Unofficial Portkey Archive

AN-this has been reposted to account for a HUGE copy/paste error- I think I cut off the better part of an entire chapter! There are several scenes that were left off where the last ended…You'll need to reread this if you read 13 before..otherwise you'll likely miss something.

In the immortal workds of Hagrid…"Sorry 'bout tha'"

VL

Chapter 13 - Halloween

Remus Lupin opened the door and sheepishly poked his head through to survey the room within. He was assured she'd be in there. He knew what she was doing this evening. Still, he didn't wish to seem too intrusive. He recognized her silhouette, framed against the dying sunlight sliding weakly through the window. While her features were obscured by the shadows cast through the dim room, he could still make out the strong line of her jaw, the length of her eyelashes, and the curve of her hip as it flowed along the line of her body. In actuality, we wasn't sure if he saw those features in the low light of the bedroom, or merely recalled them from the crisp imprint of his memory.

He studied every inch of her for so long he'd forgotten what was real and what he'd imagined. He stood amazed every time she altered her appearance and felt the undeniable urge to consider her features all over again. Although they had not "moved in together", it was an indisputable fact that Lupin and Tonks lived under the same roof.

Remus claimed unspoken credit when she'd chosen the bedroom adjacent to his own. He was not oblivious to the changes in their relationship over the past several months. While they never broached the subject openly, Remus noticed the way her eyes sparkled when they spoke. He relished in the laugh she rarely gave anyone else, and lived for those moments when she would touch his arm, rub his shoulder, or linger in his presence just a second longer than was necessary. The room she chose was close enough to hear her footsteps as she trekked to the kitchen every night for a glass of water. It was close enough to allow him the occasional indulgent glance through the door as she nestled herself among the blankets, lost in dreams of a lighter time. It was also far enough away to keep him grounded in the stark reality that no matter her interest, he and the life that dwelled within him could never get closer to her than the threshold of the door he stood within now. He knew that logically, but convincing his heart was another matter.

"Are you going to come in or continue staring at me like some escapee from St. Mungo's long-term care ward?" Tonks asked without looking up from the bag she was inspecting.

Feeling somewhat embarrassed that he'd stood there for so long, he entered the room and sat on the arm of an overstuffed chair by the window. "I can't change your mind can I?"

She hesitated, a woolen cloak grasped in her hand, before stuffing it haphazardly into the bag. She finally raised her eyes to his, a quizzical expression ruffling her brow. "No, you can't. More to the point, why would you want to?"

Remus picked up the chenille throw lying haphazardly over the chair and folded it unnecessarily. "I don't know."

"Bullocks."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's supposed to mean that I know what you're doing. I know why you're here Remus." He gulped audibly, feeling the heat flush his face - welcoming the casting darkness that was falling across the sky outside the window.

"You…you do?"

Tonks zipped the bag closed and slung it over her shoulder. "Yes, and there's no way you're taking this assignment in my place. I volunteered to join Kingsley tonight and that's what I'm doing." Lupin's shoulders slumped as relief washed over him. "What?" Tonks inquired.

"What?" he replied innocently.

"That is what you meant isn't it?" Suddenly she appeared uncomfortable.

"Er- yes. Yes, that's exactly what I was talking about." He cleared his throat and rose from the arm of the chair. "Here, let me at least make some dinner for you before you go." He pulled the bag from her shoulder and ushered her through the doorway toward the stairs. His heart rate returned to normal as they descended the stairs together. For a moment, he thought she'd caught on to the real purpose behind his question. He didn't want her to go at all.

He hated her job as Auror.

While he worked in the same field, he couldn't overcome his masculine egotism. He'd watched too many people rise and fall at the hands of dark witches and wizards. For as much as he hated the obvious pessimism that drove his thoughts, he felt anyone operating within the line of defense merely existed on borrowed time. As with nearly everyone he'd ever known that faced up to Voldemort or his cronies, it was only a matter of time before their life, or the quality thereof in cases like the Longbottom's, was snuffed out like a birthday candle in a tidal wave.

The thought turned his stomach. Not only for those he'd already lost, but for whom he might lose still. Interestingly enough, when he thought of the possibilities his first thought was not of Harry, his surrogate child, but of the rather oblivious witch walking the stairs in front of him.

While he realized this might not be a strong enough word, he fancied Tonks. The mere fact she volunteered for this assignment scared the hell out of him. He wasn't even sure why. It was a rather routine assignment. She was joining Kingsley's post to surveille and protect a muggle home. Still Remus was uneasy. Tonight was Halloween and try as he might, the events of that evening 16 years ago never allowed him to enjoy the festivities on any subsequent holiday. This was the only night he understood the overprotective tendencies of Molly Weasley.

He didn't want Tonks anywhere he couldn't see her and intervene on her behalf if necessary. He felt certain if she knew any this, he'd be admitted to the spell damage ward in record time. Afterall, Tonks was the last witch on Earth that claimed to need someone to protect her.

"What would you like?" Remus asked as they entered the kitchen and Tonks took her place at the long wooden table. "You can have anything you'd like." He disappeared into the cupboard just outside the doorway. "Provided its…well…provided its got peanut butter and jelly as its two main ingredients," his voice floated into the kitchen. Tonks giggled audibly as Remus came back into the kitchen with a few jars and a loaf of bread. He grabbed two plates and some utensils and sat down across from her.

"Remus, I can make my own sandwich, you don't need to do that for me," Tonks admonished as she reached across the table toward the loaf of bread. Without thinking Remus grabbed her hand and held it in check. Her startled eyes met his and the kitchen fell silent. Both of their eyes drifted toward the table, where their hands were entangled with the other. Remus let go swiftly and sat back on his bench seat. Tonks slowly pulled her hand away and looked at the man seated before her.

"I'm sorry," they both chimed together. Their mouths bobbed open and closed, each attempting to launch into some apology or explanation and each stopping to let the other talk. The end result found both Lupin and Tonks appearing to imitate common goldfish, gasping for oxygen.

"You first," Lupin offered.

"Is everything okay, Remus?" she asked concernedly.

"Sure. Fine," he replied a bit too quickly. She watched him prepare the sandwiches and ran her fingers across the place where his hand had grasped hers.

Without looking up she began, "Remus." Something about the quiet sincerity of her voice drew his hands to a stop. He tentatively raised his eyes to meet hers. "I'm not…I'm not one for small talk," she said hesitatingly. "and you know that I meant something else by that question."

He swallowed the grapefruit that was lodged in his throat and mulled over any one of a thousand responses. "Yes."

"Brilliant orator you are!" Sirius' voice chided him.

"Remus, I want to ask you something, I'm just not sure how to do it," Tonks said quietly.

"Incoming!" the memory of James' voice echoed in his head.

Remus couldn't help the grin that broke his expectant features, remembering the sortie of hexed water balloons Sirius launched their way during seventh year.

"I know we work together rather closely." Her eyes darted away and she shuffled in her seat. "And I know our work affords us the opportunity to spend a lot of time together," she said, carefully choosing her words. "But, as you well know I have to split my responsibilities between the Order and my students at Hogwarts. I…I was thinking. Albus allowed me to take the assignment tonight provided I chaperone the first Hogsmeade weekend. And, well…that weekend is coming up, and…well, you probably aren't interested, but if you think about it….maybe we could, well…" she stammered.

"Yes." She snapped her eyes to his and a bright smile shattered the awkward nervousness of her features.

"Really?" she asked.

"I'd love to go to Hogsmeade with you," Remus replied simply. He smiled warmly, for the moment forgetting who he was, and relished the moment. "I'd also love to eat this sandwich!" he added easily breaking the silence that accompanied their matching smiles.

***

Harry finished his classes for the day and found himself alone in the common room. Hermione was in Arithmancy class and Ron hadn't come off of the Quidditch Pitch in four hours. Taking full opportunity of his solitude, he decided a long-overdue visit to Hagrid was in order.

He enlisted the help of the most devoted house elf he knew to help him prepare an apology of sorts for Hagrid. As he trudged through the snow toward the cabin the aroma wafting from his "apology" made his stomach growl. Dobby stuffed his bag full of pumpkin pasties, carrot cake, four enormous mutton, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches on toasted pumpernickel bread, several bottles of Butterbeer and a few chocolate frogs for good measure.

Harry rapped on the door expecting the familiar cacophony that generally erupted inside. But the hut remained silent. He pushed the door open slowly and poked his head through the doorway. "Hagrid?"

Nothing.

Harry stepped inside and surveyed the hut. Everything seemed as orderly as it could be for a half giant with only moderately honed housekeeping skills. He dropped the bag from his shoulder and placed it on the table. Feeling the gamekeeper was likely outside in the forest he stepped through the back door.

Should've owled ahead.

Did I ask you?

Just making an observation.

Harry walked around the back of the hut and took a few steps into the forest. He'd had his share of life (if not limb) threatening adventures in the Forbidden Forest and couldn't honestly say he was afraid of what lay among the trees. But he wasn't looking to put a forest hike on the top of his to-do list either. "Hagrid?" he shouted, hearing his voice reverberate among the trees. Some birds took flight from their perch a few hundred feet into the forest and Harry strained his eyes for any sign of movement.

"No need ter shout 'arry," Hagrid responded in his ear-sending Harry's heart into his throat and his wand swiftly to his hand.

"Hagrid! Don't sneak up on people like that!" Harry snapped, trying to catch his breath as he stuffed his wand back into his robes. Seeming to enjoy a bit of payback, Hagrid's entire body quaked with laughter.

"Sneak up on ya? Ain't never had noone accuse me of bein' steath 'arry," Hagrid replied. "So what brings ya down here?"

