

He began struggling; he couldn't move an inch. "Le' me go, ya bleedin' Mudblood!"

"And now I know how to thank you," she told him, frowning for the first time. She got up and stepped back. "Harry
doesn't react well to language like that. His mum was Muggleborn, you see. I could thank you by letting you go before he
can get to you. But then, he'll probably be mad at me. Doubly so, because I used that wretched word. I have to right
wrongs when I can, you understand. So what should I do with you?"

It took a few moments for him to notice that she was genuinely curious about his answer about what to do with him. After
a bit more futile struggling, that basically consisted of twisting his neck back and forth, no other body movement, he
conceded. "Azkaban, I s'pose." He sighed as he said it. He'd have to start all over again. He had only caught a few
small lawbreakers, and that was barely enough to pay his way out of the prison. He'd have to get Amycus to send him a
few extra hundred, which was no easy feat. His only solace was that while he was twisting his neck, he had studied his
surroundings. He saw a distinctive mark in one of the trees and he committed it to memory. He would concentrate on it
again, and would pop back later. With company. And maybe, for the right price, his Lord.

"I don't think so," He barely heard her say, before she lifted her wand. He didn't see her unsheathe it.

"Avada Kedavra."

The only thing he really had time to calculate was the hitch in her voice.

He probably would have wondered if it was her first time casting that spell. If it really was, then would it have the
hate behind the curse to kill him? But by then, the spell had hit him. His questions were answered – but he would never
know.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione stared at the limp body of Scabior Carrow. Her first victim. She didn't react; she only stared. Just stared.

Harry stood in her way and wrapped her arms around her. Hermione found herself hugging him back. She wasn't going to cry
– he didn't deserve her tears – and, if she were honest, she just didn't really feel like crying.

So she held him. Emotionless.

She knew what war entailed. She knew the sacrifices she had to make. She knew how far she had to go to end this
pointless war as soon as possible.

It didn't make it any easier.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered to her, His hands in her hair, holding her head to his chest.

It wasn't his fault. But she felt like she could blame him. But he still felt the need to apologize. Sweet.

She certainly didn't feel any better. But she was getting there.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,

I'm sorry.

- Hermione.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arthur quietly left the room, letting his youngest son recover, after doing as many healing spells as he could. None of
his injuries were life-threatening; the permanent markings, however, were just that – permanent. Several large bruises
on his stomach. His jaw was swelling. His nose was fractured; dried blood covered his face, that Arthur cleaned up. His
arms took quite the beating as well, but not quite broken. He would need Poppy to look at the rest. She was the best
medic the Order had on hand. He just hoped she took late-night calls.

He left his son with the ghoul in the attic, and stepping down the stairs he took another look at the note.

He really didn't know what to think about it.

Best not let Molly see it, though.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The number one thing to remember in an interrogation is the questions.

Harry had forgotten them. Hermione was a godsend, though, as she had already asked them all with Scabior, just to see
how far she could get. He answered them all truthfully, to their knowledge.

The Taboo? Neither had ever heard of such a thing. It did give new meaning to why people were scared to say his name.
Was it Taboo during the last war?

It wasn't big enough a question to wake up a Death Eater about it.

Which led to another question: What should they do to the Inner Circle member? Their original plan had turned out better
than expected – they no longer needed him. They could send a message with their new names, but they could do that at
another time. Hopefully, with better disguises. He was very doubtful of Goyle's knowledge of the Horcruxes. If any of
his followers knew anything about them, it would be the Elder Malfoy, Bellatrix, or Snape.

But Voldemort wasn't stupid enough to trust a double-agent with that information, loyalty or no. Lucius had already been
entrusted with a Horcrux, and he likely wasn't going to be given another one anytime soon, if he even knew what it was
to begin with, which was doubtful.

So that left Bellatrix as the most likely suspect. They weren't even sure that Voldemort would have even given more than
one of his followers one of his precious pieces of soul, but it was the only lead they had.

But Goyle couldn't confirm it for them. And he wouldn't be able to help them lure in someone who could. Harry had the
feeling that even if they killed him, a member of the inner circle, he wouldn't be missed, or even remembered.

They were a good mile away from the tent, now. The same landmark Scabior had recognized was their own apparition visual,
for they had carved it to return to that place – A circle inside of a triangle, with a vertical line splitting the
symbol.