"I brought lunch. I thought we could catch up."

"Oh! Tha's perfect 'arry! Take this, and this," he said, stuffing Harry's arms full of equipment. "I could use some help. We can eat when we get back."

"Get back?" Harry asked timidly. He shifted the load in his arms as he suddenly lost his appetite. "Where are we going?"

"Ter the forest o'course," Hagrid began stomping off along the trail leaving Harry to catch up.

"Hagrid," Harry said, breathless from keeping up with a half-giant's stride while carrying a variety of lopsided and heavy instruments. "What is all this stuff?"

"Tha's just some stuff I'm usin' to build a cave."

Harry was sure he hadn't heard him correctly. "A what?"

"A cave. It's just up here a bit more," Hagrid said, pointing in front of him to a particularly dark grove in the forest. Harry didn't bother to ask any more questions as they trudged toward the darkness. He'd been in this situation before and learned that Hagrid's perception of 'a bit more' and Harry's usually differed by at least fifteen minutes.

The trail, or what there was of it, grew dark enough that Harry stumbled over a few tree roots and felled branches here and there. If he had the ability to hold one more thing, he'd light his wand to show the path. As it was, his arms were already burning from the things he'd been carrying.

Needless to say, Harry was a bit put off. He'd come for a quiet lunch with Hagrid and ended up being a pack mule for an unwanted trek to the depths of the Forbidden Forest. The least Hagrid could've done was carry some of this for him. Although it wasn't lost on Harry that Hagrid's crossbow was at the ready nearly ten minutes ago.

That didn't make him feel better.

"Alrigh' 'arry," Hagrid whispered, coming to a stop before him. He pointed to a structure of mounded earth and trees that stood shrouded in the darkness of the forest. "Put that stuff down and get yer wand out just ter be safe."

A chill shuddered through every cell in Harry's body. If Hagrid was interested in safety he was sure that cave harbored a hideous beast as yet unknown to Harry. He put his things down quickly and pulled his wand from his robes, peering around Hagrid's side toward the black opening.

"Just got ter make sure he's not home," Hagrid said walking toward the cave. Harry was faced with a terrible case of indecision. He could either follow Hagrid - and by follow he meant attach-himself-to-Hagrid's-moleskin-topcoat - or he could stay rooted to the spot, away from the cave, and without protection. His feet made the decision for him. He followed at Hagrid's heels - eyes wide and staring into the inky blackness of the cave, praying to see no movement whatsoever.

"Nah, must be out huntin'," Hagrid said decisively. Harry felt some measure of relief wash over him and stepped back a few feet. He looked at the meticulously crafted 'cave' and back to the equipment on the ground.

"Did you build that?"

Hagrid turned, a proud smile on his face, "O'course I did! Poor feller had ter have someplace ter live."

Quickly running through the list of magical creatures he was intimately acquainted with, he couldn't place one that lived in a cave. "What lives in there?"

"It's called a Gelidus Bear."

"What's a Gelidus Bear?" Harry asked, scanning their surroundings for a clawed and fanged mound of fur bent on removing intruders from his home.

"Not ter worry 'arry. He's the friendliest one I've ever seen, hardly ever takes a swipe at me."

Harry wasn't feeling reassured. After all, Hagrid's lifelong dream was to raise a dragon in his backyard. His idea of 'friendly' diverged considerably from the standard definition. He wearily followed Hagrid back to the forgotten pile of tools, secretly wishing for a spell to enable night vision and a set of eyes in the back of his head, and set out to help him in his endeavor. When they finished, what seemed like hours later, Harry was famished.

"I should probably apologize," Harry said quietly as they walked through the forest, this time equally sharing the load between them.

"What fer?" Hagrid asked.

Harry looked at him incredulously. This had been his first visit to Hagrid's cabin in well over a year. "You're not mad that I haven't come by?"

Hagrid laughed and shouldered his crossbow. "Blimey 'arry! You think not coming ter see me is gonna make me mad? Yer growin' up you are. I didn't expect ter see much of you the older you got. Especially when you got other…things…on yer mind. I'm not talking about You-Know-Who either," Hagrid clarified wiggling his massive eyebrows mischievously. Harry stifled a laugh as Hagrid's gesture bore a striking resemblance to a muskrat on a trampoline.

Nonetheless, Harry felt a weight lift from his shoulders almost immediately. He hadn't realized how worried he'd become over this. Hagrid was the first magical person he'd ever met. He was the one through most of his early years that he confided in and called on for support. During the 'Umbridge Era,' the defense of Hagrid's teaching position took up a great deal of Harry's time and yet last year, he'd not given him a sidelong glance.

They exchanged smiles and launched into animated conversation regarding the events of the past thirteen months. Given their lively conversation, the trail out of the forest seemed much shorter than the one leading in. But then again, leaving the forest always made Harry happier than entering it. Such complacency might've been their first mistake.

"So anyway, I just decided that it was all too much and resigned as Quidditch captain. They voted Ron in unanimously and he's doing a spectacular job! He's really doing a much better job than I…" Hagrid stopped, cutting Harry's conversation off at the knees. He knew that look, and it didn't help that his crossbow found its way from his shoulder to his hands before Harry could blink.

"Shhhh," Hagrid whispered, turning circles in place and staring suspiciously into the woods. Harry wasted no time pulling his wand from his robes and searched the trees for signs of any number of threatening creatures. It didn't take him long to find one.

He felt, more than saw, the pair of eyes fixed on them from the shadows of a distant grove. A cold shudder settled into his stomach and radiated through his extremities. Two glints of dim light reflected in the creature's eyes and were obscured rhythmically by the puffs of warm air issuing from its snout. "Hagrid," Harry whispered, never removing his eyes from the predator and nudging Hagrid in the waist. He spun, staring in the direction of Harry's gaze, and stepped in front of him, crossbow drawn.

"It's him," Hagrid said quietly.

"Who?"

"Come look, I don't believe I've shown ya' a Gelidus Bear before." Hagrid was still whispering but he was clearly excited to see yet another of the forest's magical creatures. Harry peered around Hagrid's massive frame and looked to where he'd first locked eyes with it.

"You said he's friendly…right?" Harry asked, begging for any consolation from Hagrid, no matter how unbelievable.

"Well, he can be a bit temper'mental a' times," Hagrid said softly. Harry snapped his eyes upward.

"Is this one of those times?" Harry demanded.

"Just back away slowly, bears-magical or not-will attack if ya' run," Hagrid directed. Without questioning further, Harry began to take a few steps backward. He scrambled a bit faster as Hagrid's massive feet began stepping back toward him as well.

Time stood still as he heard an inhuman growl that shook the very earth under his feet. In one motion, Hagrid spun and threw Harry to the ground, ordering him to 'play dead,' and ran in the opposite direction. Fully expecting the bear to follow Hagrid, Harry looked up to survey the situation. What he saw sent a paralyzing fear shooting through him.

The bear was bounding toward him undeterred. It's gruff black fur dancing in the breeze as it lobbed along haphazardly, but at a considerable speed. The sheer length of stride, encouraged by his seven-foot frame, was enough to cover a significant distance on its own. Snapping himself to the reality hurtling toward him, Harry scrambled to pull him wand from under him.

He fired a stunning spell directly at the bear's chest. Nothing. Quickly remembering advice from the Tri-wizard tournament, he aimed a conjunctivitis curse at his gleaming eyes. No effect. The bear continued bounding forward. Harry used one defensive spell after the other with the same insignificant results. In seconds, his ability to react was entirely usurped as the bear descended on him with bone-crushing force. In the back of his mind, Harry couldn't help but wonder if Hagrid had run so far, in hopes of drawing the bear off, that he didn't see Harry's predicament.

Remembering Hagrid's last directive, he curled into a ball and covered his head with his arms. Arms that were burning with pain as the bear's claws slashed him, attempting to roll him to his back. The bear's massive paw connected with his side and while he knew he let out an audible groan, he was sure the scream he heard did not come from his own lungs.

Suddenly, the bear rolled off of him, leaving his body bleeding and pressed into the leaf-strewn earth. He looked up to see it quickly hobbling away in retreat. Although his glasses had been crushed, and his vision was blurry, he counted at least seven arrows from Hagrid's crossbow piercing the thick black fur.

"'arry!" Hagrid shouted, dropping to the ground next to him. "Alrigh' 'arry?" He pulled cloth from the inside of his topcoat and began wrapping Harry's forearm. He rolled gently onto his back, wincing from the pain that shot through his side. He took a quick mental inventory.

All my limbs are attached.

That's good.

My arms are a bit cut up from the claws.

I can live with that.

Ouch!

Those would be broken ribs.

Harry groaned as Hagrid tied the bandages around his arms. "Can ya' stand up?" Hagrid asked quietly, still looking around to ensure the bear had left for good.

Harry picked his head up to pull himself from the ground and the shooting pain from his ribs quickly encouraged him to lie back down. "No," he gasped, gingerly clutching his side.

"Alrigh,'" Hagrid said, shouldering his crossbow. "There's no way ter do this withou' hurtin' ya. Take a deep breath." Harry did as instructed, preparing for the inevitable. Hagrid bent over and slid his massive hands under Harry's shoulders and legs. Harry couldn't hold back the yelp that escaped his lungs when Hagrid lifted him from the ground. Although his masculine ego was not inclined to be carried out of the forest, the realist in him knew that the trek would be far more comfortable this way. Hence, he didn't argue. He merely laid his head against the imposing breadth of Hagrid's chest and silently practiced his relaxation techniques in a vain attempt to push the pain from his mind.

Although he never removed the pain from his consciousness the relaxation techniques did make the trip go by quickly. He was drawn from his thoughts by the resonating sound of the hospital wing's oak doors slamming closed against the frame.

"Harry!" Hermione's voice called from across the room. Her footsteps drew near as she pulled Hagrid's arm down to her eye level.

"Oh, dear! Mr. Potter, whatever did you do now?" Madam Pomfrey chided as she pulled the makeshift bandages from his arm. She scowled at Hagrid. "Hagrid! Have you been taking students into the forest without permission?" she roared. "These lacerations look to be from a bear!"

Hagrid said nothing.

"Rebeus? If there is a bear in the Forbidden Forest you must tell the Headmaster about it!" she argued.

"Dumbledore? Blimey, it's just a bear Poppy!" he retorted.

"And look what it did to Harry! Honestly, Hagrid! When are you going to understand these are children! Bears are not very common in this area and are some of the only animals likely to come out of the forest after students. You must tell Albus, and if you don't I will!" Hagrid looked crushed at the mere suggestion. In retrospect, Harry hadn't seen that look since Norbert was sent to Romania.

Hagrid laid Harry on the nearest bed and averted his massive eyes from the fuming mediwitch. He gingerly placed Harry's smashed glassed on the bedside table and stepped back silently. Madam Pomfrey stormed off to her office, ranting about irresponsible gamekeepers and the possibility of renaming the hospital wing for Harry Potter. As she crouched next to the bed, Hagrid wasn't getting a warm reception from Hermione either.

"Well, I'm sorry abou' all this 'arry," he said rather sheepishly. "Hermione." He inclined his head in her direction. Reacting to the seething glare she shot his direction, Hagrid continued, "Maybe she's right," he said quietly.

"I'm okay Hagrid," Harry said with a weak smile. "Madam Pomfrey will have me fixed up in time for the feast." Hagrid nodded his head in quiet assent and took the opportunity to escape the castle in Madam Pomfrey's absence. Harry watched him trail out of sight and turned his head toward Hermione.

"Harry, you're a mess. A bear? What in the world happened?" she asked as she plucked a leaf from his unruly hair. "I was worried to death! I came back from class and no one knew where you'd gone and you'd been gone for hours!"

He reached for the hand she willingly thrust into his and smiled. "Is your first instinct to visit Madam Pomfrey when I'm missing?" He chuckled softly.

"It should be. Honestly, Harry! Would it kill you to leave a note?" With her free hand, she pulled the wand from her robes and pointed it toward the remnants of his glasses.

"Oculus reparo!" she huffed as his glasses flew back together.

She handed them to Harry with pursed lips and a decisive glare. "Thanks," he replied tentatively. "Hermione, what's the matter?"

Apparently realizing her posture, she relaxed a bit as a huff of air escaped her. "Harry I came to Madam Pomfrey because I could feel your fear, but I had no way to know where you were or what was happening." Her voice began to waver. "Given what Dumbledore told us a few weeks ago, I just…I couldn't… I didn't," she stammered. Harry released his hand from hers and curled it around the back of her neck, pulling her forehead to his own as he propped himself up in the bed.

"It's alright. It was nothing. It was just another of Hagrid's favorite friends of the forest. I'm fine."

"Ahem," Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat audibly as she stood by, tapping her foot, holding two bottles of potion. Harry and Hermione broke apart slowly and he turned to face the disgruntled nurse.

"Wow. You are angry with me. If I didn't know better that noise sounded like one Professor Um…"

"Harry Potter you will not speak that vile woman's name in my infirmary!" While he knew he'd pay for his reference from Madam Pomfrey, the giggle Hermione stifled in her throat was exactly the reaction he was willing to sacrifice himself for.

"Sorry, Madam Pomfrey," he said quietly while throwing Hermione his most charming grin.

He pocketed the vial of potion Madam Pomfrey instructed him to take that evening before turning in. A few spells later, Harry was leaving the hospital wing under his own power; his arm wrapped firmly around Hermione.

"You know, I hate to sound like Ron," Harry began.

Hermione giggled. "Let's go to the feast, I'm famished too!"

***

Given the activity that associated so many Halloween evenings in the past, nearly everyone in the Order was on assignment. As the permanent resident of Grimmauld Place, Remus' charge was simple. He had to stay at headquarters as a contact to collect information and issue new orders if they became necessary. He couldn't leave. He felt completely useless.

Remus paced the kitchen floor in front of the roaring fireplace. While the heat from the fire warmed his body, he felt ice running through his veins. He had practically no information. What he did know chilled him to the bone. He looked at the clock on the kitchen wall for the third time in the past five minutes.

"Poppy are you sure about this?" he asked Madam Pomfrey who had joined him twenty minutes earlier with the only information he had.

She looked up to him, the firelight glinting across her tearstained cheeks. "Yes," she replied simply.

He looked at the clock again. "Where could she be?" He stopped pacing and looked back to Poppy. "You're sure Snape said she wasn't there?"

"Remus, he said there was nothing left when he arrived to relieve Kingsley. The muggle fire department was rounding the corner. He barely had time to…to bring Kingsley back," she said, dissolving into tears again.

"Damn it! Then where is she?" Remus was quickly losing his temper. He had little information, and no idea where Tonks was, or who might have her. What was worse, he had no way of finding out.

You don't understand Moony! I feel like a caged rat in here! I'm not the rat Remus - he is!

Remus flinched at the memory of a conversation with Sirius that took place in this very room. He always felt for Padfoot's situation while he was restricted to Grimmauld Place, but he never really understood it until now.

A soft knock at the front door, pulled him from his thoughts and he looked between the front hallway and the fireplace. He didn't want to leave the kitchen for a single moment, worried he'd miss a contact. The knock came again and Remus let out an exasperated sigh as he bolted to the front door.

He grasped the door knob and flung the door open, ready to admonish whoever had forgotten the password to enter without assistance. His breath caught in his throat at the sight that greeted him.

Tonks was half standing, half holding herself up with the porch railing and covered in blood. Her hair was disheveled and her robes were torn in several places. With great effort she raised her head toward his and met pleading eyes. "Remus," she croaked softly as she took one step toward him and collapsed as he rushed to catch her.

"Dear Merlin, Tonks! What happened?" Remus adjusted her weight in his arms and slid his hand behind her knees. He carried her into the house, kicking the door closed behind him. He rushed her to the sitting room. She winced as he gingerly laid her on the sofa. Her eyes were fluttering as she fought to stay conscious. "Poppy! Poppy!" he shouted desperately.

"What is heaven's name?" she gasped, flying from the kitchen.

"It's Tonks! It's bad! I don't know what happened!" The words spilled out of his mouth before he had a chance to think clearly.

She spun back to the kitchen and quickly and grabbed the emergency supplies she'd come prepared with. "Oh, my. Remus, go in the kitchen and get some clean towels and water." He sat, frozen in place, staring at Tonk's blood streaked face. "Now!" Poppy barked.

Shaken from his paralysis, he leapt from the sofa and ran to the kitchen. He grabbed a few dry towels from the wash he'd been folding and filled a large bowl with water. He rushed back to the sitting room where Tonks lie motionless on the sofa.

He dropped to her side, water slopping out of the bowl and onto the floor. "Tonks? Tonks." He dipped a towel into the water and began helplessly cleaning the blood from her forehead while Poppy laid one hand on her chest and muttered several incantations. "Nymph?" he voice was beginning to shake. "Please wake up, I have to know what happened to you."

"Shhh," Poppy hissed, never breaking her concentration. As she continued the spell work, Tonks' eyebrows furrowed and her breath rasped in her chest. She turned her head toward them and fought to open her eyes.

"That's it. Come on, that's it, come back," Remus encouraged. Her eyes blinked open and met his. He smiled weakly and asked the question that plagued him since Poppy Pomfrey arrived with Snape's report, "What happened?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but her voice was nearly inaudible. Remus leaned over her, his ear mere centimeters from her lips and was crushed by her response. "I'm sorry, Remus."

He snapped his head back and looked at her incredulously. "Sorry? You don't have anything to be sorry about. Just tell me what happened, please."

He leaned back over her. She didn't have the energy to speak in complete sentences but the few words she whispered were enough to convey the point. Remus winced as she finished and sat back, eyes closed, face screwed up with the stern determination to keep his tears at bay. Poppy laid a calming hand on his shoulder and he looked up to where she stood.

"She'll be alright Remus. If she's up to it, you can move her to her bedroom where she'll be more comfortable. She needs her rest, I'll leave a few potions in the kitchen." Poppy said quietly.

"You're leaving?" Remus replied worriedly.

"She'll be okay Remus. I have to go back to Hogwarts. Someone has to tell Hermione."

***

"Well, all I'm saying is that it was bloody dangerous for him to take you in there!" Ron growled as he chased a boiled potato around his plate with his fork. "I mean honestly," he said as he stabbed the potato. "Irate centaurs, giants, let's not forget the spiders, and now a bear; I don't think Hagrid will truly find happiness until one of us is eaten alive or beheaded by one of his cute and fuzzy magical creatures," he finished sarcastically.

"Ron, I didn't know you cared," Harry teased.

"Care! Of course I care! How many other seekers do you think I have?" Ron bellowed. Harry fought back a chuckle and Hermione rolled her eyes disbelievingly.

"Honestly, Ron!" Hermione scoffed. "Harry is nearly killed by a Gelidus Bear and all you can think about is Quidditch."

Not having remembered telling Hermione all the details, Harry's interest was suddenly peaked. "How'd you know it was a Gelidus Bear?" Hermione raised an eyebrow and turned to Harry with a knowing stare. "Okay, silly question," he conceded. That look could only mean she'd read it in a book.