A few minutes later, Harry came up with an idea.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Almost a full 24 hours later, after not being fed, watered, or even let out of the chair, Goyle finally gave in to their
demands, croaked out his master's anagrammed name, and cried.

Snatchers appeared, three of them. They took one look around, and couldn't help but feel that they were in a trap.

There was a large fire surrounding them. But it wasn't engulfing them. No, it was a short fire, as short as the tallest
grass.

However, what made it large was that it was spread across the entire opening. of the forest.

While one of the snatchers levitated the source of their next paycheck, the other two stepped back and over the fires,
until they had reached the edge. One of them had realized that it wasn't just random flames; it was writing.

A message.

The other one was already climbing a tree before the smart one had suggested conjuring a ladder.

He found himself hanging onto a branch, for dear life. It had sounded like a good idea moments ago, but now, not so
much. He looked at the surprisingly neat script – there was obviously magic keeping the fire from spreading. He read the
simple message out loud.

"It says 'Beware the Phoenix and Noc-chay-nix!'"

The other man had already conjured a ladder, and was reading it with him. "No it doesn't, ya blubberin' idiot! It says
Noctuaenix!"

"Isn't that what I just said?" He yelled back, but he didn't get an answer. The branch broke.

The man on the ladder looked behind him as his partner fell to his death. He was so shocked he didn't see the red spell
hit him from the front. He, too, fell from the tall ladder.

The first man – the one who had levitated Goyle – didn't notice any of this. He had already apparated back to the
Ministry. He would return ten minutes later with the bounty money, wondering why they hadn't returned, only to see his
partners lying on the ground, dead, surrounded by the dying fire.

He didn't notice the Sectumsempra aimed for his back.

As his senses were fading, he felt the mighty bag of galleons being hefted beside him. Then there were two pops.

He was alone. Then, he was dead.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Phoenix' and 'Noctuaenix' didn't feel any pride in what they did. They had sent their message, and they had gotten
several thousand galleons. Apparently, an Inner Circle Death Eater that seemingly betrayed the Dark Lord was worth ten
thousand Galleons.

They wished they were cynical, or even a bit cold-hearted, so they would be happy with their accomplishment.

But they wordlessly changed clothes and went to bed.

An hour later, Hermione tentatively slipped into Harry's bed. Harry, obviously not asleep, decided not to argue, and
they pulled each other closer.

The only thing that brought him any sort of happiness at the moment was Hermione conveniently forgetting about Dobby
being Harry's slave.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Note:

I felt that this chapter just got better and better as it goes. Not too rushed, but not too slow. I try to get better
with each chapter. Unfortunately for me, considering how much we have to get done between now and the end of the book,
I'm not ending this story anytime soon; especially if I keep taking breaks like these.

Harry and Hermione's story from the cafe scene onwards was two weeks after Ron's departure. This was the first time H/Hr
shared a bed, in case anyone was curious.
Neville's story was a few days before they return to Hogwarts.
Arthur's story was later night.
Luna's story was the same time as Neville's.

If it helps, read Scabior's lines as The Penguin from Batman: Arkham City.

Some of you can already see where some of these stories are going. I have to say, this is the first time I've ever
actually thought about what to type before I typed it. Should be a pretty fun ride from here on out.

Yes, yes, Harry and Hermione are a bit dark, but I like to think it's realistically dark. Let's face it, it's a war. I'm
not a fan of casualties. Really, I'm not. But I'd rather it be the bad guys dying all over the place.

That being said, I don't really have any immediate plans to kill any good guys off. I'm just too good a guy to do it.
I'm not being realistic in this way, and I honestly don't care.

In fact, in the next chapter or two, I'm gonna do something REALLY unrealistic. I've dropped a few hints. It will be fun
to hear your theories on what I'm planning.

On rihaansfics dot com, I uploaded a somewhat humorous argument I've had with a Romione fan. I think it's worth a read.
It's in the Documents section. Sorry, person-that-I-was-arguing-with, but I had to upload it. If it makes you feel any
better, it's a pretty empty community of a website. Now people can see your argument, and probably jump ship... I'll get
the harpoons.

It's my version of a Yahoo group, so if anyone wants to join, then thank you.

AN2: Noctuaenix is a working name, but I like it. Who can make a better one?

Please review. I'll do my best to reply to as many as I can this time.