Answering his question anyway, she said, "It's the only magical bear that inhabits this part of the world."

"So what's so magical about it," Ron asked. Hermione shifted in her seat and focused her attention on preparing her corn. Harry and Ron, noticing her obvious lack of response, exchanged a shocked smile. Ron, sensing blood in the water, leaned up on his elbows and continued, "Hermione? You do know the magical properties of the Gelidus Bear, don't you?" She drew a breath and looked between the boys expectant stares.

"Well, Gelidus Bears are…they have…" she faltered.

"You have no idea, do you?" Ron said, barely containing the emotional victory dance he was about to break into.

"Well," she said, averting her eyes. After a few interminably long seconds she finally appeared to give up. "Oh! Shut it, Ron," she said defeatedly as she chucked a roll across the table! He and Harry both broke into laughter. While Ron punched his fists in the air declaring he'd finally stumped Hermione Granger, Harry leaned over and kissed her on the temple. She playfully elbowed him and said, "you too, you git." That only served to make Harry laugh hard enough to clutch his tender ribs.

Harry looked over the table toward Ron and noticed his face fall from victorious laughter to a blank, and rather cold, stare. He was staring over the top of Harry's head. Instinctively Harry turned around expecting the likes of Draco Malfoy.

It was Merc Thompson.

"Hi Merc," Hermione greeted her still looking timidly between her friend and Ron. To Hermione's relief, he wasn't saying anything. She was relatively assured Ron was still smarting over the record number of goals Merc scored against him during the Ravenclaw Quidditch match.

"Hi Hermione, Harry…Ron." The tone in her voice made it quite clear Ron's seething glare had not escaped Merc's attention. She held her eyes to his a moment longer than necessary and Ron, unflinching, settled into his chair.

"So, how are you?" Hermione asked, drawing Merc's attention from the stare down.

"Fine, I'm sorry to intrude on your dinner. I had a question about the Potions assignment Professor Snape gave us yesterday."

"Don't be silly, you're not intruding on anything," Hermione admonished as she slid over and patter her hand along the smooth oak bench next to her. Hesitating slightly, she looked to Harry and Ron and joined them at the table.

"So you were talking about a bear?" Merc asked, tentatively taking a roll from an earthenware bowl. Ron's face lit up.

"Hermione here was just conceding the fact she doesn't know the magical characteristics of the Gelimus Bear." He smiled broadly.

"I think you mean Gelidus Bear," Merc corrected softly. Ron's eyes caught fire as his face grew stern. Holding his glare for only a moment, Merc turned to Hermione. "Gelidus Bears are in a great book I found researching Centaurs, I'll show it to you on Tuesday."

"Great, another bookworm," Ron scoffed as he helped himself to another slice of pork roast, still eyeing her over the platter.

Merc tilted her head and broke into a wry smile. "You know Weasley, your ears turn an adorable shade of red when you're angry." Harry nearly aspirated his pumpkin juice as Hermione nodded appreciatively.

Ron's face quickly matched the hue of his ears. "You know, if you have a question about Snape's assignment, you could always ask him," Ron quipped as Merc's smile slid from her face.

"While that would be the most logical course of action, most observant students might have recognized that Professor Snape, along with several other teachers, are not in attendance this evening, are they?" For the first time since she'd arrived, Ron looked away and glanced along the head table. Merc was right. Tonks, Snape, Madam Pomfrey, and Professor McGonagall were all absent.

Apparently deciding the query could wait, Merc rose from the table and addressed Hermione. "It's not that important. I'll ask you about it Tuesday."

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," she replied flatly. "I'll see you later." She turned to leave the table as Hermione clearly prepared to admonish Ron for hurting her friend's feelings with his trademark sensitivity. She soon decided it was unnecessary. As Merc began to walk toward her place at the Ravenclaw table she stopped and threw a spirited glance over her shoulder as her long dark hair flipped away from her face. "Have a nice evening, Red," and with a sarcastic wink toward Ron she nearly skipped to her house table.

Harry stifled a laugh as the trio watched her retreat.

"I never would've saved that one from any bloody mountain troll, I'll tell you that," Ron's voice seethed. Harry and Hermione broke into harmonious laughter that, in time, broke down Ron's defenses. His scowl quickly fell victim to a defeated smile and accompanying chortle. His reaction only encouraged their release. It wasn't long before half the Gryffindor table was staring at them in question.

As Hermione dabbed her eyes with her napkin, a soft voice issued quietly over her shoulder. "Hermione dear, I need to speak with you." She turned to see the kind face of Madam Pomfrey.

Harry, still feeling his mirth, chuckled, "Madam Pomfrey, I promise I have gained no significant injuries in the last three hours." Not that he considered a career in professional comedy, but he thought the comment at least warranted a smile. It didn't come.

Rather, Madam Pomfrey looked to Harry and Ron and added, "I think you should come along as well." Confused, Hermione looked between her newest teacher and her two best friends. Without further comment, they rose from the table and followed Madam Pomfrey out of the Great Hall.

***

"Do you think Dumbledore will engrave our names on his office door by the end of the year?" Ron suggested with a smile.

"Uncle Vernon once paid an exorbitant sum to get his name engraved on a brick in front of the British Lawn and Garden Association," Harry offered.

"Maybe Dumbledore will scratch our names into his stone floor," Ron replied thoughtfully.

"Do you two mind?" Hermione snapped. Her brow was furrowed, and the lively banter between Ron and Harry threatened the intent gaze she maintained on the flagstone floor. In truth, they were driving her crazy.

It was hardly uncommon for them to be oblivious to the greater picture, but it was clearly annoying that they didn't realize what she did; something was wrong. What's more, not only were they blissfully unaware of the situation, they had the audacity to joke while she was trying to find the solution. She fought to focus her efforts on the task at hand. Her eyes remained locked on the earthen tones of the floor although she was desperately trying to get a sense of what was bothering Madam Pomfrey.

"You're right Hermione," Ron conceded. "He's far more likely to change his office password to 'Potter.'" Ron laughed at his own joke as Hermione, interrupted again, growled in frustration and glared at him. Although she was angry, she didn't miss the quizzical look, Ron shot over her head toward Harry. She turned with an equally threatening look to see Harry shrug his shoulders and attempt to conceal a mischievous grin.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione refocused her attention, this time on the back of Madam Pomfrey's robes as they swept toward the Headmaster's office. Her frustration mounted as she tried, with no success, to get a sense of Madam Pomfrey's emotions. She practiced these techniques far more than anyone knew, including Harry and Ron. Generally speaking, Harry and Ron would probably be upset if they knew how often they were unwitting guinea pigs for Madam Pomfrey's methods of emotional interpretation. That was the most frustrating part. Pomfrey taught her these techniques personally over the last few lessons and yet she suddenly could feel nothing from her at all. She visualized her notes, retracing every step of the process, attempting to find the mistake in her progression. She was utterly lost in her own thoughts; she barely noticed their ascent on the spiraling staircase.

Professor Dumbledore's office door stood open and Madam Pomfrey escorted them into the room, standing aside at the door as they passed. Harry, Hermione, and Ron, walked to the same chintz chairs they occupied a few short weeks ago. At first glance, everything appeared eerily similar to their last visit. Dumbledore sat quietly behind his desk while Madam Pomfrey lowered herself gingerly onto the same chair where Remus Lupin had been. It was the first opportunity Hermione found to look upon Madam Pomfrey's face. Her thoroughly blank expression, averted eyes, and the deafening silence clearly confirmed Hermione's suspicions.

Something was terribly wrong.

Hermione's eyes were intently fixed on Madam Pomfrey. She was vaguely aware that Ron and Harry were looking curiously between her and the two adults before them.

It's about time they finally catch on!

"Ms. Granger." Dumbledore's warm voice drew her attention to the headmaster.

"What's going on?" she said quickly. She slid to the edge of the chair, awaiting an answer as Dumbledore looked to Madam Pomfrey. Hermione's eyes followed the Headmaster's as Madam Pomfrey rose from the chair and glided to the desk before her.

"Hermione dear," she began warmly.

"Just tell me what's going on!" The words leapt from Hermione's throat before she could temper them. With disbelieving eyes, Harry grasped Hermione's arm softly. Madam Pomfrey did not flinch in the least. Rather, she stepped forward and knelt down in front of Hermione's chair. "Please." Her voice was shaking.

She felt Harry's grasp tighten on her arm as his eyes registered the concern in her voice. "Ever since you taught me how to recognize the emotions coming from others, I've practiced it everyday. I know I'm doing it right, I just know I am. I know Ron would rather be climbing into his four-poster after the feast and Harry is completely confused as to why I'm acting this way." She sensed Harry and Ron's startled expression but continued without diverting her attention from her mentor. "But, you." The tears that welled in her eyes began silently meandering down her cheeks. "I can't feel anything from you. It's like you're no more human than this chair!"

"I assure you I am human, Hermione," Madam Pomfrey said quietly. "I always knew you'd be a good student. I didn't expect you to learn as quickly as you have. I must say it took a bit more concentration than I thought to shield myself from you. But, what I've done, I've done to protect you."

"Protect me from what?" Hermione asked, her breath quickening. She saw Harry's head snap to the Headmaster as his concern grew markedly. Madam Pomfrey gave a fleeting glace over her shoulder and met the unspoken assent of Albus Dumbledore.

She drew a deep breath and took both of Hermione's hands in hers. Logically, Hermione knew it shouldn't make her feel better; the gesture in itself did not bode well for the approaching conversation. Yet, she could not deny the physical change Pomfrey's touch brought about. Hermione's chest loosened and the tension in her muscles lifted, if only marginally.

Madam Pomfrey looked down at the hands she held in hers and began, "I wish there were some easier way to do this. But there is not, and I won't insult your intelligence by trying to euphemize it."

Oh, gods! This is worse than I thought. For as much as she tried, she couldn't stop the sudden stinging in her eyes.

Madam Pomfrey screwed her face up in concentration, seeming to steel herself for the next sentence. "The Death Eaters staged another muggle attack this evening." Her resolve audibly faltered as her voice shook for the first time since they'd seen her in the Great Hall. "I'm so sorry Hermione, but…"

"No," Hermione interrupted, shaking her head furiously. She already knew the next thing Madam Pomfrey intended to say.

It's not true. They owled this morning. They are making plans for the Christmas holidays. They want Harry to come with us to Belgium. I haven't even asked him yet. I totally forgot. I haven't even had time to write back.

"Hermione," Madam Pomfrey pleaded. Squeezing her eyes shut Hermione continued to shake her head defiantly.

I'm an empath aren't I? If something were wrong I would know! I would know if they were dead!

"It's a mistake Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said quietly. "I would know."

"Hermione, dear, empathic ability is grounded in the same rules as all magic; distance and time matter. There's no way you would know they were killed."

As the words quietly escaped Madam Pomfrey's throat, a deafening silence befell the office. Even the Fawkes warbling commentary ceased. Hermione was only vaguely aware that Harry's grasp on her forearm now threatened to restrict the flow of blood to her hand. Excruciating moments passed, elongating themselves until it felt as though hours had drifted by. As the silence resounded in the office Hermione became acutely aware of a new emotion…one that threatened to consume her.

"No," she said quietly shaking her head in angry defiance. Madam Pomfrey squeezed her hands tighter. "No!" she screamed, jerking her hands from their protective enclosure as if scalded by fire.

"Hermione, please let me help you," Madam Pomfrey said pleadingly.

"No!" she repeated, leaping from her chair and sending it skidding across the office. Her eyes floated over the pained expressions of those before her as the truth became harder to ignore. But ignore it, she did.

"Why? Why would you say such a horrible thing? Is this some kind of sick joke?" she roared.

She continued to back away as Madam Pomfrey, shaking her head quietly, edged across the room. Hermione knew what her mentor was doing. She was intending to calm her as she did before. But, Hermione had no intention of remaining calm. Her blood was boiling in anger and she would be damned if someone was going to simply whisk it away without her permission.

"Stay away from me!" she screamed, stopping the mediwitch in her tracks.

She was coming unglued and she knew it. She felt the collective eyes of the room boring through her, yet no one said a word. Her eyes fell on Ron's anguished expression then drifted to Harry. While his furrowed brow broadcast his concern for her, there was a fire behind his eyes she'd never seen. Madam Pomfrey stood idly by and Professor Dumbledore sat straight-backed in his chair.

"Hermione," Madam Pomfrey's voice quaked. "You know it's true. You know it in your heart. Listen to your emotions. Listen to how you feel…not what you think."

Hermione's eyes flashed. The last thing she wanted was a lesson. She didn't see this as some fleeting opportunity to expand her empathic education. She didn't want knowledge and understanding, she wanted a time turner. She wanted to crawl into a hole and act like the last thirty minutes never happened.

She's right. You can feel it from her and Dumbledore. They're telling you the truth.

No! I won't believe it. It's not possible. They just owled me this morning!

Magical ability aside, Hermione was still human. Her breath rasped in her chest as she fought both Madam Pomfrey and her own intuition. Her heart beat wildly and the muscles in her legs jumped and flinched involuntarily. She was succumbing to the primal "fight or flight" response. The former hadn't worked and the latter was beginning to take over.

Hermione began stepping backwards unsteadily, vigorously shaking her head from side to side. All manner of verbal communication left her; she dissolved into repeating the same phrase as if trying to convince herself of its validity. "It's not true, it's not true, it's not true."

Before long she retreated as far as she could. Her progress impeded by the smooth stone wall of Dumbledore's office, she pressed herself against the wall and refocused her attention on Madam Pomfrey. Although phrased as a statement, she renewed her question with pleading eyes. "It's not true," she choked.

With that, Madam Pomfrey's demeanor shifted noticeably. Her shoulders sagged, her face fell, and her eyes held the undeniable truth that she finally allowed Hermione to feel, if only to convince her of its authenticity. Both her body and mind were overcome with the feeling of pure, unadulterated, anguish. It was a torment only a child who had lost their parents could understand. The truth was inescapable, Hermione was now an orphan.

"No!" Hermione yelled as she clasped her hands over her ears in a futile attempt to physically block what her emotions could not impede. As her body convulsed, her legs collapsed from under her. She was only marginally aware that she never hit the floor. Ron caught the lion's share of her weight in his arms as he and Harry reached her simultaneously. Their arms encircled her protectively, but for as firmly as they were holding her, she desperately wished for more. She was coming apart in their arms with no plausible means of stopping herself. In the buried recesses of her mind, she knew she was losing it, and losing it in front of them. But she couldn't stop. Her body seized with tremors as the sounds of her suffering replaced the grim silence that filled the office before. Her quaking shoulders collided with those of Ron and Harry's. Aside from their row at the Burrow, she'd never seen them release their emotions in public. She felt their resolve collapse entirely as she dissolved into anguished screaming for a mother and father that could no longer hear her cry.

They weren't the only ones fighting their own tears. Waves of sorrow wafted from Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore. As she looked up from the floor she saw Dumbledore's head buried in his hands, his shoulders invisibly quaking. Madam Pomfrey's agonized expression was as heartbreaking as the sobs issuing from her own throat. Suddenly, she walked to the trio and dropped to the floor in front of Hermione.

Hermione buried her head in the crossed arms of both Harry and Ron. She clutched Harry's left arm with hers and knotted her right hand in the fabric of Ron's robes. Every cell of her body was racked with uncontrollable sobs. The tighter Harry and Ron clutched her, the more her emotions soared out of control. Her head was spinning, her eyes were open yet dark shadowy fireworks exploded in her field of vision. With each passing moment she felt increasingly ill. Her stomach churned and her heart raced out of control. She felt Madam Pomfrey's tentative hands extend toward her, finally resting on the sides of her head. The fireworks behind Hermione's eyes quickly turned to lazy black clouds that enveloped her completely. She sensed her body calm as darkness swaddled her.

**

Hermione had never been so exhausted in her life. Although she recognized the fact she was conscious, she couldn't muster the strength or will to open her eyes. It was only after she felt the gentle touch of someone's palm on her forehead that she gathered the resolve to face the world. She wasn't surprised with her bedside company. She knew it wasn't Harry, she knew his touch. She opened her eyes fully and they fell upon the sympathetic smile of Madam Pomfrey. The events of the evening rushed back to her and she looked away, surveying the unfamiliar surroundings she found herself in.

The first thing that struck her was how unique the room was. She was lying comfortably in a massive four-poster bed, each post exquisitely carved with no detail left unattended. The room itself was octagonal and boasted a fireplace twice the size of that found in the Gryffindor common room. The walls held alcoves, built in mahogany bookcases, illuminated glass shelves, and colorful tapestries. As she gazed around the space, her eyes fell on the largest telescope she'd ever seen. Following the line of the telescope, Hermione looked up, past the towering stonewalls and the brass ladder that allowed access to the upper bookshelves. At first, she thought nothing of the ceiling. She simply believed it was enchanted similarly to that of the Great Hall. Her eyes fell upon silvery stratus clouds that wisped along the night sky. Fawkes floated gracefully through the ceiling and landed on a polished brass perch that sat between two large chairs in a raised sitting area. It was then she realized the ceiling was not at all similar to that of the Great Hall. As a matter of fact, there was no ceiling at all.

She clutched at the down comforter; feeling as though she should be freezing from the night air, yet the room was thoroughly warm and inviting. Though she could see the wind rustle through the treetops, she felt only a wisp of air from Fawkes' wings. Even the few autumn leaves that swirled in the sky, threatening to impugn the spotless chamber, scurried along, repelled by some invisible enchantment.

"Remarkable isn't it?" Madam Pomfrey said quietly as she too stared at the night sky exposed above them.

"Where am I?"

"This is Professor Dumbledore's private chamber," Madam Pomfrey said as she smiled inwardly. "Would you expect anything less?"

"I don't remember reading about this in Hogwarts, A History."

"Well, for as thorough as that book may be, the castle still maintains its share of secrets." With a heavy heart, Hermione looked toward Madam Pomfrey, still gazing skyward.

"I'm sorry," she offered quietly. Madam Pomfrey snapped her head toward Hermione, and incredulous look etched across her features.

"Good heavens! You have nothing to be sorry for!"

"My behavior…it was…"

"Perfectly reasonable for someone, anyone, who had been given similar news!" Madam Pomfrey interrupted. "I'll not hear another word of that rubbish. You're not the first to lose control in that office," she said, inclining her head toward Hermione's left hand, "and you won't be the last." Hermione glanced at the sparkling horntail seated on her left hand. The stone was the most brilliant blue she'd ever seen.

Hermione made a vain attempt to sit up, only to realize her muscles felt like cinder blocks. Madam Pomfrey gently placed her hand on Hermione's shoulder to discourage further effort. Resignedly collapsing back to the fluffy pillow she asked, "What did you do to me?"

Pomfrey sighed audibly. "An empath's ability can be very powerful; it can also be very dangerous. We've not progressed far in our lessons. You're only just learning to recognize the emotions you're bombarded with every day. You've not learned how to shield yourself from them yet." She straightened her blankets needlessly. "It's difficult to describe, but without shielding yourself, intense emotions can override your own physical well-being. Forgive me for using a muggle example, but I'm sure you understand the concept of an electrical short circuit." Hermione nodded. "That's the point your body had reached."

"I know. My stomach was churning, my head was spinning, and I started to lose my vision."

Madam Pomfrey nodded supportively. "Your body was overloaded and in an effort to protect itself was shutting down."

"So then why…"

"I've learned it's better to control that reaction than let it occur naturally. It allows me to dissipate your emotions afterward and promotes a healthier recovery," she interrupted. Hermione looked skyward again, finding solace in the renewed snowfall. She drew a breath and asked another plaguing question.

"When you stopped shielding me," she began. "I felt your sorrow for more than just my…my p…" she couldn't say the word and gulped audibly. Madam Pomfrey looked away, seeming to know the question she was trying to ask. "Who else?"

Madam Pomfrey let out a heavy sigh and her brow furrowed with sadness. "Kingsley Shackelbolt," she whispered. Hermione closed her eyes against the welling tears. "It's not your fault Hermione," she said quietly. "Nor is it Harry's. The only people responsible for this are the dark wizards who chose to do it. Do not forget that."

A quiet tear escaped Hermione's eye, "He was trying to save them wasn't he?"

"They both were."

"Both?" Hermione's heart dropped to her stomach.

"I'm afraid Tonks sustained some rather serious injuries as well," she replied.

Hermione's eyes widened and she opened her mouth to speak as Madam Pomfrey interrupted her. "She'll be fine. Remus is with her now." Hermione relaxed somewhat, still trying to process the events of the evening. "What about you?"

Hermione looked down and toyed with the golden threading along the blanket's edge.

"What can I do for you, dear?" she inquired.

"I just want to go to sleep." She looked around Dumbledore's chambers, as exquisite as they were, it didn't give her the sense of normalcy her heart was begging for. In response, she added, "In my own bed." Nodding, Madam Pomfrey rose from her side and helped her to her feet. They walked slowly to the door and just as Madam Pomfrey reached for the handle, Hermione placed her hand over hers. "Thank you," she said simply.

The mediwitch grimaced, "Just promise me you'll not try to face this alone," she implored as she opened the door. Hermione's eyes fell on the two most familiar, and welcome, faces at Hogwarts.

"I don't think that will be an issue," she replied as Harry and Ron rushed to meet her. She fought back the tears as they both wrapped their arms around her. She let herself be nurtured for a moment before breaking contact to bid the others a good evening. When they stepped away, she met a new face. Professor McGonagall was sitting in a chair, donned in her dressing robe and slippers, her face dark with worry.

"Hermione," she said as she rose from the chair to greet her. Hermione was rather surprised the rather stern teacher did not hesitate to embrace her. Feeling her sincerity and concern, she reciprocated without hesitation. When she stepped back from her, Professor McGonagall brushed a stray lock from Hermione's face and rested her hands on her shoulders. "I thought you might like some privacy tonight. I arranged other accommodations for your roommates this evening." Hermione thought to argue the point but was beaten to the punch.

"Professor, I don't know that she should be alone tonight," Harry said tentatively. Ron nodded in agreement.

"Harry, Ron," Professor Dumbledore said quietly. "If you would like to escort Hermione back to Gryffindor Tower, you will find the charm protecting her dormitory has been temporarily rescinded."

Harry took her left hand in hers, while Ron grasped her right. Too exhausted to argue she allowed them to walk her "home."

***

All magic aside, the most unbelievable thing about Hogwarts was the celerity with which news traveled the castle. The more interesting the gossip, the faster it spread. It gave new interest to the phrase "if the walls could talk." Sometimes it seemed that was exactly what they did.

Ron and Harry escorted Hermione back to the common room and realized immediately upon their arrival that the full count of Gryffindor students were already aware of the news. The common room fell grimly silent as they stepped through the portrait hole. It looked like a wax museum. No one moved, no one spoke, scarcely anyone breathed. They just looked at the trio, a variety of emotions etched on each face.

Ginny was the first to move, and move she did. After engaging in her own moment of memorial silence, she rose from the carpet in front of the fireplace and crossed the room toward Hermione. With outstretched arms, she was the first to pull her into a speechless embrace. Her gesture opened the floodgates and Hermione soon faced an impromptu receiving line. Harry and Ron remained at her side, unsure whether to shoo away the well-wishers or allow them time to grieve with her. In the end, they followed Hermione's lead.

With a watchful eye they supervised the scene and paid close attention to any sign that Hermione might need a quick exit. She did not. Those in the common room greeted her quickly and quietly. Some girls whispered support in her ear, some cried, some hugged, some held her hand; most of the boys merely offered bewildered stares. The lone exception to that was Neville Longbottom. He pulled Hermione into a tight embrace and kissed her on the cheek as he let her go. Harry noticed his was the only exchange that brought Hermione to the brink of tears.

After the last Gryffindor extended their condolences, Harry and Ron ushered her to the girls' dormitory staircase. Harry heard the questioning voices as the staircase allowed them to escort her to her room. Normally, Harry would've been intently interested in his new surroundings, but given the circumstances, he really didn't care.

She opened the door to her room and the trio entered quietly. Ron closed the door behind him as Hermione sat down on her bed. She was the first to break the silence.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Well, we're not about to have you walk back alone," Ron insisted.

Hermione shook her head. "That's not what I mean." She looked up at them both, tears welling in her eyes once more. It appeared more than Ron could take.

He crossed the room quickly, kissed her on the top of her head and whispered, "What are best friends for?" He hugged her briefly and said, "I really need to take a walk. I'll be back in a while." Harry nodded as Ron gave his shoulder a supportive squeeze and left the room.

***

Merc Thompson stared out of the window, tapping her quill on the parchment daydreaming. Something about the falling snow always mesmerized her. Large lazy flakes had fallen around Hogwarts intermittently all day. They floated past the window, dancing into one another as they swirled to the ground. Redirecting herself, she forced her eyes away from nature's choreography and back to the charms book before her. Her eyes found the same paragraph she'd "read" a dozen times already. She made it only two sentences this time before her mind meandered off again.

She looked around the Ravenclaw Common Room at the scene that played relentlessly for the last seven years. If anyone had paid her enough attention, they likely would've reserved this table for her alone. It's the only place she ever sat.

It was a small round table with barely enough seating for one. It was unobtrusive, occupying a little regarded nook in the corner of the common room. But, it served every function Merc desired. It was out of the way, by nature of its size it was impossible for procrastinating students to cozy up for some easy answers (she got enough of that in class), and it was located directly adjacent to a massive bookcase that climbed the wall toward the soaring ceiling. She had to admit, even though she'd not laid eyes on any other, she was especially attached to the Ravenclaw Common Room.

The room had always been inviting to her even if she felt those within it were not always as engaging. The floor was the same earthen toned flagged stone that covered most of Hogwarts castle. The focal point of the room was an expansive fireplace surrounded by an intricately carved mantle piece. Her favorite decorations sat atop the mantle piece. She'd spent many a quiet moment attempting the varied magical mind-benders that found their home above the fire. Some were wooden, some polished brass, others carved pewter, each with a different logical challenge and a hidden solution. The most interesting of them all was a simple wooden cube that appeared to have no magical powers at all. It was composed of nine separate cubes on each face, each face with the same carved rune. The object was to spin the sections in combination until returning all the runes to their appropriate spots on the cube.

The generally accepted rumor was that Professor Dumbledore placed it in the Ravenclaw House Common Room with a standing offer of 100 points to whoever could "solve the blasted thing." At one point during her third year, Merc had resolved to not pass from the earth until she had proved the Wizard "Rubik" that his cube could be solved. She officially gave up the fight last year. Her surrender always made her think of Hermione. She smiled inwardly as she envisioned Hermione, eyes glazed over, wasting away with no food nor drink feverishly trying to find the cube's solution. That was one of the differences between Merc and her only real "friend." Merc could give in, give up, admit defeat and move on. She wasn't sure those words were in Hermione's vocabulary.

Her eyes continued to float around the common room. A large chocolate leather sofa and two overstuffed leather chairs faced the fireplace. A hand knotted Indian rug, its blue hues worn from years of abuse, lined the floor under the furniture. As usual, couples being thoroughly, if not sickeningly, sweet to each other occupied the best seats in the house. Several imposing mahogany tables spotted the room with glowing blue lamps atop each one. Each table was flanked with several straight-backed mahogany chairs upholstered in the same distressed leather as the other furnishings.

After seven years Merc understood the unspoken system well, even if she didn't use it. Each table was dedicated to one subject or another. Ravenclaws would gather at whichever table they required assistance in. Study groups would form, disband, and reform throughout the evening as students worked on their assignments. She always felt the looks that floated toward her small table when the groups fell silent. Sooner or later, someone would draw the short straw and venture over to patronizingly sing her praises of "brilliance" before asking her to join them.

Never being able to say no, and certainly not when someone actually noticed her, Merc would willingly join the group to have the same result eventually befall her. She would explain the question as she knew and understood it and begin working with them to find the answer. Invariably, hours, if not minutes later, she would be left "working" with perhaps one or two students who still put up the appearance of studying with her. The rest would either leave of their own accord or spend the time distracting her attention with embellished stories between friends or love interests. However, they always ensured they would return to the task at hand as she finished the assignment. As a matter of habit, Merc entirely avoided the common room immediately proceeding or following Hogsmeade weekends. There was only so much teenage-boyfriend-you'll-never-believe-how-sweet-he-was-at-Madam Puddifoot's-angst she could take.

Her eyes rose to a first year student, precariously perched on another bookcase ladder. This was one secret she never told Hermione about. The Ravenclaw Common Room walls were lined, and stocked, with a collection rivaling that of the Hogwart's main library. In truth, many of the titles were the same so there was not any real advantage to being sorted here. But it did explain the lack of some Ravenclaws in the library. They didn't have to go, they had their own resources in the house tower. Merc went to the library faithfully, but did so only to spend time with her friend; the same friend that would collapse in fits of jealousy if she ever stepped foot in this room. The young girl on the ladder, although having learned quite a lot of magical theory thus far, was not too studied in the laws of physics.

If she stretches out any further for that book she's going to make a lovely sound when she hits the floor….and then that group of anxiously awaiting boys over there will laugh at her.

Her last thought conjured entirely too many memories she'd like to store in a pensieve, if only to banish them from her recollection. She pulled out her wand and quietly muttered, "wingardium leviosa." The book, only inches from the girl's fingers moved into her palm as she grasped it tightly and moved between the safety of the ladder railing. She hesitated for a moment, looking between the book and her wand hand inquisitively. Having devised no answers, she appeared to chalk the occurrence up to another Hogwart's mystery and descended the ladder, returning to several friends at the "transfiguration" study table.

Merc smiled warmly and returned her attention to the paragraph she'd now read a dozen and one times. It wasn't long before she was interrupted.

"Merc," a quiet voice drew her from her textbook.

"Oh! Hi Luna." Merc smiled. She always liked Luna. Although there was practically no one inhabiting Merc's list of "friends" she had several people she regarded as acquaintances and Luna Lovegood was one of them.

They were a bit similar in that they both seemed to be outcasts from the norm. Luna was a bit eccentric. She tended to bring her social issues on herself. But Merc thoroughly respected both her backbone and her indifference to the stares and whispered commentary. In truth, Merc wished to be a bit more like Luna. Although she would never admit it, the stares and whispered commentary surrounding her own behavior shook her to the core. She was acutely aware of everything said about her. She generally covered her insecurities with sarcasm and moved on with her life. She did it so well, everyone seemed to be under the impression she was Merlin's gift to "confidence." In a revolting twist of fate, the more confident Merc appeared, the more she seemed to intimidate others, thus entrenching her in the generally solitary life she'd led thus far. Her isolation only contributed to her ardent desire to appear as though it didn't bother her in the least. Thus the cycle continued.

Luna pulled a chair over to Merc's table and sat down, her face riddled with an expression that Merc could not ignore. "Luna, is everything alright?" she asked concernedly.

"I…well, I was in the library and some Gryffindor students came in a few moments ago." She paused.

"It's okay Luna, you can tell me. What's the matter?" Merc asked, leaning up on her elbows.

Luna took a breath. "There's been another muggle attack."

"Death Eaters?" Merc inquired needlessly.

"Yes," Luna replied. They looked away from each other and Merc's fingers played with the small pumpkin ornament she had nicked from the Halloween feast.

"What awful news," Merc sighed. Still, she wondered why Luna was acting so strangely. News of muggle attacks was not anything new. The Daily Prophet seemed to have new reports in nearly every issue. This news, while disheartening, was nothing shocking for Merc. Aside from a few of her distant relatives marrying muggles, there weren't any in her family at all. She wondered if she was being heartless in that she wasn't truly affected by what Luna told her.

"There's more," Luna added. Merc furrowed her eyebrows and looked toward her roommate curiously. "It's all over the castle."

"What?"

"The Death Eaters attacked Hermione Granger's family. Her parents were killed."

Merc felt as though a cannonball landed squarely in her chest. She couldn't breathe. Luna reached across the table and grasped her hand warmly. "I know she's a friend of yours, I thought you would want to know." Merc nodded wordlessly as Luna gave her hand a supportive squeeze and rose from the table. She left quietly, leaving Merc to absorb the news.

If there was one thing Merc Thompson was not prone to, it was emotional outbursts. She didn't cry in public, not even when her brother broke her arm playing Quidditch when she was seven. She didn't fly off the handle, she didn't scream, as a matter-of-fact she prided herself on being able to outwardly maintain her composure in nearly every situation. Her eyes were fixed, unseeingly, on the charm text in front of her as a thousand disjointed thoughts rolled flew through her head.

Regardless of what she was thinking, her feelings were clear. She needed to see Hermione.

What do you say to someone in this situation? Saying you're "sorry" is patronizing. Saying "they're in a better place," is cheap.

She doubted she'd even get past Harry or Ron to have the opportunity to hug her. She could tell her "I'm here for you if you need anything," but honestly, what would she need from her? Aside from Harry and Ron, she has a rather large support network in Gryffindor and the D.A. (which despite Hermione's best efforts, Merc didn't have the courage to join at the time); she wouldn't "need" Merc for much of anything. But still, she wanted to do something, say something, if only to let her know that she was thinking of her.

As if finally seeing what she had been looking at, her eyes focused on the page open in front of her. She smiled inwardly and grabbed a few spare quills from her bag. She transfigured the three quills into exquisite white orchids and flipped through the pages until she happened upon the chapter regarding cheering charms. Her eyes scrolled down the page until she found the perfect charm. She pulled her wand from her robes and muttered, "amelior meror." She studied the blooms and felt a smile break across her face. Encouraged that the spell was working properly, she slapped the book closed and left the common room.

It was late, and she shouldn't have been roaming the halls but for once in her life, Merc didn't think about breaking the rules. She wouldn't be able to sleep tonight anyway, she at least wanted Hermione to have the flowers she'd enchanted for her.

As she walked the corridors, her thoughts focused on the friendship she shared with Hermione. They met by coincidence. They happened to sit at the same table during their first arithmancy class. Hermione, lost without the steady companionship of Harry and Ron, was searching for a friendly face to pair up with. Merc was searching for someone that was serious about studying and wouldn't simply "borrow" her answers while planning her social life. Needless to say, she found a true "study partner" in Hermione Granger.

She was one of the hardest working witches she'd ever met. She worked much harder than Merc did. That was a truth that did not sit well with Hermione on more than one occasion.

Everyone has their own gifts. She is strong, knows what she wants and is not afraid to go get it. She works diligently and never gives up. She's a loyal friend who thinks of others before herself, and everyone loves her for it. Me? Well, I'm just one of those people for which academics come easy.

Oh, get over yourself, you have more talent than that!

Okay, I can play Quidditch too.

Ugh! You are moderately attractive, you've got a great body thanks to Quidditch, you have more friends than you claim, and people do actually like you!

Right.

Never mind, I'm not talking to you anymore!

Thanks the gods for that! You never stop talking to me, I promise I'm going to give you your own name and claim you on my taxes!

She rounded the final corner leading toward Gryffindor Tower and drew to a stop. A student was sitting against the wall opposite the Gryffindor portrait hole, knees against his chest and head buried in his crossed arms. The flaming red hair was as telling as a neon flashing nametag. It was Ron Weasley.

She looked at the orchids clutched in her hand and gathered the courage to approach him. "Ron?" she said quietly. He raised his head and looked up toward her.

"What do you want?"

"I wondered if I could see Hermione," the mere sentence sounded overtly intrusive. Ron's face darkened.

"I don't think she's really up to receiving visitors right now," he said sarcastically.

Merc masked her wince and chastised herself for not asking this question first. "How is she?"

"How do you think she is?" Ron snapped.

Merc realized the idiocy of the question and fought to find the appropriate words. "How are you?"

"What do you care?" he dropped his head back onto his arms.

Stay calm, stay calm. He's been through a lot as well, he's probably not even aware of what he's saying.

Oh, please. How many times has Hermione vented about his insensitivity and their signature arguments? He knows what he's saying. He also can't stand you.

"Listen Ron, I know this must have a profound effect on you as well. I would just like to see Hermione. She's my friend. Please? I need to see her."

"She's got enough friends. She doesn't need you. You're just a bloody study partner anyway!"

Merc closed her eyes and attempted to maintain her composure. "I am her friend, Ron."

"Sure you are! That would be why her best friends have heard so much about you! If you were any kind of friend to her, you think Harry and I would've known your name before this year! Trust me when I say she doesn't need you at all." Ron fumed.

"How do you know what she needs?" Merc was losing her own battle with self-composure.

"Because I'm her best friend!"

"Are you really?" she crossed her arms resolutely across her chest.

"What does that mean?"

"It means, if you were any kind of friend you'd know she needs every bit of support she can get right now, whether it meets your approval or not!"

Ron's face flushed red and he rose from his place on the floor. For all the conversations Hermione had about Ron when he was angry, Merc felt like she was getting to see his fury first hand.

"Who do you think you are? I've been at this school for seven years and don't think I've ever noticed you once! You've got a weird name, an arrogant personality, and the only redeeming quality I've found thus far is your ability to play Quidditch which probably explains why I doubt you've ever had a boyfriend. The only thing I can figure is that you're insufferably brilliant and that's the only reason why Hermione wants to study with you to begin with!"

See, I told you.

Oh, please! Think logically for a minute! He's been through a lot this evening too, and you are an available release…don't take it personally!

Merc drew every ounce of energy within her to maintain the steadiness of her voice. This was no time to crack and let the enemy see your weakness. The same invisible shield she'd raised before her so many times before detached her from the harsh reality that a near stranger just hit upon every insecurity she had. She drew a breath and let her defense mechanisms do the talking for her. As usual, her voice became low and quiet. The coldness of her tone chilled the very air around them.

"I would appreciate if you would pass these along to Hermione for me, that is if you are done impressing yourself with the mere ability to string together more than three sentences without gasping for a breath." She handed Ron the orchids and relished in his dumbfounded expression. The only thing that made her feel better in these situations was a well-placed comment that directly preceded her smooth exit. It was no different this time.

At least you got the last word.

I always get the last word.

You don't actually believe him! He's hurting right now. He feels completely useless to help her and you are an easy target!

It doesn't change the fact he's right! I don't have any friends; I certainly don't have any boyfriends! You know half of Ravenclaw thinks I bat for the other team. Maybe I have put too much stock in my friendship with Hermione. After all, he's right, maybe I don't mean much to her if she's never mentioned me.

Will you please engage your brain for a moment? Of course she's never mentioned you! Or have you forgotten the number of times Hermione has been completely frustrated with them both for procrastinating their studies. The last person they would be interested in hearing about is someone Hermione studies with!

Merc didn't even hear her own voice mutter the password to her Common Room. She walked through the portrait hole to see the world exactly as it had been when she left; couples snogging on the couch, a lively game of Exploding Snap in the far corner, various students engaged in homework at the house tables.

She walked as casually as she could to the table where her things lie abandoned. She had been in this place before. She knew what was coming and she knew exactly how long she had before her inner strength collapsed. With a shaking hand she collected her things and made for the dormitory staircase. Luckily, Halloween was an occasion that managed to keep her roommates awake longer than normal. As a result, her dormitory quarters were deserted.

She quietly closed the door behind her and raised her right hand to her face in the futile attempt to cover the pained expression that darkened her features. Her effort was as successful as ever. She walked on unsteady legs to her bed and dropped her books to the floor beside it as she collapsed into her pillow. She had just enough time to cocoon herself from the outside world by means of her midnight blue bed hangings before curling up her knees to her chest and crying herself to sleep.

***

Harry watched the snowflakes fall gracefully by the window as the waxing moon illuminated the sparkling white blanket enveloping the grounds. It never ceased to amaze him how much life could change in the span of a few short hours. In some ways it seemed only minutes ago that they gorged themselves on the Halloween feast, blissfully unaware of the events of the night. In other ways, that memory was a lifetime ago.

As he stared out of the window, he couldn't help but think of his parents. Well, more to the point, he couldn't help but think of the "concept" of his parents. He had spent a lifetime never knowing them. The only memories he owned were memories of others, or events he fictionalized from the photos he'd spent years studying. Sometimes he wondered if it wasn't easier that way.

Guilt, familiar as an old friend, descended upon him as he unsuccessfully tried to block the thought that he was lucky his parents died so young. He never had the chance to know them. He never had the chance to love them, and hence never had the chance to truly "miss" them. How can you miss what you never remembered to begin with? He never had to deal with the logistical aspects of their death. He never organized funeral arrangements. He never dispensed with a last will and testament. He never had to look upon a devastated home and watch the burning embers slowly discolor his memory.

Hermione was not so lucky.

The soft click of the bedroom door hailed her return and Harry turned to see her walking quietly into the room. She had elected to take a hot shower and get ready for bed while Harry waited.

"Hi," he said quietly.

She laid a fluffy white towel across the end of her bed and looked up. "Hi," she replied simply. This was the first time they had been alone together since Madam Pomfrey broke the devastating news only a few short hours ago. Harry, never having been the best with words, crossed the room in three steps and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned into his chest, clutching the back of his shirt, and said nothing. Neither did he. In truth, he still didn't know what to say.

"Thank you," she repeated her sentiment from earlier.

"Anything for you," he whispered, kissing her on the cheek. He drew her in, feeling if he could just hold her tighter, he could somehow protect her from the pain. But, he was smart enough to know the pain came from the inside, and nothing he could do would help assuage it. The best he could hope for was her consent to let him stay the night. He felt relatively assured he wouldn't rest a bit, but couldn't bear the thought of her being alone.

"Harry," she said quietly. He drew back to look at her properly. "Would you mind staying here tonight?" she asked timidly.

Greatly relieved that he wouldn't have to fight that battle, he replied, "Wild hippogriffs couldn't drag me away." It was the first time since the Great Hall that he'd seen her smile. He bent down with the intention of kissing her properly when she threw her hand over her mouth in a vain attempt to conceal a broad yawn. Harry chuckled softly. "Am I that exciting?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and playfully swatted his chest. Seeing the exhaustion stamped across every feature of her face, Harry gathered the courage to make a final suggestion. "Hermione," he began timidly. He pulled back from her and reached into his pocket for the vial of potion Madam Pomfrey had given him before leaving the hospital wing. He saw her eyes narrow skeptically and preempted her. "It's a potion for dreamless sleep. Trust me when I say it will help."

Hermione's mouth bobbed open and closed. Harry was convinced she was attempting to string together a viable rebuttal. Before she had the chance, he continued, "Please, Hermione. For me?" With that her shoulders slumped and she flopped onto her four-poster bed.

"Alright, for you," she replied defeatedly.

She climbed under the covers as Harry poured the potion into a small goblet on her table. He sat down on the edge of the bed next to her and handed her the glass. She clasped it in her hand and swirled the potion around, watching miniature cyclones form and dissolve in the goblet. After studying the cerulean hues for a moment, she raised her eyes to his and whispered, "You'll stay, right?"

Harry chose not to respond verbally. He'd already done that once. He thought to do the one thing for her he'd wished someone had been able to do for him after Cedric's death. He stood up and walked around her bed, climbing onto the four-poster behind her. He felt it best to stay on top of the covers, now was not the time for her to question his intentions, and pulled her toward him until her back rested along his chest. Propping himself on his elbow he waited for her to drink the potion. With one fleeting look in his eyes, she did so. Harry took the goblet from her hand and reached across her, replacing it on her bedside table. He wrapped his arm around her stomach as felt her body relax against his. With one final kiss to her temple, her eyes fluttered closed and her breathing became slow and steady.

"I love you," he whispered quietly. He only hoped she'd heard him before surrendering to the sleep she so desperately needed. He flopped his head back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling above him, trying to process the events of the day. He wasn't sure how long he stayed there, nearly catatonic, listening to Hermione's breathing as she lay resolutely in place. But it was some time later when he realized his entire right side had fallen asleep.

He swung his legs over the side of her bed and quickly regretted doing so. His right leg broke into sharp tingling as the blood coursed back to his foot. He limped around the room, grimacing, trying to walk off the sensation. He eventually settled into a chair by the window and looked back toward the bed where Hermione lie sleeping.

The moonlight streamed through the window and fell gently across her bed. The pain and exhaustion had left her face. The blankets over her rose and fell rhythmically with her soothing respiration. Her hair spilled across the pillows, the honey blond highlights of her hair reflecting golden in the moonlight. He'd looked at her for years, he'd studied her intently for the last several months, but there were times - like these - that he couldn't escape the simply beauty that lie before him everyday.

Hermione wasn't stunningly gorgeous. She wasn't plain and demure. She was "Hermione," and he could never think of any other way to describe her than that. She was perfect, even with her imperfections. His eyes traveled along her body, buried beneath the covers, to her left hand. It was sticking out of the ruffled bed coverings just enough for Harry to see the enchanted ruby casting a brilliant blue hue.

Disjointed memories walked across his consciousness. He remembered the first time he'd seen the ring, and all the times thereafter when he would sneak clandestine glances into its velvet box. He remembered giving Hermione the ring last Christmas. He remembered Neville handing it to him after he realized Hermione was missing, the stone black as death. He fondly remembered his proposal, supremely impressed that he hadn't come off looking like a Cro-Magnon with a poor grasp of the English language. He recognized the fact that Voldemort's name was getting more spoken attention these days than the words "marriage" or "wedding" between he and Hermione. And, he also realized why that didn't bother him.

"For better or for worse," he whispered as he stared toward her. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he understood the difference between his head and his heart. His head claimed they weren't married until they had a ceremony, a few spells, and a piece of paper signed between them. His heart told him otherwise. He couldn't imagine his life with anyone else and frankly shuddered at the prospect of a life without Hermione. In his heart he was married already, he could care less how long the formalities took. He told her that when he proposed, somehow he felt he might need to reiterate the point at a more appropriate time.

Harry was drawn from his thoughts as the door opened slowly. Ron poked his head through and his eyes found Harry's. Although the room was dim, Harry could tell something was troubling Ron.

"Alright, Ron?" he asked concernedly.

Ron merely nodded his head and walked into the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. He looked to the bed and bobbed his head in Hermione's direction. "How is she?"

Sitting back in the chair, Harry answered, "I convinced her to take the sleeping draught Madam Pomfrey gave me before we left the hospital wing tonight." Harry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "That seems like an eternity ago, now." Ron nodded wordlessly. "You're rather quiet. Are you sure you're okay?"

At first it seemed as though Ron was going to say something, but he appeared to catch the comment in his throat as he swallowed audibly. With a defeated look he dropped onto a vacant bed next to Harry's chair and flopped onto his back. "Have you been thinking about it all night?" Ron asked quietly.

"Haven't thought of scarcely anything else," Harry replied flatly.

"What are we going to do?" Ron said, staring at the ceiling above him.

"I don't know."

Ron sat up, propping his elbows on his legs and burying his face in his hands. "Harry, for the first time in our lives, I'm not sure we can do this. And if we can't, what does that mean?"

"You know what it means," Harry replied, his eyes still fixed on Hermione.

Ron grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut. "I just keep thinking about what Dumbledore said. Gryffindor or not, it scares the bloody hell out of me."